Chains of Folly Read online

  Magdalene shook her head. “There was nothing you could have done.” She was perfectly sincere. She could not imagine the man who supported the mouse or any other man in the area capable of interfering with the person that generated caution in Bell and likely no one would have been willing anyway. “You had seen him before also?” she added.

  “Oh, yes. Nelda did not…solicit from the street. I…I would not have agreed to live next to a…a common whore. It was only men she knew,” Tayte’s small face pinched into disapproval. “But she was far too free with her favors.”

  “The big man. Did he come often?”

  “Not often, and even then he did not always…ah…sleep with her. Usually Nelda was waiting for him and they went out together at once. Nelda usually carried a basket and she often came back alone. Once I heard them quarreling as they came up the stairs.”

  This must be the man that Umar and Fatima had spoken of. Nelda must have carried home her purchases in the basket. “Was that the time he beat her?”

  “Oh, no, a week or two before that, and then he didn’t do anything, only yelled at her. That Monday, I didn’t hear him come at all. And—and I don’t know when he left either. I—I closed my door. But—but Nelda was all right. I knocked on her door later. If he was still there or she hadn’t answered, I would have called the Watch. But she did answer and I asked if she wanted me to fetch a leech or anything. She said no, and her voice was not weak.”

  Magdalene restrained a smile with some difficulty. For all her propriety, Tayte apparently kept a close watch on her neighbor out of curiosity or boredom.

  “She was not seriously hurt by the beating,” Magdalene agreed. “When her body was found, the bruises were all healing. But on that Thursday, the day she died, did you hear anything else? See anything? Anything at all?”

  Now Magdalene took three silver pennies out of her purse and laid them on the table. Tayte looked at them, then looked away. Then she said slowly, “I told you that my man came that day and we were busy.” Tayte looked down at the coins again. “Oh, wait. I do remember something strange, but it was nothing to do with the man who came. After…after a time for them to be together, Nelda went out with bowls and pots and then came back with food. But still later—it was almost dark—I heard footsteps on the stairs, and I opened my door and ran out because I thought it was my man.”

  “Yes?” Magdalene said encouragingly.

  “But it wasn’t my man, it was Nelda, coming up the stairs again—I hadn’t heard her go out. She must have taken care to be very quiet because I was listening for my man and would have heard. And she was holding something folded in her hand. It must have been a piece of parchment.” Tayte shook her head. “But what would Nelda be doing with a piece of parchment?”

  “I have no idea,” Magdalene said, and pushed the coins over toward Nelda. “And you heard and saw nothing else?”

  “No.” Tayte’s eyes were on the coins, but she did not grab for them. “My man came in as soon as Nelda was back in her place. We went into my room and…and we were busy. Later it was so hot, we went out to walk on the bridge and to eat an evening meal at a cookshop. And when we came back we were busy again.”

  “Thank you,” Magdalene said. “I hope you will not be offended if Sir Bellamy wishes to come and ask you some questions. I promise he will be gentle and do you no harm at all. If you do not want a man in your room—I understand that—we would meet you in some public place, like a cookshop or someplace in the East Chepe.”

  The mouse looked frightened, but then looked down at the three silver pennies again and nodded. Magdalene smiled at her and left. As she picked her way carefully down the stair her mind was very busy. Parchment? Nelda was carrying a folded piece of parchment? The letter?

  Then she realized it could not have been Gloucester’s letter. Nelda was coming up the stair, going into her apartment. A piece of parchment to replace the letter she was about to steal? That meant that the man in Nelda’s room had been the man who was carrying the letter. And his name was Sir John.

  Not so utterly useless a name after all. Between her and Bell, they should be able to decide who was eager enough to damage Winchester and also had enough influence to appeal to Gloucester. Then if there was a Sir John trusted enough in the service of those lords to be sent on such an errand, they might have the man who had his hands around Nelda’s neck and killed her…apurpose or by accident.

  Magdalene walked home briskly and found her women half through dinner. The women could not afford to delay the meal because their clients would be arriving soon. Although Magdalene did not really like to have anyone in the house when the clients came, today she was so eager to tell Bell what she had discovered that she was sorry he had not come.

  She had to possess her soul in patience, however, for Bell did not come even after her women were all at work. A minor reward for patience made waiting easier when she recognized Diot’s client as a successful apothecary. With satisfaction Magdalene told herself that he would know about the cakes from unripe poppy seed juice—what they did and what they cost. She had accepted what Umar and Fatima said without questions, not wanting to display her ignorance, but she really had no idea what they were talking about.

  Thus, she waylaid Diot and her client on their way out of the back door, and drew them aside to a bench in the garden. He sat down heavily, with a sigh and a glance up at Diot, who stood just behind him and tickled his ear.

  “I need a little of your knowledge, Master Apothecary,” Magdalene said. “How common is eating poppy?”

  He looked at her in patent surprise and shrugged. “It could not be common because of the cost. Wherever did you hear of such a thing?”

  “It is not forbidden, is it?” Magdalene asked.

  The apothecary laughed. “No more forbidden than swallowing diamonds. Who could afford to do so? Where agony is excruciating, the juice of the unripe poppy can be given to abate the pain and provide sleep, but it is a rare drug to find.” Then the man’s expression changed to sharp interest. “Do you know where cakes from poppy juice can be obtained? Only rarely do they come upon the market.”

  “Well, I do, and those who spoke to me of it did not make of it any secret. Only they spoke in a place private to them and perhaps spoke more freely for that, not realizing that I thought what they said common knowledge. Oh, I never would have mentioned it but for the ease with which they spoke. I can see you would be interested in hearing more, but I must ask first if I am permitted to say more.”

  Although the man looked faintly chagrined, he nodded, then glanced up at Diot with a smile. “I will be back on my regular date,” he said. “May I hope that you will have more to tell me then?”

  “Yes, I promise I will have at least a yea or nay for you and perhaps something even more.”

  On the words, Magdalene stood and the man did too. She waited while Diot accompanied her client around the house toward the gate, then went inside herself. She sat down before her embroidery frame and began to ply her needle while her women restored their rooms to an unused appearance. The men who came to her women all knew there were other men, of course, but part of what they paid a premium price for was that no hint of that usage should appear. The rooms were all clean and tidy, the beds made, the women washed and fresh.

  If the dried juice of the poppy was so valuable, Magdalene thought, was that another reason for Nelda being beaten? Was the man who killed her trying to choke the source out of her? She embroidered carefully, considering whether the big man mentioned by Letice’s compatriots could have been due a share of the profits out of which Nelda tried to cheat him, or just decided that it was worthwhile to take the whole of a shipment. Would Umar have sold to him directly if he said that he was acting as Nelda’s agent or said she would come no more? Would that be temptation enough to dispose of Nelda?

  She found no answers to her questions and wondered whether Bell had yet spoken to the man who had called Nelda a thieving bitch. When the bell rang, she jum
ped up eagerly to answer it, aware that it was earlier than any of the second group of clients should arrive. She hoped it was Bell, and was considerably disappointed to see Raoul de Samur instead.

  “Let me in. Don’t want to be seen,” he said.

  Magdalene was half tempted to slam the gate in his face. Their acquaintance had not begun amicably. Raoul had first pretended to be a client but had threatened Sabina and Magdalene, too, when she came to her whore’s rescue. Raoul wanted to force from them the whereabouts of a papal pouch gone missing from the body of the messenger, who had been murdered. Clever and brutal but contemptuous both of women and whores, he had underestimated Magdalene and the blind Sabina, who between them had rendered him unconscious and, with Bell’s help, delivered him to William of Ypres’ hands.

  The capture had turned out none so ill for Raoul, although Magdalene knew he had not at first expected to survive his mistake. Instead of death, William had implanted firm hooks into Raoul that would ensure his destruction if he betrayed his new master. But Magdalene had reason to know Raoul did not fret against those hooks; he was now happily a double agent. William paid him well, not only in coin but also in news William wanted Waleran to hear; in return Raoul brought William information Waleran did not want William to know.

  That knowledge made Magdalene open the gate and stand aside for him to enter, but she said, “I have no woman free for you.”

  “You never do, do you?” he snarled and then grinned. “And I can afford it on my own now. But I didn’t come for a woman. I heard about the attack on the bishop of Winchester and I felt I’d better let Lord William know not to waste his time hinting to the king it was Lord Waleran or his brother Hugh. He’ll lose even more of the king’s favor if he does. Lord Waleran has no intention of interfering in any way with the bishop’s convocation.”

  Magdalene’s eyes opened wide. “Then it was not Beaufort who sent men to attack the bishop on Saturday!”

  Raoul frowned and made a grimace. “That I cannot swear, but I don’t think it was. And I think he was very angry about the signals that were set up as a lure opposite Paul’s Wharf, as if, if the bishop were taken, he was to be carried across the river to Baynard’s Castle.”

  “That is very interesting. I will pass the word to Sir Bellamy.”

  “Tell him he owes me,” Raoul said, lifting his lip in an unpleasant gesture. “And about the convocation, too. Lord Waleran is very eager for it to take place.”

  “Eager? Why?”

  “Why not?” Raoul said, sneering. “Lord Waleran bemoans Winchester’s disloyalty to the king, but he has been laughing to himself about the convocation ever since he heard of it.”

  “Laughing?” Magdalene repeated furiously. She loathed Waleran de Meulan because of how he had hurt William and usurped William’s place in the king’s favor. “Winchester is now the pope’s legate, not a man to laugh at.”

  “Oh, use your head. Can you think of anything that will make the king less fond of his brother than being called to order like a naughty child? Lord Waleran’s purpose is to rule the king without Winchester’s interference. So, of course, he’s glad of the convocation. What, after all, can Winchester do, legate or not? If you think the bishops are going to dare threaten excommunication after what Stephen did to Salisbury, you’re more a fool than I. And when the letter from Gloucester is made public—”

  Magdalene caught her breath. “What do you know about the letter from Gloucester?”

  Raoul was silent for a moment, his lips thinned to an angry line. “So you knew about it already? How do you know? God, don’t tell me that loose-mouthed fool spilled it to his whore? I expected to be well paid by Lord William when you passed him the news.”

  Magdalene did not answer the remark about Sir John spilling his news to a whore. Let Raoul believe what he liked, but she asked in turn how he had learned of the letter.

  Raoul shook his head. “That one really has a loose mouth. Two—no, three nights agone this idiot Sir John of Rouen came to Baynard’s Castle begging lodging of Lord Hugh. He said he had arrived from Normandy, from visiting Robert of Gloucester’s court, where he had told Gloucester of the renewed bitterness aroused in Henry of Winchester by King Stephen’s assault on three bishops. He had spoken of Mandeville’s, his own master’s, uneasiness regarding the king’s action.”

  “If Sir John was Mandeville’s man, why not go to the Tower? What was he doing in Baynard’s Castle giving such news to Hugh Beaufort?”

  Raoul shrugged. “Why he did not go to the Tower for a bed, I have no idea. Why he told Lord Hugh about the letter is likely because he thinks Mandeville would not mind news damaging to Winchester be spread abroad, and—” his eyebrows took a cynical lift “—perhaps Lord Hugh found a trinket or two for him or contributed to his traveling expenses.”

  “I see. Perhaps for the same reason you should bring William the news about Gloucester’s letter anyway,” Magdalene urged. “You will be quicker to arrive wherever he is than any messenger I can send. And you will benefit by telling him yourself, even if going to him carries some danger. It will make him believe you are still honest.”

  “Bitch! I am honest with Lord William, and don’t you go hinting to him I’m not. Why else would I warn him not to try to involve Lord Waleran in Winchester’s troubles? But I’m not going back to where Lord William is. After Devizes yielded, Lord Waleran and the king went to Salisbury, taking the bishop of Salisbury with them. The king sent Lord William off to seize Malmesbury. I won’t be near there, so you better find your own messenger.”

  Magdalene stared silently for a moment. Raoul was almost certainly playing a double game in the news he brought about Waleran, but even so it was likely good advice. She and Bell had guessed on their own that Hugh would not have ordered Winchester be held in a warehouse nearly opposite his stronghold. Then she nodded. Actually she did know of a way to find a messenger who would arrive as quickly or more quickly than Raoul himself. There were always a few of William’s men in the house on the grounds of the White Tower. It was a convenient relay station if he needed to pass orders to his principal keep at Rochester. One of William’s captains would arrange to send her news to William.

  “And you tell Lord William that I brought the news about the letter from Gloucester!” Raoul’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Damn that fool of a Sir John! No wonder he arrived when half the night was gone. He was busy spilling all his master’s business to a whore. He said he had come off a ship that came in on the night tide.”

  Magdalene struggled to breathe evenly, as if what Raoul said had no special meaning to her. But if the Sir John Raoul named arrived at Baynard’s Castle—that had to be where Raoul came from, carrying messages or news from Waleran de Meulan to his youngest brother, Hugh—if this Sir John arrived late at night, had he really come off a ship? Or had he come late at night after putting Nelda in Winchester’s bedchamber? She would soon know. Tom Watchman could find out when the tide had come in Thursday night and whether a ship had berthed that night.

  “Loose-mouthed he certainly was,” she said, pretending irritation. “He apparently spilled his news all over Baynard’s Castle readily enough.”

  Raoul only nodded sourly, assuring Magdalene that it was Baynard’s Castle to which Sir John had gone. “Well,” he said, lips twisted. “He was sure the news would please Lord Hugh, and that it would do Lord Mandeville good with Lord Waleran so it wasn’t disloyal or stupid to tell Lord Hugh. But to spill the whole to a whore…” He shook his head.

  So Sir John was in service to Lord Geoffrey Mandeville! Bell would surely be able to find him, and it was likely that they had their man, Magdalene thought. If he had discovered that Nelda had stolen the letter, he might well have killed her trying to get it back. And then, desperate to have something with which to please his master, he conceived the idea of placing Nelda in Winchester’s bedchamber.

  Magdalene was aware of a real gratitude to Raoul. Not only had he probably solved the question of who had
killed Nelda and put her in Winchester’s bedchamber, but the news that Devizes had fallen without need of an assault was precious to her. That meant that William was safe. She did not know what she thought about the king keeping Waleran with him and sending William off alone to take Malmesbury. She hoped it was not that Malmesbury Keep was expected to resist so that William would have to lead the fighting. He was getting too old to climb scaling ladders.

  No, she thought, if there were going to be fighting at Salisbury, Stephen would not have divided his army. Doubtless Malmesbury was also expected to yield without a fight but it was not as rich a prize as Salisbury. Magdalene wrinkled her nose. She could only pray that Waleran would steal so much that the king would notice and withdraw his doting regard.

  Possibly Raoul would say even more, but she did not want him to guess how much he had told her. She said ungraciously, “Come in, if you will. None of my women is free, but I can give you a cup of wine.”

  However, her effort to extract more from Raoul and even several cups of William’s good wine were wasted. She heard more about how the Beauforts thought they could profit from Winchester’s efforts to avenge the despite done the Church, but learned nothing new. When the bell rang again, this time to admit a client, Magdalene took Raoul out by the back door and made sure he took his horse and rode away.

  * * * *

  Bell’s afternoon was nearly as fruitful as Magdalene’s, but at a much higher cost in effort and frustration. Having seen the bishop safely home, he had set off for Monkwell Street where he confirmed without difficulty that Father Holdyn had been in the desecrated church on Sunday night. Moreover, the priest of that church, impressed with Father Holdyn’s dedication to solving a problem that was not his, had also told Bell that he had offered Holdyn a bed because he stayed until nearly Complin.

  He then rode down to the bishop’s palace, where a few questions to the servants told him what time Holdyn had returned to the palace on Sunday night. They remembered clearly, not because Holdyn had questioned them about the loss of his crucifix but because they had been concerned about his late return. It was just after Complin that he had come. Bell realized at once that there had not been enough time for Holdyn to do anything except walk from Monkwell Street to the palace. Holdyn could not have gone to Nelda’s house and coupled with her and either paid with or had the crucifix stolen.