Bone of Contention Read online

  “What is it?” Magdalene asked anxiously. “Did I do so wrong in taking Loveday into my care?”

  For once William’s voice was low enough that only someone with an ear pressed to the curtain could hear him. “I don’t know yet about that,” he said, “but you know something about that betrothal that I don’t. I saw it in your face when she first claimed to be troth bound to Niall.”

  Magdalene smiled, but she couldn’t help being a little annoyed. Her bland expression had not fooled William. Again his bluff face had made her forget his keen mind…and he knew her at least as well as she knew him, possibly better. Doubtless he had watched her more carefully over the years, still unsure of how much he could trust a whore.

  “Oh, that,” Magdalene said. “She’s no more betrothed to Niall than I am, but I didn’t say anything because it doesn’t matter a bit. She’s quite determined to have him, and I suspect there are few things that Loveday of Otmoor wants that she cannot get. The servants will all swear just as she says—they would swear that the sky was green and the moon blue if she asked.”

  William nodded. “And Sir Brian will swear the same—unless he’s mad. From what Niall has told me, the Arvaghs are poor as mice. I doubt Sir Brian will cavil over the girl’s birth or whether or not she and Niall were betrothed four years ago when she brings rich lands with her.”

  “And William, she’s a nice girl. Do you remember the man you choked last night?”

  “Filthy sot.”

  “That was the man Waleran sent to Loveday.”

  William stared at her, blinking and blinking. “How do you know that?”

  “Sir Ferrau—the man who rushed out and begged you not to kill the one you were throttling—when he first tried to make that drunk let go of me, called him Aimery. Niall said he beat this St. Cyr unconscious. And Loveday says St. Cyr’s given name was Aimery. How many Aimerys all bruised and broken are likely to be in Oxford at this moment?”

  “I see. Well, first I’ll set Giles to discovering whether Waleran has any relationship to the girl or wants her lands. They are in a good place, I must say. I would like very much to have a loyal man of mine perched just a bit out of the way but near enough to Oxford to come down in force if needed. It was why I sent Niall out to speak to the girl so soon. Or could Waleran just have taken a hate to her? No, that’s impossible. Who was her father?”

  “Joseph of Otmoor. He was a breeder and shearer of sheep. Otmoor has perfect grazing for sheep, according to Loveday. But he’s been dead for at least four years.”

  William shook his head in puzzlement. “This whole business grows more ridiculous by the moment. I almost cannot believe it happened at all, but Niall is not given to imagining battles, nor were the knife slashes he bore figments of his mind. Still, before I act on Loveday’s letter, I must know whether Waleran is bent on some revenge against her. If not—” his mouth grew grim and hard “—that filth St. Cyr was deliberately chosen to force me to interfere.”

  He shrugged and put out a hand to pull the curtain aside. Magdalene slid in front of him to come out into the hallway first. She looked both ways into an empty corridor. “Be careful, William,” she said over her shoulder, and pulled the curtain farther aside for him to pass.

  “You always say that to me.” He laughed. “It makes me feel pleasantly like a young fool,” he said, and bent to give her a firm kiss on the lips.

  “Will you come back tonight?”

  A shadow darkened the front doorway as she asked. William turned away from her, his hand on his sword hilt, unable to see who it was against the light. But his laugh had alerted his guard, and they came out of the common room. William turned back to Magdalene.

  “No. I will linger in the Court tonight, dropping St. Cyr’s name here and there. I hope this is all some kind of mistake…”

  He turned away on the uncertain word and strode toward the door. Whoever had come in had wisely stepped into the common room to be out of the way. Magdalene stood looking after William, her brows creased in a worried frown. The whole business was unbelievable. Great lords like Waleran de Meulan and William of Ypres did not contest over a girl with a few farms and a few flocks of sheep.

  “I see you have enough company without me,” a tight voice snarled almost in her ear.

  Magdalene jumped. “Oh, Bell, I’m so glad to see you,” she said, paying no attention to his voice or the lips thinned over the other bed in the room. “She is an innocent maiden, and you are a vigorous and noisy—if most enjoyable—lover.”

  “She will learn something then. If you won’t give me a bed tonight, I won’t have one.”

  “Oh, I’ll share my bed. I just wanted to warn you that there will be a listener. You are often so coy about…ah…country matters.”

  He made a face. “Just how innocent is the maiden?”

  “I believe she is still a virgin, but she says she’s not innocent at all, after attending to the breeding needs of her manor for four years. But come and meet her yourself.”

  Bell rose without reluctance and they started for the door to Magdalene’s chamber but were caught as they came out of the whore’s room by a hard-eyed if pretty woman.

  “You owe me,” she said to Magdalene. “The man said you’d pay me for the use of my room.”

  “Yes, of course,” Magdalene said, and then to Bell, “Give her a penny, please. I don’t have my purse with me.”

  Without question Bell felt in his purse and drew out a silver penny, which he handed over. The woman smiled up at him. “I’m Geneva,” she said. “If your lady here is too busy with Lord William, I’ll be glad to make a place for you.”

  “That won’t be necessary, I’m sure,” Bell said coldly.

  “One can never tell,” the whore insisted, smiling more broadly. “Remember, I’m Geneva.”

  Magdalene was annoyed, not so much because Geneva had reminded Bell that Lord William had precedence—that was all to the good, Bell needed reminding—but because the interest in the whore’s eyes was not wholly financial. A man attractive to a whore was very attractive. She found Bell so, but hadn’t thought about other women. Cold washed over her. Could she be jealous? She was saved from having to answer that question by finding Loveday reading over two closely written pages and biting her lip uncertainly.

  “I hope there are no lies in the writing that will be too easy to point out,” Magdalene said with raised brows.

  Loveday’s glance flicked from her to Bell, and she looked angry. “Not another suitor!” she exclaimed.

  Magdalene laughed. “No, no. You are growing spoiled. This one is mine… I think. His name is Sir Bellamy of Itchen.”

  “And I am not in the market for a wife,” Bell said, and then asked, “Were you really reading that?”

  “Yes, and I wrote it, too,” Loveday snapped. “It is my complaint to the king about being threatened with a forged betrothal agreement when I was already betrothed. And an apology for not making clear to the clerk who made me the king’s ward that I was betrothed. No one asked me, and I was so distraught over my father’s and brothers’ deaths that I did not think of it. Then Niall was away with Lord William and I was so busy learning to manage the estate that I forgot.”

  “Will it hold together?” Magdalene asked.

  Loveday handed her the two sheets of parchment. “Read it over and see for yourself. I will have to buy more parchment for you. I used all you had.”

  Bell sat down on the stool across from Loveday and asked her a question about where her lands lay with respect to Oxford, and Magdalene also sat down and began to read. The document was very well put together and quite moving, when Loveday expressed her pain and grief over the death of her menfolk and her bewildered confusion as she tried to keep her lands from falling into disorder. She thanked the king most humbly for acting on the petition of her father’s friend Reinhardt Hardel, the London wool merchant, to acknowledge her as her father’s only heir and take her into ward to protect her. She explained her shock and terror
when Aimery St. Cyr told her he had permission to marry her and she realized her terrible oversight in not telling the king’s clerk of her prior betrothal to Sir Niall Arvagh of Murcot.

  Bell was getting up when Magdalene put the sheets of parchment back on the table. He said he would go out and get dinner for the three of them. Magdalene suggested that he take Diccon along and buy an extra dinner, pointing out that the boy was a fount of information and could probably tell him which alehouses were frequented by which lord’s meiny. When he had gone out, she turned to Loveday and smiled.

  “If I did not know better, I would have believed you,” she said. “Now we only need to tell Niall that he has been betrothed for at least four years and arrange that he have time enough to ride over to Murcot and tell his father.”

  They talked over the possibility of going to Noke themselves, possibly with Bell’s escort, but Loveday was afraid that they would run afoul of St. Cyr with a whole troop. And the moment Loveday said it, Magdalene had a vision of Bell trying to fight a whole troop and lost her enthusiasm for leaving the city.

  By the time Bell returned, they had settled on seeing if St. Friedesweide had any parchment to sell or would tell them where to go to buy some—more than two sheets, because copies were needed. When Magdalene had kept a house in Oxford, the archdeacon who taught her to read and write had provided parchment, which cost him nothing.

  Bell kept Diccon so busy talking that the boy had hardly time to eat his meal and no time at all to learn anything about Loveday except what Magdalene wanted him to know. He was told that her name was Maeve, that she was not a whore but, for private reasons of her own, had agreed to go with Magdalene to the Old Priory Guesthouse in Southwark. There she would be broached and relieved of her virginity by one particular man, who had paid well for the privilege.

  Diccon accepted that without question or further interest. He was aware that to some men the broaching of a virgin was especially exciting and that they would pay well above the cost for an ordinary futtering; he was also aware that the same “virgin” might be broached several times and that the later “broachings” were often more ceremonious and costly than the first. In any case it had nothing to do with him and he concentrated on answering the questions of Mistress Magdalene’s man, who promised to be a most excellent source of meals and money in exchange for information.

  When the boy had been drained dry and they had all finished eating, Magdalene and Loveday veiled themselves and they all went out. The monks of St. Friedesweide had no parchment to sell, but the sacristan sent them to the archivist, who was able to tell them about a leatherworker by St. Michael’s Church near the North Gate who often had small quantities of parchment for sale.

  On coming out of St. Friedesweide, Magdalene and Loveday shed their veils. Nothing marked Magdalene as a whore, so Loveday did not need to hide her acquaintance with her and Loveday almost wished they would encounter St. Cyr. He would not dare try to seize her on a street in town, and if he did…there was something about Bell that implied Aimery would have even less luck with him than he had had with Niall.

  For Magdalene the same reason applied for not needing to keep her presence from contaminating Loveday. For herself, in the company of another woman and a strong, armed man, it was unlikely that anyone would accost her. However, Bell only accompanied them along the Cornmarket to the first crossroad on the right, which some called Market Street, where he entered an alehouse called The Broached Barrel.

  “I will be back when I am back,” he said to Magdalene.

  “Any time will do,” she replied, “a whorehouse is always open. Just don’t get so drunk that you spew.”

  He laughed and strode through the door. Magdalene and Loveday continued on to St. Michael’s Church by the North Gate. Nestled close to the church wall was the leatherworker’s shop recommended by the archivist. The master came forward bowing and smiling, prepared to offer worked leather for shoes or pouches, belts or gloves, but his eyes opened in surprise when Magdalene asked to see what parchment he had in stock.

  To avoid a long argument about women having no need for parchment, Magdalene told him it was a gift for her brother. The doubt smoothed away from the merchant’s face and he brought out several boxes filled with sheets of differing quality. He was disturbed again when Loveday and Magdalene discussed the stock too knowledgeably, sometimes freely disagreeing when he suggested this or that. However, as soon as he saw the glint of their silver, he grew most accommodating and their needs were rolled and tied and dropped into Magdalene’s basket.

  Idly, now, they strolled along in the market, looking at this and at that and talking comfortably. For all that Magdalene was almost ten years older than Loveday, the younger woman’s years of experience in managing her estate and ruling a substantial number of servants lent her a true maturity. They passed another alehouse, The Wheat Sheaf, and two shops down found themselves in front of Perry Redding’s mercery. Both stopped to look at the ribbons and embroidery yarn, Magdalene indifferently, just to see if anything new had been added, Loveday with a newly heightened attention.

  “Would that shade of blue or green suit Niall?” she asked. “That hair of his… I could never use red.”

  “The green is closer to his eyes,” Magdalene said. “And you are right, of course, about avoiding red, but if you are going to make his tunics of blue or green, brown or amber ribbons for neck and sleeves and then embroidery in the blues and greens—”

  “Loveday!” a young man shouted, rushing from the doorway of The Wheat Sheaf to seize Loveday’s arm.

  “Let go of her, sir!” Magdalene snapped, her hand going to her knife hilt.

  But even as her fingers closed around it she knew this was not Aimery St. Cyr nor any friend of his. Although he was a few finger widths taller than Loveday, this was a slender stripling with a wealth of tumbled curls—which could have been cleaner—large if somewhat bloodshot brown eyes, and a full, petulant mouth.

  “Oh, Jules, do let go,” Loveday said in an exasperated voice. “You silly boy, you are bruising my arm.”

  Magdalene relaxed her grip on her knife. It was quite apparent that Loveday knew the young man and had no fear of him.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice high with excitement. “What happened to you? I heard the most horrible tale about some man claiming you were betrothed to him and trying to seize you. And your servants wouldn’t open the gate for me.”

  “There would have been no point in letting you in,” Loveday said calmly, “since you were asking for me, no doubt, and I wasn’t there. The tale was true, but the betrothal agreement was a forgery. Nonetheless, when my brother-by-marriage—”

  “What brother-by-marriage?” Jules shouted.

  As Loveday began to remind the young man of her eldest brother’s marriage shortly before his death, Magdalene became aware of another man standing a few paces beyond Jules. He was staring at her and then glancing sidelong at Loveday. His mouth hung slightly open with surprise and indecision, and, with a sinking heart, Magdalene realized it was Lord Ormerod. She moved quickly to his side.

  “She knows who and what I am,” Magdalene said. “The brother-by-marriage of whom she speaks is one of William of Ypres’ captains and it is he who placed her in my care to save her from being abducted and forced into marriage. He hopes to change his kinship to her from brother-by-marriage to husband so rumor of her whereabouts cannot hurt her.”

  Ormerod frowned. “Husband? Another suitor? Jules says she is promised to him.”

  Magdalene giggled. “By whom? From her manner to him, I would doubt that. Still, maybe you should tell him who I am and that Loveday is lodged in the Soft Nest with me. It would cool his ardour quickly enough.”

  “I am not so sure of that,” Ormerod said, his lips twisting. “I suspect it is the lands Jules wants more than the lady. He was greatly overset at hearing of St. Cyr’s having a betrothal agreement and confided in me that he had been a little too free-spending because he h
ad been sure of a marriage that would cover all his debts.”

  “To you, too?” Magdalene asked.

  Ormerod made a dismissive gesture. “Very little. A few pounds from when he came to the Council at Westminster to be confirmed heir to his father’s estate. The old man died at the turn of the year. London is expensive. Jules ran short.”

  Magdalene had a feeling that Jules’s debt to Lord Ormerod was a good deal higher than the few pounds Ormerod spoke of so lightly. She wondered whether, in fact, it was that debt that brought Ormerod to Oxford during the king’s Council and whether Ormerod’s purpose was to go before the king to lay a claim to this Jules’s lands to satisfy that debt.

  “He has managed to ruin himself with surprising speed if the estate only came into his hands at the turn of the year,” Magdalene remarked.

  “His father was the same kind.”

  The sour voice in which Ormerod spoke made Magdalene wonder whether the debt was Jules’s or his father’s, but it was really none of her business. At that moment she was distracted by the young man crying out, “What? He dared insult you that way? Why did you not tell him that you were pledged to me, Jules of Osney—?

  “Oh Jules,” Loveday sighed, “because it is not true. You have asked me to marry you, but you know that I have not accepted and I will not.”

  “I should think I am a better choice than this Aimery St. Cyr.”

  Loveday laughed. “A mowing ape would be better than him, but you must stop speaking of me as if I were promised to you, Jules. We were playmates as children but that time is long gone. Perhaps our fathers did think we might be suitable, but then my brother and his wife died and my father began to plan another arrangement—”

  “I do not believe it! Why should he?”

  Loveday’s voice sharpened. “Perhaps because he heard certain things about debts that he didn’t like. Perhaps because I protested that you and I were too much like brother and sister. I was not willing then and am not willing now.”

  “Nonsense! Of course you are willing.” He watched her shake her head and saw her expression of pity, and went on, “Oh, I see, you are saying that because you fear for me. You need not, and you should send to me at once if that creature troubles you again. I will protect you.”