Roberta Gellis

by A Personal Devil

  “I am behind in my eating and must catch up,” he mumbled around the food, and Ella nodded and went back to her seat to pick bite-sized pieces of cheese and cold meat off her trencher.

  The moment she was busy, Bell said to Magdalene, much more clearly, “Well? Were any others than Ulfmaer mentioned?”

  “All of them!” Magdalene replied in an exasperated voice. “All five. But I do not think that Jokel de Josne or John Herlyoud would have ‘removed’ her to prevent disclosure of their secrets. As Letice told me, Josne deals in stolen goods. Genlis ‘witnessed’ half a dozen bills of sale for him, but from the kind of goods, I think they must have been stolen from foreign merchants, who likely are long gone from London. And Josne’s reputation is not lily white anyway, so I do not see how her evidence could have done him much harm. I am not even sure why Josne paid her, unless she asked very little—or unless there was something more serious that might have been uncovered even though Bertrild did not know it.”

  “That should go to Octadenarius,” Bell said, taking a swallow of ale to wash down bites of meat and cheese. “Goden mentioned Josne. He may, indeed, have more to hide.”

  Magdalene nodded agreement and then said, “Herlyoud is just the opposite. He is a typical case of what we were talking about, a man who I believe has redeemed himself. He was a runaway journeyman from Southampton. Way back in 1125 Gervase ‘witnessed’ for Herlyoud a letter of release and a recommendation from a Master Mercer who was actually recently dead. That mercer was not Herlyoud’s master. His own master had refused to propose him for mastership in the guild and would not release him to find someone who would.”

  “So he came to London, found a master, made good, and has been working here for nearly twenty years. Yet it was he who admitted he rode a horse out of London on Saturday and almost fainted when I told him Bertrild had died between Nones and Vespers.”

  Magdalene shrugged. “He has some guilty knowledge, that is sure; however, there is nothing more about him, and I suppose that Genlis would have squeezed him or added to the record…. Well, he would have if he recognized him. Genlis was such a sot that he might not have remembered his own mother’s face.”

  “I will ask around among the mercers and speak to the guildmaster. If Herlyoud has a good reputation, I would agree with you that he should not be exposed—except for one thing.” Bell paused to break off a piece of his trencher and soak it in the pottage, scooping out some vegetables with it. “He comes from the same area.” He popped the bread in his mouth and added, rather indistinctly, “If he were Saeger—”

  “No, he is not,” Magdalene assured him. “In fact, I know a great deal about Saeger. He came from a tiny village near Swythling, not from Southampton. There are two wills in which Saeger is mentioned, one obviously false, and an indictment in absentia against him for poisoning his wife and possibly her father, too.”

  Bell swallowed hard to down another piece of bread and then let out a long, low whistle. “That’s worth killing over, since exposure would mean hanging in any case.”

  “I will show you those documents. I have put aside for you to look over at once everything relating to the five who could have got Codi’s knife. Perhaps you can find something in them that will hint at which man was Saeger, or knew Saeger and could have given him the knife.”

  “Given him the knife,” Bell echoed and then scowled. “Good God, I never thought of that. There is nothing to say where the man who arrived at the Lime Street house actually came from. In fact, I think Hamo told me the horse did not look as if it had traveled far. What if Saeger went first to one of the five and was given Codi’s knife—” he nodded “—that might have been why he…ah….” he glanced at Ella across the table “sent Bertrild away with his belt knife instead of Codi’s. It would not have been so important to him.”

  “There is another possibility,” Magdalene said hesitantly, “that…oh, you will not like this at all.” She sighed. “It came to me that Bertrild could have taken Codi’s knife.”

  Bell stared at her, his mouth open, his spoon halfway from his bowl. He put the spoon back in the bowl. “But then any man in England could have been the one who…did it. No, no one mentioned her as being in the workroom on Friday.”

  “No one would think to do so. She was in there often, and certainly would not take the knife to…to hurt herself, and that’s what we were both asking about. Who could have taken the knife to…ah…hurt her.”

  “Knives are dangerous,” Ella said. “I will never touch one. My mother taught me that.”

  Sabina and Diot, who had been following the conversation between Bell and Magdalene with great interest, both took deep breaths to answer Ella when the bell at the gate pealed. Letice rose, nodding to those around the table and pointing to the back door to indicate she would bring her client in that way. Haesel came to lead Sabina to the back room, but she shook her head.

  “I will sit by the fire and sing to Ella,” she said. “Diot’s guest is one of Lord William’s men and was never my client, so he will not care if he sees me.”

  “Thank you, Sabina,” Magdalene said with heartfelt gratitude and smiled as Ella jumped to her feet and went to her stool near the hearth. She loved Sabina’s singing.

  Stepping so carefully around the words “kill” and “murder” lest they spark anxiety in Ella was a nuisance. Beside that, Magdalene felt it would be better to stay in the common room with Bell. She could use the excuse that the table was larger and better for spreading out the documents, but the truth was that she found her eyes and thoughts straying too often to the bed when she was in her room with him.

  “Finish your meal,” she said, keeping her voice low as Sabina tuned her lute. “I will bring the documents in here. Both Letice’s man and Diot’s will be staying all night, so they will not trouble us.” She lowered her voice even further. “But it cannot be any man in England who killed Bertrild. We know who did that. It was the man called Saeger.”

  She rose from the bench and went to her room, coming back with a box, which now held the two tied sets of parchments, the small parchment rolls, and the two flat-folded sheets of parchment. Having set down the box, she pushed aside the remains of her meal, removed the flat-folded sheets, and opened and spread them at her place, angled so Bell could see them and continue eating.

  In the background Sabina’s voice could be heard softly singing a happy, lilting melody. After a little while, the bell rang at the gate, and Diot rose to answer it. Magdalene also got up when Diot and Sir Giles came in and walked down the corridor with them, talking softly to Sir Giles and then making a brief detour into her room to get the letter she had written to William. Bell glanced up; his lips tightened, but he went on eating steadily and, aside from that single look, kept his attention on the documents he was reading.

  When Magdalene seated herself at the table again, he made no comment on what she had done but said, “You are right. The information about Saeger could hang him. But I find it hard to believe Saeger could be the messenger sent by Sir Druerie.” He shook his head. “Sir Druerie was not at all like his brother and would never consider harboring a murderer—unless he believed the charges to be false….”

  Bell had cleaned his bowl and finished the cheese and meat he had taken. He shoved the remains away, and reached for the other documents. Magdalene pointed out the relevant places, and Bell read them.

  “Lintun Mercer. Yes. And I even know about the case. Mainard’s friend Newelyne told me about it. So, the agreement that gave Dockett’s whole business to Mercer was a false document, witnessed by Genlis, and with a seal lifted from the real agreement, which divided the business just as the son claimed. Genlis said Mercer destroyed Dockett’s will also. That would have cost Mercer a heavy fine and much good will from Dockett’s customers. I can see why he would have been willing to pay for Bertrild’s silence, but what he did was not a hanging matter.”

  “I did not think it reason enough to kill her,” Magdalene agreed.

 
“Ah,” he said with satisfaction when he had found Perekin FitzRevery’s name. “I knew there was something rotten about that farm at Hamble. Borc was so sure and easy about the FitzReverys owning it for years. So the local priest claimed that FitzRevery’s father had made over the farm to him on his deathbed. FitzRevery swore that his father would never have done such a thing, refused to yield the farm, and carried the case to the sheriff. Eventually, FitzRevery claimed to have found the deed and produced it—but that must have been the one that Letice transferred a seal to. And Genlis knew about that and did get FitzRevery to carry letters to Normandy for him. He does not say here from whom, but I would not be surprised if we combed through these rolls of parchment that we would find the letters were from Talbot, Lovel, and Fitzjohn.”

  Reminded by Borc’s name where Bell had rushed off to earlier that afternoon, Magdalene was about to ask what else he had learned from the man, but she was distracted by a more urgent idea, “if the letters were from those men, carrying them was treason, and exposure would mean drawing and quartering. That is no pleasant way to die. And FitzRevery could have known Saeger, coming from the same area.” Magdalene shrugged. “He would even have the additional temptation of relieving his good friend and neighbor of a personal devil. Moreover, if Bertrild stole the knife, FitzRevery maybe excused from trying to get his friend in trouble.”

  Bell snorted gently. “Not from dropping—or helping Saeger drop—the body in Mainard’s yard. But that would have been stupid, bringing the body closer to him…. No, what if Saeger brought it because he knew he had been seen with Bertrild in the Lime Street house and wanted the death to seem to have taken place elsewhere? In desperation, FitzRevery could have dumped the body next door.

  He would be very familiar with the alley and probably with Mainard’s habit of not locking his back gate. Yes. FitzRevery is a definite possibility. As you said, he could not be Saeger—not if his father owned Hamble before him, but he could have employed Saeger.”

  “To commit murder? Is that not jumping from the cooking pot onto the coals?”

  “Maybe not.” Bell pursed his lips thoughtfully. “If FitzRevery knew of Saeger’s indictment, he would know Saeger could not afford to present a complaint against him. Their evils would cancel each other, I think. And FitzRevery’s journeyman looked very surprised when FitzRevery said he had been at the shop all day Saturday.”

  “So what do we have? FitzRevery, but I cannot for the life of me see how we could prove anything, even that he hired Saeger.”

  “We must lay hands on Saeger first. Borc said he did not remember him—and I think that was true—but a little jostling and perhaps a mention of the wife poisoning might jolt Borc’s memory. What a shame I cannot attend to that tomorrow, but I have the bishop’s business to do.”

  “Borc? I forgot all about him again. So he told you that FitzRevery’s family owned that farm. What else did you learn?”

  “Nothing. He would not name the men from whom he collected money, and to tell the truth I did not press him. If we added torture to what the man already is, no one would believe a word he said. What I did was leave him in the Tun. He will be released on Friday afternoon, and Octadenarius’s men, whom he does not know, will follow him. Do you wish to lay odds against me that he will go directly to those who paid Bertrild and try to collect something for himself?”

  Magdalene chuckled. “You must know I am too clever to wager against a sure thing. Yes, you will then know who he squeezed for Bertrild.” She was silent for a moment, then sighed. “I am certain FitzRevery will be among them, but I wish it were not so. He is a nice person. It is almost impossible for me to believe that he would order or pay another man to kill. Letice has always called him ‘Cuddle Bear’ and you know, Bell, it is not easy to fool a whore who serves you time after time.”

  “Fear is an urgent prod,” Bell said. “Did you not tell me that the man has been very uneasy for about six weeks?”

  Magdalene sighed again. “Yes.”

  She looked downcast. Bell was stung with jealousy that she should care and, because he knew how senseless that was, he said, “FitzRevery is the most likely, but it could be possible that Jokel de Josne was driven to kill, not for what Bertrild was squeezing him but for some more important secret he wanted to keep hidden. Ulfmaer FitzIsabelle is also barely possible, if he could have slipped out without his people noticing. Although the worst the law would do was to make him repay Gunther Granger’s heirs and fine him. Had Bertrild exposed his stealing of Granger’s funds, who would have ever trusted him to bank money? Without clients who would give him money? He could not lend at interest. Possibly more than half his income would be lost.”

  “True.” Magdalene looked a little more cheerful. “I had not thought of the moneylending aspect of what exposure would mean to FitzIsabelle.” Her eyes narrowed. “I think I will go see Mainard, tomorrow. I am a little annoyed with Mainard. He still has sent no word to Sabina. I do not know whether that purse he gave me was a farewell gift or not, so I do not know what to say to her. Also, Mainard has done virtually nothing to help himself while you and I have been running about asking questions and thinking about this murder until we are exhausted. Mainard knows those men. I will discover what he knows, and whether any of the others could have known Saeger.”

  Bell laughed and stood up. “Poor Mainard. Do not skin him alive. He may have a good reason for his silence. And remember that Sabina has lost nothing.”

  Magdalene stood up also. Her gaze met his. “Except her faith in a man she trusted…loved. Yes, loved. Whores, like all mortals, can be fools and love.”

  “That was not what I meant,” Bell snapped. “You did not let me finish. I was about to say ‘has lost nothing yet’ and warn you against being so fierce in defense of your woman that you do more harm than good and drive the poor man away. And you can cease jumping down my throat and pulling out meanings I never intended.”

  They stood for a moment, glaring at each other. Bell, struggling against his desire for her, had a violent impulse to pull Magdalene into his arms and kiss her into submission. Magdalene could feel her breasts swell against the confinement of her shift and gown, could feel a warmth in her loins and moisture between her nether lips. She backed up a step and shook her head.

  “It is true. I am blaming you for Sabina’s pain, and I have no right to do that. Forgive me.”

  She did not hold out her hand to him, however, and Bell did not reach to touch her. He had the feeling that sparks would fly between them, as when one had been stroking silk and then touched the fur of the trimming.

  “I will not come tomorrow,” he said. “As I told you, I will be busy on the bishop’s affairs and must go up to Saint Stephens, where some miller who rents a mill that was willed to the diocese has gone mad and damaged the church. It is close to Saint Albans, so I will probably stay the night at the abbey.”

  Magdalene giggled. “To purify yourself?”

  Bell rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, I have no reason to need purification. Are you ready to give me one?” He paused significantly.

  “Oh!” Magdalene exclaimed, stamping her foot. “You must always have the last word!”

  He smiled slowly, suggestively, but made no direct reply. “If there is any urgent news,” he said, “you can leave a message for me with Phillipe, who acts as the bishop’s secretary here when the bishop is in Winchester. He is more reliable than Guiscard de Tournai was, and will let me know as soon as I return.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  25 MAY

  MAINARD’S SHOP

  Magdalene arrived at Mainard’s shop soon after Prime. Henry was already at the front counter, clumsily arranging tooled leather reins. Two pairs had been pushed off by themselves to the very end of the table and then a pile of others, tied two by two. The ones at the end were more crudely done, the design less finished and showing a miscut place here and there. A man in the rough garments of a farmer visiting the city was examining one pair of the cruder w
ork.

  “They are sound and solid, even if they are not cut perfectly straight,” Henry said, “and very pretty despite the two or three little mistakes. Take them in your hands and pull them—you can see, I cannot do that. You are stronger anyway. Yes, look at the place the knife missed and be sure that the leather is sound. And think, you said these are for your woman when she rides into town. She has not your strength and when riding will not be hauling at the mouth of a cart horse.”

  The young man pulled at the rein with the cut as he had been told and then laid both down. “I do not know. Two pence. That is a lot of money.”

  “Those reins will last for twenty years,” Henry said. “And every time your wife rides anywhere in that whole twenty years, she will be reminded that you denied yourself the pleasures of London, just to bring her a fine gift. And each time one of the other women in the village sees those reins, she will burn with envy for how good a husband your wife has…and your wife will know it. Oh, yes, she will know.”

  The young man picked up the reins again and stroked the polished leather. There might be a fault or two in the tooling, but the suppleness and polish of the leather was very fine—as it should be since that was the first process the apprentices learned and the one most often practiced.

  Behind her veil Magdalene grinned. Henry certainly could sell. He had flattered the customer by praising his strength and his generosity; he had pointed out the flaws in the goods, which the customer could not fail to see anyway, thus giving an impression of honesty—and Magdalene was certain there were no other flaws or Mainard would never have offered the reins for sale at all; and he had dangled the wife’s pleasure and likely gratitude, hinting at her willingness to repay her husband’s sacrifice over many years.

  The sale was soon concluded, and Henry turned to her. “Why did you not go through, Mistress Magdalene?” he asked switching to French. “Or do you want to buy something?”