The Falconer's Knot

by Mary Hoffman

  The introductions, which took place after Grace, seemed to go on an inordinately long time. Silvano felt his stomach rumbling. Ubaldo was the only man who had come to table without being particularly hungry and he took his time understanding who each brother was and what was his name and function, while Bertuccio fumed in the background, worrying about the food spoiling or getting cold.

  At last, he was allowed to bring in his game-bird stew. Silvano couldn’t believe the delicious smells coming from the dishes. His partridges had been consumed days ago and he hadn’t been hawking since but Bertuccio had somehow got hold of some more fowl and worked kitchen miracles with them.

  Ubaldo seemed more interested in having his wine cup filled than in what was on his plate, but at least he no longer looked disdainful and ate a reasonable amount, to Brother Landolfo’s relief. In spite of what Sister Veronica thought, Ubaldo was not a lout. He was a rich man with expensive tastes, used to getting his own way. But he respected learning and piety, which is why he preferred to lodge with the friars rather than stay in a more comfortable inn.

  He took pleasure in describing the Assisi altar cloths to the Abbot, who listened intently, along with Brother Fazio, the Illuminator, who had an interest in all decorative schemes.

  Silvano didn’t take much notice of the guest at first; he was more interested in how much stew would be left by the time the dishes reached his end of the table. Once his appetite was satisfied and he was more aware of his companions, he saw that Brother Anselmo had scarcely touched his food but was consuming much more wine than usual. He did not seem to be joining in any conversation with the merchant Ubaldo but was listening with intense concentration.

  At the end of the meal, the Abbot said to his guest, ‘I gather you will be leaving us early tomorrow morning and I am likely to be at Prime, so I shall say my farewell now. Convey my best wishes to your wife, Monna Isabella. May God go with you on the road to Gubbio.’

  Brother Anselmo jumped up hastily from his chair, knocking his wine cup over.

  ‘Forgive me Father Abbot, honoured guest,’ he muttered. ‘I am not well.’

  And he hurried out of the refectory, leaving Ubaldo staring after him.

  The friars went to bed early because they had to get up in the middle of the night to say the Office. Silvano still wasn’t used to such a strict routine and usually didn’t get enough sleep, even though he was excused Matins and Lauds. But he was young and healthy and not ready to go to sleep while the sky was still light.

  When it was time to retire, Silvano hesitated at the door of the dormitory then turned away in the direction of the senior friars’ cells. He had never approached Brother Anselmo’s cell before, but he was worried about him. He knocked lightly at the cell door, but there was no reply. He saw that a light was burning in a cell a few doors along, which he knew to be the guest room.

  While he stood uncertain in the corridor debating whether he should lift the latch on Brother Anselmo’s door, the Colour Master returned. He started when he saw Silvano, then relaxed.

  ‘I came to see how you were, Brother,’ said Silvano.

  ‘You’re a good boy,’ said Anselmo, patting him on the shoulder. ‘I am much better now, thank you. I think the rich fare at supper disagreed with me. But you must get to your own bed, or you will be yawning in the chapel again.’

  Silvano went on his way not quite satisfied; he knew that Brother Anselmo had eaten very little of the ‘rich fare’.

  ‘Father Abbot, Father Abbot!’ The Infirmarian was knocking at Bonsignore’s cell door long before Matins.

  The Abbot came to the door in his undershirt, his grey tonsure a tousled halo. ‘What on earth is it, Brother Rufino? Don’t tell me one of the friars has gone to his Maker?’

  ‘Not a friar, Father,’ said Rufino. He looked ghastly in the light from his flickering candle. ‘It is our guest, Ubaldo the merchant.’

  ‘Ubaldo? By Our Lady, what ill luck! Under our roof! What was it – a seizure?’

  ‘This is the dreadful thing, Father,’ said Rufino. ‘I was on my way back to my cell from the infirmary, when I noticed the door to the guest room was open. I glanced in to check whether he was unwell or just out at the garderobe and I saw him stretched out on the bed.’ Rufino’s hand holding the candle shook so hard he spattered hot wax on himself. ‘The merchant was dead.’

  ‘Come inside, Brother,’ said the Abbot. ‘We shall light a lantern and go and see him together. Perhaps he had just fallen back to sleep without shutting the door? He had consumed rather a deal of wine.’

  ‘No, Father,’ stammered Rufino. He allowed himself to be led into the Abbot’s cell and accepted a chair. ‘You don’t understand. He has been stabbed. The dagger is still in his chest. He is quite dead.’

  By the light of the candle, Bonsignore saw that Rufino’s hands and robes were stained red. The friar had obviously tried to revive their guest.

  ‘We must not wake the other brothers yet,’ he said quietly. ‘I shall go and see for myself. You stay here.’

  The Abbot was back within moments and poured two goblets of wine for Brother Rufino and himself. His own hand was shaking as he drank. He had never seen the result of a violent death at first hand.

  ‘I shall give orders to toll the chapel bell,’ he said, struggling into his grey robes. ‘It shall suffice both as a passing bell for Ubaldo the merchant and to sound the alarm. The murderer may still be in the friary.’

  Even as he said it, the Abbot remembered that he was giving sanctuary to a man accused of murder. And murder by stabbing in the ribs with a short dagger, just as the merchant had been killed. But he thrust the thought to the back of his mind.

  The bell of the friars’ chapel next door woke the sisters from their deep sleep.

  ‘Lord have mercy!’ said Sister Cecilia, the novice who slept on a pallet beside Chiara. ‘Old Brother Filippo must have died in the infirmary.’

  ‘Who’s Brother Filippo?’ Chiara asked groggily, propping herself up on one elbow.

  ‘I told you,’ said Cecilia. ‘He was our priest before Brother Anselmo came. He is an old man – at least fifty – and their Infirmarian, Brother Rufino, has been treating him for the ague. We should pray for his soul.’

  Chiara didn’t quite see why she should get out from under her warm cloak and on to her knees on the cold floor for a friar she had never met.

  ‘We don’t even know it was him,’ she objected. But Sister Felicita was awake now on her other side, and reaching for her rosary.

  ‘Whoever it is, the Lord will know the right name,’ she said, suppressing a yawn. ‘We can just pray for a departed brother and say the Sorrowful Mysteries.’

  But before the three young women had got far in their prayers, the Abbess herself entered the dormitory.

  ‘Sisters in Christ,’ she said, as calmly as she could manage. ‘A messenger has come from the friary. Father Bonsignore sends to say that their guest, a merchant from Gubbio, has been stabbed in his sleep. The Abbot has sent two lay brothers to stand guard outside our door till daybreak. We shall not visit the chapel until at least Terce, but you may go to the refectory to break your fast as soon as it is light, unless I send to say it is not safe. The younger friars are searching the friary and grounds now for the murderer.’

  Chiara had a vision of Silvano the novice out in the dark with a blade-wielding assassin at large. She shuddered and drew her coarse grey mantle over her shoulders.

  ‘You may return to your prayers,’ said the Abbess. ‘And say the Mass for the Dead. A man has died unshriven and unprepared. Ubaldo of Gubbio will need all our help if he is to reach Heaven.’

  .

  CHAPTER SIX

  Suspicion

  Daybreak found both the religious houses of Giardinetto in disarray. The normal disciplines of early rising and saying the Offi
ce had broken down and both the friary and the convent were no longer places of order, quiet and safety.

  There had been deaths in the friary before, even deaths of visitors; in the early years of the fourteenth century, there were many reasons why a man’s life might come to a sudden end. But murder was something else. And Ubaldo’s blood left a stain on more than the flagstones.

  Everyone was talking of an intruder, yet there had been no theft. The outer doors were never bolted at night, so any stranger could have entered without alerting the friars, but there was the unspoken fear that the killer might have come from within the friary. One by one, the Abbot called each friar to his cell and questioned them closely about whether they had seen or heard anything unusual. It was Brother Taddeo, the Assistant Librarian, who first mentioned that Silvano had not come straight to the dormitory after supper.

  The Abbot immediately summoned the other novices, two of whom confirmed that Silvano had turned aside at the dormitory door and headed off towards the individual cells. Father Bonsignore sat in meditation for a while. He did not like to think that this personable young man, the son of his old friend, was a murderer. He had given him sanctuary at Giardinetto unhesitatingly and had not had any reason to regret it.

  Silvano was an obedient and willing member of the house, doing anything that was asked of him with good grace. He had settled well to work in the colour room and had good relations with the other friars, particularly Brother Anselmo. Nothing that the Abbot knew of him sat well alongside the bloody corpse of Ubaldo the merchant. Why would this young man commit this crime? Even if by some unlikely turn of events Silvano had really been guilty of the murder he was accused of in Perugia, why in Heaven’s name would he kill a visitor to the friary?

  The only explanation was that Silvano might be the victim of insanity, but the Abbot felt sure there would have been some outward sign before now. He sighed deeply and prayed for guidance before sending for the young man.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Chiara, straining to see what was happening over the wall of the friary. The three other novices, unable for once to contain their curiosity, were all with her.

  The two lay brothers who had stood guard over the convent through the dark hours were now breaking their fast in the sisters’ refectory and the nuns had abandoned their daily duties. The friary seemed to be equally disordered. Once the chapel bell had stopped tolling for Ubaldo, it had not sounded again and the first three Hours of the Office had been unsaid, except by some of the brothers in private.

  There had been many comings and goings of the friars across the yard between the refectory, where they had all been assembled, and the building where the Abbot and the other senior members had their individual cells.

  ‘There goes that new novice of theirs,’ said Sister Elisabetta.

  Chiara was surprised. So Elisabetta had noticed Silvano, in spite of all her insistence on downcast eyes and lack of interest in men.

  ‘He looks upset,’ said Sister Cecilia.

  ‘Of course he does,’ said Elisabetta. ‘It’s a terrible thing to happen in a House of God.’ She crossed herself piously.

  ‘Or anywhere,’ added Sister Paola.

  ‘Perhaps he found the body?’ suggested Cecilia.

  ‘Why do you think that?’ demanded Chiara.

  ‘Only that he seems to grieve more than you’d expect for a passing visitor,’ said Cecilia.

  ‘Let me see,’ said Chiara.

  It was true that Silvano was pale; she could see that even from this distance. But that could have been from lack of sleep and he had a naturally fair complexion. Chiara knew that she was not supposed to think of the colour of a young man’s face, but she couldn’t help it. Her father, her brother, a few family acquaintances in Gubbio – these were the only men she had met and none was as fair as Silvano. He made the cluster of novices around her seem swarthy.

  ‘Sister Orsola, what on earth do you think you are doing?’ a sharp voice rang out.

  Sister Eufemia, the Novice Mistress, was bustling across the courtyard to her charges. She looked scandalised.

  ‘Come away from the wall!’ ordered Eufemia. ‘You are disgracing our sisterhood!’

  Silvano was having a gruelling time with the Abbot. Since he had arrived at Giardinetto he had received nothing but kindness from the friars, especially Father Bonsignore, who often talked to Silvano about his university days with the Baron. Silvano had felt trusted and accepted and now all that was threatened by whoever had stuck a knife in Ubaldo the merchant. Silvano cursed his luck; if Ubaldo had to have an enemy and one who followed him to Giardinetto, why hadn’t the villain used a club or some poison? Anything but a dagger in the ribs.

  Immediately, Silvano felt ashamed of his thoughts.

  ‘You admit that you did not go straight to bed after supper?’ the Abbot was asking.

  ‘I went to see Brother Anselmo,’ said Silvano and instantly regretted it. He felt the colour rising in his face, even though what he was saying was true. ‘I went to see if he was better as he said he was unwell at supper.’

  ‘So Brother Anselmo will confirm that he saw you,’ said the Abbot.

  ‘Yes,’ said Silvano faltering. ‘He said he was feeling much better and that I should go to bed.’

  He knew he was making a bad job of this and that Bonsignore was looking at him suspiciously but it was better this way than that the Abbot should know that Anselmo was not in his cell when Silvano arrived. He wondered what the Colour Master would say when questioned. And relieved as he was to feel the burden of suspicion moving away from him, the last thing he wanted was to incriminate Brother Anselmo.

  Silvano knew what it was like to be suspected of a crime you had not committed. It was a crushing feeling and one that made it difficult to appear innocent. But he knew Brother Anselmo, even after a few weeks, and he was sure that he couldn’t have murdered anyone. Anselmo had said the same to him on the way to Assisi and Silvano remembered how much it had meant to him. He wanted to go and find Anselmo now and reassure him.

  The Colour Master did not seem to have a reason to kill or even dislike the visiting merchant, other than remarking he had drunk too much wine. But that was no reason to stab a man! Still, Silvano remembered that Anselmo had looked startled when he heard the merchant’s name. And he had behaved oddly at supper. Silvano hadn’t seen him since their brief meeting outside his cell the night before and he couldn’t help wondering where Anselmo had been.

  ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me?’ the Abbot was asking.

  ‘No, Father,’ said Silvano, feeling calmer now. Brother Anselmo would tell the Abbot everything, he was sure.

  Isabella was out when the messenger arrived from Giardinetto. It was a fine, sunny morning and although it was early she wanted to be out of the house and down at the market with her cook. She always had a restless feeling when Ubaldo was away. The sense of freedom was wonderful but always tinged by sadness, because it was an illusion. Her husband would be back.

  So it was with dragging steps that she returned to the grand house. Its master would not actually be home yet but his return hung like a cloud over the fine morning. It was especially at times like these that Isabella wondered how she would endure the rest of her days. She needed to see her children; that would cheer her heart.

  But there was a strange, still atmosphere in the house. It was unnaturally quiet. The children should have been up by now and making a noise. And the servants should have been bustling about their daily tasks. The man who opened the door cast his mistress a sympathetic look and her heart quickened. Something was wrong.

  Isabella’s maid hurried up to her. ‘Madama,’ she said.

  ‘Are the children all right?’ asked Isabella, her lips so stiff she could scarcely form the words.

  ‘Perfectly well and safe,’ said the maid. ‘Have no
fear on their account. But there is a messenger in the salon, from Giardinetto. He would speak with you.’

  Isabella braced herself for whatever news she was about to receive. ‘Has this messenger been brought refreshment?’ she asked calmly.

  ‘I will see to it immediately.’

  Isabella moved slowly towards the salon, removing her cap and smoothing her hair. Although her mind was a whirl, she sensed that what awaited her in that room was about to change her life for ever.

  ‘Come with me,’ said Sister Eufemia, abruptly to Chiara and Paola. ‘The Abbot has sent for some sisters to prepare the body for burial. You can come and help me.’

  Paola looked as horrified as Chiara felt. A man who had been a warm, living, breathing person was now a corpse – and one who bore on him the marks of a violent death. Yet even as she recoiled at the idea, Chiara also felt a strange fascination. And, besides, this was a chance to see inside the friars’ house.

  The three sisters crossed the short distance to the friary and Sister Eufemia announced their arrival to the man at the gate. The Abbot himself came to meet them.

  ‘Sisters in Christ,’ he said, looking tired and grey. ‘It is good of you to come. I trust the task will not be too much for you?’ His eyes flickered towards Chiara.

  ‘Not at all, Father,’ said Sister Eufemia. ‘I think you know Sister Paola and this is our new novice, Sister Orsola.’

  Chiara bent her head dutifully but really to hide the flash of anger she always felt when that name was used. Would she ever get used to it? The Abbot led them to the upper floor of the friars’ house, where the individual cells for the senior brothers were. There was a lay brother standing guard outside one of them.

  The Abbot signalled for him to stand aside and, as he did, another friar came along the corridor.