A Mortal Bane (30 page)

They had fallen into an uneasy silence until a door slammed open and the stranger’s voice said, “Enough, girl. Empty out the bath or whatever else you want to do. I need to talk to the mistress of the house.”

Sabina bit her lip. Magdalene stood up.

“That girl is an idiot!” the man exclaimed as he entered the room. He was wearing one of the bedgowns kept in the bathing room for guests and carrying his sword and clothing. He looked from Magdalene to Sabina. “I need someone to whom I can talk,” he said. “Is this one an idiot, too? Why is she closing her eyes?”

“Sabina’s eyes are closed because she is blind,” Magdalene said. “Ella is simple but not an idiot, and she has a great enthusiasm for her work. Most men like her very much.”

“Well, I do not. I paid for a whole night, and I will strangle that one if I must spend it with her. So this one is blind, is she? I’ll bet she has good ears. I’ll try this one.”

Magdalene drew breath to offer him his money back and invite him to leave. Before she could speak, Sabina shook her head and rose, putting out her hand. Her staff was not in its leather socket attached to the stool, however, she had left it in her chamber as she sometimes did when she did not intend to leave the house. Misunderstanding, the stranger seized her hand and yanked her toward him.

“Go and comfort Ella if she needs you,” Sabina told Magdalene, and then turned her head toward the man who was pulling at her. “I am ready, sir. About what would you like to talk?”

“In your room,” he said, letting her come even with him and walk to her door.

Magdalene heard her apologize over some small disorder in the room before the door closed; then she put aside her embroidery and went to the bathing chamber. Fortunately, she did not find Ella in tears, and after helping her empty the tub, she was able to step softly from the bathing room to Sabina’s door. There she caught the low murmur of Sabina’s voice, was about to walk on, and then stiffened with alarm. The man’s reply was low and snarling. She pressed her ear to the door.

“You lie, whore! If you saw Messer Baldassare for only a moment, why are you crying? Did you kill him yourself?”

“No,” Sabina sobbed. “He was only here for a short time, but he was a good man, a kind man. He knew just how to lead me from my stool to the table. I would never have harmed him. I weep because I am sorry for any man who died so.”

“Liar!”

Magdalene was already reaching for the door latch when she heard the sound of a slap and a thump as Sabina, thrown off balance, fell. She flung the door open.

“Stop that,” she snapped. “I told you I did not allow my women to be hurt.”

“And how will you stop me?” he spat back and laughed. “What can you do? I am not afraid of your protectors. My master is more powerful than either William of Ypres or Winchester, who was
not
elected archbishop.” He advanced on Magdalene. “You may curse the Bishop of Worcester for not agreeing to my lord’s will. If he had not refused to block Winchester’s advancement or we had known what the messenger carried or when he would come—or if you give me the pouch right now, I would not have to smash your pretty face.”

“I do not have it,” Magdalene breathed, backing away along the wall as if she were mindlessly trying to get as far from him as possible, but that made him turn to keep her in sight. “Really, I do not. I swear it. And why should your master care what was in the messenger’s pouch?”

He laughed when she came up against Sabina’s chest and reached toward the water pitcher but let her hand drop as if she knew throwing it could not save her. By then, the door was at his back. He did not notice Sabina squirming along the floor toward it…or did not care.

“None of your business why, whore!” He stretched an arm toward her, but she had got out of reach and leaned farther away toward the chest. “All whores are liars,” he said. “I tell you now that what will happen to you for admitting you stole the pouch is nothing compared to what will happen if you do not give it to me. If you do, I will let you be—after a kick or two to abate your pride.”

“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 Fif
teen

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.”