Roberta Gellis

by A Personal Devil

  She said the one thing had nothing to do with the other, that her body was like a roll of cloth that she cut a length from and sold. The severed length had no effect on the quality of the remainder of the cloth on the roll, and until the roll was all used up or her body worn out, each piece of cloth that she sold was as good as any other and as worth the price. Her loyalty was an entirely different matter.

  Bell turned his back on the Old Priory Guesthouse and started across the bridge. Lord William, he knew, had done Magdalene many favors and always supported her against any attack from the Church or the Law. He remembered how Master Octadenarius had said he did not press Magdalene for information she did not wish to give lest he receive a visit from William of Ypres. And yet— Bell almost bumped into a counter thrust a little too far into the walkway; he stopped and remonstrated with the merchant and the counter was withdrawn a few inches. And yet—his thought continued exactly where it had left off—she had offered to put the parchments away and not look at them if that was what he wanted. A warm glow suffused him. She had put his desires ahead of William of Ypres’s interests.

  The glow lasted just long enough for him to enjoy it; then common sense removed it. Magdalene had put his desire ahead of Ypres’s interests for a few insignificant hours. As soon as they looked at the records again, she would have learned everything anyway and would send the information off to Ypres. Bell was surprised at how little animosity he felt about that thought, but he grinned as he lengthened his stride. Putting jealousy aside, passing such information to Ypres was a practical necessity, and he himself would have seen that word got to Lord William if Magdalene had not.

  Robert of Gloucester had abjured his oath of fealty to King Stephen the previous autumn. If the fact that the men in Hampshire would not pay for Bertrild’s silence did mean that Robert of Gloucester was planning to invade, William of Ypres would certainly be involved in the defense of the country. The sooner he knew of the possibility of Gloucester coming to England, the better his defense could be.

  As he executed a neat twist to avoid a man with a tray of ribbons and a woman with pails of oysters hanging from a yoke over her shoulders and got off the bridge, Bell’s brow furrowed. Perhaps it would have been better if the news about the possibility of Gloucester’s imminent arrival came through his own master, the bishop of Winchester? He and Ypres had had their differences from time to time, but now they were drawing together, both worried about the influence of Waleran de Meulan on the king.

  The frown cleared. No, it was better this way. He and Magdalene could do it by both roads. He would send a messenger to Winchester tomorrow. The bishop, although he still had not forgiven his brother for denying him the position of archbishop of Canterbury, would still send the warning on to King Stephen. From there, it might or might not actually get to William of Ypres, depending on Stephen’s mood and Meulan’s advice, but since Ypres would already have had Magdalene’s warning, he would doubtless inform the king himself. Perhaps the double alarm might stir Stephen to action.

  When Bell looked around, he was coming out into the western end of the market and the sun was casting long shadows to warn of oncoming evening. He looked from John Herlyoud’s place of business to that of Ulfmaer FitzIsabelle. The goldsmith had stolen a dead man’s money, Bell mused as he walked along. Octadenarius would have to know about that in case there were heirs who had been defrauded. What Herlyoud had done, he did not yet know. He could guess that FitzRevery’s crime had to do with the farm at Hamble. Borc’s quick, smooth comment that it had been in FitzRevery’s family for years—by the reverse logic that must be applied to anything Borc said—implied that a problem lay there.

  Recalling Borc made Bell quicken his pace as he came onto Gracechurch Street again. There were still shops, but the press of people was less, and in a short time he was pulling the bell at Octadenarius’s door. He was shown in immediately, directly into the justiciar’s private closet this time.

  “You are early today,” the justiciar said, putting aside a roll of parchment he had been examining.

  “We have laid hands upon the man Borc, who collected the money Bertrild extorted.”

  “I hope the sheriff is not going to complain to me about a riot in the market.”

  “No, my lord Justiciar.” Bell smiled. “As ever the whores of the Old Priory Guesthouse have been most helpful. One of them, a woman called Diot, knew Borc—as I told you yesterday—from a stew where she worked in the past. She induced him to give her part of his meal and offered to pay for it in the usual way. Then she led him to the lodging of Tom Watchman, and my men seized him quietly. They are bringing him along and should be here soon.”

  “Bringing him here? Do you suspect him of being this Saeger and murdering his mistress—perhaps for the money he had taken and did not want to share with her?” Octadenarius sounded hopeful.

  Bell knew it would be convenient if the murder could be fixed onto so worthless a character. He shook his head regretfully. “Unfortunately you know he could not have got into the house by either the front or back doors. The grocer’s wife was watching the front and could never have missed such a creature as Borc entering, and the merchants with booths at the mouth of the alley would never have let him pass. Beyond that, he can prove where he was all day on Saturday. In fact, he was in the cookshop where Bertrild’s victims delivered their sacrifice, watching to make sure they came. Some of them may have noticed him too.”

  Octadenarius snorted with displeasure. “Then why bring him here where I will have to take note of his capture? Could you not squeeze the information you wanted out of him wherever you were?”

  “Oh, I am sure lots of things would have poured out if I squeezed him, but little or nothing of it would have been true, and I really have no way to prove or disprove his accusations. If we play him right, however, his actions should tell us what we need to know.”

  “If we play him right.” Octadenarius sighed, but under his heavy brows, his eyes twinkled, belying the mournful expression. “Why can I foresee my role in this will be busy and costly? If you had more strength of character and had resisted the importunities of Mistress Magdalene, I would have accused and hung the journeyman and not had all this trouble.”

  “You would have been sorry for hanging Codi,” Bell responded, laughing. “He is really a most estimable young man and will be a fine saddlemaker some day. Would you really wish to exchange him for a man who not only knifed a woman but plotted to lay the blame on an innocent?”

  Octadenarius sighed again. “I suppose not, although such a woman as Mistress Bertrild…well?”

  “I would like you to put Borc in the Tun for a night or two and let them squeeze him there—but not too hard. I want him reasonably lively when you let him go. When he believes he has convinced them that he has told them everything, he maybe released—with several of your men on his tail. They are to watch him close. Sooner or later he will go into a number of respectable shops, shops where he could not possibly afford to buy and that would not employ so ragged and disgusting a person. Let your men make note of whose shops he tries and, if they can come close enough without being marked, what he said and whether he was given anything.”

  This time Octadenarius’s face showed approval. “Very good. Bringing the creature as a witness might not convince a jury of a decent man’s peers, but the testimony of my men as to what they saw will be more effective. Did you learn anything about the messenger, this Saeger?”

  “That was a question I think Borc answered honestly. He said he did not know, but admitted the name was familiar to him. That is possible, if Saeger was a servant of Bertrild’s uncle, Sir Druerie, rather than of Gervase de Genlis, whom Borc served, or was Genlis’s tenant or friend. But we should soon have an answer to whether the messenger was truly from Sir Druerie or not. Master Mainard sent a letter to Sir Druerie with a man of Perekin FitzRevery’s. FitzRevery has a farm at Hamble, west of the Itchen River, not far from Swythling.”

  “Yes, I sup
pose the uncle had to be appraised of Mistress Bertrild’s death.”

  “And it gave Mainard the opportunity to say to Sir Druerie that he had not been at home when his messenger came, and Bertrild had been killed before he saw her again. Thus, he had no idea whether Sir Druerie’s message required some action or information from him. Even if Sir Druerie only answers that the message was irrelevant to Mainard, which he might do if the messenger was a paid assassin—but I cannot believe that. I knew Sir Druerie when I lived at Itchen and he had the reputation of a good man. Well, whatever he answers will tell us whether he actually sent the messenger.”

  Master Octadenarius rubbed his chin reflectively. “And if he did?”

  “Then I will ride out to Swythling and take Saeger for questioning. I suppose you can give me a letter for the sheriff. We have evidence enough for that.”

  The justiciar nodded. “When will you need this letter?”

  “Likely on Saturday or Sunday. FitzRevery’s messenger left on Monday and would deliver the letter to Sir Druerie first because Swythling is on his way to Hamble. That means Sir Druerie would probably have the letter on Wednesday. I will be busy with the bishop’s affairs all day on Thursday, but we will likely not hear from Sir Druerie until Friday or Saturday. I can leave as soon as I know his answer.”

  “You will have to remind me as soon as Sir Druerie replies. Depending on what he says, I will know better what to write to the sheriff.” Octadenarius lifted a bell from the end of his table and rang it lustily. The door opened at once, as if the servant had been waiting right outside it. “Have Sir Bellamy’s men arrived with their prisoner yet?” the justiciar asked.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Call out four men from the guardhouse and bid them take the prisoner to the Tun, and send in my clerk.”

  As the servant closed the door, Bell remembered something he had not told the justiciar. “Mistress Bertrild was getting a round sum from her victims,” he said. “I told you that Master Mainard found a bundle of tally sticks hidden in her clothes chest. When Mainard brought them to Johannes Gerlund, the goldsmith who had issued them, he discovered that Bertrild had ten pounds in keeping with Gerlund.”

  “Ten pounds!” Octadenarius exclaimed. “No wonder—” He broke off as the clerk came in. “There is a prisoner being taken to the Tun,” he said to the man. “Write an order for the Warder there. The prisoner’s name is Borc. He is to be questioned about men from whom he extorted money on the orders of a Mistress Bertrild, wife of Master Mainard the saddler. She was stabbed to death last Saturday. Note that Borc himself is not suspected of the murder and should not be damaged too severely. We believe one of the men from whom the money was extorted killed the woman, and we need their names.”

  The clerk sat down at the end of the table, pulled a sheet of parchment and an inkpot and quill toward him, and began to write. Doubtless orders to the Warder of the Tun were familiar to him.

  “So she had collected ten pounds,” Octadenarius said, going back to the subject the clerk had interrupted. “That is a round sum. Do you know for what she wanted the money?”

  “I am not sure, of course, but she tried to get Master Mainard to buy back the mortgages on her father’s property of Moorgreen. He would not do it. He said he had not enough money and, more important, that he had never held land and would not know how to restore the property.”

  “Wise man.”

  “I suspect Bertrild cared nothing for restoring the land. She wanted to be the lady of the manor and expected Mainard to remain in London so that the proceeds of the saddlery would support the house and servants in Moorgreen.” Bell shook his head. He was a landowner’s son and knew the costs of keeping up such a property.

  The clerk finished his writing, sanded the parchment, and passed it to Master Octadenarius, who perused it briefly and handed it back. “Send it.” The clerk went out and he looked back at Bell. “Is there anything else?”

  “Only that I questioned the five members of Master Mainard’s Bridge Guild—those that his wife had harassed two years ago—mostly because they came to Bertrild’s funeral but looked most uneasy. None has any witnesses, except the members of his own household, as to where he was on Saturday between Nones and Vespers.”

  The justiciar shrugged. “That is not surprising. For now, let it go. If Borc marks any of them as having paid extortion to Bertrild, I will look into their whereabouts more carefully. As for Borc, I will see that he is released just before Nones on Friday, my men having had a good look at him from hiding while he is being questioned. I will send one of the men to let you know where he went and what he did at about Vespers, or later if he is still abroad.”

  “Thank you, my lord Justiciar. Send the man to the bishop of Winchester’s house by the front gate of the priory of St. Mary Overy.”

  “Not to the Old Priory Guesthouse?” Octadenarius asked, laughing.

  Bell laughed too. “It might be too tempting for him,” he said. “And their prices, which I cannot afford, would surely put your man in debt.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  24 MAY

  OLD PRIORY GUESTHOUSE

  Bell had been amused rather than infuriated when Master Octadenarius teased him because he was going to the Old Priory Guesthouse as soon as he left the justiciar. Had he known that he would have to fight temptation as he passed Magdalene’s gate, he would not have found Octadenarius’s jest quite so amusing. When this fact made itself clear to him as he walked down Gracechurch Street toward the bridge, his amusement faded somewhat. After he completed the bishop’s commands and seen Bertrild’s killer taken, he had better go back to Winchester and remain there, away from temptation.

  He forgot the resolution as soon as Magdalene came to open the gate for him, her face alive with delight. “Oh, I am glad you are come. Never have clients been so tedious. All I wanted was to see them in the proper beds and get back to those records, but for some reason or another every one of them had something he must tell me.” She stepped back and gestured him in. “You look tired and dusty. Do come in. At least now all our guests are safely away, the evening meal is on the table, and we can talk in peace.”

  “Look, it is Bell,” Ella cried as they entered, sliding out from the bench on which she was sitting. “This is the second time you have been here today. Surely not for business again. I have no one for tonight. I could—

  “Thank you, Ella,” Bell said, turning her around and giving her a little push back toward her seat. “I thank you for your offer, but I am a poor man. I could not afford your price, my pet.”

  “But surely—” She began to turn toward him.

  “No, Ella,” Magdalene said. “You know you must not offer to reduce the price or to go with a man you fancy or pity for nothing. If you did that, all the guests would soon want the same, and we would not have money to pay the rent on this house or to put food on the table.”

  “But he is such a pretty man,” Ella said, pouting as she sat down again. “And I am sure—” her glance slid down from Bell’s face to his crotch, all but exposed by his thigh-length tunic, “—that he is more than sufficiently endowed below to make me very happy.”

  Magdalene was choking on laughter at the appalled astonishment on Bell’s face and the brilliant color his ears had turned, and it was Diot who interrupted Ella, by saying, “Love, it is not very polite to discuss a man’s parts right in front of his face.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot. But it is very confusing because Bell isn’t a friend and yet he is here so often and mostly Magdalene talks to him as if he were one of us but she once said he was not family. If he is not family and not a friend, then…then I am not sure what rules apply to him.”

  “Well, he is a man, love—” Magdalene began.

  “I can see that,” Ella said, giggling faintly and glancing again at the hem of Bell’s tunic.

  “I think you had better sit down, Bell,” Magdalene said in a strangled voice. Then she cleared her throat and went on, “Here on the co
rner near me. I have a good deal to say to you. Sabina, love, move down a little. And what I meant, Ella, was that men are more sensitive and delicate than women, so you must not talk about—” she coughed and cleared her throat again “—about their privates or how hairy they are or any such thing, even if they are not friends. We do not want to hurt anyone’s feelings you know.”

  Ella sighed heavily. “Very well, Magdalene, I will try to remember, but it does seem silly. I don’t mind if anyone talks about my privates or my breasts or…or anything.”

  “I know, love, I know. You are so sweet natured that you never take offense, but not everyone is like you.”

  Fortunately Haesel had peeped out of the kitchen when she heard a man’s voice because she knew Sabina would want to withdraw to avoid solicitation. When she saw Bell and heard Magdalene tell him to sit down, she got across to Dulcie that someone else needed a trencher and a cup, and Dulcie brought out a large round of stale bread, a bowl of pottage, and a cup large enough for ale. Her arrival distracted Ella, who went to the shelves that lined the walls at the back of the room and brought a spoon, which she laid next to the bowl Dulcie had deposited in front of Bell. Letice reached for the flagon of ale, leaned across the table, and filled his cup.

  “I am very sorry,” Ella said meekly as she laid down the spoon. “I did not mean to offend you. I only meant that you are pleasing to me, desirable….”

  “That’s all right, love,” Bell said, patting her hand.

  She understood no more than a child of five, if she understood that much, but he hastily plunged the spoon she had brought into the soup and took a mouthful. Comforting Ella had its dangers; she was very likely to forget why she had needed comfort and begin all over again.