A Mortal Bane

by Roberta Gellis

  “Or if he is a creature of Winchester’s enemies, he could use us to prove that the bishop is unchaste. But if Winchester is legate, that is even better for us. If he had become archbishop, eventually another man would have been elected Bishop of Winchester. It would be that man who would own this house, and we have no guarantee he would be as understanding as this bishop.”

  Sabina smiled. “I understand. Even if the bishop does nothing directly, the knowledge that we rent this house from him is a safeguard to us. Protected by the pope’s legate! No one will speak against us, not even the new Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  “Yes, indeed. Which means that the pouch must not be cast into the river—it must be found.”

  Letice gripped Magdalene’s wrist, waved at the house, and then shook her head violently.

  “No, of course it must not be found here.”

  “You want the pouch found?” Dulcie asked, seemingly having understood at least part of the conversation.

  “Yes. It must be found. The bull” —Magdalene pointed to the document— “makes our bishop legate of the pope. He will be stronger in protecting us.”

  “Best it be found in th’ church, then. Poor man might’ve hid ‘t there before he be kilt.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea!” Sabina exclaimed. “But where?”

  “There be a place,” Dulcie said. “Y’ know I clean in th’ church. It be me offerin’ to God, me own offerin’ that don’ put no money in th’ monks’ greedy hands. Y’ know that carvin’ of Saint Christopher carryin’ th’ Christ Child? Atween th’ saint’s neck, th’ Babe’s leg, ‘nd th’ wall behind, there’s a hollow place. Mebbe th’ stone broke ‘r was thin there. Cleaned a mouse nest out o’ there ony a week since. Be safe there.”

  “Oh, Dulcie, that’s wonderful! Wonderful!” Magdalene jumped up and hugged her. “And if none of the monks finds it on his own, maybe you can get one of the women who cleans with you to ‘clean’ that statue.”

  She reached to the pile of pennies on the table and gave five to Dulcie. The old woman pushed three back to her. “Keep ‘em for me. Don’ want no one t’ see too much money in me purse. These two, I be breaking to farthings. That’ll be safe. Soon’s that be ready” —she nodded at the pouch— “I’ll take ‘t. Church’ll be quiet ‘til Sext. Monks all busy after eatin’.”

  While they had been speaking, Letice had refolded the letter, supporting the seal with the blade. Magdalene turned to watch as she laid down the knife and fetched one of the special, fine beeswax candles a client had brought. She carved some thin curls from the bottom onto the spot on the letter from which the seal had been raised. Seeing what she was about, Magdalene fetched a spill, lit it at the fire, then lit the candle. With lips set hard, Letice held the candle so the flame would pass over the wax shavings. Hardly breathing now, she slid the knife free and, most delicately, applied the flame to the bottom of the seal, lowering it back onto the parchment as it warmed. Very carefully, very gently, she pressed down on the edge until the soft seal and the soft wax bonded to the parchment. The pressure also spread the edge of the seal a tiny bit, so that it covered any small smear of wax that might have been made by the original lifting. When the wax had cooled hard, she took a deep breath and held out the letter.

  “I can hardly believe we had that open,” Magdalene said, examining it carefully. “And I doubt anyone will look as carefully at it as I did. Will it hold?”

  Letice raised her hands and then nodded.

  “Likely it will, she thinks.” Dulcie voiced what Letice would have said if she could. “'Nd if nothin’ else don’ look wrong ‘nd th’ purse be in th’ church, not far from where th’ poor man be kilt, it don’ matter much. Them as finds it’ll think stuffin’ it in th’ hole there did th’ damage.”

  Magdalene took another ten pennies and added them to the gold coins in the bottom of the purse, then replaced the bull, the king’s letter, the letter of credit, and on top of the others, the letter of introduction.

  “I think that will look right,” she said. “The letter he used most is in front, the most precious at the back where he could not pull it out by accident. The fact that the gold and a good sum in silver are there will mean to most that we did not open the pouch. Who would believe that a whore would not take gold, or clean out every scrap of silver?”

  She took up the cords that tied the pouch and pulled them until the smooth parts, which had not been part of the knot, matched. Then slowly, carefully, making sure that every bend in the cord folded into the new knot, she wove the knot anew. When it was tied, she examined it front and back, Dulcie and Letice examined it front and back, and Sabina ran her sensitive fingers over the cord and the knot.

  “It is smooth,” she said. “I cannot feel any place where the cord feels crimped, nor any uneven spot on the knot itself.”

  “I’d swear that were never touched,” Dulcie confirmed, and so did Letice with a nod. “I’ll go get me cleanin’ rags now. Sooner that be out o’ here, th’ better.”

  All the woman heaved a sigh of relief when Dulcie had packed the pouch into the basket with her sand and ash and straw and rags. Unfortunately, they had relaxed too soon. In only a few moments, Dulcie was back.

  “Can’t open the gate,” she reported. “'Tis locked, it is. Latch goes up and down, but th’ gate don’ move.”

  “It must be stuck,” Magdalene said.

  Dulcie shook her head. “I be no weakling, ‘nd I pushed hard.”

  They all stared at her, dumbfound. The gate had been locked when they first moved into the house because the previous renter had run an ordinary stew. There had been noise and brawls, and the women had displayed themselves in unseemly ways, even coupling in the garden, which could be seen from the windows of the second-floor dorter. Henry of Winchester had ordered them out.

  On the way to Oxford in company with William of Ypres, an old friend, he had complained about the outrage. When William arrived in Oxford, he had repaired to his favorite house of ease, only to have Magdalene ask her most powerful patron to vouch for her as being honest and discreet so she could rent a larger house. William quickly put two and two together, decided that having Magdalene in London would be more convenient for him, and suggested to Winchester that he offer the now-vacant house to Magdalene la Bâtarde, his favorite whore mistress. She would pay the exorbitant rent, William assured the bishop, and she and her women passed as embroiderers and would not offend.

  Within a month of moving into the Old Priory Guesthouse, Magdalene had contrived to meet the prior and convince him that the gate should be opened for the benefit of the souls of her clients and the finances of the church. She had not mentioned that the more secretive of the men who visited her house could thereby reverse the process, that is, enter by the priory gate—a holy and laudable place to visit—enjoy their pleasures, and then go out through the priory so that none would know they had visited a whore. Since the men rarely forgot to leave an offering at the priory, neither Magdalene nor the prior had regretted the arrangement—in spite of the sacristan’s displeasure—and the gate had remained open ever since.

  “Brother Paulinus!” Magdalene exclaimed bitterly. “Now what can we do?”

  “Since the bull names the bishop legate and will be of great benefit to him, could you not bring the pouch directly to him?” Sabina asked slowly. “You would have to admit the man was here, but surely Henry of Winchester is not such an idiot as the sacristan to think we would follow a client to the church to kill him.”

  “God, no!” Magdalene exclaimed. “Only his worst enemy would give the bishop this pouch. How could he explain how he came by the pouch of a papal messenger who was murdered so near his London house? And he must present to the king the letter that confirms him in power, so he could not just hold his peace until he needed to act as legate. And just now, since the king contrived that election of Theobald, Winchester and his brother are not on the best of terms. William of Ypres told me that really harsh words had been exchange
d. That would be a rich broth for the bishop’s enemies to find tasty nuggets in. To defend himself, he would have to admit I brought him the pouch. Who would then believe we did not kill the man?”

  “Could someone climb the wall?” Sabina asked uncertainly. She had never seen the wall and did not know how high it was.

  “Perhaps I could,” Magdalene replied, even more uncertainly. “We could put a table against it and I…but how would I get down on the other side? And how would I get up again? And we certainly could not be climbing the wall during the day….”

  “Meanwhile, what do we do with this?” Dulcie asked, removing the pouch from her cleaning supplies.

  Magdalene looked at it with loathing, then drew a deep breath. “For now, I will hide it in the same place the dead man put it, only in the empty room. Then we will have to think of some way to be rid of it.”

  That was easier said than done, although the urgency of disposing of the pouch diminished throughout the day. By dinnertime, Magdalene was no longer much concerned about Brother Paulinus coming to search. He must have realized, she reasoned, that after his announcement of the murder, they would have looked for and disposed of any evidence they discovered. Nonetheless, the pouch had to be found and must not be found in their house, so—using obscure terms so that Ella would not understand—they discussed what to do with it, until their clients began to arrive.

  Perhaps putting the problem out of their minds while they made merry with their guests did some good, because it was soon after the last client had left them that a solution to the problem was discovered. Letice went to lock the front gate and the front and back doors of the house after Vespers and as she drew the key from the back lock, she looked at it and her mouth opened in a large O. She ran to where Magdalene was lighting torchettes and shook the key in her face.

  “Not more trouble.” Magdalene sighed. “The door will not lock?”

  Letice shook her head, dragged Magdalene to the front door, unlocked and then relocked it, dragged Magdalene to the back door, unlocked and relocked that, and again shook the key in Magdalene’s face.

  “I see you used the key to lock the doors, but—

  Letice again shook the key, pointed to the back door, pointed down the hall to the front door, shook the key, and finally held up one finger and shook that in Magdalene’s face. Magdalene frowned. Letice repeated the process. Magdalene’s eyes went wide. Locks were expensive, partly because the locking wards had to be reinvented for each lock. If two locks could be identical and use the same key, the locksmith could charge less, not to mention the convenience of needing fewer keys.

  “One key,” she breathed. “One key for both doors.”

  Even as she spoke, Letice held up another, even larger key, her eyes wide with hope.

  “The key to the front gate! Oh, hurry, Letice. Unlock the door and we will go and try it.”

  They were so excited that they nearly stuck in the doorway once the door was opened. Then they rushed down the path, with Dulcie, who had been watching Letice lock and unlock the door, following behind.

  “Do it. Do it,” Magdalene urged and then held her breath as Letice inserted the front-gate key into the lock.

  It turned with only a little difficulty. The latch clicked as Dulcie lifted it. The gate swung open.

  Chapter Four

  20 April 1139

  St. Mary Overy Church

  Although it was not easy, Magdalene waited long enough after Compline for the sky to be completely dark and, she hoped, all the monks to be sound asleep. Then she and Dulcie slipped through the unlocked gate, latching it after them carefully, and around the apse to the north entrance. She shivered as she walked up the stairs, wondering whether the monks had cleaned off the blood. Even if they had not, she told herself, it would be dry now and there would be no danger of carrying a stain if she stepped on it. But it was not that fear that made her shiver, and tears pricked her eyes when she thought of the agreeable man who was now dead.

  Before they could even gather in her lids, a new fear sent them back to their source. Had Brother Paulinus ordered that the church itself be locked as well as the gate? She began to think frantically of a new place to hide the pouch concealed under her cloak, perhaps in the graveyard, but Dulcie had lifted the latch and swung the door open a little way before any sensible idea had a chance to form. Apparently the sacristan felt he had shut out the contamination by locking the gate between the Old Priory Guesthouse and the church and had either not dared or not felt the need to lock the church itself.

  When Dulcie shut the door, it was much blacker inside than outdoors, where even during the dark of the moon, starlight brightened the sky. Fortunately, once they had moved out into the chancel, the tiny lamp flickering on the altar gave Dulcie a sense of where she was. Taking Magdalene’s hand, she led her down along the wall and stopped. Magdalene assumed they were near the carving of Saint Christopher, but she could not see it at all and she did not dare ask Dulcie. Deaf as she was, the old woman often spoke too loudly. Magdalene reached up and began to feel around.

  She soon found the curved stone frame around the carved image, then the head of the figure. Only a little way farther to the right was a smaller head. She slid her hand down, found the Child’s shoulder and, below that, the hollow bordered by His thigh. With her lip tight between her teeth, she pressed the pouch into the opening. She feared for a moment that it would fall all the way down, but it stopped and to her delight, it felt as if a tiny edge protruded from behind the Child’s thigh. If someone looked carefully, it would be found.

  The breath Magdalene had been holding eased out and then caught again as light bloomed suddenly behind her. Dulcie tugged urgently at her skirt. Without even turning around, she followed the pull, sidling along the wall into the nave, where she knelt as if in prayer. Gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering with fear, she lifted her head.

  A robed figure carrying a tallow taper had entered from the south door, which connected through a chapel and a short passage to the monastery. Magdalene clasped her hands and bowed her head, thanking God that they were well away from the Saint Christopher. Even so, if they were found and the pouch was also found in the next day or two, it would not take Brother Paulinus long to put two and two together and insist they had brought the pouch to the church.

  The monk did not bother to look down the nave, however. He hurried from the doorway to the center of the chancel and then walked into the apse. When he was close to the altar, he paused and removed from the breast of his robe an object that glittered faintly, which he lifted, admiring it. Magdalene saw that it was a handsome silver candlestick. Then he walked around to the back of the altar, where he knelt.

  Magdalene could see nothing more. Mentally, she groaned. If the monk had come to perform a penance, or even to pray over self-perceived sins, they might be there for hours. But he was not praying. In only a few moments the monk reappeared, no longer carrying the candlestick. Relief nearly brought self-betrayal as Magdalene fought not to giggle. Idiot that she was. Plainly, the monk had come to return the candlestick to its storage place under the altar. Even as she thought it, he made his way toward the door, where the light suddenly went out and she heard the soft click of the latch.

  Dulcie jumped to her feet and pulled at Magdalene, who had hesitated, breathing a prayer of thanks to the Mother of God. She smiled as she rose, thinking that perhaps being a whore was less offensive to Mary, the only woman who had ever conceived without carnal union with a man, than to her holier-than-thou disciple. Mary knew the heart, and in this case at least, Magdalene knew her heart was pure.

  Not long after, the gate relocked behind them, she and Dulcie were safe inside the house. Magdalene was ready to drop and desired only her bed, but Letice and Sabina, who had been waiting anxiously, had to be told what had happened. Letice only signed that she was glad they got away.

  Sabina sniffed. “I thought monks were supposed to keep regular hours,” she said, her voice querulous
. “It seems to me that they are always walking about, looking for mischief.”

  At the time, Magdalene was too tired to want to inquire into what Sabina meant, and she only suggested that everyone go to bed. She got no arguments; the fears and tensions of the day had worn on them all. For herself, Magdalene fell asleep the moment her clothing was off and she crawled into bed. She did not sleep peacefully, however; memories of the dead man, of the sacristan’s threats, and of Sabina’s last remark worked on her.

  21 April 1139

  The Bishop of Winchester’s House

  Magdalene woke the next morning determined to avenge Baldassare de Firenze and prove she and her women were innocent of murder. To take the easiest question first, Magdalene asked Sabina what she had meant by monks wandering about.

  “When I went to pray that night,” Sabina said, not identifying the time more closely because Ella was sitting at the edge of the bench occupied by Letice, who was cutting up her food for her, “I heard a monk cry out, ‘Who is there?’ and I had to wait before going into the church. I told you that.”

  “Likely you did, love, but all I heard was the bad news. Do you mean some monk was near the door of the north porch when you found it?” Magdalene asked.

  “Found what?” Ella asked, sidling up close to Letice as soon as she put down the knife she had been using. “Was it nice?”

  “No,” Sabina said, swallowing. “It was not nice at all, which was why I left it there and did not bring it home.”

  “Oh. Well, I suppose even if it had been nice, you could not take anything left on the church porch. It would belong to the monks.”

  “Out of the mouths of babes,” Magdalene said. “Perhaps what was on the porch did rightfully belong to the monks. Anyway, I think we should try to find out if it was because it did belong to the monks that the sacristan tried to put the blame for it on us. Did you recognize the voice, love?”