Bone of Contention

by Roberta Gellis

  “Leave Southwark? To go where? Why?”

  Magdalene widened her eyes as if she were surprised by his questions. The fool. A rent collector would not care where she went or why. She deliberately looked over his shoulder at Father Phillipe, who had also come out of the bishop’s chamber, and then around at the servants and the men-at-arms near the hearth, who were looking toward them.

  She ignored the questions and continued her own sentence as if he had not interrupted. “So I wanted to let you know that there would be no one at the Old Priory Guesthouse to pay the rent. I hope you will allow me to pay it all at once when I return. You know I have never failed to pay—”

  He made an impatient gesture of acceptance. “Yes, of course. I will let the bishop know. But where—” Magdalene shook her head at him, annoyed. Bell was not usually so slow to understand. It was, after all, for his sake, not hers that she acted as if their relationship was only that of tenant and rent collector. She was a known whore and her reputation could not be damaged by association with any man. He was the bishop’s knight, he would not be much criticized for using a whore, but befriending one was another matter entirely.

  Then Magdalene saw that his fair curls were tousled, far more unruly than the ordered waves in which he usually combed his hair, and the skin beneath his blue eyes was dark and bruised looking with lack of sleep. A gleam of hope that it was business rather than indifference that had kept him away lightened the gloom of acceptance of separation, but she suppressed it firmly.

  “You are tired, Sir Bellamy,” she said. “I will not keep you any longer.” And she started to walk away.

  “God damn it, Magdalene!” he roared. “I’m too busy—”

  Something heavy hit the ground. Magdalene hoped Bell hadn’t run into poor Father Phillipe as he attempted to follow her, she repressed a giggle but she didn’t turn around. Perhaps that wasn’t wise. A lowly whoremistress should obey the bishop’s knight, but he hadn’t issued any order, merely expressed his exasperation. Then she heard the door to the bishop’s private room slam and her amusement died. Bell hadn’t been following her.

  She was much tempted to go back to the Old Priory Guesthouse and have a good cry, but the self-pity did not last very long. By the time she had walked from the house to the gate, stepped out into the road and turned left, her impulse to weep had changed to one for slightly bitter laughter. Whores did not cry over men…and anyway she had a great many more important things to do before she could start for Oxford the next day.

  She needed some items for the trip. It had been so long since she left the London area that her travel baskets had been adapted for other purposes. She would have to get at least one new one so her gowns would not be too badly wrinkled. For the rest, her undergarments and toilet articles and such, she thought a good strong piece of canvas and two leather straps should serve. Then she must be sure that no necessary item would be used up in the Old Priory Guesthouse while she was gone. First and foremost sheets—keeping the linen clean in a whorehouse was very hard on sheets; they tended to thin from being washed so often and then tear when the action abed became vigorous.

  Musing on other supplies that might be needed before she returned, Magdalene walked briskly along the wall of St. Mary Overy priory, past the gate, which was only a hundred feet or so from the gate to the bishop’s house, and on toward the river. At the end of the road was a small dock belonging to the priory. Magdalene glanced at it, but there was no boat tied up there and it would take longer to try to signal one than to walk to London Bridge. Besides, the bridge was lined with merchant’s stalls. She might see something she wanted.

  In fact the fine spring weather had caused the merchants and peddlers to spill off the bridge itself into a broad apron around it. Magdalene tightened her veil around her face against the tugging and brushing it would receive in the press of people ahead. A curious glance or two, because it was not customary for women to veil their faces—especially on the Southwark side of the river where prostitution was a major business—made her reflect unhappily on the flawless beauty that would gain far less welcome attention if she walked bare-faced. She had been told she was beautiful enough to stop a man’s breath. Perhaps, but unveiled she was more likely to experience grabbing hands than breathlessness.

  The wry thoughts slipped away as pie-sellers thrust trays at her, ribbon vendors offered multicolored streamers for her inspection— Magdalene did stop to look, she and all of her women embroidered and ribbons were always needed, but these were too coarse—and shouted praise of these wares and those drew her attention from one side to another. Despite a resolution not to be seduced, she was a handful of sweetmeats the poorer by the time she got onto the bridge itself.

  Here were the established merchants, those who owned stalls along each side of the bridge, although one still had to push past and around itinerant sellers of small items and food as well as by purchasers and passersby who just wanted to cross the bridge. She could only thank God that the bridge was not roofed; even open to the air and the sky the noise was deafening. Journeymen and apprentices bawled their masters’ wares, peddlers bawled their own, purchasers shouted offers at merchants who shouted back higher prices, and those who wanted to cross pushed and excused themselves and cursed as the mood took them.

  In fact, Magdalene found her travel basket on the bridge. It was actually a pair of long, narrow baskets, just about the length of a horse’s body so they could be mounted on pads or a frame without getting in the horse’s way. The baskets were long enough to hold a gown and one fitted into the other. There were open handles woven into both baskets about a third of the way from each end. One could pass a rope or a strap through those to secure the baskets together and attach the bindings to straps on the animal’s harness. Magdalene paid for the baskets and left them with the merchant to be picked up on her way back.

  She was good about resisting temptation as she worked her way to the other end of the bridge, then turned left to walk north toward the East Chepe on Gracechurch Street. Fish Street would have been nearer to her next stop, at Master Mainard’s saddlery, but she preferred not to be splashed with fish guts and filthy water.

  When she reached the Chepe, Magdalene turned right and walked nearly to the end of the street. Henry, who sold the products of Mainard’s labor, smiled broadly at her and stepped aside so she could come around behind the counter, which held reins, saddlebags, stirrup leathers, and even two saddles, and enter the door of the shop. Cody, the journey-man, saw her when she crossed the open door of the workroom and called out to Master Mainard, who laid down his tools at once to greet her with considerable pleasure.

  Hearing Magdalene’s voice, Sabina came down from her rooms above the shop. She was more beautiful than ever, glowing with health and happiness. Magdalene told her that she would be away from the city for a few weeks so there was no need to visit the Old Priory Guesthouse. She saw the flash of pleasure on the saddle-maker’s face, he never protested against Sabina’s visiting her old place of business and her “sister” whores, but it made him uneasy. He could never forget the horrible birthmark that disfigured his face, and despite the fact that he knew Sabina, being blind, could not see it, he still feared she would come across a more attractive man and leave him.

  Then Magdalene mentioned the leather straps needed for the travel basket and asked if Mainard had any on hand. He did not, but the journeyman said it was no matter at all. If Magdalene would give him half a candlemark, straps would be ready for her. She asked the price, Mainard and his journeyman both looked offended. The journeyman stammered that he could not charge someone who only the month before had saved him from hanging. Mainard nodded agreement and said she had done as much for him, saving him from a lifetime of suspicion that he had murdered his monstrous wife. There would be no price.

  Magdalene said she wouldn’t take the straps without paying, that probably William of Ypres would return anything she spent anyway, so there was no reason for Mainard not to take a de
cent profit. They spent a pleasant half candlemark haggling and worked out a satisfactory arrangement in which Magdalene would pay costs and labor, and the straps would be ready when she returned from her visit to the mercer.

  The sun was declining from noon by the time she got back to the saddlery burdened with sheets, pillow slips, stockings, and half a dozen of the thinnest and softest shifts she had ever seen. She had bought three for herself and one for each of her women. Sabina touched them, murmured something about the softness of the garment…and Mainard got the name of the mercer from Magdalene, showed the shift to Cody, and sent him out to buy three more for his beloved wife.

  Sabina protested that she had shifts enough and Mainard should not spend so much on her, but Mainard said they were not for her but for him, for the pleasure he would have in seeing her wear them. That silenced Sabina, and then he diverted her by pressing Magdalene to stay and take dinner with them. Sometimes Magdalene found the overgreat sweetness of Mainard’s and Sabina’s relationship faintly sickening, but today for some reason it lightened her spirit, and she agreed at once to stay. She did not have to live with them, Magdalene told herself, so their doting fondness and Mainard’s tendency to treat Sabina like a witless child—which she was not by any means, she was only blind and was well able to take care of herself—was pleasantly amusing.

  By the time the meal was brought from the cookshop and consumed, it was nearly time for the first set of clients to arrive at the Old Priory Guesthouse. Magdalene said a hasty farewell and began to gather up her bundles, wondering how she would manage the travel baskets atop the others. However the problem did not arise. Cody and the oldest apprentice removed the packages from her hands as soon as she came down the stairs and said they would accompany her home.

  A sense of cold weight, which she had managed to hold off, began to descend on her as they approached the Old Priory Guesthouse, but she could not indulge it. Cody and the apprentice brought in the fruits of her shopping and Ella burst into tears at the sight of the travel basket. It took a little while to convince her that her simple world was not coming to an end, that nothing would change at the Old Priory Guesthouse, that Diot would solve her problems and not scold her, and that Magdalene would be back in a few weeks.

  Distribution of the new shifts went a long way to distracting Ella’s mind, and before her fears could rise again, her first client appeared. Magdalene breathed a long sigh of relief. When Ella was with a man, her attention was totally focused. Then Letice’s client, who was new and had been recommended by Master Buchuinte, wanted to ask a host of questions. Since he was a wealthy grocer whose wife had died some months past and was just the kind of client who might be very profitable for a long time, Magdalene had Letice bring out good wine and sweetcakes and did her best to satisfy his doubts and soothe his anxieties.

  The delay and Letice’s understanding that a first-time client must not be rushed and must be completely satisfied made her late for her next client. Since he planned to spend the whole night, he did not feel as if he were being cheated of precious time and was not impatient. Magdalene kept him busy with light chatter, and when that ran thin began a mild complaint about the inconvenience of family obligations, which were dragging her away from her business to Oxford.

  “Oxford!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “This is a terrible time to go to Oxford. Had you not heard that the whole realm has responded to King Stephen’s summons to this Court sitting? I hope your family has some place for you to sleep.”

  “They had better,” Magdalene said, smiling—but she did not think that William would have troubled himself to think about where she would stay, unless he intended her to stay with him. She repressed a shudder and leaned forward to refill the client’s wine cup. “They bade me come. I did not offer, I assure you. But why is this Court so crowded? I do not remember that there was so great a press of people, even at the Court at Westminster at Christmas.”

  “Those who came to Westminster could lodge in London,” he said. “Oxford is much smaller. The thing is that after the king’s victories in the west and the Battle of the Standard, which routed the Scots in the north, most men believe that King Stephen is too strong to oppose. Thus, everyone wishes to display his loyalty by appearing at Court.”

  Magdalene sighed. “That is reasonable, I suppose, even if it is inconvenient for me.”

  The goldsmith grinned. “It may be reasonable, but that does not make it the whole truth. This is one of the times I am very glad to have been born a goldsmith instead of a lord. The earl of Gloucester’s defiance to the king has made Stephen suspicious, and the great lords are trying to show they are not looking Gloucester’s way. To fail to appear at Court might mean one was gathering men and supplies to burst into rebellion as soon as Gloucester crosses the narrow sea.”

  “Surely not? Why should they? Stephen has been a mild and merciful king, has he not?”

  “Perhaps too mild and merciful. I have heard it said that rebels would likely escape punishment, and as for reasons…there are always reasons—” He looked up at the sound of soft footsteps to see Letice smiling at him from the doorway to the corridor. He smiled too, but turned back to Magdalene to say, “And for those who are rebels, what better place to meet and make plans than a king’s Council where you and your confederates have been summoned? Who could say your meeting was for an ill purpose?” He shrugged as he rose to join Letice. “I hope these are only fanciful fears. No merchant likes war, and a war of rebellion least of all. Your family is not political, is it Magdalene?”

  “No, not at all. They are small folk of no importance.”

  “So much the better,” he said soberly. “This is a good time to be overlooked.”

  When Letice’s door closed behind them, Magdalene put away the flagon of wine and carried the cups into the kitchen to be washed. The bell at the gate rang as she was coming back along the corridor, and she frowned slightly, trying to think who could be arriving at this time. Another new client? Anyone who knew the ways of her house would be aware that no woman would be free until Vespers and that if he wanted to be entertained without an appointment he should come closer to that time.

  I will send him away, she thought, as she went out to answer the bell. I will explain that this is a bad time because I am leaving tomorrow. But she walked slowly, still undecided. Turning away a new client on his first visit was not good business. On the other hand, she really did not want to spend the next few hours entertaining an impatient man, She wanted to pack before Ella was free to notice and begin to wail again.

  The bell rang again, a short irritable peal, just as she reached for the gate. That made up her mind for her. She didn’t need any more clients who were short tempered and demanding. She snapped the gate open harder than she had meant, beginning to say “I am sorry—” before the angry face on the other side made an impression.

  “Sorry about what?” Bell snapped.

  “Oh, I thought you were a new client and I was about to try to explain that this was a bad time because I am going away.”

  “What difference could that make to a new client…? Unless you are taking clients again?” His color rose with temper as did his voice.

  “It would be none of your affair if I did!” Magdalene snarled, pulling the gate all the way open, and yanking him forward. Since he had not been braced to resist and Magdalene was no weakling, he stumbled through. She slammed the gate behind him and pulled in the bell cord, so that no one else could ring. “It so happens that I want to do my packing before Ella is rid of her client because she begins to cry every time she’s reminded that I’m going away.”

  “To cry? Why?” Bell asked, momentarily distracted.

  “Who knows?” Magdalene replied impatiently, walking past him toward the door. “You know she’s like a child. I suppose she is afraid that I won’t come back or she will be mistreated in my absence. Actually, she won’t even notice that I’m missing once I’m gone if everything runs smoothly, but if she sees me pa
cking she’ll weep and wail all the time I’m away.”

  “Surely not when she’s abed,” Bell said, grinning.

  Magdalene closed the door of the house behind them and waved him toward the stools by the hearth. “No, not then,” she replied, also smiling. “To futter is her ultimate comfort, so her clients won’t be deprived, but if she doesn’t realize I’m out of the city, she won’t bore them to death by rehashing her fears with them. And, truthfully, I would just as soon most of them didn’t know I was from home.”

  “Home,” Bell repeated softly. “Do you really think of a whorehouse as home?”

  Magdalene stared at him for a moment, then sighed long and loud. “Yes, I do,” she said in a mildly exasperated voice, looking around at the orderly, handsome room. “It is my home. I am comfortable here, happy.”

  “Yet you are going away, and for some time if you are packing enough to make Ella notice.”

  “Several weeks, I fear.”

  “And you will not tell me where you are going?” He looked at the hands clasped between his knees.

  “Of course, I will tell you. Why in the world should you think I would not? I came to the bishop’s house to leave a letter for you explaining everything.”

  “But you did not leave it.”

  “No.” Magdalene stiffened, remembering her pain when she realized he was in Southwark and had made no attempt to see her. “You did not bother to let me know you were back in Southwark, so why should you care if I go away?”

  He blinked at her. “Let you know? When did I have time-to let you know? I arrived after midnight. Would you have thanked me for waking the entire street and disturbing your clients by coming here? And I have been going through Winchester’s correspondence since dawn—” He stopped abruptly and lifted a hand to rub over his eyes and then down his face.

  Magdalene smiled slightly. “I’ve forgotten already what you said.”

  Bell burst out laughing. “Thank God I do not have to hold my breath until I believe you. I would surely turn blue.”