Chains of Folly (5 page)

“Master Buchuinte,” she said, holding out her hand. “Do come in out of the sun. We have missed you. I hope that Diot did not offend you in any way?”

“Oh no.” He laughed. “I was away on business for near two weeks. Diot? That one is too clever to offend. But sometimes I do miss my little girl.”

No, Merciful Mother, don’t let him ask for Ella today,
Magdalene thought, as she shepherded him in through the door. Ella and her swain were already gone. Magdalene breathed a sigh of relief, although she had expected it. Master Gerome never lingered in the common room talking to the other women, as did a number of men who did not mind having their patronage of the Old Priory Guesthouse known.

Buchuinte did not linger either, but went off with Diot. Magdalene followed them with her eyes and then shook her head very slightly. Letice cocked her head interrogatively.

“No way could Diot manage to look like a little girl.” Letice laughed soundlessly and Magdalene laughed too. “I think Master Buchuinte needs a session with Ella again. He has this thing for little girls—not that he would ever violate a child in reality, but I remember that Ella would braid her hair for him and sometimes wear a little shift, half falling off a shoulder. He is an intelligent man, however, and after a while Ella…”

Letice made a gesture implying one time this and one time that. Magdalene nodded but frowned. “If Diot is willing. Ella will be delighted, of course.” She hesitated and then added, “Oh, very interesting. Master Gerome will be back to spend the night with Ella.”

Letice widened her eyes and made a very crude gesture and then a sign for long continuation. Magdalene giggled. “Well, I suppose he will have to sleep some time and we will discover whether Ella has a limit.” Then she sobered. “If she has and he overreaches it, I will not accept another full night’s time with her.”

Letice raised her hand, but the bell pealed before she could gesture and she rose to answer it herself. Magdalene picked up her needle and set a stitch. When Letice had led her client in and closed the door behind him, Magdalene went and listened at Ella’s door. She heard Ella say something, although she could not make out the words, and for a miracle heard Master Gerome laugh. She did not bother to pass farther down the hall to listen at Diot’s door. Master Buchuinte had been a client for many years and she knew he would not harm his partner.

She returned to her seat and began to embroider with rapt attention, but it was only her eyes that were busy with the beautiful altar cloth. Her mind touched briefly on the problem of the dead woman and then by natural progression moved to Bell. How fortunate that someone should drop a dead body on the bishop, she thought, and then bit her lip.

It was not good fortune for the poor woman, whoever she was, and Magdalene knew it was only by the Merciful Mother’s care…and William’s favor…that she had not ended up the same way. Magdalene’s lips folded together into a hard line. She regretted her careless thought and she grew angry when she remembered the indignities that had been heaped on the dead woman, hauled about like a lump of trash. Whore or not, once dead the corpse should have respect and dignity.

Magdalene sighed. That was not the fate of most whores, who were often buried like offal, but this one, dispatched untimely, would have her revenge, Magdalene vowed. Whoever killed her—a man from what Bell said about the bruises—would pay for his crime…and for embarrassing the bishop too. Which brought Magdalene’s mind back to Bell and back to the question of how to seize him again and hold him.

Magdalene had found no decisive answer to the question of how to induce Bell back into the fold either in the hours she patiently embroidered while her women worked or after she had settled them for the night with their new clients and herself went to bed. Her first concern when she woke was for Ella, but she heard her laughing as she led her client, staggering a little, out the front door.

Ella herself was rather heavy-eyed but had a most smug and satisfied expression. “I am hungry,” she said, “but I think I will go back to bed after I have eaten.”

“By all means, love,” Magdalene replied gratefully. If Ella was asleep, she would not need to explain why she, Diot, and Letice went out with Bell and Ella was not invited. “I am sure you worked very hard last night.”

“Not really,” Ella said, liberally smearing honey on a thick slice of bread. She took a bite, chewed, and added thoughtfully, “Often when a friend spends the whole night, I do have to work hard to make his man stand more than twice, but not with Baby Face. If I just turn toward him or put my hand on him, up jumps his standing man, redheaded and ready.”

“You do not mind, love?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. It is delightful to be really, really satisfied. I hope I pleased him. I hope he will come again for the night.”

Ella finished her bread and honey and drank down the cup of watered wine she had poured for herself. Magdalene, recalling Gerome’s bemused expression and unsteady departure, assured her that her friend would come again, and Ella smiled sleepily and went off to bed. Magdalene shook her head. She could only hope that the exhausted cordwainer would not cut off a finger with those knives he used to trim leather or put a needle through his hand instead of through a sole.

She jumped as the gate bell rang, and hurried out to answer it. It could not be a client at this hour of the morning. Occasionally they did have an early patron, a ship captain due to leave on an early tide or some similar case, but she would not accept any man this morning, Magdalene decided. Ella was hors de combat and the other women had done their duty and deserved their rest…not to mention needing to identify the dead woman.

The several glib excuses on her lips were unnecessary, however. It was Bell she faced when she opened the gate to the length of the security chain. She was very surprised to see that he was dressed only in his stained and mended gambeson, and not wearing the armor that usually covered it. She remembered the last time she had seen that gambeson, but did not allow the pang that pierced her heart to reflect in her face. Only, as she unhooked the restraint and swung the gate wide, she swore to herself that Bell would hear no more of her affection for William.

Someday perhaps, he would grow up and realize that a heart could hold more than one person. If Bell was unable to face the truth, then let him hold to a pretense that her bond to William was only duty and fear. What was important was that she and Bell would be happy and William would neither know nor care so long as she did his bidding.

In the blandest voice she said, “Oh, Bell, good morning. Come in. You are early. You do not seem to have finished dressing. Have you eaten?”

He had been looking very grim, but her bland impersonal manner seemed to help. He smiled slightly. “I could not see any sense in putting on clothing I would only have to take off in a little while. Not to mention wearing anything that did not already stink to examine a corpse. And I certainly was not going to wear armor to walk about in if it was not necessary. I am bound to accompany the bishop to Lambeth, where he will dine with the archbishop. And no, I have not eaten. I hoped you would feed me.”

“Then I shall with a good will. You also look very pleased with yourself. Have you discovered who the dead woman was?”

“No.” The smile was replaced by a frown. “To speak the truth, I did not give her a thought all day yesterday, poor thing. You know the bishop has been away from London somewhat longer than usual and Father Holdyn had a big pile of complaints that he could not—or did not wish to—settle. Winchester does not want to use his power as bishop or legate right now, so I got the chore of seeing to the complaints.”

“Successfully, from your looks,” Magdalene said with just a bare touch of admiration in her voice.

She saw with satisfaction the infinitesimal body language that marked his pleasure in her admiration but only gestured him toward his usual seat. As he started to remove his sword belt, she went to the kitchen for more substantial fare than bread and honey, taking half of a cold pasty and some slices of beef. Setting what she held on the table, she went and got him a flagon of ale; she knew he preferred that to wine, especially for breakfast.

“And so, can you tell me what pleased you so well in yesterday’s work?”

Bell laughed. “That it all went so smoothly. At least three of the complaints were without basis. I think Father Holdyn knew it, but he wanted another more powerful opinion to back his. He is a little too sanctimonious for my taste, and though he tries to hide it, a little contemptuous of Winchester’s worldliness. Nonetheless, he is a good priest, surprisingly compassionate.”

“So did you dismiss the complaints?”

“I have not the power to do that.” Bell laughed again. “But the arrival of a knight in full armor, solemnly demanding to see
cause
for the reduction of tithes—”

“Sometimes even a wealthy family falls upon hard times,” Magdalene said.

Bell hesitated, wondering if poverty had caused Magdalene to sell herself, and then shook his head. “Yes, but not this family. I came within and saw the pewter and silver—even glass—on the shelves and the gold chain around Mistress Brewer’s neck and the rings on Master Brewer’s hand. No, I do not think the paying of the tithe was threatening their daily bread. But I asked about losses…vats do break or go bad. A whole brewing can be lost.”

“But not in this case?”

There was a little silence while Bell chewed the bite of pasty he had taken and washed it down with ale. “Not in this case,” he agreed. “They said perhaps they had been mistaken in the weight of the tithe and that they would reconsider.” He folded a slice of meat onto the point of his knife and bit off a piece. “The other cases were much the same. One man was marrying off a daughter. He said his business would be diminished by her loss, but I suspect he hoped to make up in lessened tithes what he was paying in dowry.”

Magdalene made “listening” noises while breaking off a small piece of the pasty and putting it in her mouth. Bell continued to talk, telling her about the one serious problem. There had been a complaint that a church was dirty, and it certainly was. However the neglect was not deliberate. The priest was very old. Not only was his eyesight failing but he had fallen ill, barely able to drag himself to the altar to say Mass.

“He should be retired,” Bell said, “perhaps brought to the infirmary here in St. Mary Overy, where he could live out his years in comfort. But he does not wish it. He begged me, weeping, not to betray him. He said he would soon be well.” Bell sighed. “But no one recovers from old age.”

“But why? If he is old and ill …”

“It is a very poor parish. He is afraid no one will be willing to serve. The church is tiny and without the smallest comfort. He says the people need him, and I agree. They need someone—” his lips twisted “—and not some holier-than-thou young zealot who would condemn even those who came to church and frighten them away.”

Magdalene frowned. “Something is not right. He sounds to be the kind of priest his flock should love, I know they are poor and likely criminal, but some I am sure attend Mass. Why did none of them try to help him?”

Bell shook his head. “That I do not know. Possibly Father Holdyn saw the place before the parish could act—and felt he had to report it. He should have removed the priest, but I think the old man pleaded with him also and he hopes that Winchester will find another solution.”

“Will he?”

Bell smiled at her. “Oh yes, he has the power. He will find a young clerk or lay brother to watch over the priest and send his servants into the parish to warn the people that if they do not help the priest they will lose him—”

He broke off suddenly to greet Letice who had just entered the common room, and he bellowed for Dulcie, who always seemed to hear his voice and came trotting. Diot must have heard also, because she came from her chamber only a few moments later. Magdalene continued to nibble a bit of this and that while Letice asked (by touching it and looking curious) about his gambeson and Diot went to fetch him more ale. When he had explained about needing to escort the bishop, who would be dining with the archbishop, Diot asked whether Winchester and Theobold of Canterbury had been reconciled.

“Not to say reconciled. I doubt they will ever love one another, but this outrage against Salisbury has certainly given them a common cause. And both are good men. I hope as Winchester’s hurt and disappointment over being deprived of the archbishopric fade that they will learn to work together.”

“I hope so too,” Magdalene said. “Unfortunately the legateship dies with the pope and then Winchester will come under the authority of Canterbury.”

“Who might hold a spite?” Diot asked.

Bell nodded, his mouth grim for a moment, but then he shrugged. “I do not believe Theobold of Canterbury to be a fool. If he has the brains of a pea, he will see how useful Winchester could be to him. Legate or not, Winchester has the respect of all his fellow bishops.”

Letice tapped her knife on the table and everyone looked at her. She made a cross for the Church, then the sign she used for the bishop and repeated that sign but above where she had signed at first.

“The archbishop,” Magdalene translated.

Letice thought for a moment, then shook her head and ran off to her room from which she emerged carrying her slate.
“Ded in bed,”
she wrote, and pointed to the place where she had made the sign for archbishop.

“Oh, no!” Bell said. “No. I cannot believe that the archbishop had anything to do with placing the dead woman in the bishop’s bedchamber.”

After shrugging and grinning, Letice returned her attention to her breakfast, but Diot was now frowning. “Why are you so sure?” she asked Bell. “If the bishop were truly disgraced, would not that diminish his authority? Surely the archbishop must be frustrated by his relegation to second place when he should have first.”

“I am sure he is frustrated and angry too, but scandal would not remove the legatine power Winchester holds, and, frankly, I do not believe the other bishops would believe that Winchester had anything to do with the dead woman. Women have never been his weakness and he was on the road the day or night she was killed with some dozen clerks and twenty men-at-arms and God alone knows how many servants. During the pope’s lifetime, the only way Theobald can be rid of Winchester is if Winchester dies.”