Read Online The Moneylender of Toulouse by Alan Gordon - Free Book Online Page B

Béatrix took a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her mouth.
    â€œBy the door,” whispered Helga.
    A priest was entering as the crowd settled back into their seats. He took a bench by the far wall, pulling his cowl down. It was the first time that I got a good look at his face, which was slightly reminiscent of a greyhound, but he was the one who had been with the Bishop.
    â€œThe priest by the door,” I murmured to Jordan. “Know him?”
    â€œFather Mascaron,” replied Jordan. “The Bishop’s right-hand man. Why?”
    â€œHe and the surviving Borsella brothers nearly came to blows in public yesterday.”
    â€œNo!” exclaimed Jordan, and people turned to shush him.
    A pair of guards holding halberds took up position on either side of the coffin, then thumped the floor for silence.
    â€œIn the name of Raimon the Sixth, Count of Toulouse, I open these proceedings,” said Calvet, standing by the coffin. “An inquiry into the death of Milon Borsella. Who found him?”
    â€œI did,” said a man wearing mail over a leather coat, an iron hat plopped atop a thick, round head.
    â€œApproach and give your name,” said the baile.
    â€œStephen de Villanova,” said the man. “Member of the nightwatch.”
    â€œTake the oath,” ordered the baile, and the soldier was sworn in. “Report.”
    â€œI was making my rounds, walking along the canal, making sure no one had fallen in, which is what I usually have to do,” began de Villanova. “There are taverns near the Bazacle, and those coming home can’t always tell the path from the water, or go off the path to relieve themselves, so I’m half the night hauling them out and pointing in the right direction.”
    â€œShouldn’t you be locking them up?” asked the baile.
    â€œNot enough jails in Toulouse for all the drunks out after gates close,” said the soldier, and there was a quiet, amused murmur of agreement from the room.
    â€œFair enough,” said the baile. “Continue.”
    â€œWell, right around dawn breaking, I heard a splash off to my left, and I thought, here we go again,” said de Villanova. “Then I realized it wasn’t from the canal, and I hurried, because I figured someone went into one of the tanning pits, and that could blind a man if he doesn’t get help. But there were a lot of pits to check, and it wasn’t until I got to the fourth one that I saw him.”
    â€œHow did he appear?” asked the baile.
    â€œHe was floating face down,” said the soldier. “I could see he was dead right away. The back of his head was caved in, you can see it right here.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t try and remove him?”
    â€œNot if he was dead,” said the soldier. “I sounded my horn and waited for help. We kept everything as it was until we found you, Senhor.”
    â€œWhen you first saw him, did you see blood?” asked the baile.
    â€œBack of his head was covered in it,” said the soldier, and there was a brief sob from Béatrix. “Begging your pardon, Domina. The waters in the pit washed it away by the time he was pulled out.”
    â€œAnd you heard no outcry?” asked the baile. “No blow being struck? No one fleeing into the night?”
    â€œNo, no, and no, Senhor,” said the soldier. “Whoever did it was a quiet one. Might have been watching me the whole time, for all I know.”
    â€œIf he was floating facedown, how did you know it was Milon Borsella?” asked the baile.
    â€œThat’s what I wanted to know,” muttered my wife.
    â€œI knew him,” said the soldier. “I recognized his clothes. And I saw him walking the other way early evening, when I was beginning my rounds.”
    â€œWas it unusual for him to be out in your vicinity?”
    â€œOh, no, your honor,” said the soldier. “He lives in the bourg,