Roberta Gellis

by A Personal Devil

  Thus, when Master Octadenarius returned from Herlyoud’s house, Mainard asked whether he could close his shop and take Codi and the boys home to Lime Street with him. Since the lay brothers arrived with their dead cart just about then and both Stoc and Gisel burst into tears, the justiciar shrugged and approved. There was no counter to take in, so Mainard sent Henry home and locked up.

  At Lime Street, Mainard sent Codi and the apprentices into the kitchen to tell the cook there would be four more for dinner. He gave Codi two pence and said that if the cook did not have enough, he should buy what the boys would like from a cookshop. Seeing the relief on Codi’s face, he smiled faintly, knowing Codi had expected the cook to be furious. At that moment Sir Druerie came down the stairs and the boys, seeing a guest, looked at him pleadingly. He assured them again that they could all sleep at Lime Street that night, the boys in the common room, the slaves in the kitchen, Sir Druerie in Bertrild’s bed, and himself on his pallet.

  Mainard had the feeling that Sir Druerie might look down on him for coddling his servants, but he would just have to ignore that. Codi and the boys were all the family he had. However, Sir Druerie paid little attention to Mainard’s arrangements. He gestured Mainard into the common room and pointed toward Bertrild’s chests.

  “My womenfolk would be delighted to have Bertrild’s clothing,” he said. “They would be the envy of every other dame in our area. But these are costly garments of fine cloth and with expensive embroidery, Mainard, and you, no doubt, paid for them. Bertrild came to you with nothing but debts. I feel it unjust for me to take back her belongings.”

  “I do not want them,” Mainard said.

  Sir Druerie clicked his tongue impatiently. “Think, man, you are still young. You still need a son to inherit your business. Are you sure you do not want to keep these things, or at least some of them, for your next wife?” He laughed at Mainard’s agonized expression. “Likely Bertrild soured you on womenfolk. She was, as I said, a real devil, but most women are good creatures, and you will find one, I am sure, who would make you happy.”

  “No. It is not that I am soured on women. The colors would not suit….” Mainard’s voice trailed away, and the skin that could flush did so.

  Sir Druerie looked at him in some astonishment. “Colors would not suit? Suit who? Have you another woman in mind already?”

  Mainard look a deep breath. “I have…had…a leman…a good woman….”

  “Have? Had? Which? Did she leave you because of Bertrild?”

  “No, I sent her away—”

  “To please Bertrild? That was idiotic. A wife has no business questioning what a man does so long as he provides well for her.” Druerie’s lips twisted. “And from the look of this house and those clothes, you certainly did that.”

  “No.” Mainard looked down at his hands. “No, I only found Sabina after…after….” He swallowed, “Bertrild said and did things that…that made me incapable—”

  “The evil witch! She had special torments for each person she knew.”

  “I did not blame her entirely. It cannot have been easy for her to lie with me. Can you imagine waking in bed and seeing my face—”

  “She knew your face well before she married you. She made a bargain, and you kept your part. She should have at least given you a son or two. After that, if she did not wish to share your bed, there would be reasonably kind ways to make that clear. Do not excuse that devil to me. I suffered from her also.” Then Sir Druerie smiled. “So you found a woman you like and who is satisfied to be with you. Good. But you said you sent her away?”

  “When Bertrild was killed. I did not want her to be harassed.”

  “Hmmm. Did it never occur to you that she had a very good reason to wish to be rid of Bertrild?”

  “But had less opportunity than I to do harm. I told you why I was not accused, that I was at this christening celebration. Well, Sabina was the singer there and was in plain sight of dozens of people all afternoon. Besides she could not stab anyone.”

  Sir Druerie laughed aloud. “Because she is so good and sweet?”

  Mainard smiled also, turning his head so the distortion of his lips and birthmarked cheek should be less obvious. “No, although sweet and good she is, but because she is blind. A knife in Sabina’s hand would be useless.”

  “Blind! But that means she cannot cook or sew or even watch over the servants’ work. Oh, well, I am sure it is very sad, but for you not all without advantage. So, how did you come to find her and make her your leman?”

  “Very strangely. By my neighbor, Perekin FitzRevery, I was brought to join and become one of the principal members of a Bridge Guild—all the Bridge Guilds are joined together for the purpose of building a new bridge across the Thames. When we have serious and private matters to discuss that the lesser members might not need to know, this guild often meets in a place called the Old Priory Guesthouse, which I must tell you is a whorehouse—”

  “That is a strange name for a whorehouse,” Sir Druerie said, from the grin on his face vastly amused.

  So Mainard told him how the Old Priory Guesthouse got its name and something about the place and the character of its whoremistress. Sir Druerie looked doubtful when Mainard spoke of what the Guesthouse offered and then horrified when he named Magdalene’s prices, but he did not interrupt to speak his doubts aloud.

  “But one afternoon when I went there thinking to meet the others in the group,” Mainard went on, “I found I had mistaken the place or time or something. In any case, Sabina came to greet me and ask what I wanted and—and I am not sure how it came about, but I found myself in her bed and…and fully restored to my manhood.”

  Sir Druerie nodded, a cynical twist to his lips. “So you bought her out of the whorehouse—”

  “No, Sabina was a free woman and Magdalene…it is too bad you cannot meet Magdalene. She is very special.”

  “I have met whoremistresses,” Sir Druerie said dryly.

  “Not like Magdalene,” Mainard retorted, raising a hand to hide his grin.

  “Well, that is neither here nor there. I am glad you have a woman to tide you over, but you need a wife.”

  “No,” Mainard said. “I will never marry again. Not unless Sabina is willing—”

  “Nonsense! You cannot marry a whore. And do not begin to tell me how little she liked whoring and that she would be a good and faithful wife. Even if it were true—and that is the same tale they tell to all men, with every intention of continuing their profession as soon as their husbands are out of the house—the father of a whore’s child is always in doubt. How can you leave your business to the son of a whore? How could you be sure, really sure, the child was yours?”

  “I would not doubt Sabina’s child.” Mainard shrugged at Sir Druerie’s snort. “That is not a problem for me anyway.”

  Sir Druerie was silent for a moment and then said, “You are fixed on this woman, are you not?”

  “Yes. I will not look elsewhere if I cannot have her. I lived most of my life without a woman. My parents tried once or twice to make a match for me, but…I need not go into that. Anyway, I was content that way and can be again.”

  “Then who made the match between you and Bertrild?”

  “We made it ourselves. We were old enough. I went to collect a debt that her father owed me. I had not heard he was dead, but I found Bertrild in a terrible situation. She was penniless; there was not even food in the house; and she had been threatened by other creditors. I brought in dinner from a cookshop and told her at once that I would forgive the debt—it was not large—and she was so grateful, so….” He shuddered. “She was so warm and gracious to me, telling me she was lonely and begging me to visit her again. Well, I knew what loneliness was, and it seemed to me that if she was so lonely that my face looked good to her, I should offer some friendship until she found more pleasing companions. Over some weeks, she seemed content with my company and finally she suggested that if I would clear her debts and support her generousl
y, she would be glad to marry me.”

  Sir Druerie nodded. “She was the same when she arrived at my house, and to me, always, so smooth and pleasant….” He shuddered, too, then sighed. “Mainard, I know you do not want to hear this and will not believe me, but whores are very practiced in concealing their distaste for men—and this I suspect is for all men, not you in particular. Do not offer marriage to this Sabina. As long as she knows you can cast her off if she does not please you, she will please you. When you are bound to her, will you, nil you, she….”

  “She will tell me I am a monster and drive me away?” He sat quietly, his head bent in resignation, his hands lying open in his lap. “Perhaps.”

  Sir Druerie watched him for a moment, and tears misted his shrewd eyes. “And perhaps not,” he said briskly, blinking hard. “You said the girl is blind. She cannot see you or know what you look like, so she may not know what advantage she has. She cannot have had an easy life. I tell you what. I will go tomorrow to this house and speak to her. Not being blinded by love myself, I may see more clearly than you just what kind of a woman she is. Who knows, perhaps she is worth marrying.”

  Mainard’s head came up, but he looked doubtful. “You will not hurt or try to frighten her? Sabina is very gentle. You will not shout at her or threaten her?” And then Mainard laughed shakily. “Magdalene will kill you if you make Sabina cry. She protects her women like those Amazons of legend protected the walls of Troy.”

  Sir Druerie’s lips twisted wryly. “Mainard, if I were to threaten someone, it would be you. The woman would immediately bow to any threat, and turn about the moment I was gone.” He laughed. “You too, I fear. No, I only want to talk to her, to see what she is like. I will tell you what I learned as honestly as I know how. If you listen, you listen. If you do not, there is no more I can do for you.”

  “Very well. Then I will send Jean to tell Magdalene that we will come tomorrow. Magdalene does not usually take clients on Sunday, but I am sure the women may have guests if they like, so we will be welcome.”

  “The Old Priory Guesthouse does not entertain men on Sunday?” Sir Druerie first laughed and then pursed his lips thoughtfully. “No, do not tell the whoremistress we are coming. I would like very much to see the house and the women as they are, so to speak in a state of nature.”

  “We may not get in if I do not make arrangements in advance. Magdalene does not really like surprises.”

  “No matter. If we cannot get in and your woman cares for you, she will come out to us—unless the whoremistress keeps them prisoner?”

  Mainard bit his lip. He did not really want to be refused entry to the Old Priory Guesthouse or, even if he was not refused, have Sir Druerie tell him that the beauty and goodness he saw in Sabina was a false glaze like the opalescent sheen on putrid meat. He wanted to believe Sabina cared for him. Magdalene said Sabina cared only for him—but Magdalene was a whore and a sharp business woman. Had she told the truth?

  Mainard had come to respect Sir Druerie and to acknowledge that the man liked him and wished him well, but could Sir Druerie with his prejudices judge Sabina fairly? Still, there was a chance Sir Druerie would say Sabina was fond of him. That would be a balm indeed for festering wounds.

  “No, Magdalene does not confine her women at all. If for some reason Magdalene does not want us in the Old Priory Guesthouse, Sabina could come out with us. Very well, I will give the boys a free day and after dinner we will try.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  28 MAY

  OLD PRIORY GUESTHOUSE

  Dulcie had hardly put the final platter on the table for the women’s breakfast when the bell at the gate pealed. Magdalene said a word her women rarely heard pass her lips and rose from her place. Then she shook her head and smiled.

  “It must be a message,” she said. “Surely no one could want service so early in the morning.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Ella said, drawing away to the end of the bench as Diot began to cut food for her. “Often the friends who stay all night wake up with an erect standing man and want to play an early game.”

  Magdalene laughed, took her cloak, and pulled the hood over her head because the morning was chilly and misty. What Ella said was true enough, but by the time most men had risen and dressed and relieved their bladders, that urge would be gone. She thought it more likely that it was a response from William about the information she had sent him or, perhaps, Mainard, who could not wait any longer to see Sabina. Or Bell…. No, it was too early for Bell.

  She unlatched the gate and pulled it toward her, just as a loud crash sounded from the grocer’s house across the road. The hooded head of the broad-shouldered man who had rung the bell was turned away from her, drawn to the noise. Magdalene suffered an odd dichotomy of feeling: joy for Sabina and a vague disappointment for herself.

  “Mainard! You are early, but very wel—”

  “Are you expecting Mainard?” Bell turned toward her, away from the loud voices coming from the grocer’s shop along with the occasional tinkle of broken crocks.

  “Well, I hoped…. I wonder why— Ah! You are both big men, and that is Mainard’s cloak you are wearing, or one very like it.”

  “It is Mainard’s. I was soaked through by the time I got to his house yesterday, so he lent me his clothes and his cloak. I sent the clothing back with one of the bishop’s servants last night, but I forgot the cloak and also forgot to tell the servant to get mine from Mainard.”

  He cocked his head as a crash, a woman’s shriek, and a man’s howl of pain drifted across the road. “Never mind that, I think we should go inside before that argument comes out and I feel obliged to prevent murder being done, although—” he winced as there was another crash and another male howl “—I am not sure who it is I would have to protect.”

  Magdalene stepped back, and when Bell had passed her, closed the gate behind him. She hesitated a moment, although Bell had started for the house, looking at the bell pull and wondering if she should pull it in. Then she sighed and left it where anyone could ring; there was the possibility that Mainard would come or she would hear from William.

  “What news?” she asked as she took off her cloak and hung it.

  “Borc was poisoned with lily of the valley. Leaves, stems, and flowers were cut small and wine poured over them in a flask. Brother Samuel says he does not think the plants were steeped more than a few hours, but that was more than long enough.”

  “That is unfortunate,” Magdalene said, putting out her hands to take Bell’s cloak.

  He took it off but did not hand it to her. “Why? Borc could surely be spared more than most.”

  Magdalene giggled. “Do not be so silly, I didn’t mean it was too bad that Borc was poisoned. I meant it was too bad that poison was used—from such a common plant, too. I had hoped the manner of his death would point to someone, but poison can be given and not take effect for hours—”

  “Not lily of the valley. From what Brother Samuel said, it acts very fast.”

  “How fast? If he was outside Mainard’s gate, does that mean the drink had to be given him in Mainard’s house? Could he have come from, say, FitzRevery’s?” She put out her hand toward the cloak again, and when he did not give it to her, asked, “Are you going to hold that all morning? I swear no one here will try to steal it. It would trail on the ground, even for me, and I am the tallest.”

  He laughed. “No. I wanted to leave it with Sabina to be returned to Mainard. I doubt I will need it later, and Mainard will return mine.”

  “Just put it beside her on the bench. Do you wish to join us to break your fast?”

  “Indeed I do, thank you. I went to early Mass for the purpose of joining you.”

  While he spoke, he went around the table, patted Sabina on the shoulder, and laid the cloak on the bench between her and Letice. Sabina’s hand went to the cloak instantly and she gathered it close, her fingers stroking it as if it were a living part of the man and could feel her caress. Then she slid
down closer to Letice, leaving a space for Bell to sit.

  “As to the poi—” he looked across the table at Ella and said “the drink given to Borc, it would have acted too fast for him to come from anywhere else, possibly even from Mainard’s shop, but it was in a flask, and he could have carried that with him from anywhere at all.”

  “So his death tells us nothing.”

  “Not nothing. For example, did you know that lily of the valley was poisonous?”

  “Of course I did. Everyone who lived on—” she stopped, then continued “—as I did learned what plants could not be picked for salad or for greens to be added to a pottage. But I did not know that it worked so fast.”

  Bell glanced up once from the slices of cold meat and wedges of cheese and pasty he had moved from central platters to his trencher, but he did not catch her up on her near slip. “Everyone who lived on a farm,” she might have been about to say or “everyone who lived on an estate with a garden.” He knew how dangerous lily of the valley was. It was off in a fenced corner in his mother’s garden with the nightshade, foxglove, hemlock, bryony, and other dangerous plants that could be used as medicinals in small amounts. But he was not yet ready to confront Magdalene about her past; perhaps he would never be ready because he did not want to know.

  “You knew and I know, but I suspect that many people raised in a city…. Ella, love, what do you know about lily of the valley?”

  “It has a sweet scent, and the little flowers are very pretty. Is there something special I should remember about it?” Ella’s lovely brow creased with anxiety, for she often forgot things.

  He looked at Magdalene, who shook her head infinitesimally and then he smiled at Ella and said, “No, pet. I just wondered if you knew about the plant. Magdalene does not have any in her garden, does she?”