A Mortal Bane Read online

  “Yes, I see.” Magdalene shivered. “If Brother Godwine had put the candlestick down on the altar and asked Beaumeis his business, that little rat could easily have come over to Brother Godwine sure he could lie his way out of anything, but if Brother Godwine would not be satisfied and perhaps asked what he was doing so late in the priory on the day Baldassare was killed, Beaumeis might have snatched up the candlestick and…. He had killed before. I have heard it grows easier each time.” She shuddered again. “I cannot imagine that.”

  “It is true, I assure you,” Bell said, his mouth tightening into a grim line. “If Beaumeis had killed Baldassare, he would have found it easier to silence Brother Godwine.”

  “Do you think he has fled?”

  “Yes, and I think I know where he went. I sent a good man to St. Albans. Father Benin told me that Beaumeis is a nephew—sister’s son—to the abbot—”

  “So that was why he was forgiven so many transgressions,” Magdalene exclaimed. “I often wondered why the prior did not put him out. He was forever cheating and skipping classes to come here to whine about my prices.” She shook her head. “I wonder what the abbot would have said if he learned what Beaumeis bought with the money he was given for living expenses.” Then she frowned. “If he is there, I doubt the abbot will give him up to your man.”

  “I will leave that problem to the bishop. I know how difficult it might be to drag Beaumeis out of the monastery even if I can prove him guilty. The Church prefers to deal with its own, and he has been ordained a deacon. For now, I only want to talk to him, and I think the abbot will permit that. Knowing he is safe, he may even be willing to tell the truth, which is what I need to hear. I have made a good case for his being the murderer, but I have no evidence—except that he was in the priory the day Baldassare was killed. All the rest is guesswork.”

  Magdalene sighed. “Well, I suppose it is better that it be he than another. Let me go wash and dress. I think Dulcie will bring in dinner in a quarter candlemark.”

  Bell nodded. “May I join you for the meal? I meant to find something at a cookshop, but I had to tell the bishop about Beaumeis’s absence from his lodgings and the result of my search for the goldsmith, so I came here….”

  “Of course. You are more than welcome.”

  When they had gathered around the table, however, to everyone’s surprise, Ella did not seem to subscribe to that sentiment. She scowled at Bell and asked severely, “Did you not care that you left us in danger of our lives last night?”

  “In danger?” Bell looked from one face to another. “Did something happen last night after Magdalene returned? I thought it was safe enough for her to walk through the back gate. The monks had scoured the churchyard.”

  “Nothing happened,” Magdalene said, shaking her head at Ella. “I came home quite safely. I cannot imagine what Ella is talking about.”

  “The door was unlocked,” Ella said. “You took the key and left us in an open house while a murderer is loose. He could have come in and slain us all in our beds. And I heard noises in the night and saw a light in the stable. I was so frightened….”

  “Someone was in the stable?” Bell asked sharply.

  Magdalene sighed; that secret was out. “It was I, you silly girl.” She turned her head toward Bell. “I sent Tom the Watchman with a message to William to tell him about the murder. I was trying to avoid frightening the others. I suppose the bishop told you that the pouch was discovered?”

  “Yes, and that William of Ypres was there.” Bell’s gaze was definitely sardonic, but Magdalene met his eyes with bland indifference.

  “Did Lord Winchester tell you what was in the pouch?” she asked. “I am so curious. We have talked about it so often. Were our guesses right?”

  “Yes, in fact, they were, at least about the bull naming the bishop as legate. There was also a letter to the king. Of course, we do not know what it said, but since it is just a letter, the bishop and Lord William assumed it must be a confirmation of Stephen’s right to be king. If the pope had changed that decision, he would surely have sent one of his cardinals to Stephen to explain what he had done and why.”

  “And did they decide to send the pouch to the king?” Magdalene asked eagerly, not because she cared, but to disguise her relief at having the contents described to her; now she would not need to fear mentioning what was in the pouch when she was not supposed to know. “I know William wanted the king to give Lord Winchester the bull to show his good will,” she added. “He hopes to effect a reconciliation between the brothers.”

  “Well, he did not succeed in that. I was there by accident—I will tell you about that later—but Lord William and the bishop finally agreed to divide the spoils. Winchester kept the bull and Lord William took the letter and the remainder of the contents—letters of introduction and credit and some money—to the king.”

  Dulcie brought the soup tureen in just then. Ella got up to bring bowls from the shelf, and when she set them down, Magdalene began to ladle out the soup. Ella slapped the bowl down in front of Bell so hard that the soup splashed. Magdalene protested, and Ella said he did not deserve to be cosseted after leaving them exposed. It did not matter that no harm had come of it, she insisted. That was luck. Safety should not be left to luck. Magdalene bit her lip, hearing her own words come back at her. She had worked hard to train Ella into self-protective patterns and did not dare scold her for them now.

  Bell seemed to understand, because he apologized between spooning up mouthfuls of soup. “I did take the key,” he admitted. “And I forgot all about it. I will put it back on its hook as soon as I finish eating. I should have done that last night, but I thought I would come back with Magdalene. I could not because the bishop had work for me, and it is not yet done.”

  “Then you did not find the goldsmith?” Magdalene asked.

  Bell sighed. “No. I was all over London this morning visiting craftmasters whose names begin with S. The Guildmaster gave me a list, but none of them knew anything about the chalice, candlesticks, and patens that have been copied. We even had the journeymen in and asked if any had done them as a side job—they were copies, after all—but no one seemed to be guilty or troubled. And Jacob the Alderman swears that the molds were destroyed after the candlesticks were cast. His reputation is too good to doubt his word, and frankly, I believed the others, too. None of their marks were anything like those on the copies.”

  “They would not be if the journeyman was lying about having done the work,” Magdalene said.

  “True, but I doubt they were lying. A metalsmith cannot simply rent a room and do his work there. The hearths and forges and tools for metalworking are not easily come by, so a journeyman who wants to do work on his own must do it in his master’s shop. Again, metalsmithing is not quiet work, not something a man could do on the sly while his fellow apprentices and journeymen sleep.”

  “True enough, but I never thought the letter referred to a man’s name. A master’s mark is his name. It is placed so a work can be identified and those who like that work can order pieces from the same master. I put a mark into my embroideries; several mercers know it and can order work from me. You were right that it might signify a journeyman working under his master’s mark, but it might mean something else, too. Most goldsmiths have their shops in London. What if a man established a place near enough for Londoners to buy from but where rents were much cheaper? Might such a man not put an S on his sign to signify Southwark?”

  “Hmm, yes. You mentioned that before. I had forgot it, and the bishop said to try goldsmiths with names beginning with S. Well, there cannot be so many goldsmiths in Southwark. I think I will try here before I go back to London.”

  At that point Dulcie brought in a large pasty, a platter piled high with cold meat, and another with rounds of bread well smeared with dripping. There had been no time to prepare a hot meal, but all had excellent appetites because of their unaccustomed labor and no one complained when Magdalene served out generous portions. C
onversation was also suspended while all devoted themselves to their food.

  Bell went out as soon as he was finished, Ella pursuing him to the gate to get the key he had again forgotten. She returned after hanging it in its usual place, full of righteousness, and the other women dutifully hid their smiles until she went off to her room. It was not easy to get an idea into Ella’s head, but once it was there—like avoiding knives and the river and locking the house—it was there for good. Magdalene then exclaimed with exasperation because she had pulled in the bell cord before they left to clean the church and had forgotten to tell Bell to push it out again. Letice went to take care of that, and the rest of them cleared the table and set the room to rights.

  They were hardly done before the bell pealed. Magdalene sighed. “God knows, I hope the church can be reconsecrated tomorrow and that this never happens again. I feel as if we have been running hard all day long and cannot catch up.”

  The client was Sabina’s Master Mainard, and he came in with Letice, his hood, as usual, pulled so far over his head that his face was invisible and his greeting muffled. Sabina recognized either his step or the muffled voice, went to him at once and took his hand with real affection. Magdalene watched them go to Sabina’s chamber, their heads bent toward one another.

  “We are going to lose her,” she said softly to Letice. “Between her pity for him and his kindness and passion for her, she will agree to go with him.”

  Letice cocked her head to the side, pointed to Sabina’s room and made a cutting gesture, then a query gesture.

  “Of course I will let her go,” Magdalene said. “If she begins to hate her work, she will be useless here, and I think Master Mainard will give her everything any woman could desire. Her blindness is precious to him, and there are not many men of whom that can be said. But where am I to get another Sabina?”

  Letice uttered her silent laugh, made a gesture of closing a door, then turned about and pretended to open another.

  Before Magdalene could reply, the bell pealed again and she gestured to Letice and went to answer it. Ella’s client was all agog at the news of the second murder and the desecration of the church. He stayed talking until the bell pealed a third time, when he finally went off to Ella’s room. Magdalene felt as if she could not bear to make conversation with another person, but Letice came out to greet her client herself and brought him in, wiggling her hips and making suggestive gestures with her fingers. He did not even glance at Magdalene but followed Letice immediately into her room, leaving Magdalene to bless her woman’s kindness and perception. She stared around blankly for a moment, knowing she was too tired and overwrought to work, and decided that this once she would indulge herself and lie down while her women were occupied with their clients.

  She was asleep as soon as she removed her shoes, lay down on the bed, and pulled the coverlet over her. The knowledge of the two deaths weighted her spirit, evoking bitter memories, and pressed her deep into sleep. From time to time, she dreamed she heard a bell ring somewhere, but the sound was always cut off before she could force herself awake to respond to it, and she continued to sleep, hardly stirring.

  Later, when she was less exhausted, she thought she heard Bell’s voice saying her name, and she stirred sensuously in her bed. The call did not come again, however, and she sank back to sleep once more, but less deeply. Still later, she was dimly aware that someone had entered her room and started to force open her eyes, but a soft glow told her it was only Dulcie lighting her night candle. That troubled her, although she did not know why, and she was stirring toward wakening so that when a hand fell on her shoulder, she opened her eyes without shock.

  Then she drew breath to scream, but it was too late. The light of the night candle gleamed on a drawn knife blade. A heartbeat later, a sharp prick warned her that the knife was touching her throat. A voice hissed at her.

  “Shhh! Quiet! If you cry out, I will kill you. If you tell me what I want to know…we will see.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  27 April 1139

  Old Priory Guesthouse

  “Why do you not stay the night?” Sabina asked Master Mainard as his hand slipped out of hers and he reluctantly got out of bed. “The price is the same and you will be very welcome to me.”

  “I cannot, my love,” he replied, his voice low with regret; she heard him walk across the room and take his clothes from the chest on which they lay. “I have already lingered far longer than I should. My wife will not be pleased. She will complain over my being late, but if I am away all night, she will make my life hell, even if my guild-fellows lie for me and swear that I was in their sight every moment. She will go to the priest, to the guildmaster, to my friends…. I would not care if she only cursed and accused me, but she insults them and rages at them.”

  Sabina sighed. She liked to feel Master Mainard’s strong, warm body beside her. She liked it even more that he talked to her about everyday things, about an order for a special saddle, about the naughtiness of his apprentices, and a quarrel between two journeymen that had nearly come to a battle with wickedly sharp, curved leather knives. It was almost as if she were his wife and he were talking over with her the business of the day. He listened to her also, with grave intensity, when she suggested ways of gently curbing the apprentices and soothing the journeymen.

  In the course of the talk, he had told her other things without realizing it. She never acknowledged those slips about troubles increased or fomented, debts incurred, but they had built for her a picture of the personal devil who was his wife. He might stay if she urged him, but he would suffer for it acutely. Sabina sighed again and rose.

  She drew on a warm bedrobe, for the nights were still chilly, and opened the door. “Is there only one torchette alight near the door, Master Mainard?”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  “Then I will let you out the front way because everyone else is gone and the street torches are there. I hope I did not keep you too long. I like to talk to you” —she laughed softly— “and to love you also. It is selfish of me to hold you when I know it might make trouble for you, but I never think of it until too late.”

  “If the trouble were only for me, I would not care. You have given me back my life, made me a man again. But others will pay, and I cannot bear that.”

  They kissed once more, and Sabina let him out, laying a hand on his arm and allowing him to lead her. That was something else about Mainard that bound her to him—he never seized her and pulled or pushed her; he even let her lead if she wished, never implying that she was helpless or stupid because she could not see.

  When they reached the front door, Sabina drew Master Mainard toward her for one last kiss, then reached into the tall basket near the door and pulled out a sturdy stick with a bulge of straw matted with resin and fat at the top. She handed him the torch and stepped aside to allow him to light it at the torchette and open the door. As he closed it behind him, she stood there for a few moments thinking about his repeated offer to make her his mistress. Tonight he had offered her a contract, a legal lease on the apartment above his shop and a monthly stipend, “for services provided.”

  She let herself smile. The Church would duly register the contract, never asking what kind of services she owed. That would make it a sin for her to withhold her “service.” Her smile broadened. Would that cancel the sin of cohabiting outside of marriage? She started back to her room, but her mind was so busy with her novel idea that she did not orient herself perfectly and brushed against the table when she reached it. Startled, she stepped away, lost her bearing and had to go forward cautiously, feeling for the wall of the corridor.

  There was nothing to her right, but after a few steps, the fingers of her left hand just touched the edge of the shelves. Trailing her hand across the wall, she moved with more confidence, felt the door frame of Magdalene’s door and then the door itself. The door? Closed?

  A wave of uneasiness passed through Sabina. Magdalene never closed her door, unless
Lord William…but Lord William had not come. Likely he was gone from London altogether with Baldassare’s pouch. And the door had been open when she went to fetch an evening meal for herself and Master Mainard a little while ago. She put her hand out to open it, then drew it back hastily.

  What a fool she was. Bell must be in there. He had asked for Magdalene and sounded very disappointed when he heard she had gone to bed. He said he had something important to tell her. Sabina grinned. What she had heard in his voice made plain that the important thing he had to tell Magdalene was more ready to leap out of his chausses than off his tongue.

  Still grinning, Sabina hurried past Magdalene’s door, unwilling to eavesdrop on a private pleasure. Overhearing a client with one of the other women was one thing; one listened to make sure all was well. A private lovefest was no one’s affair but the two involved.

  As the thoughts went through her mind, Sabina heard and dismissed Letice’s breathing, with its little characteristic whistle, and Ella’s very delicate snore. As she was about to enter her own doorway, she stopped and uttered an irritated little snort; she had been so taken up with Mainard that she had forgotten to take the keys to lock the gate and the house when she let him out. That was the duty of whoever’s client left last. Sighing, for she was tired, Sabina turned toward the kitchen where the keys hung—and stopped dead in the corridor. A different snore, not terribly loud but much heavier and more rasping than that of any of the women—and from the door beyond hers—told her that Bell was asleep in his room. Sabina stood frozen. But if Bell was asleep in his bed, who had closed the door to Magdalene’s room?

  * * * *

  Magdalene looked at the gleam of light on the polished metal blade and breathed, “Who are you?”