Roberta Gellis (36 page)

“Mainard?” Bell urged.

Mainard shook his head. “I’ve never seen such a flask in Perekin’s
shop or home.”

“Where was it?” Octadenarius asked.

“Beside a heap of rubbish where the watchman
was standing. Oh, don’t blame him.
Likely it was covered with dirt when you told him to watch the body, and the rain washed some of it away so that I
noticed.”

“You would notice,” the justiciar said. “Bell, you think too much. You see too much.”

“My chamber
is very neat, too,” Bell said, grinning. “I do not like anything to be out of place or unexplained. A flask like this in a rubbish heap needs explaining—and maybe the answer is within. There is still some liquid left.”

“Poison?”

“That, Brother Samuel or one of his fellows will have to tell us. I am not so desperate for an explanation that I will drink any myself.” Bell grinned again.

Octadenarius grimaced. “For the trouble you have given me in this matter, I should demand it of you. If Borc died of poison, he might have drunk it anytime during the day.”

“That, too, Brother Samuel maybe able to tell us—quick or slow acting—according to how long it takes for his animal to die.”

“When did he die, do you think?”

Bell shook his head. “I would say either he died in Herlyoud’s shop soon after he went in or soon after he left it, or he has not been dead long. Possibly he died just before dawn. He is stiff, but not rigid. If he died yesterday afternoon, the stiffening would have had a chance to form and then start to wear away because it was warm yesterday. If he died at dawn, the stiffening would likely take longer because today it is cool and damp. Also very interesting is that he is befouled from his waist to his feet—

“Fouling is common in sudden, violent death.”

“Not fouling that runs down from hips to feet. He was standing when he was frightened enough to void or held upright after he was dead.”

“Somehow,” the justiciar sounded tired, “I cannot see anyone in this lot—” his glance flicked over Mainard, Codi, and Gisel “—holding a corpse upright after it was dead, or, for that matter, dropping it just outside this gate.” He sighed. “It is time now to question Herlyoud. Do you want to come also?”

They learned very little. Herlyoud admitted freely that he had not been in the shop from early morning until past Vespers. He knew nothing of Borc and had not seen him at all the previous day. Confronted by the evidence of Octadenarius’s man, the journeymen then admitted that Borc had passed through the shop. Both denied they had ever seen him before or that he had asked for money. All he had wanted was to go out through the back door because men he owed money, who wished to beat him for nonpayment, were outside. As for why they had lied about letting him pass through, that was easy. Both feared they would be punished for allowing a
criminal—or a debtor—to escape.

The apprentices, who had been in the storeroom in the back, agreed that Borc had passed through the shop and out the back door. He had not stopped to eat or drink. One boy said even his swift passing through threatened to stink up the goods; they would never have permitted him even to pause to draw breath.

Bell asked about the flask, which he had carried with him, and the shock mirrored on all faces made his muscles tense and his hand drop to his sword hilt. After a moment, Herlyoud said it did look like his, but his was still in his counting chamber. With Octadenarius on his heels, he went into a small room divided from the workroom and came out with an almost-identical flask.

The senior journeyman denied vociferously that he would have given a companion flask to Borc. They were expensive, he pointed out. His master had paid three shillings for his when the guild was raising funds for a charitable purpose. And when asked who else had bought similar flasks, he said most of the men in the guild had done so, or bought a cup or sometimes bought a cup and a flask. He then went into his master’s office and brought out a matching cup. Bell took it in hand, but it was dry and dusty, clearly kept as an ornament as was the flask.

“Too bad there are two journeymen,” Octadenarius said as they left the shop. “I cannot accuse one without having the other witness in his defense and the two apprentices, too. That is a tight-knit, happy family.”

“I think we will have to wait now until we know that there was poison in the flask and how quickly it acted. As soon as I know, I will make a reason to visit each of the five who might be suspect and see whether any has such a flask or remembers who had one. Meanwhile, I must return to Mainard’s house to retrieve my horse.”

Bell smiled to himself when Octadenarius bid him farewell without the slightest sign of reluctance, plainly relieved to be rid of him. But the justiciar was an honest man, even if he was not pleased to have complicated problems added to his load of work. He took with him the carefully capped flask to be delivered with Borc’s body to the monks of St. Catherine’s Hospital.

The rain was no more than a drizzle by the time Bell reached the Lime Street house, which was just as well because the place was locked tight. Pounding brought Jean who called a frightened question through the door. He opened it when Bell identified himself and sent Hamo to resaddle the palfrey and bring it around. Sir Druerie, Jean told Bell when he asked, had gone up to the solar, which was now back in order, to warm his aching bones in bed. There was nothing specific Bell wanted to ask the older man, so he left him in peace, mounted, and rode toward the West Chepe where he intended to ask Master Newelyne if he remembered to whom he had spoken about Bertrild’s tally sticks.

When he passed Fish Street, Bell looked over his shoulder toward the bridge, but he was not really much tempted to ride south to the Old Priory Guesthouse. Saturday was a busy day, often with extra clients to be fitted in, and he would not be welcome in the common room. Sunday was better. He knew that Magdalene and her women spent a leisurely morning over a more-than-usually hearty breakfast. If he went to early Mass, he could be with them for the meal. Magdalene would be eager to hear how Borc had died and what Sir Druerie said; the women would all pet him and praise him…. Bell smiled.

* * * *

Stoc returned to Mainard’s shop not long after the rain abated, calmed and well fed. Codi and Gisel seemed somewhat recovered, so Mainard decided to get over with the distasteful task Bell had demanded of him. He told Codi and the boys to get back to their work, and he went next door to tell Perekin FitzRevery about the money he had collected from Johannes Gerlund and wished to return.

“It
was
my farm,” FitzRevery said, with tears in his eyes, virtually acknowledging that Genlis’s notes were true. “My father did
not
swear it away to the Church. The priest—

Mainard looked at the bitter lines around FitzRevery’s mouth; those lines were new. He put a hand on his friend’s arm. “Perekin, you need not explain to me. I know you. I only want to return what Bertrild wrung out of you, and I would like you to meet her uncle, Sir Druerie. He is a very good man. It is as if all the bad was concentrated in Gervase and his daughter and all the good in Sir Druerie. You will like him,
and he will like you.”

FitzRevery looked at the hand on his arm and licked his lips. “Wednesday, you said? After the guild dinner. Very well.” He drew a deep breath and then, as if to cover over what had gone before, said briskly, “And what was going on in the alley all morning? Do not tell me your people found
another
body!”

“Yes, they did,” Mainard said and was relieved at the look of horror that crossed FitzRevery’s face.

He explained as much as he knew about Borc’s death and left FitzRevery shaking his head. By the time he returned to his own shop, he found all the good Magdalene and her women had done Stoc was undone. He kept casting harried glances toward the back door, and Codi and Gisel were little better. Gisel hit his finger with a hammer; Stoc dropped a newly completed saddle frame; and Codi put aside the saddle seat he had planned to cut because his hands were shaking too much to produce a clean line. Mainard himself stared at the cantle he was supposed to be decorating and could not imagine how to continue the design he had started.

Thus, when Master Octadenarius returned from Herlyoud’s house, Mainard asked whether he could close his shop and take Codi and the boys home to Lime Street with him. Since the lay brothers arrived with their dead cart just about then and both Stoc and Gisel burst into tears, the justiciar shrugged and approved. There was no counter to take in, so Mainard sent Henry home and locked up.

At Lime Street, Mainard sent Codi and the apprentices into the kitchen to tell the cook there would be four more for dinner. He gave Codi two pence and said that if the cook did not have enough, he should buy what the boys would like from a cookshop. Seeing the relief on Codi’s face, he smiled faintly, knowing Codi had expected the cook to be furious. At that moment Sir Druerie came down the stairs and the boys, seeing a guest, looked at him pleadingly. He assured them again that they could all sleep at Lime Street that night, the boys in the common room, the slaves in the kitchen, Sir Druerie in Bertrild’s bed, and himself on his pallet.

Mainard had the feeling that Sir Druerie might look down on him for coddling his servants, but he would just have to ignore that. Codi and the boys were all the family he had. However, Sir Druerie paid little attention to Mainard’s arrangements. He gestured Mainard into the common room and pointed toward Bertrild’s chests.

“My womenfolk would be delighted to have Bertrild’s clothing,” he said. “They would be the envy of every other dame in our area. But these are costly garments of fine cloth and with expensive embroidery, Mainard, and you, no doubt, paid for them. Bertrild came to you with nothing but debts. I feel it unjust for me to take back her belongings.”

“I do not want them,” Mainard said.

Sir Druerie clicked his tongue impatiently. “Think, man, you are still young. You still need a son to inherit your business. Are you sure you do not want to keep these things, or at least some of them, for your next wife?” He laughed at Mainard’s agonized expression. “Likely Bertrild soured you on womenfolk. She was, as I said, a real devil, but most women are good creatures, and you will find one, I am sure, who would make you happy.”

“No. It is not that I am soured on women. The colors would not suit….” Mainard’s voice trailed away, and the skin that could flush did so.

Sir Druerie looked at him in some astonishment. “Colors would not suit? Suit who? Have you another woman in mind already?”

Mainard look a deep breath. “I have…had…a leman…a good woman….”

“Have? Had? Which? Did she leave you because of Bertrild?”

“No, I sent her away—”

“To please Bertrild? That was idiotic. A wife has no business questioning what a man does so long as he provides well for her.” Druerie’s lips twisted. “And from the look of this house and those clothes, you certainly did that.”

“No.” Mainard looked down at his hands. “No, I only found Sabina after…after….” He swallowed, “Bertrild said and did things that…that made me incapable—”

“The evil witch! She had special torments for each person she knew.”

“I did not blame her entirely. It cannot have been easy for her to lie with me. Can you imagine waking in bed and seeing my face—”

“She knew your face well before she married you. She made a bargain, and you kept your part. She should have at least given you a son or two. After that, if she did not wish to share your bed, there would be reasonably kind ways to make that clear. Do not excuse that devil to me. I suffered from her also.” Then Sir Druerie smiled. “So you found a woman you like and who is satisfied to be with you. Good. But you said you sent her away?”

“When Bertrild was killed. I did not want her to be harassed.”

“Hmmm. Did it never occur to you that she had a very good reason to wish to be rid of Bertrild?”

“But had less opportunity than I to do harm. I told you why I was not accused, that I was at this christening celebration. Well, Sabina was the singer there and was in plain sight of dozens of people all afternoon. Besides she could not stab anyone.”

Sir Druerie laughed aloud. “Because she is so good and sweet?”

Mainard smiled also, turning his head so the distortion of his lips and birthmarked cheek should be less obvious. “No, although sweet and good she is, but because she is blind. A knife in Sabina’s hand would be useless.”

“Blind! But that means she cannot cook or sew or even watch over the servants’ work. Oh, well, I am sure it is very sad, but for you not all without advantage. So, how did you come to find her and make her your leman?”

“Very strangely. By my neighbor, Perekin FitzRevery, I was brought to join and become one of the principal members of a Bridge Guild—all the Bridge Guilds are joined together for the purpose of building a new bridge across the Thames. When we have serious and private matters to discuss that the lesser members might not need to know, this guild often meets in a place called the Old Priory Guesthouse, which I must tell you is a whorehouse—”

“That is a strange name for a whorehouse,” Sir Druerie said, from the grin on his face vastly amused.

So Mainard told him how the Old Priory Guesthouse got its name and something about the place and the character of its whoremistress. Sir Druerie looked doubtful when Mainard spoke of what the Guesthouse offered and then horrified when he named Magdalene’s prices, but he did not interrupt to speak his doubts aloud.

“But one afternoon when I went there thinking to meet the others in the group,” Mainard went on, “I found I had mistaken the place or time or something. In any case, Sabina came to greet me and ask what I wanted and—and I am not sure how it came about, but I found myself in her bed and…and fully restored to my manhood.”

Sir Druerie nodded, a cynical twist to his lips. “So you bought her out of the whorehouse—”

“No, Sabina was a free woman and Magdalene…it is too bad you cannot meet Magdalene. She is very special.”