‘He also mentioned that Brother Daniel was the architect of their destinies, that is close enough to builder, is it not? If so, then our note has once more been exact in its prophecy.’
‘Excellent!’ He patted me on the back, in a good mood. ‘You are learning. The author of our note has once again been correct, and we shall see if he tells us any more secrets, only then shall we know that he is not one and the same as our poor brother. Did you see Anselmo in the crowd of faces?’
I shook my head.
He walked around the room, setting straight a small table that had been overturned. ‘We see evidence of a scuffle.’ He pulled absently at his beard. ‘This adds weight to our argument . . .’ He looked down at the bloodied floor and at the wall behind the pallet, splattered in strange patterns of dark red. ‘The killer will have blood on his clothes and on his shoes, therefore, we should see some prints on the floor . . . yes, here we see the print of a day shoe, perhaps belonging to the monk who found him, perhaps belonging to the killer. We cannot discount that they may be one and the same person, for there is also a little of our red dirt surrounding it . . . but that could have been there before his footstep, at which time the two combined. It may have belonged to Daniel himself from another time . . .’
‘So we are still no closer to arriving at the truth.’
‘We are always closer. In the next few hours we must notice any dark stain on the shoes or clothes of any of the monks. But one moment!’ He paused suddenly very still. ‘We heard those footsteps in the tunnels around an hour before the holy service, that is some time between the tenth and the eleventh hours.’
‘Why do you say an hour, master?’
‘Because we had enough time to investigate the library and to make our way back to the church before matins. The circa says he helped Daniel to the latrine at about that time, so he was still alive, though he could not have been the one we heard coming towards us in the labyrinth, for he was too frail, the footsteps we heard were those of a youthful monk.’
‘Because they were strong and steady of gait.’
‘Precisely. If this imprint of dirt belongs to the killer then the murder must have occurred after the killer returned from the labyrinth with red dirt on his shoes.’
‘So the murder must have been committed sometime while we were in the library or on our way to the church, and not after, otherwise we would have seen the suspect leave the labyrinth, for he would have had to come out of the Lady Chapel.’
‘That is true, or perhaps he left the tunnels later by way of the scriptorium, the same way we did, in which case the murder was perpetrated between the time we left the scriptorium, and the bells for matins, that is, while we were inspecting the organ . . . On the other hand, there may be other exits . . . and then again, perhaps others who come and go from the tunnel, and that means our hypothesis is shot! We must find out where our Brother Setubar was during the time of the murder.’
‘But does Setubar know Greek?’
‘That is the second thing we must find out, assuming that the author of the note is the same monk who has commited these crimes.’
We made our way down the night stairs, intending to leave by way of the aperture, but when we walked past the scriptorium we noticed Brother Macabus sitting at his desk.
His figure cut an ominous shape in the dim light from his lamp. Surrounded by shadows he appeared to be in deep concentration. I followed my master until we were almost upon him, giving him a start, and causing him to stand up abruptly. I saw him cover his work with a sheet of vellum as he greeted us with a saddened expression that appeared not altogether genuine.
‘Such dedication,’ my master commented amiably.
A pale smile moved his thin lips, ‘I find, preceptor, that when I am disturbed, it is best if I apply myself to some work. Tonight I fear that we are all disturbed . . .’
‘Yes, and to what work do you apply yourself?’ My master lifted the sheet of vellum to reveal pages of what looked like Hebrew, and alongside this another sheet where he had begun only a few lines in Latin.
‘You are translating the Old Testament directly from Aramaic?’
‘Yes.’ The man looked a little nervous. Everyone seemed so nervous.
‘Extraordinary. I know very little in comparison with true men of learning such as you. Why not from Greek?’ My master asked.
‘The Semitic language was, of course, the original language of the Old Testament, preceptor, it was only much later that it was translated into Greek.’
‘However, Moses, having been raised by Egyptians, could have used the language of his keepers, could he not?’