A Mortal Bane Page 24

  “I do not have it!” Magdalene whispered, raising a hand in a pleading gesture and dropping it.

  “You do, and you might as well tell me before I smash in your nose and cut off your ears as tell me after the pain has broken you. If you do not tell me at once, I will break your fingers, too, beyond mending—so you cannot even embroider. You will starve in earnest if you do not give me that pouch immediately.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  25 April 1139

  Old Priory Guesthouse; Tower Of London

  The man took a threatening step forward. The hand Magdalene had dropped with seeming hopelessness grasped the edge of Sabina’s slop bowl and swung it viciously toward him. The dirty water sprayed into his face; the edge of the heavy bowl hit his cheekbone. He took one staggering step back, began to roar wordlessly with rage, and choked and gagged as the liquid running down his face filled his mouth. Even before he caught his breath, he started forward again, only to be propelled ahead a great deal faster than he intended by a violent blow in the back from Sabina’s staff.

  Blinded by the washwater, choked by the dirty liquid in his mouth, made breathless by Sabina’s blow, and totally off balance, he still stretched his arms to catch Magdalene. But Magdalene was no paralyzed rabbit. She had dropped to the floor and scuttled sideways out of his reach, and he fell forward, the chest catching him just above one knee so that his momentum bent him almost double and his forehead hit the wall. Half dazed though he was, gasping for breath, he was a well-trained fighting man. He was still trying to twist around to lay hands on his prey when Sabina’s staff came down once more, this time on the back of his skull.

  In the open where she could swing the staff freely, the blow could have done much more damage. In the close confines of her bedchamber, it was only strong enough to bring him to his knees, dazed but not truly unconscious. With a tenacity born of desperation, he turned toward Sabina, flung up an arm, and caught the staff. He pulled, but he was on his knees, blocked by the edge of the chest, and could not exert much power in his twisted position. Sabina pulled back hard.

  As soon as Sabina struck her attacker on the head, Magdalene had gotten to her feet and run into the kitchen to seize Dulcie’s long-handled pan from its hook beside the door. She returned only a few heartbeats later during the tug-of-war. The man, now struggling to get a foot under him so he could rise from his knees but constantly pulled off balance by Sabina’s fierce tugging, saw her. His eyes bulged with rage, but he did not dare let go of Sabina’s staff, which, once free, could next be thrust into his eye or his throat. His mouth opened to shout, but it was too late. Magdalene had swung the cast-iron skillet, which came down on his head with a most satisfying thunk. He fell forward.

  “It’s all right, Sabina,” Magdalene gasped. “I think he has lost his senses now.” She breathed for a moment and then added, “I hope we did not make so much noise that Letice’s client was alarmed.”

  “I do not think so,” Sabina whispered, lowering the staff to the floor and leaning on it. “He shouted only once, and men do that while futtering. He was talking softly while he threatened you. Maybe he guessed there were others in the house who would come to your assistance.”

  Magdalene fought to control the trembling that threatened to make her helpless. This man could not simply be carried out and dumped in the street. There was a great deal to do, and it would all be harder without Dulcie.

  “Love, if I gave you the pan, do you think you could hit him again if he moves? I must go see if all is well.”

  Sabina swallowed. “Yes. Just let me come behind him and feel out the distance between us. Then if I hear him move, I need only lift the pan and bring it down.”

  “Do not be too gentle,” Magdalene warned, taking the man’s sword from where he had leaned it near the head of the bed. “A knock or two on the head can do him little harm, but if he seizes you, I will have to run his sword through him.”

  “You need not worry,” Sabina said, her voice harder than Magdalene had ever heard it. “I remember what he said he would do to you.”

  Now Magdalene was afraid Sabina would hit too hard. “Threats, love, threats. Do not kill him, either. It is a terrible nuisance to get rid of a body.” But what if the blind girl missed? Then an idea came that would solve both problems. “Ah, wait. I will just tie his hands with his own cross garters and stick a sock in his mouth to gag him.”

  Having done as she said, Magdalene listened at Letice’s door. All was quiet. Seemingly, Letice and her client had slept through any disturbance. She breathed a prayer of thanks that Letice’s bed was on the far side of the chamber and went on. In the common room, Ella had apparently been unrolling and rerolling strips of ribbon from a stock Magdalene kept. Three strips were lying on the table, and Ella was just replacing a fourth in the basket.

  “Come with me, pet,” Magdalene said. “I need you to help me.” She shepherded Ella into Sabina’s room, where the girl stopped just inside the door, mouth and eyes wide. “He is not a nice man,” Magdalene assured Ella, pushing her forward. “He hit Sabina and knocked her down and threatened to cut off my nose and ears. Now we must dress him so I can take him to William, who will punish him for trying to hurt us.”

  The trouble cleared from Ella’s face, and she nodded. She remembered a previous time, in Oxford, when the king had been holding court and a group of men-at-arms who had been turned away tried to break in. A neighbor had sent his apprentice to William of Ypres, who had come with his troop and mended the invaders’ manners so firmly that no other transgressions occurred.

  Magdalene and Ella flipped the man over on his back and pulled on his braies, stockings, and shoes, since that could be done without untying him. Then Magdalene tied his feet together and tethered them to the bed so he could not kick. Thus hobbled, one of them could hit him on the head again before he could do any damage. Meanwhile, Sabina had untied his hands and dragged the bedrobe off him. Ella propped him up so Magdalene could pull on his shirt. He groaned and tried clumsily to seize her. Magdalene dropped the shirt, seized the pan from where Sabina had placed it on the bed and whacked him on the head again—just as the door opened.

  “Magdalene!” Bell exclaimed.

  “Didn’t hit ‘im hard enough,” Dulcie remarked. “He’ll be stirrin’ again ‘n no time.”

  “Hush!” Magdalene exclaimed, signaling for silence and keeping her own voice low. And then to Dulcie, “Thank goodness you are here.” She handed Dulcie the pan. “Help Ella and Sabina get his clothing back on,” She turned on Bell. “What took you so long? If you had come at once, things might not have gone so far.”

  That was not true, of course. Once Magdalene was sure that their unwelcome guest had come from a powerful master interested in the papal messenger, she had determined that the best place for him was in William of Ypres’s hands. One way or another, she would have got him there; possibly force would have been needed anyway, but if Bell had come sooner, she might have been saved some terrifying moments.

  “What the devil do you mean, what took me so long? I was in a cookshop eating a very late dinner since I had been at St. Paul’s and all over London this afternoon. Dulcie had to find me, and I could scarcely run as I was to your house when Dulcie implied there was danger. I had to arm and get my horse. Who the hell is this?”

  Magdalene glanced down at her women, who had tied the man’s shirt and were maneuvering his tunic over his head. She drew Bell out of the room, closing the door behind her, and led him to the common room, where she gestured to the benches around the table. Flipping the tails of his hauberk out of the way with a practiced air, he sat down. Magdalene sat across the corner of the table.

  She pushed the ribbons Ella had left on the table to one side and said, “I have no idea. He came to the gate saying a friend in the Bishop of Winchester’s Household had recommended my house as a place to find lodging and entertainment.”

  “A friend in Winchester’s Household?” Bell echoed, evidently astonished, then
signed for her to continue.

  “I knew at once something was wrong. No one from the bishop’s Household has ever sent us a client. It is understood that there is to be a separation. I pay my rent, and usually that is our only contact. I tried to warn him off by saying that we were expensive but he pushed his way in and threatened that his ‘friend’ would be angry if I did not let him stay. That was when I sent Dulcie for you.”

  Bell grunted. “Even if he was not welcome, surely you did not need to knock the man unconscious.”

  “Did I not?” Magdalene explained what had happened.

  “I see,” Bell said, his voice thick with controlled anger. “So he knew about Baldassare and the pouch. From whom? And what master?”

  “He gave no name, but he carries a badge in his purse, a cinquefoil attached to a red-and-white ribbon.”

  “Beaufort!” Bell exclaimed instantly, and his teeth snapped shut. Then he said, “He must have come from Hugh le Poer, who is at the Tower of Montfichet.”

  “No, not from Montfichet. Did you not see how travel-stained his clothing is? And his horse was dusty and very tired. He had come a long way, not from just across the river in London.” Magdalene drew a deep breath. “If that cinquefoil on a red-and-white ribbon is the badge of Beaufort, I think he came from Waleran de Meulan in Nottingham.”

  “From Meulan?” Bell echoed. “But how is that possible? Nottingham is over four days’ travel. The murder was not discovered until Thursday morning. Why, the bishop did not even hear of it until Friday.”

  “But you told me the sacristan had sent his man to the abbot on Thursday morning. Could he have been told to stop at Montfichet? A message could have been sent from there. And this man said a friend in Winchester’s Household had told him to come here. Could the bishop have spoken of the murder to anyone after we were gone?”

  “I do not like this.” Bell bit his lip. “You told the bishop that Baldassare gave you his name, so you knew that, but you did not know he was a papal messenger until the bishop mentioned it. No one at all in the priory should have known until I identified him.”

  “Except for the murderer,” Magdalene said. “He would have known.”

  “Even so, even if the murderer sent a messenger at once, or the messenger was sent from Montfichet, there still would not be time enough for the messenger to get to Nottingham and this man to have come here.”

  “Yes there would,” Magdalene said, “if the messenger had stopping places where he could change horses. William has arrangements like that.”

  “I suppose if he changed horses—two and a half or three days. Yes, that could be done. But why go to such effort? Could we have been mistaken? Could there have been something more important in the pouch than the confirmation of Stephen’s right and possibly the bull of legatine power?”

  “I have no idea.” Magdalene shivered. “I do not even want to know.”

  “And what are we to do with him? You cannot simply toss him out into the street. If he is Waleran’s man, he will come back with friends and burn you out…or worse. I could kill him, I suppose, but….”

  “Oh, no, that is no problem at all. I am going to take him to William.”

  There was some argument about that, but it did not last long since Bell’s objection was really only that he did not like the contact between Magdalene and Ypres. Magdalene’s arguments were a good deal more cogent. William was best suited for extracting whatever information the man carried and disposing of him, whether back to his master or into oblivion. Nor would the fact that Magdalene had brought him to William betray any information to others. It was well known that William was her protector and natural that he should settle with any troublemakers in her house.

  Having accepted her arguments, albeit ungraciously, Bell said he would get a cart to carry the man. To transport a man tied to the saddle of a destrier would draw too much notice, he said over his shoulder as he mounted his own horse, which he had left saddled.

  While he was gone, Magdalene managed to saddle the unconscious man’s destrier—with a peace offering of a rather dried and wrinkled apple. She and Ella were struggling to raise the rolled hauberk to the back of the saddle when Bell came back, divested of his armor and wearing a nondescript padded-leather jerkin over a heavy shirt.

  He made nothing of lifting the armor, fastening the straps to hold the rolled mail while Magdalene ran back into the house to get the man’s sword and scabbard, which she had almost forgotten, and check for anything else left behind. There was only a cloak, fallen behind a stool onto the floor when the women got his clothing. She snatched her own cloak and veil as well and ran back.

  When she returned, Bell had pulled the blanket off the man and hoisted the unresisting body to his shoulder. Magdalene hurried over and threw the cloak across the limp form, lifting the hood to conceal the blindfold and gag and picking up the blanket.

  As she seized the horse’s reins with the clear intention of following, Bell protested, but she only said sharply that he should not be a fool. She was his pass to William’s presence, which was not easy of access to just anyone.

  Angrily, Bell tumbled the body into the waiting cart and tossed the blanket, which Magdalene handed him, over the man, who uttered a loud groan. Magdalene sighed with relief; she had been afraid he had been stunned too thoroughly. Bell turned, took the horse’s rein from her, and tied it to the end of the cart.

  Bell glared at her as he mounted to the bench but said nothing the curious mercer and grocer from across the street, who were both out serving customers, should not hear. Then, grudgingly, he gave Magdalene a hand up. When she was settled, he clicked to the sturdy mule and the cart moved forward. A thump came from the back of the cart. Magdalene jumped. Bell only looked over his shoulder to make sure that the back of the cart was well fastened.

  When they got onto the bridge, however, he turned his head and shouted, “You lie quiet under that blanket or I will take a strap to both of you. Only reason I didn’t take the hide off you yet was that your mother wouldn’t let me.”

  With the sun near setting, the bridge was quieter than usual and Bell’s voice carried. A few of the merchants and their customers looked around, saw the good cart and handsome mule, the decently dressed man and carefully veiled woman, and laughed, imagining the mischief a pair of naughty children could get into. Magdalene leaned closer to him and spoke in a low voice as if pleading the children’s cause, but actually she was telling him to turn right on Thames Street, that William was lodging within the walls of the Tower of London.

  At the gate of the inner bailey of the Tower, Magdalene gave her name, said she had a delivery for William of Ypres, and asked for Somer de Loo. After a coin had exchanged hands, a messenger was sent and eventually Somer de Loo arrived. He looked at the heaving, mumbling blanket, at Bell, then at Magdalene, and insisted she take off her veil, his hand on his sword hilt. However, once he had made sure it was indeed she, he gestured for them to drive in.

  “What the devil are you doing here, Magdalene?” he asked when they were clear of the gate. “What delivery? And who the devil is this?”

  “This gentleman is the Bishop of Winchester’s knight, Sir Bellamy of Itchen,” she said, “and he was kind enough to help me when the man in the cart hit Sabina and threatened to disfigure me.”

  Somer frowned up at her as the cart trundled across the bailey, not toward the great bulk of the White Tower itself, but toward the king’s palace, around which were grouped several houses that were occupied by the great nobles when the king held court in London. They headed toward the last of those, one closest to the entrance to one of the wall towers, servants and retainers on various duties or on their own business making way as they passed.

  “Why bring him to us?” Somer asked irritably. “Surely—”

  “If you will forgive me, I had rather tell the tale once, and where there are fewer ears to hear it.”

  “That way, is it?” Somer said, eyes narrowing. “William said if you came wi
thout his summons, it would be trouble.” He moved to the side of the cart to help Magdalene down and gestured toward the guard at the door. “It’s all right. The lord wants to see her,” he said and then told Magdalene, “The stair is just within, against the side of the building. Go up. He’s waiting for you.”

  Magdalene shielded her face again, but she was uneasy about whether Somer and Bell would rub each other wrong and hesitated by the door. However, it was not Somer who raised Bell’s hackles, and Magdalene soon entered the building. The hall was rather overfull of armed men, but only one or two glanced at her and, seeing a woman, looked away. Nonetheless, she was glad to get up the stair. The door was open, but she called from the landing.

  “Come in, chick,” William said.

  He was wearing worn leathers under a sumptuous surcoat. Worried as she was, Magdalene could not help smiling. It was typical of William to dress for safety—the leather over a light gambeson would turn a knife and even protect against all but the most direct and violent sword blow—and at the same time dress for show, because the surcoat could be pulled together to impress an important visitor. He seemed to be lounging at ease in a large chair with arms as well as a back, positioned comfortably near a stone hearth in the middle of the room, but his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

  Magdalene went forward quickly, unwinding her veil and draping it loosely over her shoulders. “I am sorry to bring trouble to you,” she said, coming close to the chair as he beckoned.

  He gripped her around the waist and pulled her down so he could kiss her. “What else does anyone ever bring me?” he asked and laughed. “At least you are pretty to look at.”

  But he let her go quickly and stood up when the sound of heavy footsteps and heavy breathing came up the stairwell. Bell and Somer struggled into the room and to within a couple of arm’s lengths of William before they deposited their burden on his bound feet. Somer continued to steady the man, who had been writhing as they carried him across the floor but seemed to realize that resistance was futile when they set him on his feet, and Bell pulled down the hood of the cloak and removed first the blindfold and then the gag.