Bone of Contention (39 page)

When she went out, Magdalene shivered once. She did not think it likely that she would ever be in any danger of starving, but she had come close once and catastrophes did happen. To drive away the dismal thoughts, she lit candles and torchettes and then sat down to embroider another row or two of flowers onto Ella’s ribbon.

The rain continued to pour down, but the crowd in the Soft Nest diminished as men grew impatient and went out into the wet, cursing heartily. Magdalene wondered whether the tumbledown shed in which she had stabled the horse and mule when she had first returned from Noke was still standing and keeping out the worst of the weather. If not, she would have the men repair it when the rain eased off, somehow she had the feeling they had not seen the last of the bad weather.

It was nearly dark before Bell arrived, damp and irritable, but relieved because a novice had been sent to Wytham Abbey with news so Bell himself would not need to ride out tonight, just to report that nothing had happened, and ride back tomorrow morning. The rain had prevented Salisbury from appearing at the Court session as he had promised.

The king, Bell said, grimacing as he pulled off his tunic and shirt, had been rather unpleasant about it, saying that if the bishop was too old to come out in a little rain, perhaps he was too old to be justiciar of the realm. And as for the castles Salisbury held from the Crown, and even those Salisbury had built himself, it seemed unsafe to leave the defense of them to one who feared a wetting. He looked at Magdalene blankly.

“I cannot imagine who will manage this realm if Salisbury and his kin are driven out,” he said.

“If you want the truth, neither can William, who pointed out to me that nearly all the sheriffs who rule the shires were appointed by Salisbury and are loyal to him.” She sighed. “I thank God by day and by night that I live under the bishop of Winchester’s protection.”

“If even he is safe.”

“Not his own brother!”

“He stole the archbishopric from him.”

Magdalene shook her head. “Winchester is the legate now. The pope is his overlord. Even Waleran is not bold enough to urge the king to offend the pope.” Then she took a deep breath. “Let us discuss murder. Even that is more pleasant than thinking about the chaos I envision.”

She told him about her meeting with Tirell and her doubts about Master Reinhart and even Arras. When she was done, Bell sighed heavily. “Magdalene, you are more of an idiot than Arras. Are you
trying
to make yourself a target for the killer? And I
must
be in Court again tomorrow. I am now accredited and recognized as a servant of the diocese of London…not that it is much of a disguise. After all, the king knows that Winchester is managing the London diocese until a new bishop is appointed.”

“But I do not
believe
it of the Hardels, and my doubts about Arras are ridiculous.”

Bell sighed. “And Ormerod? And Ferrau?”

She laughed. “I must admit, I cannot believe Ormerod would kill just so Sir Jules could marry Loveday. That is ridiculous. Nor do I believe him
that
avaricious or that needy of repayment of a loan. And Ferrau’s reasons are even more far-fetched.”

He sighed again and reached out to take her hand in his. “Magdalene, I love you very much. Will you do one small thing for me for the sake of that love?”

“What small thing?” she asked eyeing him warily.

“Will you stay within tomorrow, just for the one day? Or if you must go out, will you take Rand or Ogden with you? You ‘do not believe,’ but there is a strong likelihood that one of those men is a clever and cruel killer. I am bound to my duty, but if you were harmed because I was standing about in Court waiting for the king to insult the bishop of Salisbury, I could never forget, never.”

His eyes were shadowed with fear, not only for her but for adding another burden to his soul, like the killing of the mad miller. Magdalene turned her hand in his and squeezed it, smiling.

“I can sacrifice one day of boredom to your peace of mind, love. Yes, I promise I will stay within tomorrow, or take Ogden or Rand with me if I go out.”

The
day was every bit as boring as Magdalene had foreseen, although William sent Sir Giles to tell her he might want to meet friends in her room about the time of the evening meal. Magdalene checked over her supplies and decided they were sufficient and congratulated herself on having purchased six rather nice glazed earthenware cups large enough for ale or watered wine. It would be serious political business William and his guests would be discussing; they would not be drinking straight wine to get drunk— Magdalene was somewhat surprised at how eager she was for the meeting. She had been at many—she could not count how many since William had first sent a man he should not know to her house. He had warned her what would happen to her if anyone ever discovered he had been in the house at the same time, but of course no one ever did know. And over the years he had come to trust her utterly so that he allowed her to serve tidbits to nibble and wine and ale to drink even while the talk went forward.

Sometimes she had been frightened, sometimes saddened, sometimes disgusted, sometimes overjoyed by what she heard, but she had permitted no reflection of her emotions to show on her face and never by word or act implied she was not deaf as a stone to what had been said. Now, sometimes, William even asked her what she thought after the others were gone and they were safe in her bed. She smiled. Sometimes she even told him the truth.

Bell had appeared at dinnertime bringing food and stayed to eat with her to ease her sense of confinement. Fortunately, before she confessed that William would be coming for the evening meal, he told her he would have to ride to Wytham after the king dismissed the Court.

“Salisbury will come today,” he said, lips tight and grim, “even if it is sun one moment and spitting rain the next. Doubtless he has been told what the king said yesterday. The dean will want more than a novice’s message, and there is enough to tell him about the feelings of the Court.”

“Ride safe,” Magdalene told him, kissing him as he left. She smiled at him. “And I promise I will not go out alone.”

She kept her promise, but it was sorely tried when Sir Giles returned to say the meeting that evening was canceled. “After all that harsh talk yesterday, the king was sweet as new milk when Salisbury, Lincoln, and Ely appeared today. He greeted them with sweet words, ordered stools for them to sit upon, and actually presented business, questions about two wardships for minors that had been contested. On one he approved of the warden appointed by Salisbury; on another he suggested a change and Salisbury agreed without argument.”

“And Lord Waleran? Was he there? How did he take the king’s mildness?”

Sir Giles snorted. “With smiles.” They looked at each other silently and Sir Giles went on, “Something stinks, but I cannot tell from where the stench is coming.” And then he bowed slightly and went out.

Magdalene could do nothing but swallow her disappointment. It had been so perfect, William choosing a night when Bell had to be at the abbey. Now she might have to tell Bell not to come. She bit her lip. Was that not for the best? She was growing far too attached, too accustomed to Bell’s strong warmth beside her at night, to his pleasant masculine grumbling in the morning. Yes, and to feeling guilty if something did not please him, which was not so pleasant. She was
not
a wife. She would never be a wife and did not wish to be what amounted to a slave to a man’s will.

For some reason the words made her think of Loveday. She giggled and her spirits lifted. Wife or no wife, Loveday was not likely to be any man’s slave…and neither now would she herself be, Magdalene thought. She had been so young and totally ignorant when Brogan married her. She had been learning, though, about husbandry and the serfs. Brogan was no lover, but she had endured his demands, until he went mad with jealousy.

Magdalene sighed and wrenched her mind away from the
bloody
past, but she could not find a pleasant topic to dwell upon and she had half a mind to go out and sit with Florete, even if it made trouble, when Ogden called through the door that there was a woman to see Magdalene.

A woman? Loveday? Trouble already? But it was not Loveday who waited under Ogden’s watchful eye, it was Mayde.

“He’s in St. Friedesweide’s infirmary,” the girl said, her eyes big in a pale face. “He won’t live, they say.”

“Who?” Magdalene asked through stiff lips.

“I don’t know his name,” Mayde said. Her voice trembled.

“The tall, fair man with whom I first came to The Lively Hop?” Magdalene’s voice was trembling also.

“No, no, the looby.”

Relief and horror coursed through Magdalene, and she pulled Mayde into her room. “Poor Manville,”
she whispered, crossing herself. “God help him.”

“Wait here?” Ogden asked before she shut the door.

“No…or, wait.” She turned to Mayde. “You said you didn’t think he would live, didn’t you?” The girl nodded. “Then he’s alive now?”

“Was when they took him to St. Friedesweide’s.”

“You don’t need to wait now,” Magdalene said to Ogden. “Mayde will not harm me, but I may have to go out to St. Friedesweide’s soon. Will you or Rand be able to accompany me?”

“I’ll ask Florete.”

He turned away and Magdalene shut the door and looked at Mayde. “You are so pale.” She went to the shelves and poured two half cups of wine. One she drank herself, the other she handed to the girl. “Here, drink this, and tell me what happened.”

“I found him.” Mayde swallowed hard and took a tiny sip of the wine, as if she feared she would not be able to keep it down. Then she took another larger sip, and said, “He was by the privy, half in and half out, lying on the ground. I didn’t think nothing of it, Lots of them make it to the privy and then can’t go no farther, but when I bent down to see if I could drag him a little out of the way, I saw the blood.”

She put down the cup hastily and uttered a sob; Magdalene put an arm around her.

“It was still coming out, red and wet, and I screamed and Jack—the landlord—came running out. I-I don’t remember what happened next. Maybe I swooned. Someone must of carried me back into the alehouse. Then when I came to my senses, I heard someone tell Jack they would take him to St. Friedesweide. I started to get up to serve, but I was dizzy and shaking so Jack told me to lay down on a bench. I did for a bit, but then I heard he was like to die and I remembered you wanted to know about these people, so I ran here.”

Magdalene nodded and pulled a whole silver penny from her purse. “I must go and see if Arras is still alive and can tell me who attacked him. It must be the same man who killed St. Cyr and Sir Jules. Here.” She gave Mayde the penny. “This is for being clever and faithful. If you still feel weak, finish your wine here. When you feel able, go back to the alehouse. Try to remember who was there tonight and who talked to Arras—that is the…the looby’s name.” Magdalene blinked hard, forcing back tears. She hated to call him that now.

“I’m better,” Mayde said, staring at the silver coin in her hand for a moment before she tucked it away carefully. “I’d rather go back where there are a lot of people talking than stay here alone.”

“Very well,” Magdalene agreed. “But be careful.” She shook her head at Mayde. “Don’t be a fool. Likely the man who struck down Arras is long gone, but you don’t want him to think you could recognize him. He might go for you next. If anyone asks you what you saw when you screamed, you say you only screamed when you saw the blood, that before that you just thought the man was drunk. You saw nothing unusual, only a drunk lying on the ground.”

Mayde nodded. “But I’ll think about it, about who could have gone out to the privy before the looby did. About who he talked to… Oh, I can tell you now that he talked to the man you were with yesterday, him and an older man that looked a bit like him. The looby went over to ask them something and they told him to go away. He answered loud and sharp that it would be better to tell him the truth, but then he went away. I don’t remember what they said, don’t think I really heard. There was a crowd because it was in the middle of a rain squall.”

It was all Mayde had to tell at the moment, although she promised again to think about whom Arras had been with. They went out together, Magdalene locking her room behind her. When they passed Florete’s table, Rand stood up. “Going to St. Friedesweide?” he asked. Magdalene nodded.

Florete said, “Is Rand all right? Ogden had to go and see about a girl who went home with a client and never came back. Or you could wait for Ogden.”

“No, I can’t wait,” Magdalene said. “The man to whom I must speak is badly wounded and might die. Can you let Rand come with me? You have no one else here.”

“Ogden will be back soon. This has happened before with this girl.” Florete made a face. “When she realizes she will not be queen of the household, just another maid—only doing double service—she is glad enough to return.”

Rand nodded at Magdalene. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll
just get my sword and be after you in a few minutes.”

“I will be going to the infirmary,” Magdalene said. “I’ll meet you there.”

* * * *

Getting into the infirmary, however, was not so easy, and Magdalene forgot all about mentioning Rand. The monks were not pleased at having a woman intrude into their monastery and did not wish to admit her. She insisted, telling the infirmarian that Manville d’Arras had no male relatives in Oxford, no other relative but herself.

That she knew his name and the name of the captain under whom he served convinced the infirmarian that the tale was true. Other marks in her favor were her decent clothing, her discretion in veiling her face, and her obvious and sincere concern about the wounded man. A final inducement to make an exception was Arras’s very grave condition. The infirmarian, a kind and gentle man, did not wish his patient to die without human comfort, even though he had been taught that God’s comfort should be sufficient.