Roberta Gellis

by A Personal Devil

  Somer grinned and nodded at Diot. “Well, I cannot resist that. Would you please see that Dulcie brings a pitcher of wine to Ella’s room? I think I may need its reviving qualities.”

  It turned out that Ella was just in time in taking hold of her prize. Just after Diot delivered the flask of wine—drawn from one of the casks that William of Ypres had delivered to the Old Priory Guesthouse for his own and his men’s use—Letice returned. Magdalene hastily explained what she had arranged and Letice nodded vigorously, then ran to fetch her slate.

  “hoo kil” she wrote on it.

  “We do not yet know,” Magdalene said, after reading “Who killed” aloud for Sabina and Diot. Then Magdalene gave a brief resume of what she and Bell had learned and finally said, “It seems to me that the killer must be one of the five men who were in Mainard’s workroom on Friday and could have stolen Codi’s knife. It is possible, of course, that the messenger from her uncle killed her, but Bell admits that her strange behavior in sending away the servants might well have been because she expected someone to come after the messenger left. And I cannot see how the messenger could have obtained Codi’s knife. Can anyone think of anyone else?”

  Diot, eyes intent, shook her head. “No, because unless Henry, Codi, and the boys are all lying, no one else could have had the knife, and it was used to stab the woman, even if it did not kill her. So, those five, but how does that help us to decide among them?”

  “All except one are clients,” Magdalene pointed out. “We do not use clients’ true names, but I know them all. I want to hear everything you know or guess about these men. Remember this is within the family and will go no farther, so you may say anything at all. Even if you have been told in confidence and swore to be silent, speak up.”

  Letice laughed silently and held up her slate, now clean and ready.

  “The man we call ‘Banker,’” Magdalene said, “is a goldsmith and does not come often. A tall, thin man, mostly bald but with a fringe of brown hair. He wears a long gown, usually black, and complains bitterly about the price.”

  Diot snorted. “I got stuck with him the last time. He certainly tried to get his money’s worth out of me, and he was furious when he couldn’t get it up the third time, no matter what I did.”

  “If he asked more of you than you desired to give, you should have told me,” Magdalene said. “This is not a common stew, and ‘Banker’ would be no great loss if we were ‘too busy’ for him in the future.”

  “I had only been with you for four days,” Diot said, “but I did not permit him to strike me—”

  “Strike you!” Magdalene exclaimed. “You should have told me that at once!”

  Diot shrugged. “He said he was sorry, and I think he was—” she smiled wryly “—maybe more over his loss of control than because he tried to hit me. But it was clear to me that he knew it was not permitted, and that made me so happy I forgave him. I even tried again to draw up his standing man and succeeded, so he was happy.”

  “Well, he will not be happy here again,” Magdalene said, thin-lipped.

  Letice touched her arm. “must,” the slate she held out said, “til kiler fownd.”

  Magdalene sighed irritably. “Yes, Letice is right. She says we cannot refuse ‘Banker’ until the killer is found.”

  Then she “hmmm’d” and added slowly, “And a burst of temper like that…. Bell said that whoever killed Mistress Bertrild drove the knife in very hard. He said it was a sign of hatred, but it might just as well have been because the killer was furious.”

  “But why should he kill her?” Sabina asked. “Of course she could infuriate anyone, but why should ‘Banker’ go to Bertrild’s house in the first place and then kill her? He was not close friends with Mainard. In fact, Mainard did not like him. He thought him…dishonest.”

  So even without the name, Sabina knew the man, Magdalene thought, but all she said was, “Why ‘Banker’ went to Bertrild’s house is easy enough. She sent for him.”

  “But the servants were gone,” Sabina said.

  “Yes, that is so. Perhaps the messenger fetched him? ‘Banker’ is a goldsmith, and the servants spoke of Bertrild’s tally sticks. Could he have been her banker? Could he have mishandled her funds?”

  “How could her uncle, from near Winchester, know that a London goldsmith had diddled his niece’s funds?” Diot asked, looking doubtful.

  Magdalene shook her head. “I have no idea. We are guessing too wildly. The next man is ‘Dealer.’ He is a mercer. Black oily hair and beard, short and squat, often wears a leather tunic.”

  This time it was Letice who wrinkled her nose. A few practiced gestures indicated that he stank and was not much of a lover. A word or two on the slate and more gestures made clear that “Dealer” seemed more interested in discovering whether Letice’s compatriots had items for sale than in her sexual skills. And from the way he spoke, she felt he would not mind stolen goods so long as they were cheap.

  “Another who is no prize,” Magdalene sighed, “but again, I cannot see that he would have any reason to kill Bertrild.”

  The slate was presented quickly: “fownd owt eels stol stuf?”

  Magdalene bit her lip. “Even if Bertrild did find out that ‘Dealer’ sold stolen goods, it would not be reason enough to kill her. Specially if the goods were from foreign places. He could always say he had not known and had bought whatever it was in good faith.”

  “But it would still be very bad for his business,” Sabina put in. “Mainard told me that Bertrild had already caused trouble to all five men. She had chosen a time when each was at his shop with customers and she stood in the street screaming at the top of her lungs that each was dishonest and corrupt and had caused her father’s death by introducing him to lechery and drunkenness.”

  “Introducing him!” Magdalene exclaimed. “That man must have been born a drunk and a lecher to have achieved the state he was in long before he came to this place. He was a nobleman and so I accepted his custom for a time—Ella took him; he was not looking for finesse—but the last time he came with some others, I would not let him stay.” She hesitated and then continued slowly. “I think that was the night he was killed in an alehouse in London. Perhaps if I had let him in, he would not have died.”

  “If not that night, from what you have said of him, then another,” Diot said, her voice hard.

  Magdalene smiled at her. “Very likely. The next man is ‘Humbug,’ also a mercer. He is another who wears long gowns, and he is one who goes to the priory and comes through the back gate so that none will know he has been here—except when he comes with all the others for a meeting of the chiefs of the Bridge Guild. Light brown hair, mud-colored eyes—”

  Letice held up a hand and thrust out her slate on which were three letters, “ela.”

  “Oh, yes.” Magdalene sighed. “I should have remembered. Well, I will ask her when she is free, but I doubt I will get more from her than the size of his member and the strength and duration of his thrusting.” She shrugged and was about to speak, when Letice thrust forward her slate again.

  “long ago in oter hows shang seel.”

  Magdalene read the words and frowned, not understanding. Letice ran into the kitchen, then darted into Magdalene’s chamber, and returned with a knife and a sheet of parchment. She laid the parchment on the table, pretended to heat the knife at the unlit candles, and then slid the knife along the parchment.

  “You changed a seal for him!” Magdalene exclaimed, her breath shortened by a terrifying and vivid memory of Letice lifting the seal of a papal letter only a few weeks earlier.

  Letice nodded vigorously.

  “Oh, that is very important,” Magdalene said. “That is a real crime and might be worth killing to conceal.” She hesitated again, looking out over her women’s heads, then nodded. “Yes, I remember, it was Ella who called him ‘Humbug’.” She shrugged. “Sometimes out of the mouths of babes comes real wisdom. I wonder what she means by it…or if she knows what she
means?”

  “Likely she means he boasts or makes promises he does not keep,” Sabina said, smiling.

  “Very likely,” Magdalene agreed, dismissing the subject. “Letice, one of the men is the one you call your ‘Cuddle Bear.’ What do you know of him?”

  Letice nodded, but now she looked very troubled. She held out the slate, which read, “long tiim. nize.” Magdalene read the words to the others. By then Letice had wiped the slate and added, “woreed for munth mabee mor.” And below that, “hym seel to.”

  “You lifted a seal for ‘Cuddle Bear,’ too?” Magdalene echoed in a shocked voice. “And he has been worried for a month or more?”

  Letice nodded and immediately shook her head. She wrote, “seel long ago. not woreed wen com heer, only now.” Before Magdalene could hand back the slate, she left her stool and paced around with short quick steps; sat down, looked off into the distance, and picked at her clothing. She opened her mouth as if she would speak, closed it, opened it again.

  “He has been restless and not really paying attention to you or what you were doing, and several times he acted as if he were about to tell you something, but changed his mind,” Magdalene said, putting Letice’s actions into words for Sabina, who could not see, and Diot, who was not yet accustomed to interpreting Letice’s charades.

  “Hmmm,” she continued. “It is too bad that he had no appointment with you this last week. Perhaps we would have known whether he was more anxious or less. I wonder if he will celebrate Bertrild’s demise by coming to you…. Oh, well, there is nothing we can do about that. The last man is John Herlyoud, a mercer. He is not a client so I can give his name, but I have no idea what he looks like. Have any of you heard his name, perhaps among the whispers that pass from house to house in this district?”

  “I have heard the name, of course,” Sabina said. “But I do not remember anything special. Oh, yes. He must also wear a long gown; I have heard it rustle. His voice is pleasant, a light tenor, not deep like Mainard’s, so he maybe a smaller man or more slender. I do not believe he has ever touched me or I him, so I cannot say more about his size and shape or whether his scent is sour. Of them all, except Letice’s ‘Cuddle Bear,’ who I think I know and is a long-time friend, I believe Mainard likes Master Herlyoud best.”

  There was a short silence during which, in the back of her mind, Diot cursed Master Mainard with every foul word she knew. It seemed now that even if he were not accused of murder, he would not keep Sabina. And that meant that, likely, Diot’s dream of joy was over.

  It had been so perfect—a life almost as elegant as that she had been driven from by her jealous husband and, added to the comfort and security in which she lived, a variety of men. A few were old and ugly, but many were in their prime. And none could tell her how to live her life, except for what kind of sex he desired. Even the sex was better. None of them was simply using a convenience that lay beside him, as well known and about as well regarded as his chamberpot. Most of the men came primed and ready for laughing and playing, for trying any new little game her fertile mind could devise, eager to escape from proper and dull cohabitation for the purpose of procreation and, since they were sinning already, ready to indulge in any extravagance of lust.

  Somehow, Diot told herself, she would hold on to what she had. There was hope. Magdalene had allowed her to keep her room; it was Sabina who was lying on a camp bed in the spare chamber. Diot’s mind fixed on that bed and her spirits lifted. Sabina could entertain no clients on that bed. So she did not intend to take back her clients; she expected—or hoped—that Master Mainard would take her back whether or not he was free to marry.

  If he could! Diot hastily withdrew her curses and imprecations. The best chance to rid the Old Priory Guesthouse of Sabina was to be sure that Master Mainard was not accused of murder and kept his reputation intact so he could afford to keep a mistress. Magdalene wanted gossip. Diot racked her brain, but the descriptions were too general to attach to any man she had seen in the stews, and besides, she did not really believe any of the men who came to Magdalene’s house would take a woman in the places she had worked. But there was one name. She bit her lip.

  “Yes, Diot?” Magdalene said. “No matter what has come into your mind, tell us.”

  “It is not about the men,” Diot replied. “But I have heard the name Bertrild before. It is not a common name, but there was one woman I once knew who was called Bertrild—she was from an old Saxon family—so when I heard it called aloud in Stav’s stew it stuck in my mind. Specially considering who was calling out thanks to Bertrild. It made me laugh. The Bertrild I knew was so high and mighty proud.”

  “You do not mean to say that Bertrild worked in Stav’s stew?”

  Sabina’s voice was redolent with disbelief. “She, too, is—I mean was—high and mighty proud. Her father was a lord and had a fine estate, and she blamed Mainard for not buying back the estate from the debts under which it was buried. She said she would have endured him, even borne him children so they could inherit the lands.”

  “No, no,” Diot said. “I did not mean that Borc was exclaiming in pleasure over what a woman named Bertrild did. What happened was that this Borc is so degenerate, so filthy and diseased, that even Stav did not welcome him. However, one day he came to the stew with a handful of farthings. Stav made ready to drive him away, saying he did not want the sheriff in the house looking for a thief, and Borc said that Stav need not worry, that Mistress Bertrild had found a new source of money and had paid him for collecting it for her.”

  “A new source of money,” Magdalene muttered, “and tally sticks of which Mainard knew nothing. Hmmm.” She looked at Diot. “Do you remember when this was?”

  Diot sighed and shrugged. “Time was one long nightmare in Stav’s house. All I can say is that it was colder than it is now but not winter. A month past, perhaps a little more. Do you think it might be the same Bertrild? And if so, can the memory be of any use?”

  Magdalene made no immediate reply. She was now staring at the floor biting her lower lip. “Borc,” she muttered. “I am sure I have heard that name before…or do I just want to remember it? Surely though….” She looked up at Diot again. “You sound as if Stav knew this Borc.”

  “I think he did, but from an earlier time. One of the bath women, her name was Ann and she warned me against Borc, said that Borc used to come to Stav’s old house, one that was almost under the bridge. She told me Stav left that place because it came under too-close and too-frequent scrutiny by the sheriff’s men, being so close to the main road south.”

  “That would make it quite close to this house,” Magdalene said, her eyes intent. “So if a master came to this house, the man might be sent off or choose to wait at Stav’s place. Yes, go on.”

  “Well, in those days Borc apparently had money to spend, and he always liked to have two or three work on him at once—a tongue in his mouth, fingers up his ass, someone sucking his cock, and another licking his balls. But one night he came in and when he was done, he said he couldn’t pay, that his master was dead. Stav was going to have him beaten to a jelly, but he swore he had a new place lined up and would pay the next time.”

  “So,” Magdalene said, sounding satisfied, “my memory was not at fault. Go on, Diot. I think you may have found the end of an important string.”

  “There is not that much more. Ann said that Borc did come again, a few weeks later, but that time Stav wanted his money first, and Borc had only two farthings. That Stav wrested from him—in part payment of the debt he owed—threw him out, and told him not to come back until he had the full sum—and not to dare to go elsewhere when he had the money or he would be found and broken in parts.”

  Magdalene nodded. “Yes, indeed, it all fits. I am almost sure the woman who gave Borc the money was Mainard’s wife, Bertrild—”

  “Would Bertrild know such a person?” Sabina asked. “She holds—held—herself very high.”

  “She knew Borc because he was her father’s ser
vant. I knew I had heard the name when Diot mentioned it. At that time he was not so filthy and ragged, although he was usually drunk. He came with Gervase de Genlis, and I refused to let him wait for his master anywhere in my grounds or go to the priory because the first time de Genlis brought him, one of our clients found Borc going through his saddlebags when he came out of my house. Borc might well have gone to Stav’s place to wait for his master.”

  “So if Borc collected money for Bertrild,” Diot said thoughtfully, “would it not be most likely one of those who paid her—I suppose to be silent—would kill her? Perhaps one was her uncle and his messenger brought death instead of gold.”

  “True,” Magdalene agreed, “although there is still the question of how he got Codi’s knife. But, if one of the five who was in Mainard’s workshop is also on Borc’s list of those from whom he collected money…. Yes. Now, how do we lay our hands on Borc to ask him? Do you think Stav would know?” she asked Diot.

  “Stav always tries to know something about those who come to his house, but Borc…. I do not see what he could hope to gain from knowledge of Borc.”

  “Who Bertrild was? From whom she was collecting? Well, well, it is too late now; it is near dark, but I think I will go to Stav’s place and also to—” She turned to look at Letice. “For whom did you work when you lifted seals, Letice?”

  “not tere now” the slate read.

  “I know,” Magdalene said, “but the new whoremaster or whoremistress will probably know what happened to him.”

  Letice nodded and shrugged, then indicated that she would take Magdalene there the next morning.

  Chapter Nine

  21 MAY

  JUSTICIAR’S HOUSE, LONDON

  After he had interviewed the last of Newelyne’s guests who had known Mainard, and a few more—in case Newelyne had given him only the names of men who would speak well of the saddler—Bell decided he had better take the information he had gathered to a responsible official. He settled on the justiciar because he had worked with Master Octadenarius on a problem the bishop had needed secular authority to settle.