A Mortal Bane Page 16

  He smiled slowly, a real smile, not a stiff rictus of the lips. “I thank you, but I have no desire whatsoever to lie with any of your women. It is not carnal relief I desire, but you.”

  Magdalene, who had started to relax when he seemed so calm, tensed again. Nervously, she shook her head. “It is useless to desire me. I no longer sell my body to any man who has my price, and I have no other reason to lie with you.”

  Still smiling, he asked, “Are you sure I could not give you a reason?”

  The sensuous quality in smile and voice assured Magdalene that his question was not a threat, but a promise. She could not help smiling in reply and letting go of her little knife, surprised by a stirring of interest. He was a fine, strong man and not so old or brutal as William of Ypres. He would make a pleasant lover, possibly even a satisfying one, if his easy assurance of his own ability was not self-delusion. She was tempted to discover whether that was true, but as the thought came to her, a freezing fear followed. He wanted her, not a whore. Down that road lay the deaths of two men. She shook her head.

  “Yes, I am certain.” The look that replaced his smile made her raise a hand placatingly. “Please do not be offended. I have no fault to find with you as a man; indeed, you are most appealing. You are clean and good to look at, with a sharp mind and a beautiful body. You desire me as a person rather than simply for your own body’s satisfaction with any whore, which is flattering, but for all of that, you cannot wake any answering desire in me.”

  “I do not believe you.” He was smiling again.

  Magdalene sternly resisted the impulse to look away and wondered if he had read something in her face. She thought she had controlled her expression, but at this moment, despite reminding herself of danger, her last statement was a flat lie. She did not want to lie to Bell, but it was all the safety she could offer him and herself.

  “Believe me or not,” she insisted, “what I say is true. As I told the bishop this morning, one sin that hardly ever touches any whore is the sin of lust. Some begin because they enjoy the work and then lose their taste for it. But whoring was never my choice. I assure you, now that I do not need to spread my legs or starve, I cannot be tempted.”

  The smile disappeared. That last crudity disgusted him, as she intended.

  “You must have given poor recompense for what you were paid when you did practice your trade,” Bell said nastily.

  “Certainly I could never offer what Ella does.” Magdalene could not help laughing. “That is why so many men come back to her again and again, even though her conversation must leave much to be desired.” Then pride pricked her and before she thought, she added, “I had clients enough, however, so I suppose if my enthusiasm for futtering was less, I offered pleasures of other kinds.”

  “But you will not offer them to me?”

  “No.” A flat, unadorned statement.

  Magdalene braced herself, but Bell was smiling again. He should have been more furious over that flat refusal than he had been when she first misunderstood his question about how much she charged, but he looked pleased. Magdalene did not understand his attitude at all. It was as if he wanted her to refuse him. But if that were so…no, she had no time to think out so complicated a notion. He had begun to laugh and she decided to temporize.

  “Not now, anyway. You may say that you are already being accused of lying to protect us, but I have the feeling that you are a very poor liar. Now if you are asked whether you have enjoyed any of our favors and you say ‘no,’ there will be no shift of your eyes, no color in your face, no twitch of hand or shoulder to betray unease.”

  “Nonsense,” he replied, grinning. “I will show even more signs of distress because of my unfulfilled desire whereas, having sated myself, I would show only disgust.”

  Magdalene raised her brows. “You offer disgust of me as a temptation to satisfy your desire?”

  “Not disgust of you. Of myself for having yielded to weakness.” He chuckled softly. “But I do not believe I would feel that. I am not at all sure it is a weakness to desire you. In fact, I think that takes courage near to foolhardiness.”

  Before she could control her reaction, Magdalene’s eyes had dropped. Furious with herself, she raised them at once, but she knew Bell had seen her response to his flattery. She stared at him defiantly.

  “Do not dignify it with such a description. To desire me is simply stupid, not bravely foolhardy.”

  As he was about to reply, another door opened. This time two pairs of footsteps went down the corridor toward the back door. Bell glanced over his shoulder and saw that the light beyond the oiled parchment covering the window was dimmer. He frowned, considering whether he wanted to ask to share their evening meal and decided not to provide more fuel to any burning suspicions about his relationship with Magdalene and her women. He got to his feet, then leaned forward and touched her face.

  “I will yield to you insofar as to go now—taking, as an excuse for coming, that list of clients you said you had written out for me, but do not believe I have yielded altogether.”

  Chapter Ten

  22 April 1139

  Prior’s House, St. Mary Overy Priory

  Magdalene woke smiling on Saturday morning. She lay abed for a few moments considering her good spirits. There were some reasons. Both Sabina’s and Letice’s clients had not only been their usual pleasant selves, but had innocently cleared themselves of being involved in Baldassare’s death. The master leather-worker had been at a guild function on Wednesday night until nearly midnight, and the mercer had arrived in London only on Thursday with a cartload of fleeces for his factor. And neither man knew Baldassare. Magdalene had taken pleasure in noting these facts and drawing a line through their names on a copy of the list she had given Bell.

  The name first brought a smile back to her lips and then made her bite them. She could not deny that she was sorry she had to refuse him. She had been celibate for a long time and was not really as indifferent to the delights of a good futtering as she pretended. No, she could not, she must not, accept him. But to turn him away….

  She did not need to do that yet, Magdalene told herself. He had already accepted the fact that she could afford no relationship with the man investigating the murder. Until she and her women were cleared of Baldassare’s death, she could put him off. Later, if she could convince him that he could not own her, that she could and would take other men…he would not need to know that he was the only one.

  She sighed. No matter what she said, Bell might grow jealous. Magdalene sat up abruptly, recalling that she had been talking about William when Bell suddenly asked her price—and she had mentioned William again when Bell became enraged. Was he jealous already? Of William?

  Ridiculous! Bell knew what William had done for her, what she owed him. God knew to what depths she might have fallen if not for William’s support. If Bell was jealous of William, she must have nothing to do with him, not even as a one-time client. Then Magdalene bit her lip again. It was not so simple; if she drove the bishop’s knight to hatred, he could do her infinite harm.

  Throwing back the covers and swinging her legs down, Magdalene uttered an exasperated sigh. It was useless to think about this. For now, she had a good excuse to refuse to take him as a client. As she got out of bed, she resolved firmly to put Bell out of her mind. That was easier to resolve than to accomplish, Magdalene found. Somehow, the mechanics of preparing for the day—chewing a green twig into a brush to clean her teeth, washing her face, neck, and hands, pulling on clothing—kept bringing Bell to her mind. However, emptying her inner pocket of coins to be transferred to the strongbox locked in the bottom of her chest turned her thoughts into more profitable paths.

  Business, she now thought, would not be affected adversely by the murder. The mercer had already made an appointment for the next week and paid in advance for it to be sure no older or better-favored client would oust him. Far from turning away from the Old Priory Guesthouse, he and the leatherworker had been titi
llated by hearing about the messenger’s death.

  As soon as she opened her door, Magdalene heard the voices of her women and went out to join them. The table was laden with cheese, bread, the remains of a rabbit pasty, a bowl of cold stew, ale, and wine. As Magdalene helped herself to a substantial breakfast, Ella told her that she had fed Somer de Loo cold meat and pasty and served him wine from William of Ypres’s casks so he could break his fast at first light. He had been off to Rochester as soon as he finished. He would have liked to stay, Ella said, smiling; he told her he had enjoyed himself, but this time it was only for one night. He would try to return soon.

  Magdalene praised her for contenting her client, and for remembering to provide him with food and drink. She was about to ask Ella whether she had tried to persuade Somer to stay, and if she confessed she had, explain again that she should not importune a guest who wanted to leave. As she sought the simplest words, the bell at the gate began to peal.

  Ella might lack understanding, but she had a remarkable sense of self-preservation. Sensing a coming lecture, she rose from her seat at once. “I’ll get Dulcie,” she said. “I don’t think it can be a visitor at this time.”

  Although Magdalene had a sinking feeling that anyone who rang her bell so early in the morning was carrying trouble, she went on with her meal with determination. Trouble might curtail either time or appetite. Her decision was correct. She was just washing down the last bit of pasty with several swallows of ale when Dulcie ushered in a robed monk. Ella, sensitized to monks’ robes, had disappeared.

  Keeping her face as expressionless as possible, Magdalene looked up at the intruder and said, “Yes?” Then she caught sight of the face half hidden in the hood, set down her cup hastily, and got to her feet. “Brother Fareman!” she exclaimed. “Please forgive my rudeness. Is the Father Prior returned?”

  “Yes, we arrived last night. What a terrible homecoming! Poor Father Benin, he was much overset at hearing of the dreadful events of Wednesday night, but was too fatigued to do anything then. However, this morning he wishes you to come to his chambers and explain to him how you are involved in this horrible murder.”

  “I will gladly come, Brother Fareman, and I will tell Father Benin all I know, but I must assure you that neither I nor my women are involved in any way.”

  “Brother Paulinus insists you are.” A very small, pinched smile moved Brother Fareman’s lips. “And it is no use protesting to me. You must come and speak to Father Benin.”

  “Most willingly,” Magdalene said. “Letice, bring me my veil.”

  While Letice fetched the veil, Magdalene swung her cloak over her shoulders. Having swathed her hair and most of her face in the veil Letice brought, she started for the back door. After a step or two, she corrected herself with a low exclamation of irritation.

  “The gate between the church and this house was locked by Brother Paulinus on Thursday,” she explained.

  “Yes, I know,” the prior’s secretary said. “Nonetheless, we can go that way.” He showed her a key. “I rang your bell to give warning,” he added as he waved her toward the back, “but I could see no reason to walk near a mile if it was not necessary.” The plump secretary smiled. “I thought to myself that it was rather like locking the barn after the horses were stolen. After all, even if you had killed poor Messer Baldassare, surely Brother Paulinus could not expect that you intended to murder a whole series of clients on the church porch—”

  Magdalene choked and then said, “Was ever an accusation so ridiculous? This is not a common stew where men who will never be seen again are beckoned in off the street by women who will be in another house the next day. The last thing I desire is harm to any client. But, Brother Fareman, it is really not funny. My women and I are whores. If the sacristan’s accusations become public, we might be judged guilty no matter how innocent we are of actually doing murder.”

  “I think that is why Father Benin sent for you. Brother Paulinus has no evidence against you beyond the fact that you and your women are likely to do murder because you are evil and corrupt—”

  “Evil and corrupt we may be, but that does not make us idiots!” Magdalene protested.

  Brother Fareman shrugged. “And that Messer Baldassare probably came through the back gate. If you can convince Father Benin that there is little likelihood of your guilt, I believe that he will forbid Brother Paulinus to make any further accusations, or even speak of the murder in public, unless he finds proof.”

  That was a comforting notion and Magdalene set such a pace that the short, rotund secretary had to beg her to slow down. They went through the gate, which the secretary relocked, to Magdalene’s disappointment. A short way down the path to the church, Brother Fareman turned left and walked past the wall of the south transept and to the prior’s house, just opposite the chapter house.

  Magdalene could see that the prior’s house was much smaller than the bishop’s house; she thought there would be space for only a comfortable room for business on the ground floor and possibly a solar and bedchamber above. An outside flight of stairs beside the door to the lower floor led directly to the solar, and to Magdalene’s surprise, it was to this that the secretary led her.

  She was surprised again by a feeling of acute discomfort wakened by the large, curtained bed that stood with its head against the wall to the far right. She turned away and saw with some relief that this was not only a bedchamber. To the left was a beautifully carved, cushioned chair with a high back and arms, set beside a hearth under a stone overhang. To the right of the hearth was a heavy, polished table; behind it, the prior sat in a second chair with a back and arms, although not so large or high. The table was lit by a window in the wall. Another window on the same wall as the door made the room bright.

  “Magdalene the whore, my lord,” the secretary said, gesturing Magdalene forward.

  She walked to the table and bowed. “Father Prior, I am glad you are come home again. May I hope that your business prospered?”

  The prior waved a hand in dismissal and the secretary stepped out, closing the door behind him.

  “Well enough,” the prior said, “but now I wish I had not gone. What a dreadful thing! A murder at the church door. And Brother Sacristan saying that the dead man came from your house—”

  “Father Prior, the man may have gone to the church through the back gate, but not with my knowledge or by my contrivance. And I swear to you that neither I nor any in my household did him harm or wished him harm. Nor was Messer Baldassare one of my regular clients.”

  “Then how did he come to use your back gate?”

  “I believe he was to meet someone in the church,” she replied, and launched into the tale of Baldassare’s coming to her gate, just as she had told it to Brother Paulinus.

  She had just begun to explain—for the thousandth time, it seemed to her—why it was ridiculous to suspect her or her women of the crime, when the door burst open and Brother Paulinus stalked in. When he saw Magdalene, his eyes widened and he stopped dead, then rushed forward.

  “Did you know what she had done?” he asked, his eyes wide. “How did you know? I only discovered the theft less than a quarter candlemark ago.” He turned on Magdalene, shouting, “Whore! Thief! How dare you touch a holy vessel of the church?”

  “But I am not touching Father Benin,” Magdalene said, completely bewildered by the accusation and trying to make some sense of it. “I might kiss his hand in gratitude for his kindness, but I have not—”

  “Liar!” Paulinus bellowed. “What have you done with the small golden pyx? Give it back! I will—”

  “Brother Paulinus,” Father Benin said, “calm yourself. What are you talking about? I know nothing of the small golden pyx. What small golden pyx?”

  “The one that was left here by the sisters. It is gone. Stolen. By this whore! You knew it. You summoned her to answer for her crime.”

  “She is here to tell me what she knows about the death of Messer Baldassare.”

&
nbsp; “I explained all that to you,” the sacristan said; then, turning on Magdalene again, he shouted, “You filthy whore, how dare you come here and spew your lies into the holy father’s ear?”

  “I told him no lies.” That was true enough, Magdalene reassured herself. She had been very careful what she said to Father Benin. She had left out quite a bit, but told no lies. She met the sacristan’s furious gaze steadily and added, “You are correct in one thing at least, that I would never dare lie to Father Prior. Even a whore can tell the truth when it is to her advantage, and the more truth that is known about Messer Baldassare’s death, the safer I will be. I deal in the joys of life, never in death.”

  “The death of the soul is the fruit of your joy!” He turned from her to the prior and said, “How can you allow that whore to contaminate your private chamber—”

  From the mingled expressions of chagrin and impatience, just tinged with shame, that Magdalene saw flit across the prior’s face, she suddenly realized why she had been taken to his private chamber instead of being interviewed in the room devoted to business below. Father Benin had hoped Brother Paulinus would not know she had been invited to explain.

  Magdalene laughed, knowing it would infuriate the sacristan and hoping to draw his attention to give the prior time to gather his forces. “Rest at ease, Brother Paulinus,” she said. “Whoredom is not something you can breathe in and catch like a fever from the night air. Unless you desire it and seek it out, it will not touch you.”

  “Me?” Brother Paulinus bellowed, raising his hand.

  “Nay, Brother Paulinus,” the prior said sharply. “Even with such as she, we do not practice violence.” His countenance once more placid, Father Benin shook his head at her and she bowed hers in response. He turned to the sacristan again. “Magdalene is in my solar to keep her out of the way of the younger brothers, who often come to my secretary with problems.” He smiled slightly. “At my age, I hope I am safe from her no matter where I choose to speak with her. Now, what is this about the small golden pyx being stolen? Are you sure it is missing, Brother Sacristan? It was very small and never used. Could it not have slipped back into the dark, or even into another of the vessels?”