Roberta Gellis (32 page)

Then she sighed and picked up her embroidery again. That they were all dishonest was interesting, but it proved nothing.
None except FitzRevery and possibly FitzIsabelle had done anything worth killing to hide. She clicked her tongue irritably against her teeth. But telling another
to kill, another who would not dare expose those orders, was much easier than doing the killing oneself, and might seem worthwhile to be rid of the drain of money that Bertrild was extorting. Might…. Possibly…. She made another sound of irritation. Perhaps when Bell came and they pooled the information they had gathered, a finger might point in one direction.

By the time Letice had supported her exhausted, trembling, and weeping client to the back door and gone with him across the garden to the gate to the priory, Lintun Mercer and Diet’s man were also gone. Magdalene had managed to dismiss Bertrild’s murder from her mind in favor of concentrating on the day-to-day needs of the whorehouse. This was a subject in which all the women were interested, and a lively discussion ensued during the evening meal.

It was decided that Diot and Ella would go to the market the next morning. They would be able to buy soap, which would be in short supply if, as Magdalene expected, William’s men, covered with mud and sweat from hard riding, visited on their way to and from Oxford and Rochester. Ella said apologetically that she had put her foot through one of her sheets and would need a new one again; the double washing and extra boiling to free them of food stains wore hers out quickly. And Sabina asked if they would pass anywhere near Mainard’s shop so they could drop off her letter to him.

Ella was eager to see the saddlery, and Diot agreed with good humor that it could not be far out of their way. The remainder of the meal was then consumed hastily because all three women had all-night clients that day. And when the men had come and been closed in safely with their companions, Magdalene leaned wearily on the table, half asleep. Dulcie, coming in to clear the leftover food, told her mistress sharply to go to bed.

“No need fer you to sit listenin’. All th’ men’r old friends. All this chasm’ ‘v murderers ‘s wearin’ y’out.”

“Right,” Magdalene said, nodding so Dulcie could see she agreed without needing to raise her voice. But as she put away her embroidery and went to her room, she admitted to herself that it was not finding Bertrild’s murderer that was wearying her, but Sabina’s sadness and her own doubts about Bell. One part of her constantly nagged that for his good and hers she should drive him away, but the rest of her could not bear to do it.

* * * *

Not, Magdalene conceded, that it would have been possible to dismiss Bell when he arrived the next morning, yawning and red-eyed, too tired to be hungry but desperately in need of food and comfort. There was nothing in his voice or manner that could have been used as an excuse to tell him he was unwelcome in her house. He was distressed and seeking help, not from whores, not even from women, but from friends.

After Magdalene had got him to drink some unwatered wine and eat a thin slice of meat pasty, he had told them that he had gone to settle a minor quarrel between the priest and a parishioner and ended up killing an innocent man. While the others stared in consternation at that flat statement, Ella, who would ordinarily have shrunk from such a remark, got up and patted him consolingly.

“You could not help it,” she said. “You did not want to do it.”

He rested his cheek on her hand for a moment, his blue eyes dull and sad. Then Ella kissed him gently on the cheek, patted him again, and said she and Diot had to go out to the market.

“Tell it all to Magdalene,” she advised him earnestly. “Even the parts you are ashamed of or afraid to admit. You will see. She will make it all better.”

He smiled a little at Ella’s innocent conviction that Magdalene could cure all ills, but he picked up a second slice of pasty that had been set before him, and when the last reminders about what to buy had been communicated
and Diot and Ella had taken their cloaks and left, he drank his wine and told those still at the table that the miller had truly been mad.

“The thing was, he did not look mad at all. He was not dirty and unkempt. In
fact, I was so astonished when he came into the church wheeling a dung cart and began to fork the dung into the aisle that I just stood there with my month open. But the priest knew. He must have known. Yet all he did was shriek, ‘What are you doing?’ and before the miller could answer, said he would make him pay for his blasphemy.”

“If he attacked you, Bell, you had a right to defend yourself, even if he was mad,” Sabina said.

“God! Do you think I would have drawn a weapon against a madman? It was not me he attacked. He flew at the priest and jabbed at his groin with the fork, screaming that the priest was evil and must not be fertile. I wrested the fork from him and turned to throw it out the door so he could not seize it again. In that moment, he had grabbed the priest by the throat.”

“And you could not loose his hands.” Magdalene sighed.

“I am a strong man,” Bell said, eyes staring at nothing. “I am long practiced in arms. I know how to stop a fight, to control a berserker. I went behind him and seized each of his wrists and pulled, expecting to wrench his arms back and bind them. Not a hairs-breadth could I move him. Then I tried to pry his fingers loose one by one. They were sunk so deep into the priest’s flesh that I would have had to tear out his throat to get my hand under the miller’s. And the priest was dying! His eyes were bulging. His tongue was coming out of his mouth.”

He stopped. Magdalene refilled his cup with wine and put it in his hand. He lifted it and drained the cup.

“Perhaps I should have let the miller kill the priest. That man is so stupid….” He sighed heavily, then smiled ruefully at Magdalene. “Ella said even the parts that I am ashamed of. I cut the poor miller’s throat.
God knows, I have killed many times. Still, I cannot get him out of my mind—the way I did it, pulling his head back by the hair and running my knife across his neck. It was as if he were not human, as if I were slaughtering a pig or a sheep. The blood gushed out over my hands and I thought…. I thought…that was a waste. There should have been a bowl to catch it for blood pudding.” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “Such a thought. I cannot seem to….”

Magdalene again covered Bell’s hand with hers. “I am very sorry it was by your hand, Bell, but have you stopped to think that perhaps the man was no longer really human and that you did a mercy? Can you imagine what that poor creature’s life would have been like if he had lived? He would have been chained like a beast or locked eternally into a chamber….”

“Oh yes,” he said. “I went to beg pardon of his wife, and she wept but admitted she was glad. He had as yet done no harm in his family, but he had urged his son and daughter to couple together and grew quite angry when they said it was wrong and refused. She was afraid he would soon have become violent.”

Magdalene smiled faintly. “It was for the best, but you wish it was not you who had the doing.”

“Exactly.” But his eyes were brighter and suddenly he laughed. “Ella was quite right. Tell Magdalene and feel better.”

He looked around the table then and drew a haunch of cold lamb
to him. Letice got up, dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and went off to her chamber. Sabina reached forward and felt for his hand. He gave it to her, and she squeezed it sympathetically. He returned the pressure and then let go to pull from its sheath the knife with which he had killed the miller. With a faint half smile, he carved off a slice of lamb and, having taken a hearty bite, he asked around the food if there was ale instead of wine.

When Magdalene poured it for him, he washed down the lamb and, in a voice that implied the subject of the miller was permanently closed, asked what, if anything, Magdalene had discovered about Bertrild’s death. She told him that Bertrild had been in Mainard’s shop on Friday and could have taken the knife, that she had stolen other things from the shop to make trouble for the journeyman and apprentices. Then she mentioned Josne’s sudden departure from Norwich and Mercer’s lack of familiarity with the speech of the north.

She was a little anxious when she told Bell that. Although he did not ask or pry, she was sure that he was more interested in her past than left her comfortable; however, he did not pick up on her statement and was eating with such concentration—probably he had skipped dinner and his evening meal because of the miller’s death—that she could not read his expression.

“That does it,” he said when she was finished. “There are too many possibilities for me to make an accusation. We must find Saeger and wring the truth out of him. Well, today I need to finish the business I began last Tuesday. I must be present when the justice gives his decision whether to uphold the bishop about those rents he claims for the diocese of London and Hugh le Poer claims belong to Montfichet.

Magdalene giggled. “I do not envy the poor justice who must make that decision.”

Bell grinned back. “Nor I. Poor man, it hardly matters what he decides. He will be caught between the upper and nether mill—” His voice checked and his grin disappeared. Then he said, as if he had not spoken the previous sentence, “Probably I will also know this evening from which men Borc extorted money.”

“Oh yes,” Magdalene said quickly. “You told me that Master Octadenarius will loose him with men to follow.”

“Then we will pick him up again, and I will see if I can shake loose his memories of Saeger. I hope he will be able to point to one of the men in London. If he does not or tells me nothing, I will stop at Swythling on my way to Winchester and speak to Sir Druerie.” He shrugged. “Since I must report the results of the hearing and the death of the miller to the bishop, I can leave a day or two sooner than I intended and perhaps I will actually be able to lay my hands on Saeger.”

“Would Saeger dare stay so close to where he was indicted for murder?”

“If he found a protector, perhaps.” Bell pursed his lips as he thought and added, “I will take with me the two wills and the tale of the indictment.”

“Shall I get them now?” Magdalene asked.

Bell looked at her. Restored nearly to normal, he was amused by her ready compliance. It was unlikely that William of Ypres would be interested in Saeger’s false will or even the fact that he probably poisoned his wife. She might have been less willing if he wanted to remove evidence of FitzRevery’s carrying letters to Normandy.

“No. I do not wish to carry them around with me, and I am not going directly back to the bishop’s house.” He cocked his head. “Don’t you want to know why I want the documents?”

Magdalene raised her brows. “Because you will have to convince Sir Druerie of Saeger’s guilt. You told me that you do not believe Sir Druerie the kind to shield a murderer unless he believed him to be wrongly accused.”

He laughed. “Do you ever forget anything you hear?”

And she laughed in response. “How can you say that? I have the worst memory in the world. I cannot remember my clients’ names or faces or when they come or anything that is said by them in my presence.” She watched him push away the remains of the food, not that much remained, and drain the last of the ale from his cup. “When will you want those documents? I have put them safely away where I do not think they will be found without a real search, so I would like to get them out when no one is here to see.”

“I will come by tomorrow morning before I leave, if I decide to go to Winchester,” he replied, pushing back the bench and getting to his feet. “Ay, me, another day listening to idiots state the obvious—and I do not except from that the justice and myself.”

Magdalene laughed again, and he went away. After that, the day was calm and ordinary, although Magdalene did from time to time find the death of the miller and the bowl for blood pudding intruding into her thoughts. She could not restrain a faint shudder each time, but it was for Bell’s horror more than for the death of the man. It was odd that a soldier who had seen so much death should be troubled. No, it was not the death. Bell had not been at all moved by killing Guiscard de Tornai. Then Magdalene nodded, satisfied because she understood: Guiscard
had been guilty of murder. The miller had only been mad.

Despite the calm, Magdalene grew more and more uneasy throughout the day, and she was much relieved when the gate closed behind the last of the clients just as the sun was setting. At least whatever ill portended would not affect them. But she had barely reached the house when the gate bell pealed. No clients were expected this night, and Magdalene did not want any. She gave the bell a malevolent glare as she returned to answer the summons, but it did not care and derisively bonged again.

“I am afraid—” she began as she opened the gate, and then swung it wide, her face wreathed in a broad smile. Suddenly she knew why she had been so uneasy; she had been waiting for this to happen and had been afraid it would not. “Master Mainard!” she exclaimed. “I am so glad to see you. Come in. Come in.”

He hesitated, and Magdalene took him by the arm and pulled him through the gate, shutting it behind him. “Yes,” he mumbled uncertainly, “but will she…. Will Sabina….”

The door of the house had been open. Magdalene’s voice had been loud with surprise and relief. Sabina’s keen ears had caught at least her lover’s name. She appeared in the doorway, without Haesel or her staff, hands outstretched.

“Stop!” Mainard cried. “There is a step.” And he bounded past Magdalene to prevent Sabina from falling.

Magdalene knew Sabina was well aware of the step, but she called no assurance to Master Mainard. His running to offer support was a good sign. Uncertain about whether her presence would be helpful or intrusive—Mainard was staring at Sabina without saying a word, and she was clinging to his hands, equally silent—Magdalene hesitated near the gate.

A moment passed and then another. Magdalene began to grin. Whatever Mainard’s intentions when he came, he was now as fascinated as a bird by a snake. She stood a while longer, watching the tableau, but she had just about decided that she must break it—after all, she could not let them stand there all night and get drenched in dew—when the bell rang again, right in her ear.