A Mortal Bane Read online

  She explained yet again how ridiculous it was that she or her women should choose so stupid a way to kill—making a great mess and scandal by stabbing Baldassare on the church porch instead of protecting themselves by quietly poisoning him or strangling him in bed and dumping the body in the river. By the time she was finished, Seynturer looked rather shamefaced, his conviction that he had leapt to the wrong conclusion strongly reinforced by the knowledge that if those of the Old Priory Guesthouse were innocent, his relationship with them would be less likely to be uncovered. Magdalene then assured him that the killing was being dealt with by the bishop’s knight. Sir Bellamy of Itchen. That seemed to be a clinching argument, and their innocence was assumed since the bishop’s man had not delivered them to the sheriff.

  He told her that though he believed her, he could not come again until the gate was reopened. But then Sabina entered, having taken Basyngs out the back and washed and tidied herself, and Seynturer laughed uneasily and said, since he was already in the house, he might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, paid his three pence, and followed the smiling Sabina to her chamber.

  Not another half-candlemark had passed before the bell was ringing again and the whole scene was repeated with another goldsmith, who also had had business with the sacristan. Fortunately, Ella was quite ready to receive the second man. He said that since anyone who had noticed him at the front gate would say there was no smoke without fire, he might as well enjoy the fire instead of being blamed and missing the warmth.

  Both clients were ill at ease, however, and because they did not linger, Ella and Sabina were able to join Magdalene and Letice for dinner. They were aware of being late and ate quickly, but Dulcie had hardly cleared the wine cups from the table when the bell was pealing again. Ella jumped to her feet; the other three women sighed and then found smiles. Saturday, before the confessions and Masses of Sunday, was always very busy.

  On that day, Magdalene worked no less hard than her women. Although she never left the common room, she was responsible for keeping those guests who came ahead of their time—or those who followed clients who were slow to find arousal and release—busy, amused, and just titillated enough to be unwilling to leave but not excited enough to demand immediate service. Everyone, even Ella, was exhausted by dusk, and when Magdalene went out to lock the gate, she was actually looking at the bell rope and thinking of pulling it in when a man strode up.

  “I am very sorry,” she began, then stopped and laughed. “Bell! Come in. I thought you were another client and was about to turn you away. For once, I and my women need rest more than custom.”

  He seemed to stiffen and hesitate, but she gestured him in and added as she closed and locked the gate, “Between those who came to blame us for murder—and stayed to enjoy what they fear they must deny themselves in the future—and those who knew nothing of the crime, I have had my fill of pacifying impatient men. And my women are tired. Still, I am glad to see you. I have learned where a round dozen of my clients were on Wednesday night.”

  “And you believe what they told you?”

  “Mostly yes, and if what I learned is true, you will find it very easy to prove, most discreetly, the whereabouts of more than half those on my list. Did you know that many guilds have their meetings on Wednesday?”

  “Yes, I knew—oh! Your clients are mostly craftmasters. I understand.”

  “So, if the craftmasters were at their guild meetings, they are innocent. No one need question them directly, and my reputation for keeping their secrets will remain intact.”

  He laughed as he walked into the torch- and taper-lit house with her, and accepted gladly when she asked whether he wished to share their evening meal. As they ate, he told her that all the guests who had stayed at the priory guesthouse the night Baldassare was killed had been cleared also.

  Three were still at the priory and would be there for at least another week. Those were the men who had been on horseback. They were stoneworkers, employed for many years by the abbot of the mother house of the priory, and they had readily answered his questions. None knew Baldassare, none had any interest in whether the king held the throne or the empress took it, none cared who was archbishop or whether or not a legate was appointed. They had all attended Compline service together, left the church with several monks who knew them, and gone to bed, sharing blankets and a pallet, so none could have left without waking the others.

  Four other guests had annoyed a fifth enough for him to complain to Brother Elwin, one of Brother Godwine’s assistants. The four had brought along wine flasks and bread and sat talking and, the fifth guest thought, rolling knucklebones until nearly midnight. They had invited him to join them, which he had refused because he was tired and wished to sleep. But he had not slept, he said bitterly; they made so much noise that he never closed his eyes.

  “Well….” Magdalene said hesitantly. “He could have dozed from time to time and not realized it, but I tend to believe him.”

  Bell nodded. “Moreover, Brother Patric, another of Godwine’s assistants, confirmed that they were together at midnight. He saw the lights in the guesthouse when he went to relieve Brother Elwin at the gate, and stepped in to tell them to go to bed. And those were all the guests that stayed the night.”

  “All that stayed the night?” Magdalene repeated. “Is that what Brother Godwine actually said?”

  Bell stopped with his knife extended toward the platter of sliced cold meat. He grimaced and banged his hand down on the table so that the hilt of his knife cracked against it. Ella jumped and cried out. Bell said, “I am sorry,” frowning so horribly that Ella whimpered and shrank against Letice.

  “What is wrong?” Sabina cried, turning her head toward him anxiously.

  “Nothing,” Bell said. “Forgive me. I have just realized that I have done something stupid, and I do not enjoy it. I did ask Brother Porter for the names of those who had stayed in the guesthouse, but there may have been many others who attended the Compline service and could have lingered behind and killed Baldassare.”

  “Not many,” Magdalene said. “I occasionally attend that service with Sabina. If we do not expect any other guests, and after the gate is locked, we can slip into the church in the dark. Few others ever came—five or six pious women from the neighborhood, perhaps a husband or two accompanying them, a few men from the bishop’s Household when Winchester is in Southwark—perhaps nine or ten in all, not counting Sabina and myself. I cannot imagine there could have been more this time.”

  “But I cannot see how I can trace those. The porter might have asked their purpose for entering the priory, but if they said it was to attend the service, I doubt he would have asked their names.”

  “True enough, but most of them come regularly and he probably knows who they are. Besides, it seems unlikely that any of those would have murdered Baldassare.”

  “I am not so sure. The church might have been named as a meeting place because the killer was familiar with it.”

  “Killer?” Ella asked, eyes wide.

  “They are talking of a long-ago tale, love,” Sabina said, reaching across the table to pat Ella’s hand. “You know you do not like those stories where men are forever being stabbed. Do not listen to them.”

  Both Magdalene and Bell sighed. “Eat your supper, my love,” Magdalene said, “and then you can go to bed. You look very tired.”

  “Will not our guest want company?” Ella asked, but her voice lacked its usual bright welcoming.

  “No, love. This is not a guest, remember? He is the bishop’s knight. He is here on business for the bishop.”

  Ella smiled and turned her attention to the food that Letice had cut up for her, and Magdalene said, “Well, of those who attended the service often, three of the women and two of the men are frail and bent with age. The other three or four you can find and question. More significant, I think, is that the porter will be able to tell you if there were any who came that he did not know.”

  Bell groa
ned. “And if there were, that person might have come from anywhere in London or Southwark” he sighed— “actually, from anywhere in England, for it would take longer for Baldassare to reach this country from Italy than for anyone to come from any part of it to Southwark.”

  23 April, 1139

  St. Mary Overy Priory

  They were at least spared that possibility. The next morning, after attending Sunday Mass, celebrated by the bishop at St. Paul’s, Bell returned to the priory to question the porter again. He found him sitting in the small gatehouse reading a breviary. The porter closed his book and civilly enough offered Bell a stool to sit on. There had been no strangers at the Compline service on that Wednesday night, Brother Godwine said with brisk certainty. So swift a response of exactly what he wanted to hear made Bell suspicious of his willingness to accept the answer.

  “How can you be so sure?” he asked.

  “Because when a stranger comes through the gate after Vespers, we ask if he wishes to stay the night in the guesthouse, of course,” Brother Godwine said sharply. “I know I did not need to ask that question at any time last week, so I know no stranger, except those who did stay in the guesthouse, came through the gate after Vespers on Wednesday.”

  “Thank God,” Bell sighed, but shook his head before the words were really out. “Wait, what about Brother Patric and Brother Elwin? Could one of them have opened the gate for a stranger that night?”

  “Not between Vespers and Compline. I was on duty then.”

  “What about during the Compline service? Who watches the gate then?”

  “No one. During the services, the gate is locked. Any visitor must wait until our religious duties are performed. This is not an inn, Sir Bellamy. Though we maintain a guesthouse out of charity, to shelter travelers from the dangers of the night, our religious duties come first.”

  “Of course,” Bell said, but he recalled the fees he had paid to various religious houses for bed and food when he did not travel in the bishop’s train, and he thought that the abbeys and priories probably made a nice profit on their charitable enterprise. “I must say, I am very glad there were no strangers. If there had been, it would have increased the difficulty of finding the killer of Messer Baldassare.”

  “The whores must have killed him,” Brother Godwine said. “I do not wish to be uncharitable, but they are steeped in sin already. Besides, we were all together—we always are after Compline—”

  “Not all, and not every moment,” Bell said. “Remember that Brother Sacristan had to go back into the church because he thought he saw a light.”

  “Are you accusing Brother Sacristan?” the porter asked, his voice scaling upward.

  “I am not accusing anyone, only pointing out that you are vouching for each other out of faith rather than fact.”

  “Faith is no bad thing,” Brother Godwine snapped.

  “In a general way, but not when I need facts. The facts say that after Compline service, you all went to your beds and each was alone in his own bed.”

  “Of course!” Brother Godwine exclaimed.

  “And you can prove that no monk left his bed at any time during the night?” Bell asked pointedly, then felt stupid.

  He had been annoyed and had asked without really thinking. He knew it did not matter if a monk left his bed. Baldassare had been killed before or just after Compline; Sabina had found the body then.

  To his further chagrin, Brother Godwine said, “In fact, I can. There is always a brother at the foot of the stair into the warming room to make sure the novices do not try to sneak into the kitchen or create any other mischief. Since the dormitory of the novices is beyond the monks’ cells, the brother knows by coincidence when one of the monks leaves his cell.”

  “Thank God for that,” Bell said, smiling, very willing now to drop the subject.

  Brother Godwine insisted on vindication. “No one moved about…well, except Brother Patric, who went to relieve Brother Eiwin at the gate, and I used the privy just before Lauds, and Brother Aethelwold, the infirmarian—”

  “They are innocent, I am sure,” Bell said hastily.

  “Of course. I tell you it was the whores.”

  “And I say to you that the facts I have gathered so far tell me it is most unlikely that the whores are guilty. They also tell me that whoever killed Messer Baldassare had to be inside the priory grounds or the Old Guesthouse grounds before dusk, or had to come through your gate, since the gate of the Old Priory Guesthouse was locked at dark.”

  “And the whores could not have unlocked the gate and lied about it?” Brother Godwine asked angrily.

  “Of course they could have, but it would be greatly to their benefit if the murderer were caught and proven guilty. There is no reason for the whores to shield anyone—they are all likely to hang for this killing if no other murderer is found.” As Bell said the words, a chill chased itself up and down his back; he did not want Magdalene to be executed for murder. He stared at Brother Godwine, his mouth hard, then curved his lips in what was not really a smile and said, “Now, since I cannot believe a monk vowed to faith and caritas could wish even a sinner who was innocent of the crime to be punished and the guilty to go free—”

  “They are guilty of sin!”

  “Yes, indeed, but not of murder. If they burn in hell for the sin of lust, I have no objection; they are guilty. The punishment will be God’s, and just. So far, I have no reason to think them guilty of murder—and I want to know who is. Thus, I still need the names of those who came to Compline service and did not stay the night.”

  “None of those at Compline service could have done murder.”

  “Perhaps not, but I must know who they are.”

  “Oh, very well. There were only six…ah, no, seven. The servants who keep the small guesthouses that flank the bishop’s house, old Nicholas and Martha and Bernard and Elsa. They can barely walk, let alone strike down a man in his prime. That is four. Then two clerks from the bishop’s Household, Robert and Phillipe, which makes six.”

  “Robert and Phillipe?”

  Bell was momentarily distracted from the murder by a naughty notion. Phillipe was a very pretty, delicate young man. Robert was Guiscard’s chief rival for principal secretary. Was Phillipe far less innocent man he seemed? Did he hope to win promotion through Robert’s support by offering him friendship…or more than friendship? The porter’s voice jerked Bell’s mind back to murder.

  “Yes.” Brother Porter nodded approvingly. “They come quite often, perhaps twice a week for the last half year whenever the bishop is in residence. And the seventh…I cannot bethink me of his name, but it will come back to me. I know him well. He was a student at the priory until a year ago and used to return every week or two. I had not seen him for several months and thought he must have obtained the preferment he was seeking when….”

  Brother Godwine’s voice faded and a frown creased his brow as if some unpleasant thought had occurred to him, but when Bell asked what was troubling him, he shook his head and said he was not sure. Something was niggling his mind about that student, he admitted, but he could not make a clear memory.

  “It will come back to me,” he assured Bell. “When I remember the boy’s name, I will remember what else is teasing my memory, too.”

  Then Bell remembered something Magdalene had told him that pushed the relationship between Robert and Phillipe—if there was one—right out of his mind. “The name, it would not be Beaumeis, Richard de Beaumeis, would it?”

  Brother Godwine’s eyes opened wide. “Yes, yes, that is who it was. However did you know? But now I remember, he came to the service at Vespers, not at Compline. Now why did I think he was at Compline? Did I see him there? No, no I did not. And I did not see seven in the nave, only six. Of course the nave is so dark, if he had been at the back….”

  “Did you see him leave the priory after Vespers?”

  Bell kept his voice flat, fighting against displaying any excitement. Beaumeis had traveled from Rome
to England with Baldassare. He probably knew what Baldassare was carrying. He was part of the archbishop’s Household and might well wish to keep hidden or destroy the bull naming the Bishop of Winchester legate.

  “No, I did not, but then I did not see anyone leave after Vespers. They were all gone by the time I was able to return to the gate. Brother Sacristan stopped me for a few words.” Brother Godwine’s lips thinned and pressed together. Then, as if he wished to divert Bell from whatever Brother Paulinus had said, the porter feigned interest and asked again, “How did you know that it was Beaumeis?”

  Bell would have preferred that he had forgotten about the question, he did not want the porter to connect Beaumeis with the murder yet. For one thing, he was by no means sure that the coincidence meant anything; for another, he suspected that Brother Godwine would be far too likely to expose his suspicions if any were aroused.

  “I knew he had been a student at the priory and that he had recently returned to England,” Bell said, skirting the truth, “so I thought he might come to visit his old school.”

  “Yes, that was what he said, that he had been quite homesick for the old school.”

  Brother Godwine frowned, and Bell, again suppressing a rising excitement, asked why.

  The porter shrugged. “He did say that, I remember very well, but it seems to me that it was at another time. I told you, did I not, that he used to come every week or two. Perhaps it was one of the other times I spoke to him, because I know he came at Vespers, but it seems—”

  Brother Godwine stopped speaking as a shadow darkened the open door of the little gatehouse. Both he and Bell looked up to see the prior’s secretary, who was staring at them with an expression of extreme surprise.

  “Sir Bellamy,” Brother Fareman said, “I just came to ask Brother Godwine to watch for you and ask you to come and speak to Father Prior and here you are.”