Roberta Gellis (38 page)

“Why are you showing those five to Sir Druerie?”

“Because he is familiar with Saeger’s appearance.”

“Ah! And how will you get them to confront him?”

Bell looked smug. “I asked Master Mainard to invite them to his house, using the excuse that he wished to return to them what Bertrild extorted. There, he will introduce each to Sir Druerie, who will be able, I hope, to point out Saeger.”

“Poor Mainard,” Sabina murmured. “He will hate laying a trap that might catch a friend.”

“Saeger is no friend to any man, no matter what he pretends,” Bell remarked dryly. “He murdered his first wife—if she was his first—for her property, and there is some question that he killed his father-by-marriage, too.”

“I know,” Sabina said, “and Mainard knows also, which is why he agreed to do what you asked, but he will be very unhappy.”

“I do not like to hear about robberies,” Ella said. “The thieves will not come here, will they?”

“No, love, of course not,” Magdalene soothed. “You know how careful we are to lock up the house. And then, there are usually some friends staying with us, and they would rush to protect you.”

“No one will be here tonight,” Ella said, looking from face to face for assurance.

“I will stay if I think there is any danger,” Bell said, assuming that by evening Ella would have forgotten the whole discussion.

“Oh, good!” She smiled like a happy child and slid along the bench to get to her feet. “I remember you have a long, sharp sword. You will be able to keep us safe.” She looked at Magdalene. “I will go clean my room now. When I am finished, can we play a game?”

“If it is quiet, love. We will see.”

Letice also slid off the bench, gathering up the remains of her meal and Sabina’s, which she piled at the end of the table for Dulcie to clear away. She tapped the table to draw Magdalene’s attention and then signed that she was going out.

“Very well,” Magdalene said, “but be careful in the street. Remember, when you were out the other morning you thought someone was following you.”

Bell’s head came up sharply. “Someone followed you, Letice?”

She shrugged and lifted her hands palm up to show that she was not sure, frowned, and ran off suddenly. On her slate when she returned was the word “saaf.”

Bell looked at Magdalene, who said, “Safe. She means that she arrived safely.”

“I don’t like it,” Bell said, rising from the bench. “I might have made a slip of the tongue when I was talking to the beggarmaster, who used to be whoremaster in the house where Letice worked. He may think from what I said that Letice told me for whom she changed seals and his name also. I think I will just walk along with Letice to the inn she goes to. Once she is with her friends, she will be safe enough, and I will come back. I’d like to see those documents of Genlis’s again, if you don’t mind, Magdalene.”

“I’ll get them,” she said. “Will you come back here for dinner?”

He grinned broadly. “If you invite me, I will come. I am free today because the justice put off his decision on those disputed tithes. Since I do not need to stop at Swythling to look for Saeger, there is no great hurry for me to leave for Winchester. I can wait until Sir Druerie points out Saeger and perhaps have his company when I ride.”

Letice came back from putting away her slate, wrapped in a cloak and veil, and Bell followed her out. Diot finished the last of her ale and said, “Do you want to put Master Mainard’s cloak away in your own chamber, Sabina?”

“Oh, yes,” Sabina replied and got out from behind the table, still clutching the cloak.

Diot looked at Magdalene, who shrugged, and then offered her arm to Sabina, who laid a hand lightly on it. When Diot returned to the common room, she beckoned to Magdalene who followed her into her chamber, where she shut
the door. Magdalene glanced around quickly. The positions of bed and chest had been changed, and a small table with a stool had been added, but the room was in excellent order.

“I did not want to speak where Sabina could hear,” Diot said. “She worries about that hulk of a man as if he were fragile as glass. However, I thought I should mention that I do not think that breaking in to Master Mainard’s house was by thieves. I think it was one or more of Bertrild’s victims who was looking for the documents we have. Is it safe to keep them here?”

“I thought the same myself,” Magdalene agreed, “but I am not sure what to do. If I give them to Bell, he will hand them over either to the bishop or to Master Octadenarius. That might lead to a terrible death for a man like FitzRevery, which would be a great wrong if he is not guilty of killing Borc and Bertrild.”

“If he carried letters to Gloucester in Normandy, that is treason.”

So Diot comes from the south, Magdalene thought. Being herself from the north, an invasion from Normandy did not seem very important, but she understood Diot’s reaction. It was over southern lands that battles would be fought; it was southern villages that would be raided and looted. Magdalene quickly subdued her curiosity. From where Diot came was none of her business, or what sent her into whoredom; it could not be worse than what she herself concealed.

“I doubt it was deliberate treason,” she pointed out. “Bertrild’s father forced him to carry the letters. A trader in wool has no desire at all to see ships of war in the narrow sea. However, I am enough of your mind about those documents being dangerous to keep, to try to get Bell to let me remove a few sentences from some of them and then give them over into his hands. I certainly do not want those men in here searching.”

Diot nodded, remaining tactfully in her own room while Magdalene retrieved the documents from their hiding place. She had them all neatly separated, the bound parchments in one box and the scrolls, tied in two batches, in another. She set them beside her stool and covered them with a third box, open to show bands of ribbon and hanks of embroidery thread. Magdalene picked up her needle and began to think about what concessions she could hope to get from Bell while she waited for him to return.

* * * *

Mainard and Sir Druerie, having talked late into the night, overslept early Mass and barely made the later one. It took a long time to get breakfast, too, because the cook was unused to preparing for so many and, particularly, for so many young, healthy appetites. She misjudged the portions and had to make what amounted to three breakfasts before she was done.

When the boys were finally fed, Codi asked anxiously if Master Mainard would accompany them back to the shop and seemed about to burst into tears when Mainard said he had other plans for the day. Seeing his journeyman’s distress, it occurred to Mainard that no work would be done even if he sent the boys back, so he told Codi to take the day off and come back to sleep at Lime Street again. They would begin anew in the new week, he promised, with everything peaceful and ordinary. Codi thanked him, almost prayerfully, said that he hoped nothing exciting would
ever
happen again, and went off with the boys.

Sir Druerie went on eating without comment, although he had shaken his head when Mainard so easily yielded to his journeyman’s fears. Mainard opened
his mouth to point out that it was useless to try to get decent work out of skilled craftsmen when their minds were elsewhere, but instead he exclaimed wordlessly and rushed away from the table. Druerie called after him to discover what was wrong, but got no answer until Mainard returned.

“They are gone already,” he said, “and I have no idea where.”

“You changed your mind?” Sir Druerie asked.

Mainard, more at ease with this man than with most, wrinkled his nose. “No, only I should have told Codi to go to the shop before they set off for their holiday. The man who does the selling for me might as well not miss the Sunday trade, but he will not be able to bring out the counter or the goods. His hands are nearly useless, and he cannot carry any heavy object.”

“If the shop is locked, he would not be able to get the goods anyway.”

“He could get in. Master FitzRevery has a key and could let him in, but I think it an imposition to expect Perekin to carry out my counter and stock for Henry. If you will pardon me, Sir Druerie, I will walk down to the shop and open up for Henry. And since we are going to the Old Priory Guesthouse, I think I will take two or three gowns to Sabina.”

“No need for pardon. I think I will accompany you. The weather is fair, and I would like to look about in the Chepe. I know I have all Bertrild’s dresses and other things for my wife and daughters and daughter-by-marriage,
but a new toy or two makes them so happy…. You think me too indulgent?”

Mainard laughed. “I am forever buying things for Sabina
that she insists she does not need or want, so I am the last one to call you indulgent.”

They finished eating in perfect amity and then strolled out. Mainard shook his head when he heard the bar being dropped in its slot behind him. It was too bad the servants should be so frightened, but he hoped the worst was over now. When they reached the corner of the Chepe, Sir Druerie looked down the street in some surprise, commenting that the market was a great deal larger than that in Winchester.

“It is only one of the markets, and actually somewhat smaller than the West Chepe. And the animal markets are not held in London. Cattle and horses are displayed in the Smithfield twice a week. You will stay the week, at least, I hope—and of course you are welcome for as much longer as you can spare—so I can show you all the markets and more of London. My friend Master Newelyne, a cordwainer, has many connections in the West Chepe.”

“Oh, yes, I will certainly stay the week. I want to lay my hands on Saeger, even if he is not the one who killed Bertrild. If he is, I will be willing enough to leave him to London justice, but if by chance
a different one of those five you were describing to me murdered Bertrild, I still want Saeger for the death of his first wife. I will take him back with me and see that he hangs in Swythling.”

“Bertrild was—”

“A personal devil!”

“Even so, to kill….” Mainard shuddered.

Sir Druerie laughed. “It is as well that you were not noble born, Mainard. It is, after all, a knight’s first purpose to kill.” He shook his head at Mainard’s expression, “There are times when it is necessary, you know.” Then he slapped Mainard on the shoulder genially. “Forget it.” He gestured widely at the Chepe. “This is more interesting, but there is too much here to see just walking along. You go ahead and meet your man and help him set up for the day’s work. I will look at the stalls and meet you later.”

Knowing he was late already, Mainard did not argue. He bid Sir Druerie farewell, warned him that he must chaffer or he would be skinned, and urged him to come and get him if he saw something he really wanted to be sure he would get a fair price. Then he stretched his long legs and made quick work of the street between Jokel de Josne’s shop, where Sir Druerie was headed, and his own. He saw Henry leaning patiently against the building.

“Sorry,” he called out.

“Knew you’d be late if you let the boys sleep in Lime Street.” Henry looked around. “Where are they?”

“Quaking like reeds. There was no sense sending them back here. Either they would do nothing, or they’d spoil everything they touched. I told them to go and play. I’ll open and set up for you—and I’ll give you a free day to make up—

“No need,” Henry said, grinning. “I like to sell. It’s a real pleasure to sell your goods, Master Mainard. I never need to worry about angry customers coming back with split seams or cracked leather. If there’s a fault, I know I can point it out. And my wife was glad to be rid of me today. She has some kind of women’s guild coming.”

While Henry spoke, Mainard removed the heavy key from his purse and pushed it into the lock. To his surprise, it would not turn. He pulled it out, put it back in, but it still would not turn. He twisted it in the other direction, thinking to free the tumblers by jostling them, but the key then turned readily. He lifted the latch and pushed, but the door was tight locked. Then he turned the key to unlock,
and the tumblers moved as smoothly as they ever had. This time when he lifted the latch, the door opened.

“It was unlocked?” Henry said.

“It was unlocked,” Mainard agreed, “but I could swear that I locked it when we left yesterday.”

Henry stood looking at Mainard’s hand on the door latch, frowning and trying to remember. Finally he shook his head. “I think you did, too, Master Mainard, but I don’t know if I truly saw you lock the door yesterday, or I have seen you lock it so often that I remember all the other times.”

“To tell the truth, I am no more sure than you. I have been…a little distracted.” He shrugged. “Well, we will see if anyone has taken advantage of it.”

They walked in but saw nothing much amiss. All the finished saddles ready for sale were there. One saddle was crooked on its stand and a set of reins had slipped to the floor, but the most valuable item, aside from the saddles themselves, a heavily decorated, inlaid-with-ivory pair of saddlebags lay just where Henry had left them, propped upright on a shelf behind the counter, and some silver bells and tassels for fastening to a lady’s bridle were also untouched.

Henry shook his head. “You know, Master Mainard, I was upset myself yesterday, even if I tried not to show it. Two dead bodies…. I could have knocked those reins down and brushed against the saddle and not even realized it.”

“As could I,” Mainard said, but he felt uneasy.

Still, he carried out the trestles and then the wide board that sat on them
to make the outside counter. When the board was firmly settled, he brought out two saddles, setting one at each end of the counter, and then the odds and ends of leatherwork: the bundle of reins, several halters, several bridles, a collection
of girth straps. Henry carried out his stool, which he could hook over his arms so his nearly useless hands were not necessary, and the box in which he kept farthings and a few pence to make change.

As Henry began to shift items around in what he thought was a better arrangement, Mainard went back through the shop and into the workroom. He stood in the doorway staring around, the hair prickling on the back of his neck. There was some disorder, but the boys had not cleared away as carefully as he usually demanded. Still, he
knew
someone had been in that workroom, someone had searched the shelves, gone through the piles of leather, shifted all the work on the tables, and looked through the drawers. And when he looked at his toolbox, he had proof. Someone had pried up the hasps into which the lock fitted so it could be opened.