Chains of Folly

by Roberta Gellis

  Holdyn himself was at the church door. The archbishop had arrived, he said, and was waiting in the chapel in which they would confer. Bell’s lips thinned. That meant the bishop could not question Holdyn first. Apurpose? But Holdyn could not have arranged the time the archbishop arrived.

  Bell watched as Winchester hurried into the church, apologies already on his tongue. Bell did not think Winchester would ever accept this archbishop of Canterbury, who held the office he was convinced was meant for him, but he wanted the man’s cooperation about this convocation.

  The clerks took back the two satchels of documents and scurried after Winchester. Bell lingered a moment longer to tell the men-at-arms that they were free to wander about but not to go beyond the sound of his voice. That generated some laughter as many of the men claimed that persons in outlying shires could hear Bell’s orders on a battlefield. Then, somewhat reluctantly, he went to the chapel where bishop and archbishop were opposite each other, flanked by their clerks, at a table that had been carried into the chapel.

  Bell sighed softly and joined two of the archbishop’s men on guard in the opening arch of the chapel. Father Holdyn had disappeared. The archbishop was indignantly clearing himself of any complicity in the attack on the bishop on Saturday. Winchester, at his most urbane, was assuring Theobald that he had never suspected him of any complicity, since he believed the only purpose of the attack was to interfere with the convocation—on which, he hoped, they were in complete agreement. The archbishop said that was true, but it troubled him that an attack should happen on the bishop’s way to his palace at Lambeth. Anyone could have known of the appointment, the bishop said. Bell sighed again.

  Eventually, although not nearly as soon as Bell hoped, the subject reverted to the convocation. In time a date was decided upon. That was not so simple because of the need to avoid holy days, meet soon enough to retain the outrage initially felt about the treatment of Salisbury, and yet long enough in advance for adequate traveling time. Many of the bishops were of advanced years and some of considerable girth. August 29th was eventually settled upon.

  Bell sighed once more, unhappily. He understood why no nearer date could be chosen, but the end of August meant he would need to guard the bishop very strictly for more than a whole month. Had the date been later, he might have convinced the bishop to return to Winchester where he would be far safer—and where he, himself, would be safe from the temptation offered by Magdalene. He started to listen more closely as the place of the meeting began to be considered.

  The archbishop suggested Oxford, the scene of the incident, because it might stir up the spirits of the bishops. It might also, Winchester pointed out, remind the bishops of the king’s power and make them too cautious.

  Bell looked across the church into which the sun, risen above the buildings of the city, was pouring a golden light. His jaw was set as polite argument waxed and waned. The two guards who had come with the archbishop were silent, perhaps also listening. Bell did not know the men and had no idea whether they had come from France with Theobald or had been provided to him by Waleran, who had arranged his election.

  By the time the complaints of Bell’s stomach were beginning to take precedence over his anxiety and remind him that his predawn breakfast was worn out, the conclusion that he had strongly hoped for—and he was sure Winchester desired—had been reached. The convocation would be held in Winchester…where the bishop held power.

  Bell’s last sigh was of relief. In his own cathedral city, Winchester’s knights would arrange that the full strength of his armed forces could be collected without being obvious. The king would not seize him or even threaten to seize him or any of the other attending bishops no matter what the convocation concluded.

  Very tentatively the substance of the convocation was approached. Winchester offered to defer to the archbishop in opening the convocation and stating the causes for its summoning. Acting as if stirred by impatience. Bell glanced over his shoulder. He saw at once that Theobald was looking somewhat alarmed and shaking his head. The archbishop said that surely the summoner and papal legate could best lay out the subject for the attending bishops.

  Bell straightened his head and once again stared out into space. This, he was sure, was what Winchester desired. Naturally his summons to the bishops throughout England would carry the information that he had received a bull naming him the papal legate, but actually seeing the archbishop of Canterbury sitting before him in obedience would fix in the other bishops’ minds that Winchester’s authority was beyond that of Theobald’s.

  Then Bell stiffened a trifle, his hand falling to his sword hilt as he became aware of movement at the far door, but it was only a single shadow that crossed the church. In the next moment, he relaxed. From the size of the man and his genuflection to the altar, it must be Father Holdyn. The episcopal vicar did not approach the chapel; instead he knelt in prayer near the altar.

  Bell could not help hoping that Holdyn was praying the bishop and archbishop would soon finish their discussion. Another few minutes passed and Bell’s lips twitched. Father Holdyn must be a very holy man if the end of the conference had been his prayer because just then the bishop and archbishop rose and bowed gravely to each other. Bell turned to watch their clerks gather up the notes they had made.

  Praying or not, Holdyn apparently had been keeping one eye on his illustrious guests. He now hurried toward the chapel to bow and invite Winchester and Canterbury to eat their dinner at his table, their clerks to eat with the cannons.

  Winchester agreed almost before the words were out of Holdyn’s mouth; Bell approved heartily since it would be an excellent opportunity to ask about Holdyn’s crucifix. Almost as promptly as Winchester had agreed, the archbishop offered thanks but claimed he had a previous engagement. Bell was not certain whether Theobald actually had business or simply did not want to eat a meal with Winchester, but he was very grateful to the archbishop. Winchester, who Bell guessed was also thinking of the murdered woman in whose hoard they had found Holdyn’s crucifix, was equally grateful. His farewells sounded warm and sincere.

  Politely, Winchester and Father Holdyn, with Bell and Theobald’s guards trailing behind, accompanied the archbishop to the door of the church. The archbishop’s men and Bell sidled around and went down the steps. Winchester and Holdyn made deferential conversation while they waited for Theobald’s men to get his horse and summon the rest of his escort. Meanwhile, Bell found one of his own men and bade him to tell the troop to find meals from the vendors of food in the churchyard.

  When the archbishop was well away, Father Holdyn led Bell and the bishop to the refectory of the cannons. There a screen had been drawn across the north end of the room. Behind it was a table with one chair with arms, one chair without arms. A selection of stools and a small bench stood near the back wall.

  Bell pulled out the chair with arms for Winchester, offering up a small prayer of thanks that the archbishop had decided not to stay. Which man, archbishop or legate, would have been offered the chair with arms? Then Bell wondered whether Holdyn had known the archbishop would leave. And where had he got a chair with arms anyway? Was that what he used in the privacy of his own quarters? Bell would not have expected it, but how had Nelda got Holdyn’s crucifix?

  Father Holdyn seated himself in the chair without arms and Bell drew up a stool for himself. Although Father Holdyn looked somewhat surprised and glanced toward the bishop, he did not protest. He rang a silvery bell and servants began to come around the end of the screen carrying bowls of pottage, bowls of vegetables, wedges of cheese, and cups and a pitcher. Bell thought briefly of dinner at Magdalene’s house where there would have been roast meat and a hearty stew of mutton or pork accompanying the vegetables—as well as a sweet pudding and lively conversation.

  Not that Father Holdyn and the bishop sat in silence. They were speaking animatedly enough, but about a theological question in which Bell took little interest. He ate in silence. At least the pottage was well se
asoned, as were the roasted vegetables. He wasted no time in chewing and swallowing, interspersing the vegetables he speared on his knife and spoonfuls of pottage with mouthfuls of cheese. That was good too. The cannons of St. Paul’s were certainly not starved, but the ale was terrible; watered, Bell thought.

  Despite Bell’s strict attention to his dinner, he could have eaten more when the bishop, who certainly kept his vows of abstemiousness, wiped his eating knife and returned it to its sheath. Father Holdyn immediately pulled his hand back from the piece of cheese he was about to pick up. Silent now, Winchester removed the crucifix from his purse and laid it on the table. Holdyn goggled at it, his eyes wide and his mouth half open.

  “Why did you bury the whore who was killed and take away her clothing before Bell could examine it?” Winchester asked softly.

  Holdyn managed one swift, startled glance at Winchester before his eyes returned to the crucifix. Still staring at it, Holdyn said, “I did not know Sir Bellamy was investigating her death. A whore… Why did I bury her? A good work. She would have been thrown into an unmarked pit. And why so quickly? In summer, a burial cannot wait. The clothing was good. There are many who need it urgently.”

  Aside from the comment that he did not know about the investigation, which was tinged with bitterness, Bell thought the man hardly knew what he was saying. He sounded as if he were repeating words he had committed to memory.

  “You did not think I would order an investigation of a murdered woman found in my bedchamber?” Winchester asked.

  Holdyn looked up at him, seemingly startled. “I had forgot where she was found.”

  Bell did not think that was possible. How could one forget the tale of a dead woman propped up in a chair in a bishop’s bedchamber? From his expression, Winchester did not think so either.

  “You did not know the woman?” the bishop asked.

  For a long moment Holdyn was silent; his gaze dropped again to the crucifix. Then he lifted his eyes and shook his head. “No,” he said. “I did not know her.”

  Bell thought Winchester did not believe that either and the bishop asked, more sharply, “Then how did it come about that your crucifix—I know it is yours; I have seen you wear it many times, and I do not think there is another such in England—was found in this whore’s hoard?”

  Holdyn swallowed. “How did you find it?” he whispered.

  The bishop smiled slightly. “Through the help of another whore, who knows her kind well and showed my man—” he gestured at Bell with his head “—where to search.”

  “It was stolen,” Father Holdyn said—Bell could see that his eyes were full of tears and suddenly looked away.

  “I have no doubt of that,” Winchester snapped. “I did not imagine that you gave it to her…”

  Bell heard Winchester’s voice lose its brisk tone and falter to a stop. He guessed it had occurred to the bishop that Holdyn, who from his long record had never violated his vows of chastity, had slipped once and then, obsessed by the pleasure he had long denied himself, become enslaved. Bell knew of at least one client of Magdalene’s who was treading that terrible path.

  The idea was not one that would spring to the bishop’s mind at first. Winchester was simply not the. kind to be trapped in a pleasure of any sort. Seduced by power he could be, in Bell’s opinion, but not by pleasure.

  But I understand, Bell thought, raising his eyes again to look at Holdyn with some sympathy. Only what he saw in Holdyn’s face was not what he would have felt if he had discovered Magdalene was dead—or if he had killed her. What was there was a… Bell could think of no words to describe it other than a distant sorrow, a grief for something far in the past.

  Only the crucifix had not been stolen far in the past. Bell remembered it gleaming against Holdyn’s dark gown the last time he had ridden to London some two, no three, weeks past. And why had he thought of Holdyn killing his love? Because he himself… What, take a life because he had fallen in love with a whore? No, he would not. Besides Magdalene had never lied to him, never deceived him.

  Nelda, however, was a liar. If Holdyn had become so obsessed with her as to give her his dearest treasure and then discovered she was a whore—

  “Or did you give it to her?” Winchester’s voice, sharp and demanding, recalled Bell from his thoughts.

  “No.” Holdyn sounded more sure of himself; his mouth tightened into distaste. “No, I did not give the woman my crucifix.” He took a deep breath and indignation colored his voice when he spoke again. “And if you suspect that I lay with her and that I paid with my crucifix, I did not do that either! Nor was the crucifix stolen while I slept after my illicit congress. And I will swear an oath at the very altar of this church, with my hand on the great cross, that what I have said is true.”

  Winchester stared at the priest for a handful of heartbeats. “Then perhaps you will explain to me how it came to be in Nelda’s possession?”

  Holdyn’s shoulders slumped. “I cannot. All I can say is that I had taken off the crucifix because I changed to rough clothing. I intended to help with the cleansing of a church in which murder had been done. I laid the crucifix on my chest and it was gone when I returned.”

  “The church near Monkwell Street?” The bishop glanced at Bell, who nodded very slightly indicating that he would go and inquire whether Holdyn had been there and for how long. “I remember mention of the murder in the report I had just before we set out for London,” the bishop continued. “The church will need reconsecration.”

  “Yes,” Holdyn began rather eagerly, as if he hoped to divert Winchester to a new topic.

  But the bishop was not easily diverted. What he said was, “So your crucifix was lost on Sunday night and you did nothing? You did not question your servants, your clerks?”

  “My lord, you know I have been lodging in the bishop’s palace to attend better to the needs of the diocese. However, there is no retinue and very few servants. I know my clerks and my servants. They would not steal…but a large number of people come and go in the palace on church business. My servants might easily not notice a stranger who seemed harmless. And such a stranger might have been able to find my chamber and steal my crucifix.”

  He knew who had taken it, Bell thought. But would his servants allow a woman dressed as Nelda had been dressed to wander about the bishop’s palace or go into the episcopal vicar’s bedchamber? Bell thought back on how long a silence there had been before Holdyn answered Winchester’s question about whether he knew the woman. A mark of his struggle with the need to lie to his bishop?

  “I think perhaps you should press your servants more closely about who might have been loose in the palace. Has anything else been found to be missing?”

  Holdyn swallowed again. “Once, a gilt cup. I replaced it, my lord, and after that all valuables were locked away.”

  “You did not discover who committed that theft either?” Winchester asked.

  “I—it came at a bad time. I fear I was so busy I did not pursue the matter. I replaced the cup with one of equal value. The punishment fell upon me for my carelessness, and that was just.”

  “Perhaps, but I would have my servants make sure that strangers did not wander about the palace.”

  “I did, my lord, but the palace is large, the servants are few. The front doors are kept locked, of course, but there are necessary entrances for service…”

  “I see.” Winchester rose to his feet and Bell followed. Holdyn moved his hand tentatively toward the crucifix, but Winchester picked it up and returned it to his purse. “You will have it back when we discover who killed the poor woman and so indifferently used her dead body.”

  * * * *

  When Magdalene returned from the house on Lime Street where she had spoken to Claresta, she found Letice at the table eating cheese and cold meat with hunks torn off still-warm golden bread. To her surprise Letice smiled and signed toward the door. Her women worked hard when they had guests at night. Then she remembered that the man who had come f
or Letice came at night only so no one would see him and never stayed very long. He paid the full night’s fee, too, so Magdalene had no complaint.

  Then Magdalene also remembered that Letice had implied it was too complicated to explain how she knew the dead woman and wanted to take her to the Saracen’s Head. She nodded and said, “Is there a time that is better than others to see your—uncle?”

  Letice first shook her head, making a gesture for encompassing all, which Magdalene assumed meant that all times were the same, and then nodded, which Magdalene took to mean the man was her uncle. Magdalene almost forgot again in her eagerness finally to discover where Letice went and who were her people—questions despite her curiosity she had never felt she had the right to ask—that her purpose was to find out what connection Nelda had with Letice’s compatriots.

  While Letice finished her meal, Magdalene went to tell Dulcie that she and Letice were leaving and to instruct the maid to pull in the bell cord and lock the gate behind them until Diot was up and ready to answer the bell. Then she and Letice veiled their faces and went out. Letice turned right, away from the bridge to London, but they only went a short way before they turned left into the lane that led to the church of St. Thomas.

  The lane was narrow and crooked, and the counters that protruded into it held mostly worn out gowns and tunics. One or two frankly sold rags—garments too torn and stained to be remade into something wearable. Still the cloth was of value. It could be used for patches or for stuffing a gambeson or for layering the inside of a gown or tunic to make it warm for the winter.