A Mortal Bane

by Roberta Gellis

  Ella’s smile brightened even more and she nodded enthusiastically. They went out, Magdalene stopping Dulcie, who had turned away, to tell her about the milk and honey cake. Then she drew the other women into the front room.

  “You heard him,” she said. “He is determined to find us guilty—and I think it is not only because he deplores the whorehouse for being here, but because he wishes to use us to make trouble for the prior.”

  “I think you are right,” Sabina said. “And if he succeeds….” She shook her head.

  “If he succeeds, we will need to find a new house,” Magdalene said grimly. “I wish I knew who that friend is that he spoke of as being close to the bishop. But even if the bishop is not turned against us—where else would he get the rent I pay?—Paulinus would make our lives a misery. We must somehow prove him wrong, or at least prove the dead man did not come from this house.”

  Letice raised her expressive hands and made a query of her whole face.

  Although she had not seen Letice’s gesture or expression, Sabina voiced her doubts. “How? How can we prove he was not here? Is it possible to prove that a thing did not happen?”

  “First we must make sure there is no sign of the man or his horse in the house or the stable. Letice and I cleaned the stable last night, but go and look again, Letice. He was with you, Sabina. Are you sure that he left nothing in your room? Remember, he intended to return, so he might have been careless about leaving, say, gloves or—oh, any small thing—behind.”

  “There was nothing in the bed or on the chest where I bid him place his clothes. I did feel about last night after he left so I could put everything in one place, but…but there was something a little strange. He took a very long time to take off his clothes.”

  “He was probably just standing and staring at you, admiring you,” Magdalene said, knowing Sabina would hear the smile in her voice.

  “No.” A frown creased Sabina’s brow. “I heard him moving about and I asked if he wanted me to help him undress. He laughed and said ‘no’ but…but his voice…he was not facing me when he spoke. Magdalene, I think he had stepped up on the chest. Now I think back, it seems to me I heard it creak. I think…I think he was hiding something.”

  “The pouch,” Magdalene breathed. “He never took it off or put it aside, even when he was eating. If he did not trust the man he was to meet, he could have decided to leave it here. He would have thought that you would not see him hide it and thus it would be safe from you and from the rest of us. He stood on the chest, you say?”

  “I think so.” Sabina’s voice was tremulous. “Or maybe he opened it, although that is less likely. I would have heard the latch and the hinges, I think. Still, you and Letice had better come and look through all my things. Who knows what else he might have hidden?”

  Magdalene agreed but bid Sabina wait while she looked carefully at the common-room chest and the area around it where she had laid the dead man’s cloak the previous afternoon. He must have taken the cloak when he went out to the church, but there was the possibility that something had dropped from it. There was nothing, not even any strands of the fur lining caught on a rough edge or splinter. Magdalene pushed the chest forward, but there was nothing behind it or on the floor. By then, Letice had returned and indicated that the stable was clear of any sign that an animal had been left there.

  They went to Sabina’s room then, and the worst was over at once. Magdalene, the tallest of the women, set a low stool on the chest there and, steadied by Letice, climbed up. Behind the horizontal beams that supported the floor of the loft, there was a hollow. Stuffed into that, just beyond easy reach, was the supple leather pouch the dead man had carried. It was a good, safe spot; had not Sabina said she heard the man climb on the chest, they probably would not have found it.

  Magdalene uttered a small sigh of disappointment as she pulled the pouch from its concealment. “You were right, Sabina,” she said, climbing down, the pouch caught in the crook of her arm. “But I could wish you had not been, or had remembered this last night.”

  “I am sorry,” Sabina whispered.

  Magdalene sighed. “Oh, no, love, of course you could not. You were half out of your mind.” Shrugging, she dropped the pouch onto the bed beside Sabina. “Still, too bad we could not push it into one of the saddlebags. Now one of us will have to go downriver and drop it in.” Then she bit her lip and added, “Letice, go and lock the back door. We will need some warning if Brother Paulinus remembers he was too busy demanding a confession to be practical and search for signs of the man’s presence. He might get a rush of sense to the head and return to do that.”

  “What will you do with the pouch?” Sabina breathed.

  “Hide it between my legs. Thank God, it is soft. I can wrap it in a rag and say I am bleeding. After the shock Ella gave him and our looks and laughter over his desire to question a known whore ‘alone,’ I do not think he will demand a search of my flux rags. If he does, I will simply refuse and say he wants to find an excuse for a lewd examination. Now,” she said when Letice returned, “let us search carefully. Not even a curly hair should be left behind.”

  She and Letice were thorough, unfolding and shaking out every garment in the chest, looking behind it and under it, taking the mattress off the bed and examining the frame and straps. Behind the chest they found one Italian silver coin, which Magdalene laid atop the chest. When they were through searching, she picked it up again and sadly rubbed it between her fingers.

  “Poor man,” she sighed. “He seemed a cheerful, kindly person.” Then she looked from the coin in her hand to the pouch, which was lying on the bed. “He was richly dressed and riding a fine horse,” she murmured thoughtfully. “And his purse was full of coins, but they were small coins. I saw when he emptied the purse into his hand to pay the fee I named. He had perhaps ten whole pennies, some halfpence, and a handful of farthings. Who will lay odds with me,” she went on, looking from one woman to the other, “that there is more coin in this pouch?”

  “Not I,” Sabina said. “I felt when you put it down on the bed that it was heavy. Coin is heavy.”

  Letice grinned and shook her head. But then she frowned and touched the intricately tied cord that held the pouch closed. She made a gesture of cutting and shook her head.

  “You know, that is a wise thought, Letice,” Magdalene said. “If we cut the cord and someone should somehow find the pouch before we can be rid of it, we have hung ourselves.” Then she smiled broadly. “No matter. I think I can undo that and even retie it, or make another similar knot. My naughty archdeacon—the one who taught me to read and write—showed me several church knots.”

  She picked up the pouch, but Sabina said, “We had better dress first. If Brother Paulinus returns, he will want to know what we were doing all this time.”

  “Clinging to each other and weeping with terror,” Magdalene said, her lips twisting.

  Letice threw back her head and laughed, making no sound beyond a slight outrush of air; then she tugged at her nightrobe and went to her own chamber. Magdalene did the same, and as soon as she was dressed, went to the kitchen, where Ella was prattling away to Dulcie, who nodded and smiled, although she probably made out about one word in ten. Having sent Ella off to get dressed and told her to work on her embroidery when she was ready, Magdalene showed Dulcie the pouch, made clear that it was the dead man’s and that they must be rid of it as soon as she had seen what was inside.

  Dulcie nodded. “I be fillin’ it wit’ rocks and stickin’ it in wit’ the sheets that need washin’,” she said. “On me way to th’ laundress, it’ll fall in th’ river.”

  “Are you sure, Dulcie? If you were caught—”

  “Course I be sure. Who looks at ‘n old woman wit’ a basket ‘f laundry? If you ‘r one ‘f th’ others went out wit’ it, there’d be ten pairs eyes on y’ every minnit.”

  When Magdalene came from the kitchen, Dulcie following, the others were waiting, worried frowns alternating with frankly
greedy glances. Letice tapped her arm and pointed upward. Magdalene glanced up, too, but then shook her head.

  “It is too dusty up in the loft and we have no time to clean. If we were up there when someone came, we would be sure to betray that fact somehow. If someone knocks, I will gather up the pouch and run to my room to tie it between my legs. No one can think it unnatural for me to be in my room. With the shutters still closed, I think we are safe enough here.”

  She then laid out on the table one of the long, narrow cloths she stuffed with rags to absorb the blood of her flux. In the center, she placed the pouch. If there was any disturbance, she need only roll the cloth around the pouch and run into her room. Then she began to work on the knot. It was not difficult once she found the key loop, and the pouch was soon open. Holding the heavy, round shapes at the bottom, which she was sure were coins, Magdalene tipped it slowly, so it would disgorge the rest of its contents without scattering them all over the table and the floor.

  The first thing to slide out was a heavy square packet of parchment, made heavier yet by the large lead seal fastened to the silken cords that bound the document. “Oh, no!” Magdalene started to say when another document, less elaborately sealed, with red wax but bearing the same design, slid out atop the first. Following that was a letter, then another, these also with seals but deliberately left open.

  Hoping against hope, Magdalene bent closer to peer at the large lead seal. Around it were words in Latin. She could not read them, but from their position, she guessed they were a motto; within were two stylized faces and above them, the letters S.PE and S.PA. She could not understand the motto, but she knew well enough that S.PE meant Saint Peter and S.PA meant Saint Paul. Biting her lip, she turned the seal over and made out the name—Innocent II.

  “Mary have mercy on us,” Magdalene said in a failing voice. “That is the pope’s seal, and it is lead. This is a papal bull our guest was carrying. Oh, my God, we dare not destroy it.”

  “A papal bull?” Sabina put out her hand and Magdalene brought it to the seal. The blind woman’s fingers touched it delicately. “Are these letters?”

  “Yes. On one side is the name of the pope, on the other the faces of Saint Peter and Saint Paul.”

  Feeling around the parchment packet, Sabina found the second document with its wax seal. “This is the same,” she said. “Is it also a bull?”

  “No, the seal is not metal. Likely that is a letter.” Magdalene’s mouth twisted. “Doubtless an important one.”

  Letice picked up the letter and drew her eating knife. Without actually touching it, she made signs of sliding the knife under the wax.

  “It is almost certainly in Latin,” Magdalene said. “I will not be able to read it. Let me look at these first.” With the words, she took up the open letters. “Ah, this one is in French. It is a letter of credit on the goldsmith Basyngs and those associated with his house, authorizing Baldassare de Firenze to obtain from them a substantial sum of money.” She sighed. “His name was Baldassare de Firenze. How sad that I cannot tell anyone who he was.”

  Letice touched the letter.

  “No,” Magdalene said, setting it aside and taking up the second one. “There is no way we could use it, not without being hung for murder.” She unfolded the other, read some, nodded, and set that atop the first. “This one is also in French; it is a letter of introduction, asking in the pope’s name for any and all to give what help he needs to Baldassare de Firenze. That has been unfolded and used several times. The letter of credit has had less use.” She grimaced. “He must have been using the money in the pouch first.”

  Now she reached in and drew the coins from the pouch and breathed a sigh of relief. They were good English pennies, showing a little wear but no clipping, and mixed in with them, two coins that glinted yellow. She picked them out and stared at them. Gold. No one used gold coin, but no doubt the papal treasury had some hoarded. Small as they were, they were heavy. Meant to be changed for silver by a goldsmith. She sighed and shook her head.

  “They are of no use to us,” she said and slipped them back into the pouch.

  “You be goin’ t’ drop gold in t’ river?” Dulcie asked, eyes round as saucers.

  Magdalene looked at her. “No,” she said, loudly and clearly. “We cannot throw the pouch in the river. This” —she touched it— “is a bull from the pope. It is very important.”

  “To who?” Dulcie asked. “It’ll get us hung if we don’ be rid ‘f it.”

  Magdalene bit her lip. Letice drew her knife again and pointed to the red-sealed letter. Magdalene wrung her hands for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, all right. Try to lift the seal, Letice. Maybe I will find a name, a few words that look familiar….”

  A nerve-racking period followed while Letice found a thin enough and broad enough knife for her purpose. Then came the task of heating it evenly, bracing the letter, sliding the glowing blade under half the seal, easing the parchment out from under the knife while it still supported the seal. Half the time Magdalene found herself unable to look, but Letice was amazingly skilled. She had done this often before, Magdalene thought, as Letice signed to her to unfold the parchment while she eased the seal off the cooling blade so it would not stick and then slid the knife back to support the fragile wax. Because she is mute, Magdalene thought. Because her previous master had assumed she could never tell what she had done. They had used her to remove seals, and perhaps to affix them on different documents.

  With an effort, she brought her mind back to this document. The letter was, as she had guessed, in Latin, but the first few lines told her something. It was from the pope—she recognized the name Innocent II and it was to King Stephen. Well, she had expected that, too, but it was a disappointment; if it had been to one of the bishops, she would have considered getting rid of it. The Church would easily survive a delayed instruction from the pope. But the king…she scanned the letter anxiously, found the name Matilda, and groaned.

  “What is it?” Sabina asked anxiously.

  “A letter to the king about Empress Matilda, old king Henry’s daughter, who was supposed to be queen but the barons would not have it.”

  “Because she was a woman?” Sabina asked.

  “Not only that. There was much talk about her in Oxford—all those students and clerics and churchmen gossip ten times worse than women do—about her pride and stubbornness. Well, she did not oppose Stephen when he first took the crown, and then we moved here, where we have fewer clerks among our clients. But I know that Matilda had set a plea before the pope, claiming that she was the rightful queen because Stephen had violated his oath to the late King Henry to accept her as queen. That clerk of the Bishop of Rochester’s who comes to visit us every time he is in London told me that when he was waiting to see Letice.”

  The mute nodded and made an urgent gesture, followed by several others. Tears rose to her eyes when she saw that neither Magdalene nor Dulcie looked enlightened. She bit her lip and moved a finger as if she were writing.

  “The clerk,” Magdalene said. “He told you….”

  Letice made the sign of a peaked hat over her head, held out her hand, pointed to the finger on which a bishop wears his ring.

  “About his bishop.”

  Letice pointed south, moved her hand like waves, then pointed to the pouch and the bull.

  “The bishop went to the pope? About Matilda’s plea?”

  Letice pointed to her ear, then made the sign of writing.

  “The clerk and the bishop were going to listen and report about Matilda’s plea?”

  To that, Letice nodded. Sabina shifted on the bench, reaching out to touch the pile of coins and smiling slightly. “Why should it matter to us whether Stephen is king or Matilda queen?” she asked.

  “Because a contest between them might involve London in war.” Magdalene had looked back at the letter, then shrugged. “But I think this confirms Stephen. Here are the words fedei defensor, which I am sure mean ‘defender of the faith.’
The pope would not call a man he has just deprived of a throne ‘defender of the faith.’ So the letter must say that the pope has confirmed Stephen as king. Well, that is important, but not important enough to chance the danger of hanging. It is the bull that worries me.”

  Magdalene spoke somewhat absently, her eyes fixed on the letter, noticing that some of the words were very like French. And then, toward the end, another name caught her eye: Henry de Blois, episcopus Winchesteri. That would be Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchester. She scanned the lines around the name, word by word, found felix, which she was sure meant “happy,” and then legatus.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed. “The bull must be to give legatine powers to the Bishop of Winchester.” She looked up, met Letice’s and Dulcie’s eyes. “That must be delivered!”

  “I suppose so,” Sabina agreed, reluctantly lifting her hand away from the money. “I remember how disappointed you were at Christmas when Theobald of Bec was elected archbishop instead of Henry. But I cannot understand why the king would not prefer his own brother, who has done so much for him.”

  “That would be why, I fear. Few love the bestower of favors.” Magdalene sighed. “Or likely, the king’s present favorite, Waleran de Meulan, felt that Henry was too powerful already, holding Winchester, the rich abbey of Glastonbury, and administering the diocese of London. William of Ypres said he thought Waleran threatened that Henry, if he should become archbishop, would be a rival king.”

  Letice, frowning, touched Magdalene, made a gesture that included them all, and then the sign for a question.

  “Why should we care?” Magdalene half smiled. “Partly because I like the Bishop of Winchester. He is clever, wise, and quick to act or give a reason why he will not. More important, the more power in the hands of Henry of Winchester, the safer we are. If he had become archbishop, no other priest or bishop would dare complain about us, since he placed us here.”

  “Well, he already holds Winchester and London,” Sabina began, then shook her head sharply. “Oh, I understand. If the new Archbishop of Canterbury should be another such as Brother Paulinus or just wish to impress everyone with his piety, he could call for a cleansing of Southwark.”