Bone of Contention Page 4

  She lifted her brows, acknowledging that he knew she rarely forgot anything but also knew that it was extremely unlikely she would repeat it deliberately or let it slip by mistake. But all she said was, “You arrived last night?”

  “Yes, from Oxford—”

  “Oxford!” Magdalene echoed. “But that’s where I’m going.”

  “You are going to Oxford? What for?” And then, his lips pursed as if he had tasted something bitter. “I fear any man rich enough to afford your fees will be too busy with the concerns of the realm to have time for your soliciting.”

  Magdalene laughed again. “I have no need to solicit for custom. As you know we frequently have more business than bodies to satisfy it. I have been thinking of starting a search for another blind girl. There are those who still ask for Sabina. Apparently her hands had a special delicacy of touch—”

  “Magdalene…” Although his voice was no louder, it gave the impression of a roar. “Why are you going to Oxford?”

  She did not sigh although she felt like doing so. She had begun to hope that Bell would go on to Winchester with whatever information the bishop needed and that she would escape having to tell him that she had responded to William of Ypres’s summons.

  “Because William sent a clerk to tell me he has need of me. He is my…patron. I owe him my comfort and most of my freedom from fear of persecution. If he needs me—”

  “Needs you?” That time his voice did rise, and Magdalene held up a hand for quiet. When he spoke again it was little above a whisper, but he might as well have been shouting. “How can he need you? Are there no whores in Oxford?”

  “Diot said the same thing.” Magdalene giggled, then said more soberly, “I lie with William if he asks me, yes, but I doubt his desire for my body is why he has summoned me all the way to Oxford. However, you are right insofar as he wants me because I am well known among those who serve the king as William’s favorite whore. What he wants is my presence in a place where any man of any party can seek a woman’s company. With that excuse, he may speak to whom he likes without suspicion.” She frowned. “One of my clients says that there is much uncertainty among the king’s men over the defiance of Robert of Gloucester.”

  “Uncertainty is a mild word,” Bell said, his lips thin and grim. “And Waleran de Meulan is whispering in this ear that the bishop of Salisbury and his son and nephews have stuffed and garnished their keeps for war in readiness to join with Gloucester as soon as he arrives in England.”

  “Good God, you do not mean it!” Magdalene whispered. “The bishop of Salisbury was King Henry’s other self for thirty years and was loyal and steadfast. Whenever King Henry went abroad, Salisbury ruled in his stead and Henry, who was no wooly lamb, was satisfied. Salisbury accepted Stephen and swore to serve him, saving his duty to the Church—”

  Bell’s lips twisted. “Saving his duty to the Church…that can cover many things. Remember—or maybe you do not, such things are not important to women—that King Henry forced his barons to swear to support his daughter Matilda as queen.”

  “Oh, I remember.” There was bitterness in Magdalene’s voice. “My h—” she choked back the word “husband,” swallowed, and substituted “—father was so enraged he beat me, because I was a woman and he said it was unfit that men should swear to obey a woman and have her for queen.” Then she shook herself as if shaking off the memory and frowned. “Did the bishops also swear?”

  She hoped the question would divert Bell from her slip. She had told him the standard tale of how she became a whore, that she was a love child that her father had recognized and raised in his household, but when he died she had been cast out by his wife, who hated her for her beauty. She had no desire for anyone, even Bell, to know she had been married. To know so much, might open enquiries into what had happened to her husband. If he had died a natural death, some arrangement would have been made for his widow.

  Although she did not really believe Bell had not noticed, he only answered her question, saying, “I do not remember if the bishops swore to Matilda. I am not sure I was in England then. I served some years as a mercenary on merchant ships before my father found me a place with the bishop. My mother feared me dead each time I set sail and gave him no peace until he found me safer work.”

  “Then I must thank your mother,” Magdalene said, smiling, “because I am glad you did not drown.”

  “Probably because I was born to be hanged,” Bell said lightly and then shook his head. “Or because I was born to die on a battlefield. If Salisbury does turn rebel, it will be a disaster.”

  “It will, indeed.” Magdalene pulled back the hand she had extended to move her embroidery frame closer and clasped both hands. “Merciful Mother, the whole government is in Salisbury’s hands. He is the justiciar. Roger le Poer, his son, is chancellor now, but he just does as Salisbury tells him. And his nephew Nigel is the treasurer.”

  “Which may be why Waleran de Meulan is whispering that they must be stopped before they shift to Gloucester’s camp.”

  “Stopped? Stopped how? Surely the king would not attack a bishop!”

  “Openly? God knows, but I am afraid that Waleran is urging Stephen to strip Salisbury of his secular offices and castles. That is the king’s right, but when I sent word of those rumors to Winchester—” He stopped speaking abruptly, and then said, “I must ride back to Oxford tomorrow.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Magdalene exclaimed. “I must go tomorrow also. We can ride together, which will save me from needing to hire men or ask Father Etienne to send some of William’s men with me.”

  “Who is Father Etienne?”

  So Magdalene told him of the arrangements to preserve her business from damage, managing to conceal her temptation to grin at Bell’s sour expression. She knew he thought that if her business was not so profitable, she might give it up and become his woman, but that was impossible. To a man, once a whore always a whore. No matter what she did he would never trust her. And lack of trust led to beatings and threats of worse, to a body bleeding out its life…

  She wrenched her mind back to the present to hear Bell say, “I do not think Oxford is a safe place for you to be.”

  “Why not?” Magdalene shrugged. “No one will bother a whore conducting her usual business. What does a whore care who rules? She does not care who pays her. All she wants is peace in which to ply her trade.”

  “I don’t mean that there would be any threat to you as a particular person. I just feel that this Court will not pass without violence.”

  “Violence? But surely the king’s peace is enforced during his time of holding Court. All men have safe conduct to come and go…”

  Her voice faded. She remembered some weeks past that a group of William’s captains had stopped at the Old Priory Guesthouse on their way to Rochester. They had complained that their men had been sent out of Oxford because there was no room for them. At that time she had remarked that such an order was foolish. Who better than William’s foreign mercenaries to keep the peace? They certainly did not care about English parties. And one of William’s captains had said that perhaps someone did not want the peace kept.

  Bell had been watching her face. Now he shrugged. “I hope the rule of safe conduct may hold. King Henry was strong enough that he could suffer a man to defy him in Court and let him go free because he could punish him later. Stephen has beaten back his enemies, but I doubt he believes himself able to confront the really powerful among his own men. That is why I fear some move will be made against Salisbury…but I do not know what. Salisbury has given no real cause for Stephen to act against him.”

  Magdalene sighed. “Well, it does not matter. I still say that unless the whole city of Oxford goes up in flames, I will be safe enough. And I have already given my word that I will be there by Monday morning at the latest. So, will you let me ride with you, or shall I make other arrangements?”

  Bell looked sour and then laughed. “I should know better than to try to change your
mind after it is fixed. Of course you will be welcome to ride with me.” He stood up. “And you had better finish that packing. If I stay the night, which I hope you will allow, I have no more desire than you to hear Ella wailing or asking over and over why you must go and what will become of her.”

  Chapter 3

  19 June,

  Oxford

  Aside from several showers, one severe enough to force them to seek shelter, Bell and Magdalene had no trouble on the road to Oxford. He was not surprised, since he had four well-armed men and he himself wore mail and helm. Moreover they did not look to be worth attacking, since the mule that carried the baggage was not heavily laden and the woman who rode with them wore simple clothing without a ring or a chain for ornament. A poor knight and his wife, thieves would think, with no money or jewels worth fighting five armed men.

  Ordinarily the most dangerous part of their journey would have been the passage through a heavily wooded area and then crossing the ford just outside of the town, but there was a whole concourse of people, several with larger meinies of armed men, on the road that morning. As they slowed behind a heavily laden baggage cart until the road widened and they could pass, a mounted man waiting by the side of the road hailed them. He waved his meinie to ride behind and brought his horse to Bell’s other side. Magdalene was surprised to see him, but her face showed only mild curiosity, as for a stranger. He glanced at her and then away.

  “Is the bishop here?” the young man asked Bell eagerly.

  “No, Lord Ormerod,” Bell replied. “I am sorry to say he holds by his decision to remain in Winchester. However, the dean is here. He is at Wytham Abbey and will welcome you.”

  The young man frowned. “The dean will not do. It is that old trouble about the farm my father bought just before he died. You know I have a quittance and the bishop witnessed it, but the man now says that was only the first payment. I hoped the bishop would ask the king to settle the matter. Winchester is the king’s own brother. And I think the king feels an especial desire to please the bishop just now.”

  “And so he should,” Bell snapped, then set his jaw. After a deep breath, he went on, “There is such a great attendance at this Court that I am not certain the king will have time to look into all the claims raised, but he usually does try to settle clear cases. It might be worthwhile for you to approach him. However, with the press of business, I cannot think of a way to bring yourself to his attention.”

  “Sir Bellamy!” The young man’s voice was raised in mingled shock and reproach. “I never thought—”

  What he would never have thought was cut off by someone coming in from a side lane, who called out, “Bellamy of Itchen? Is that you?”

  Bell turned, stared, and then lifted a hand in salute. “It is, indeed, Sir Ferrau.”

  A shade of annoyance flicked over Lord Ormerod’s face, but he let his horse drop back as Sir Ferrau took his place beside Bell and replied, “You remember me? It has been more than ten years.”

  Ferrau smiled as he spoke, and Magdalene looked at him over the draped veil that hid most of her face. His smile was genial, his teeth good. He was dark-eyed and dark-haired, the hair fashionably cut in a bang across the brow and a smooth edge at the bottom of his ears. His tunic, split fore and aft for riding, was of good mulberry-colored cloth and he wore a short scarlet cape that Bell eyed with a touch of envy. He was broad shouldered and had as easy a seat in the saddle as Bell’s.

  “Of course I remember you,” Bell replied. “How could I forget the drubbing you gave me when I said I wished to be a knight— I could hardly walk for a week. But it was kindly meant, I am sure.”

  “It was, indeed,” Sir Ferrau replied, laughing again. “One of your teachers—Brother Simon, I think it was—asked me to show you that the profession of arms would bring you no joy. I could have told him he was wrong. I could see it in your eyes when you took hold of the sword I lent you. Well, and so—” he took in Bell’s rich surcoat and the well-polished coat of mail that could be seen on his arms and through the surcoat’s open sides, the inner edge of Bell’s shield, which showed around his body although the device on it was hidden, the fine destrier he rode “—I see that you have achieved your ambition and been knighted.”

  “Oh yes. I left Abingdon when I was fifteen.” Bell grinned. “But I took your lesson to heart and used all the money my mother sent me for sweetmeats and other toys to buy lessons from the men-at-arms that Lord Sutton owed to the abbey. They had not all the knightly skills but taught me enough to let me sell my sword to a merchant ship captain as a mercenary.” He grimaced. “I learned more over the next few years, and by the time I returned home my father had resigned himself to the fact that I would not be a priest. So I spent another year as squire and was then knighted.”

  “And you have come to Court to forward your fortune?”

  “I am not so high in the world yet as to need the king’s favor,” Bell said, smiling. “I am presently at the service of the dean of Winchester. But I could ask you the same question. Have you come to argue some case for Lord Sutton of Culham? I hope he is well. I heard about the great tragedy in his household some time ago, that his daughter was beaten to death and her maid was murdered also.”

  Sir Ferrau paled. “I am so sorry! I had not heard! I knew the girl as a child. I am appalled! When I left Lord Sutton’s service all was well with him and his. He is a good man, but content with his small place. I was not. I am now in the service of Count Alain of Brittany, earl of Richmond.” He shook his head. “I must ask leave of my lord to visit Lord Sutton and give him my condolences. He was very fond of the child. Did they catch the killer?”

  “Not that I had ever heard.”

  “How terrible for Lord Sutton.” Sir Ferrau sighed then shrugged. “Was there some reason…?”

  “I don’t know.” Bell had lost interest in the old story, distracted by an idea that might help Lord Ormerod.

  He turned around to gesture Ormerod closer. Seeing the gesture, Magdalene fell back to make room and Sir Ferrau cast an interested glance at her.

  “Is she your wife?” Ferrau asked.

  Startled, Bell replied, “Alas, no,” and grinned. “I am not rich enough to support a wife. The lady is a tenant of the see of Winchester and requested my protection on her way to Oxford. I was glad to agree. She is good company.”

  “Her husband would not escort her?” Sir Ferrau’s eyebrows rose almost to the bangs that crossed his forehead.

  “I know nothing about the lady beside her tenancy.” Bell’s voice became noticeably colder.

  Magdalene grinned behind her veil. She was momentarily tempted to intrude herself into the conversation, just to tease Bell and see his fair skin turn as red as Sir Ferrau’s cape, but she quelled the impulse. Sir Ferrau might take her boldness as an invitation. Then she would be in trouble because she would have to refuse him… She hesitated over that thought. Why would she have to refuse him? He was an appealing man. No, it was too dangerous to take any man she did not already know until she understood in what William was involved. Even as the thought formed, she knew she was lying to herself, but she did not wish to seek for her true reason, and she fixed her mind on the men’s conversation.

  Sir Ferrau had clicked his tongue in response to Bell’s repressive remark. “Sorry. Idle curiosity. My besetting sin. I hope you and the lady have lodgings in the town. Count Alain is well bestowed, so I am also well lodged, but the town is packed like a barrel of herrings.”

  “I am staying at Wytham Abbey with the dean,” Bell said. “Monseigneur”—he patted his horse—“needs the exercise, and I don’t mind the ride.”

  “It is no great way,” Ferrau agreed, but his voice was absent and he glanced back speculatively at Magdalene.

  She was again tempted to mischief, but modestly lowered her head. Then she was sorry about her deliberate act of propriety because Bell smiled. He did not smile at her—he was not a fool and doubtless guessed what her reaction to such a gesture of satisf
action would be. He was looking straight ahead, but there was something about the back of his neck and the tilt of his shoulders that betrayed his pleasure in her action. Likely he thought she did it for him. She sighed. Likely he was right.

  Meanwhile as Ormerod drew closer, Bell said eagerly, “I have just had a thought about how you could bring yourself to the king’s notice. Go to the castle and ask for Bruno of…of…yes, of Jernave. Tell him the problem. He is a Knight of the Body and may well know whether the king will be able to listen to your plea.”

  “A very sensible man, Sir Bruno,” Sir Ferrau put in. “He arranged Count Alain’s lodging. How do you know him?”

  “I usually attend Court when my bishop does,” Bell said. “I like Sir Bruno, who is a real favorite with the king but never puts on airs.” And, as if those last words reminded him, he added, “Forgive me, Lord Ormerod, I have been remiss. Let me introduce to you Sir Ferrau. Sir Ferrau is in service with Count Alain of Brittany who is also earl of Richmond.”

  The young lord nodded pleasantly and then an expression of deeper interest crossed his face. “Richmond is none so far from that contested farm. Is Count Alain in Richmond often? Could I present the case to him?”

  “He is most often with the king,” Ferrau said warily. “And not wont to interest himself in local problems. Perhaps you had better consult his bailiff.” He bowed slightly in the saddle and then said, “If you will excuse me, Sir Bellamy, Lord Ormerod, I see two of my master’s men over there.”

  Bell was surprised at the abrupt decision to leave, but said only, “If you do find time to visit Lord Sutton, remember me to him. We met once or twice when he visited Abingdon Abbey, and he even once came to watch me practice with one of his men, and praised my…ah…energy.”

  “Gladly.” Sir Ferrau smiled back over his shoulder. “I hope to get to Culham before the Council is over.”