Roberta Gellis (16 page)

Magdalene almost danced out to answer it, and greeted the man leading his horse through the gate with such enthusiasm that he looked at her most suspiciously. Somer de Loo, one of William of Ypres most trusted captains, was a survivor, like his master, and not given to taking anything at face value—not even an unexpectedly warm greeting from Magdalene, at whose house he was a frequent visitor.

“Dear Somer, I am so glad to see you! Is William coming?”

“William is in Oxford, and I have been left behind to defend Rochester—in case Waleran or one of his brothers should get any bright ideas about the keep being without a master. I have come to London, in fact, to make sure that Hugh le Poer has no more men at Montfichet than he should have and does ride to Oxford as Raoul de Samur sent us word he would.”

“So Raoul is serving William’s purpose,” Magdalene said with considerable satisfaction. “I hope William has the means to keep an eye on him. Stupid clod.”

Her voice turned hard and cold as she remembered Raoul de Samur, Waleran de Meulan’s man, who had come to her house and tried to terrorize her and her women to obtain the pouch of the murdered papal messenger. She had thrown wash water in his face, giving Sabina a chance to stun him with her staff. Then she had carried him to William of Ypres, who had bound him to his own service.

“That was a good night’s work you did,” Somer de Loo assured her. “Raoul has been very useful. I think Waleran may not have ‘appreciated’ Raoul enough. William keeps him sweet with a gift—and some pieces of news that can do us no harm—now and then. I think he enjoys working for us now that his fear has somewhat abated.”

“Good enough,” Magdalene said, accompanying him as he walked toward the stable. “Will you stay the night with us?”

He looked down at her and tilted his head questioningly. “I would rather stay here than at an inn, you know that. And I know you and the women like me well enough, but such a joyous invitation…. Are you going to slit my throat for some purpose?”

Magdalene laughed. “No, it is Ella’s throat I want slit.” And when Somer stopped short, eyes wide and mouth open, she laughed even more loudly. “No, no. I would not harm a hair on her dear, empty head. I just want her out of the way for a while, and if she has you in bed, she will not think of anything else. I know you have been lying with Letice, but she is not here right now, and Ella is damnably in my way.”

“Why?” he asked, resuming his walk to the stable, but watching her suspiciously.

“One of our clients took Sabina to be his leman a few weeks ago. Now his wife has been murdered. He cannot have done it because he was with Sabina, but you know what the word of a whore is worth before the law. I would like to find out who really killed the woman, to remove suspicion from Sabina’s lover.”

“Another murder!” Somer exclaimed. “Maybe I
should
stay at an inn. It is becoming dangerous to be your client.”

Magdalene laughed again. “You will keep Ella busy, will you not? I will explain to Letice.”

“I will keep Ella busy with the greatest of pleasure,” Somer agreed. “But do not try to drag me into this murder. I am just a dogsbody. I do not have William’s power.”

“No, no, of course not,” Magdalene assured him, turning to go into the house and leaving him to settle his horse in the stable.

Ella greeted Somer with cries of joy and almost dragged him out of the common room. Magdalene was about to reprimand her, but Diot, who had also risen and smiled at Somer, asked if he would like something to eat or drink. Magdalene did not smile, although she was tempted. Diot was trying to show she was willing to put in more than was strictly required, since the women were paid a standard wage and usually no clients were scheduled for Sunday.

Her interruption also recalled Ella to her duty, and she too offered Somer refreshment, adding, “I did not really forget. I was trying to get you into my room before Letice comes back. I
like
you. I remember that you were with me one night last month. That was fun. You are very strong.”

Somer grinned and nodded at Diot. “Well, I cannot resist that. Would you please see that Dulcie brings a pitcher of wine to Ella’s room? I think I may need its reviving qualities.”

It turned out that Ella was just in time in taking hold of her prize. Just after Diot delivered the flask of wine—drawn from one of the casks that William of Ypres had delivered to the Old Priory Guesthouse for his own and his men’s use—Letice returned. Magdalene hastily explained what she had arranged and Letice nodded vigorously, then ran to fetch her slate.

“hoo kil” she wrote on it.

“We do not yet know,” Magdalene said, after reading “Who killed” aloud for Sabina and Diot. Then Magdalene gave a brief resume of what she and Bell had learned and finally said, “It seems to me that the killer must be one of the five men who were in Mainard’s workroom on Friday and could have stolen Codi’s knife. It is possible, of course, that the messenger from her uncle killed her, but Bell admits that her strange behavior in sending away the servants might well have been because she expected someone to come after the messenger left. And I cannot see how the messenger could have obtained Codi’s knife. Can anyone think of anyone else?”

Diot, eyes intent, shook her head. “No, because unless Henry, Codi, and the boys are all lying, no one else could have had the knife, and it was used to stab the woman, even if it did not kill her. So, those five, but how does that help us to decide among them?”

“All except one are clients,” Magdalene pointed out. “We do not use clients’ true names, but I know them all. I want to hear everything you know or guess about these men. Remember this is within the family and will go no farther, so you may say anything at all. Even if you have been told in confidence and swore to be silent, speak up.”

Letice laughed silently and held up her slate, now clean and ready.

“The man we call ‘Banker,’” Magdalene said, “is a goldsmith and does not come often. A tall, thin man, mostly bald but with a fringe of brown hair. He wears a long gown, usually black, and complains bitterly about the price.”

Diot snorted. “I got stuck with him the last time. He certainly tried to get his money’s worth out of me, and he was furious when he couldn’t get it up the third time, no matter what I did.”

“If he asked more of you than you desired to give, you should have told me,” Magdalene said. “This is not a common stew, and ‘Banker’ would be no great loss if we were ‘too busy’ for him in the future.”

“I had only been with you for four days,” Diot said, “but I did not permit him to strike me—”

“Strike you!” Magdalene exclaimed. “You should have told me that at once!”

Diot shrugged. “He said he was sorry, and I think he was—” she smiled wryly “—maybe more over his loss of control than because he tried to hit me. But it was clear to me that he knew it was not permitted, and that made me so happy I forgave him. I even tried again to draw up his standing man and succeeded, so he was happy.”

“Well, he will not be happy here again,” Magdalene said, thin-lipped.

Letice touched her arm. “must,” the slate she held out said, “til kiler fownd.”

Magdalene sighed irritably. “Yes, Letice is right. She says we cannot refuse ‘Banker’ until the killer is found.”

Then she “hmmm’d” and added slowly, “And a burst of temper like that…. Bell said that whoever killed Mistress Bertrild drove the knife in very hard. He said it was a sign of hatred, but it might just as well have been because the killer was furious.”

“But why should he kill her?” Sabina asked. “Of course she could infuriate anyone, but why should ‘Banker’ go to Bertrild’s house in the first place and then kill her? He was not close friends with Mainard. In fact, Mainard did not like him. He thought him…dishonest.”

So even without the name, Sabina knew the man, Magdalene thought, but all she said was, “Why ‘Banker’ went to Bertrild’s house is easy enough. She sent for him.”

“But the servants were gone,” Sabina said.

“Yes, that is so. Perhaps the messenger fetched him? ‘Banker’ is a goldsmith, and the servants spoke of Bertrild’s tally sticks. Could he have been her banker? Could he have mishandled her funds?”

“How could her uncle, from near Winchester, know that a London goldsmith had diddled his niece’s funds?” Diot asked, looking doubtful.

Magdalene shook her head. “I have no idea. We are guessing too wildly. The next man is ‘Dealer.’ He is a mercer. Black oily hair and beard, short and squat, often wears a leather tunic.”

This time it was Letice who wrinkled her nose. A few practiced gestures indicated that he stank and was not much of a lover. A word or two on the slate and more gestures made clear that “Dealer” seemed more interested in discovering whether Letice’s compatriots had items for sale than in her sexual skills. And from the way he spoke, she felt he would not mind stolen goods so long as they were cheap.

“Another who is no prize,” Magdalene sighed, “but again, I cannot see that he would have any reason to kill Bertrild.”

The slate was presented quickly: “fownd owt eels stol stuf?”

Magdalene bit her lip. “Even if Bertrild did find out that ‘Dealer’ sold stolen goods, it would not be reason enough to
kill
her. Specially if the goods were from foreign places. He could always say he had not known and had bought whatever it was in good faith.”

“But it would still be very bad for his business,” Sabina put in. “Mainard told me that Bertrild had already caused trouble to all five men. She had chosen a time when each was at his shop with customers and she stood in the street screaming at the top of her lungs that each was dishonest and corrupt and had caused her father’s death by introducing him to lechery and drunkenness.”

“Introducing him!” Magdalene exclaimed. “That man must have been born a drunk and a lecher to have achieved the state he was in long before he came to this place. He was a nobleman and so I accepted his custom for a time—Ella took him; he was not looking for finesse—but the last time he came with some others, I would not let him stay.” She hesitated and then continued slowly. “I think that was the night he was killed in an alehouse in London. Perhaps if I had let him in, he would not have died.”

“If not that night, from what you have said of him, then another,” Diot said, her voice hard.

Magdalene smiled at her. “Very likely. The next man is ‘Humbug,’ also a mercer. He is another who wears long gowns, and he is one who goes to the priory and comes through the back gate so that none will know he has been here—except when he comes with all the others for a meeting of the chiefs of the Bridge Guild. Light brown hair, mud-colored eyes—”

Letice held up a hand and thrust out her slate on which were three letters, “ela.”

“Oh, yes.” Magdalene sighed. “I should have remembered. Well, I will ask her when she is free, but I doubt I will get more from her than the size of his member and the strength and duration of his thrusting.” She shrugged
and was about to speak, when Letice thrust forward her slate again.

“long ago in oter hows shang seel.”

Magdalene read the words and frowned, not understanding. Letice ran into the kitchen, then darted into Magdalene’s chamber, and returned with a knife and a sheet of parchment. She laid the parchment on the table, pretended to heat the knife at the unlit candles, and then slid the knife along the parchment.

“You changed a seal for him!” Magdalene exclaimed, her breath shortened by a terrifying and vivid memory of Letice lifting the seal of a papal letter only a few weeks earlier.

Letice nodded vigorously.

“Oh, that is very important,” Magdalene said. “That is a real crime and might be worth killing to conceal.” She hesitated again, looking out over her women’s heads,
then nodded. “Yes, I remember, it was Ella who called him ‘Humbug’.” She shrugged. “Sometimes out of the mouths of babes comes real wisdom. I wonder what she means by it…or if she knows what she means?”

“Likely she means he boasts or makes promises he does not keep,” Sabina said, smiling.

“Very likely,” Magdalene agreed, dismissing the subject. “Letice, one of the men is the one you call your ‘Cuddle Bear.’ What do you know of him?”

Letice nodded, but now she looked very troubled. She held out the slate, which read, “long tiim. nize.” Magdalene read the words to the others. By then Letice had wiped the slate and added, “woreed for munth mabee mor.” And below that, “hym seel to.”

“You lifted a seal for ‘Cuddle Bear,’ too?” Magdalene echoed in a shocked voice. “And he has been worried for a month or more?”

Letice nodded and immediately shook her head. She wrote, “seel long ago. not woreed wen com heer, only now.” Before Magdalene could hand back the slate, she left her stool and paced around with short quick steps; sat down, looked off into the distance, and picked at her clothing. She opened her mouth as if she would speak, closed it, opened it again.

“He has been restless and not really paying attention to you or what you were doing, and several times he acted as if he were about to tell you something, but changed his mind,” Magdalene said, putting Letice’s actions into words for Sabina, who could not see, and Diot, who was not yet accustomed to interpreting Letice’s charades.

“Hmmm,” she continued. “It is too bad that he had no appointment with you this last week. Perhaps we would have known whether he was more anxious or less. I wonder if he will celebrate Bertrild’s demise by coming to you…. Oh, well, there is nothing we can do about that. The last man is John Herlyoud, a mercer. He is not a client so I can give his name, but I have no idea what he looks like. Have any of you heard his name, perhaps among the whispers that pass from house to house in this district?”

“I have heard the name, of course,” Sabina said. “But I do not remember anything special. Oh, yes. He must also wear a long gown; I have heard it rustle. His voice is pleasant, a light tenor, not deep like Mainard’s, so he maybe a smaller man or more slender. I do not believe he has ever touched me or I him, so I cannot say more about his size and shape or whether his scent is sour. Of them all, except Letice’s ‘Cuddle Bear,’ who I think I know and is a long-time friend, I believe Mainard likes Master Herlyoud best.”