“Why?” Bell asked, still stunned by what had happened, staring at Sir John’s suffused face. “He was a nothing. Why kill him?”
“Nothing?” Sir John gasped, wrenching at his wrist in Bell’s grip and pulling free when Bell relaxed his hold. “That nothing has destroyed me, utterly destroyed me.”
“He destroyed you because you chose to sleep with his whore and she stole from you?” Bell said, disbelievingly. “That is ridiculous.”
“I tell you he did it all! If he were not a puling coward, he would not have killed the whore. If he had not lied to me… He told me he found her dead. He shook me out of a drugged sleep and he accused me of killing her. And then when I could hardly think, he demanded that I help him get rid of the body. And he said, laughing, that we should put it in the bishop’s house and let him explain it while he tried to call a convocation to reprimand the king.”
Bell started to laugh. “You were truly hung by your own rope. Nelda had the letter you so urgently desire wrapped in her breastband. I found it when I looked her over to see if there was any cause, other than her broken neck for her death.” He shook his head at Sir John and uttered another chuckle. “You are right. Had you left Nelda lying at the foot of the stair… Well, you would not have had the letter, but it would have made all the scandal your master desired.”
“Laugh at me, will you?” Sir John’s eyes narrowed. “You will laugh less when your bishop is reduced to the state of that other traitor, Salisbury.”
Bell’s lips thinned when he heard Winchester called a traitor, but he did understand the desperation of a man who had failed a master with little patience or compassion. He understood, too, that despite being addressed to Winchester the letter was never supposed to come to him. Likely Mandeville would have brought it to the king, with some tale of how his man had come by it that would blacken the bishop.
Mandeville, Bell guessed, hoped to raise himself in King Stephen’s eyes by adding proof that Winchester was a traitor to the rage the king must feel over Winchester’s call for a convocation. Having that ploy not only fail but backlash at him, when Winchester found the letter on the body of a whore, would infuriate Mandeville. His spite would turn on Sir John, who had not only failed him but actually helped the bishop. And Mandeville was the kind not only to dismiss Sir John from his service but to blacken his name so that no other noble would be willing to employ him.
“I will go back to Gloucester,” Sir John said, staring up at Bell. “I will explain to him that I lost the letter and beg for another to be written. He will do it. It will cost him no more than the sheet of parchment…”
“That is useless,” Bell said, almost with sympathy. “The bishop has already sent the letter to the king and explained how it came into his hands.”
“Is that so? I am very glad you told me. Then I will not waste my time on a letter proffering friendship. I will bring back a reply from Gloucester…a reply…yes…that will prove Winchester is a traitor.”
“Winchester is no traitor,” Bell snapped. “Don’t be stupid, man. The king is his brother.”
“Stupid am I? We will see who is the cleverer.”
Sir John started to turn away, but Bell’s hand fell on his shoulder.
“Let me go,” Sir John snarled, shaking free of Bell’s light grasp, and stepping back almost onto Magdalene’s toes.
“I cannot let you go,” Bell said, frowning. “You say you had cause, but in my eyes you just murdered Sir Linley, who was not even holding a weapon. He is bleeding at your feet. I cannot allow you to take ship for Normandy…at least not until you have explained yourself to the sheriff and Master Octadenarius the justiciar. Come—”
“No!” Sir John bellowed, suddenly drawing his sword. “I will go to Normandy. You cannot stop me!”
Claresta screamed again, and Spencer pushed her behind him, himself backing as far away as he could get from the moving weapon. Bell danced aside from the stroke, his hand going to the hilt of his own sword. But as he twisted to avoid another slashing blow, his elbow struck Spencer’s arm and he cast a single glance over his shoulder. There was no room for him to swing a sword; a backstroke might hit the two innocents behind him. Cursing luridly, Bell drew his long poniard. If he could catch Sir John’s sword arm or hand, he could disarm him.
Magdalene neither moved nor cried out although the blood pounded in her throat so hard she thought she would choke on her fear for her lover. She knew that the very worst thing she could do was to distract him by any sound or movement. She saw him reach for his sword, felt a small flutter of relief. Sword in hand, there were few men who could match Bell.
The relief was short lived. Fear surged higher when Bell backed to avoid Sir John’s second blow and nearly collided with Spencer. Magdalene saw Bell glance over his shoulder at Claresta and Spencer, sobbed behind bitten lips as she saw his hand leave his sword hilt. No! she cried silently. Knife against sword. No!
Bell dodged again, but Magdalene saw he was closer to Sir John, saw the edge of Sir John’s blade brush against Bell’s sleeve, saw him lean precariously away from the slice, barely drawing his leg clear of the sword edge in time. He could not escape again.
Magdalene could not breathe. She heard Sir John cursing Bell with a stream of foul obscenities. She saw him raise his sword, gripping it now in both hands for a killing blow. She saw that if Sir John were closer to Bell, the sword would go beyond him, not strike him at all. Still silent, she leapt forward, arms rigid, both hands slamming into Sir John’s back with her full weight and all the impetus she could get from her strong legs.
Sir John screamed. Bell shouted in surprise and belated warning as Sir John fell against him, fell against the knife he was holding at waist height, slightly tilted upward, ready to strike at the wrist of Sir John’s sword arm as the arm came down. Instead when Sir John fell against him, both arms struck Bell’s shoulder, but the sword he was holding was well beyond Bell’s body.
Spencer also cried out as the sword seemed to come directly at him. He dragged Claresta sideways, still shielding her with his body, but that was scarcely necessary as the sword drooped downward and then dropped from Sir John’s hand.
Sir John himself seemed to be clinging to Bell and then he screamed again as Bell pushed him away, pulling his knife free. Sir John staggered backward, crying out once more, his hands reaching for his hurt; then he began to fall. Bell caught at him, one-handed, holding his knife well away in the other hand. Sir John’s body twisted in his grip and he wailed wordlessly, but Bell managed to ease him down to the floor, where he lay quite close to Sir Linley’s body, moaning, hands pressed to his wound. Bell stood staring down at both bodies, eyes and mouth open with shock.
“What happened?” he gasped. “Why did he leap at me?” By long habit that operated without thought, Bell cleaned his knife on his already blood smeared tunic and sheathed it.
No one answered his question. Spencer had been watching only Sir John and the threat from his weapon. Claresta, terrified, had been hiding her face in the journeyman’s broad back. Magdalene was backed against the wall again. If Bell had not seen what she had done, she decided, she would not admit it. He would be fit to murder her for interfering in his fight, even if her action had saved his life.
“Pu—pu—” Sir John struggled to lift his head, his voice a gurgling mumble.
Magdalene stiffened as Bell went down on one knee to listen, but the effort had done some final damage to the injured man. Blood ran out of Sir John’s mouth, stifling anything more he might have said, and he fell back limply. Shaking his head, Bell pulled Sir John’s hands aside so he could see the wound. Blood was pulsing out of it and air bubbles frothed the blood, but Sir John was still breathing. Bell hesitated for one long moment and then stood up.
Behind him Claresta was sobbing hysterically. Bell turned toward where the journeyman still stood, nearly paralyzed by shock. “Take her out of here,” Bell said to Spencer. “Take her up to her solar and send the servant, Jean I think i
t is, in here to me.”
Spencer nodded, looked at the two bodies, and lifted Claresta into his arms so she would not need to walk past them. He carried her out of the room with her face buried against his breast so she did not see the men, one dead, the other nearing that state.
“It is a kindness to let him die,” Bell said to Magdalene in a troubled way when Spencer had left the room. “I have seen wounds like that. If I stopped the bleeding…if I could stop it, but I am not sure I could because I think the knife caught the edge of the heart or that big tube that comes out of the heart… But if I could he would die anyway, only in terrible pain and it would take days…”
He was babbling out of shock and guilt. Magdalene came forward, carefully lifting her skirt to keep it out of the blood on the floor.
“It was not your fault, Bell,” she said soothingly.
Bell never seemed to feel any guilt over those he had decided to kill for what he considered a good cause, but for some reason Magdalene could not fathom he seemed to have sympathy for Sir John. Apparently, Magdalene thought with exasperation, Sir John’s clear intention of killing Bell was not a good enough cause for Bell to kill him. She put a hand on his arm to give comfort.
As for her part in Sir John’s death, her only interest in it was to keep Bell from discovering that she had been the cause. The blood no longer bothered her, nor did the two bodies on the floor. The shock of Linley’s sudden death had brought back an evil memory, but she had buried it again.
Actually a definite sense of satisfaction covered any horror she might have felt regarding Sir John’s death. He had tried to kill her dearling Bell; he had drawn his sword while Bell was unprepared, continued to wield it when he saw that Bell could not draw his own weapon without endangering Spencer and Claresta. No, she was not going to be worried about pushing Sir John into Bell’s knife.
Unaware of Magdalene’s thoughts and soothed by the comfort of her hand on his arm. Bell sighed. “No,” he agreed, shaking his head, “it wasn’t my fault. I saw no reason to kill him and didn’t intend to do so. I intended to stab his sword arm, if I was lucky get my knife into his wrist so that he’d drop the sword. I can’t imagine why he leapt at me.”
Magdalene could feel Bell’s arm trembling under her hand and she squeezed it gently. She did not like it that Bell was still so distressed. He would continue to worry about how Sir John died, might remember a half seen movement and suspect she had been involved.
“Perhaps he tripped on Linley’s hand,” Magdalene suggested blandly. “It is stretched out and I freely admit I was not watching Sir John’s feet.”
“I suppose,” Bell said frowning as he looked down at the position of the bodies; then he laughed ruefully. “I was not watching his feet either.”
Delighted that her suggestion was taking hold, Magdalene said, “Well, it would be justice if he tripped on Linley’s hand, would it not? Perhaps Linley’s lingering spirit moved the hand or even grasped at Sir John’s foot.”
That had a greater effect than Magdalene had intended. Bell shuddered and said, “We need a priest.”
“We certainly do,” Magdalene agreed.
She reconsidered an impulse of denial. It would be better to let the idea that Linley’s ghost had tripped Sir John fix itself in Bell’s mind. If that were true. Bell would be freed of all guilt for Sir John’s death. If Linley’s spirit had exacted vengeance through Bell’s hand, Bell was not responsible. Also, Magdalene thought with satisfaction, it was not something he would wish to dwell upon.
Bell stepped away from Linley’s body and asked irritably, “Where is that Jean?”
“Here,” a choked and shaking voice replied from the doorway.
“For sweet Mary’s sake, why did you not speak sooner?” Magdalene snapped, then shook her head when Jean cringed. “No, never mind that. Go at once to the nearest church for a priest so that he may give the last rites to these poor men. And as you go, send Hugo in here.”
Jean rushed out and Bell looked puzzled. “Why Hugo?”
“Master Rhyton has a horse, I am sure. Hugo, I know from when Bertrild was killed, knows horses and can ride. If you tell him how to find Master Octadenarius’s house, you can write a message to the justiciar and he can come himself or send someone to take the evidence about these deaths.”
“You are right,” Bell said. “It will be best if the tale is told when it is still clear in everyone’s mind.”
Epilogue
It was after dark before Bell finally reached the Old Priory Guesthouse. He came from the bishop of Winchester’s house, across the grounds of the priory, and through the back gate. Thus he did not ring the bell at the front gate but knocked softly on the door of the house itself. For a moment his heart sank when no one answered. He was so tired he was near weeping.
He had raised his hand to knock again when Magdalene’s voice came, tense and frightened, “Who is there?”
“Bell,” he replied.
“Wait,” she said, her voice light now, relieved. “I have to get the key.”
When the door opened, he just stood in it, blinking stupidly, until Magdalene, smile of welcome fading from her lips in her concern, put her arm around his shoulders and drew him in. She pushed the door shut with her free hand, and Bell dropped his head to rest his cheek on her hair.
“What happened?” she asked. “Did Octadenarius make things difficult? After he sent you to the kitchen to get off as much of the blood as you could, he asked me what had happened. He knows my house and my reputation. I was sure he believed me. Then he went above to speak to Claresta and Spencer, and when he came down he said my tale fit perfectly with theirs, that he had two witnesses, and since I was excommunicate and could not bear witness, I could go home. I could swear he was satisfied.”
Bell lifted his head and Magdalene pushed him gently toward the table. She released his shoulders and he gathered enough energy to go to his usual place. Magdalene followed, unbuckled his sword belt, and propped the sword against the table for him. Bell muttered something, perhaps thanks, and sat down heavily on the bench.
Magdalene hurried to the shelves at the back of the room to bring a fine horn cup and a flagon of wine—William’s wine, she thought, but she would not mention that to Bell and William would not grudge it. She sat down and poured a full cup for him.
He drank about a third of the cup in one swallow, then set it down. “No, Octadenarius gave me no trouble about the killings. Claresta and Spencer told him how Sir John had blamed Linley for all his troubles and then stabbed him in the throat when Spencer had distracted my attention. And Spencer insisted Sir John had gone mad, that he attacked me, and then not satisfied with trying to cut me in half with his sword, leaped on me despite my shouting a warning and skewered himself on my knife.”
“Then you are clear of any blame,” Magdalene said.
Bell shivered. “I know, but Octadenarius wanted to hear it all from me, from Nelda’s death and the letter.”
“Gentle Mother, why?”
“Because he would have to explain to both Mandeville and Surrey what had happened to their men. I had forgot that.”
“Did you tell him that Sir John and Linley were the ones who carried Nelda’s body into the bishop’s house?”
“Yes. Once I mentioned that, Octadenarius realized why Sir John was angry enough to kill. And he understood why Sir John attacked me when I refused to allow him to leave for Normandy. But before I was finished, Master Rhyton arrived.”
“He had heard about what happened?”
“No. He didn’t even notice the bodies but went right up to the solar, thinking Linley was there with Claresta. It was something in the contract, apparently something that Linley had lied about.” Bell smiled suddenly. “I do not think you need worry about Mistress Claresta being forced into another noble marriage. It seems Linley, or his father, had inserted into the contract a clause forbidding Rhyton to come as a visitor to Godalming or to have Claresta visit him here.”
; Magdalene shook her head. “It seems that Linley was truly his father’s son, greedy to take but not to shoulder the results of the taking.”
“Yes. Rhyton was livid. It shamed him, denied what he most desired, to be thought a landed lord. But it would not have mattered because Mistress Claresta told him in no uncertain terms—well, Octadenarius and I heard her all the way down the stairs and I think would have heard her through two closed doors—what came of trying to force his way out of his own class. She said she would have Spencer, no idiot nobleman who would no doubt ruin the business and think of her only as a brood mare.”
“I would not wonder if she then told him about the two dead bodies in the common room and pointed out that respectable burghers would never behave that way.”
“Ah…yes.” Bell found a tired smile. “I was witness to that. Mistress Claresta brought her father down to show him the result of his unadvised attempt to bring noble blood into their family. She said that hope was dead…”
Hurriedly, because she saw Bell’s expression change and wished to divert him from thoughts of Linley’s dead hand, Magdalene said, “I wonder if she will buy those cuffs or the ones with leaves and flowers and some other embroidery? But of course if she heard anyone calling me a whore…though why my being a whore should make my embroidery less beautiful, I have no idea.”
But Bell was not listening. He finished the wine in his cup, and Magdalene took it from his hand and refilled it. “I asked if I could go report to the bishop while Octadenarius was explaining to Rhyton, but he said he was not through with me. Once rid of the merchant, he wanted to hear about how Linley had managed Gehard’s death. I could only give him our guesses, and he sent for the sheriff of Southwark, and the two of them wanted proof. Fortunately I remembered the apothecary had said he would recognize the purchaser of the poison. They sent for him and he was able to identify Linley and told them of Linley giving his name as Gehard fitzRobert and the tale of the mad dog. So that was settled.”
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