A Mortal Bane (7 page)

“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.”

“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 exchanged. 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?”