Bone of Contention

by Roberta Gellis

  “I cannot imagine who will manage this realm if Salisbury and his kin are driven out,” he said.

  “If you want the truth, neither can William, who pointed out to me that nearly all the sheriffs who rule the shires were appointed by Salisbury and are loyal to him.” She sighed. “I thank God by day and by night that I live under the bishop of Winchester’s protection.”

  “If even he is safe.”

  “Not his own brother!”

  “He stole the archbishopric from him.”

  Magdalene shook her head. “Winchester is the legate now. The pope is his overlord. Even Waleran is not bold enough to urge the king to offend the pope.” Then she took a deep breath. “Let us discuss murder. Even that is more pleasant than thinking about the chaos I envision.”

  She told him about her meeting with Tirell and her doubts about Master Reinhart and even Arras. When she was done, Bell sighed heavily. “Magdalene, you are more of an idiot than Arras. Are you trying to make yourself a target for the killer? And I must be in Court again tomorrow. I am now accredited and recognized as a servant of the diocese of London…not that it is much of a disguise. After all, the king knows that Winchester is managing the London diocese until a new bishop is appointed.”

  “But I do not believe it of the Hardels, and my doubts about Arras are ridiculous.”

  Bell sighed. “And Ormerod? And Ferrau?”

  She laughed. “I must admit, I cannot believe Ormerod would kill just so Sir Jules could marry Loveday. That is ridiculous. Nor do I believe him that avaricious or that needy of repayment of a loan. And Ferrau’s reasons are even more far-fetched.”

  He sighed again and reached out to take her hand in his. “Magdalene, I love you very much. Will you do one small thing for me for the sake of that love?”

  “What small thing?” she asked eyeing him warily.

  “Will you stay within tomorrow, just for the one day? Or if you must go out, will you take Rand or Ogden with you? You ‘do not believe,’ but there is a strong likelihood that one of those men is a clever and cruel killer. I am bound to my duty, but if you were harmed because I was standing about in Court waiting for the king to insult the bishop of Salisbury, I could never forget, never.”

  His eyes were shadowed with fear, not only for her but for adding another burden to his soul, like the killing of the mad miller. Magdalene turned her hand in his and squeezed it, smiling.

  “I can sacrifice one day of boredom to your peace of mind, love. Yes, I promise I will stay within tomorrow, or take Ogden or Rand with me if I go out.”

  Chapter 20

  26 June,

  St. Friedesweide’s Church

  The day was every bit as boring as Magdalene had foreseen, although William sent Sir Giles to tell her he might want to meet friends in her room about the time of the evening meal. Magdalene checked over her supplies and decided they were sufficient and congratulated herself on having purchased six rather nice glazed earthenware cups large enough for ale or watered wine. It would be serious political business William and his guests would be discussing; they would not be drinking straight wine to get drunk— Magdalene was somewhat surprised at how eager she was for the meeting. She had been at many—she could not count how many since William had first sent a man he should not know to her house. He had warned her what would happen to her if anyone ever discovered he had been in the house at the same time, but of course no one ever did know. And over the years he had come to trust her utterly so that he allowed her to serve tidbits to nibble and wine and ale to drink even while the talk went forward.

  Sometimes she had been frightened, sometimes saddened, sometimes disgusted, sometimes overjoyed by what she heard, but she had permitted no reflection of her emotions to show on her face and never by word or act implied she was not deaf as a stone to what had been said. Now, sometimes, William even asked her what she thought after the others were gone and they were safe in her bed. She smiled. Sometimes she even told him the truth.

  Bell had appeared at dinnertime bringing food and stayed to eat with her to ease her sense of confinement. Fortunately, before she confessed that William would be coming for the evening meal, he told her he would have to ride to Wytham after the king dismissed the Court.

  “Salisbury will come today,” he said, lips tight and grim, “even if it is sun one moment and spitting rain the next. Doubtless he has been told what the king said yesterday. The dean will want more than a novice’s message, and there is enough to tell him about the feelings of the Court.”

  “Ride safe,” Magdalene told him, kissing him as he left. She smiled at him. “And I promise I will not go out alone.”

  She kept her promise, but it was sorely tried when Sir Giles returned to say the meeting that evening was canceled. “After all that harsh talk yesterday, the king was sweet as new milk when Salisbury, Lincoln, and Ely appeared today. He greeted them with sweet words, ordered stools for them to sit upon, and actually presented business, questions about two wardships for minors that had been contested. On one he approved of the warden appointed by Salisbury; on another he suggested a change and Salisbury agreed without argument.”

  “And Lord Waleran? Was he there? How did he take the king’s mildness?”

  Sir Giles snorted. “With smiles.” They looked at each other silently and Sir Giles went on, “Something stinks, but I cannot tell from where the stench is coming.” And then he bowed slightly and went out.

  Magdalene could do nothing but swallow her disappointment. It had been so perfect, William choosing a night when Bell had to be at the abbey. Now she might have to tell Bell not to come. She bit her lip. Was that not for the best? She was growing far too attached, too accustomed to Bell’s strong warmth beside her at night, to his pleasant masculine grumbling in the morning. Yes, and to feeling guilty if something did not please him, which was not so pleasant. She was not a wife. She would never be a wife and did not wish to be what amounted to a slave to a man’s will.

  For some reason the words made her think of Loveday. She giggled and her spirits lifted. Wife or no wife, Loveday was not likely to be any man’s slave…and neither now would she herself be, Magdalene thought. She had been so young and totally ignorant when Brogan married her. She had been learning, though, about husbandry and the serfs. Brogan was no lover, but she had endured his demands, until he went mad with jealousy.

  Magdalene sighed and wrenched her mind away from the bloody past, but she could not find a pleasant topic to dwell upon and she had half a mind to go out and sit with Florete, even if it made trouble, when Ogden called through the door that there was a woman to see Magdalene.

  A woman? Loveday? Trouble already? But it was not Loveday who waited under Ogden’s watchful eye, it was Mayde.

  “He’s in St. Friedesweide’s infirmary,” the girl said, her eyes big in a pale face. “He won’t live, they say.”

  “Who?” Magdalene asked through stiff lips.

  “I don’t know his name,” Mayde said. Her voice trembled.

  “The tall, fair man with whom I first came to The Lively Hop?” Magdalene’s voice was trembling also.

  “No, no, the looby.”

  Relief and horror coursed through Magdalene, and she pulled Mayde into her room. “Poor Manville,” she whispered, crossing herself. “God help him.”

  “Wait here?” Ogden asked before she shut the door.

  “No…or, wait.” She turned to Mayde. “You said you didn’t think he would live, didn’t you?” The girl nodded. “Then he’s alive now?”

  “Was when they took him to St. Friedesweide’s.”

  “You don’t need to wait now,” Magdalene said to Ogden. “Mayde will not harm me, but I may have to go out to St. Friedesweide’s soon. Will you or Rand be able to accompany me?”

  “I’ll ask Florete.”

  He turned away and Magdalene shut the door and looked at Mayde. “You are so pale.” She went to the shelves and poured two half cups of wine. One she drank herself, the other she
handed to the girl. “Here, drink this, and tell me what happened.”

  “I found him.” Mayde swallowed hard and took a tiny sip of the wine, as if she feared she would not be able to keep it down. Then she took another larger sip, and said, “He was by the privy, half in and half out, lying on the ground. I didn’t think nothing of it, Lots of them make it to the privy and then can’t go no farther, but when I bent down to see if I could drag him a little out of the way, I saw the blood.”

  She put down the cup hastily and uttered a sob; Magdalene put an arm around her.

  “It was still coming out, red and wet, and I screamed and Jack—the landlord—came running out. I-I don’t remember what happened next. Maybe I swooned. Someone must of carried me back into the alehouse. Then when I came to my senses, I heard someone tell Jack they would take him to St. Friedesweide. I started to get up to serve, but I was dizzy and shaking so Jack told me to lay down on a bench. I did for a bit, but then I heard he was like to die and I remembered you wanted to know about these people, so I ran here.”

  Magdalene nodded and pulled a whole silver penny from her purse. “I must go and see if Arras is still alive and can tell me who attacked him. It must be the same man who killed St. Cyr and Sir Jules. Here.” She gave Mayde the penny. “This is for being clever and faithful. If you still feel weak, finish your wine here. When you feel able, go back to the alehouse. Try to remember who was there tonight and who talked to Arras—that is the…the looby’s name.” Magdalene blinked hard, forcing back tears. She hated to call him that now.

  “I’m better,” Mayde said, staring at the silver coin in her hand for a moment before she tucked it away carefully. “I’d rather go back where there are a lot of people talking than stay here alone.”

  “Very well,” Magdalene agreed. “But be careful.” She shook her head at Mayde. “Don’t be a fool. Likely the man who struck down Arras is long gone, but you don’t want him to think you could recognize him. He might go for you next. If anyone asks you what you saw when you screamed, you say you only screamed when you saw the blood, that before that you just thought the man was drunk. You saw nothing unusual, only a drunk lying on the ground.”

  Mayde nodded. “But I’ll think about it, about who could have gone out to the privy before the looby did. About who he talked to… Oh, I can tell you now that he talked to the man you were with yesterday, him and an older man that looked a bit like him. The looby went over to ask them something and they told him to go away. He answered loud and sharp that it would be better to tell him the truth, but then he went away. I don’t remember what they said, don’t think I really heard. There was a crowd because it was in the middle of a rain squall.”

  It was all Mayde had to tell at the moment, although she promised again to think about whom Arras had been with. They went out together, Magdalene locking her room behind her. When they passed Florete’s table, Rand stood up. “Going to St. Friedesweide?” he asked. Magdalene nodded.

  Florete said, “Is Rand all right? Ogden had to go and see about a girl who went home with a client and never came back. Or you could wait for Ogden.”

  “No, I can’t wait,” Magdalene said. “The man to whom I must speak is badly wounded and might die. Can you let Rand come with me? You have no one else here.”

  “Ogden will be back soon. This has happened before with this girl.” Florete made a face. “When she realizes she will not be queen of the household, just another maid—only doing double service—she is glad enough to return.”

  Rand nodded at Magdalene. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll just get my sword and be after you in a few minutes.”

  “I will be going to the infirmary,” Magdalene said. “I’ll meet you there.”

  * * * *

  Getting into the infirmary, however, was not so easy, and Magdalene forgot all about mentioning Rand. The monks were not pleased at having a woman intrude into their monastery and did not wish to admit her. She insisted, telling the infirmarian that Manville d’Arras had no male relatives in Oxford, no other relative but herself.

  That she knew his name and the name of the captain under whom he served convinced the infirmarian that the tale was true. Other marks in her favor were her decent clothing, her discretion in veiling her face, and her obvious and sincere concern about the wounded man. A final inducement to make an exception was Arras’s very grave condition. The infirmarian, a kind and gentle man, did not wish his patient to die without human comfort, even though he had been taught that God’s comfort should be sufficient.

  “He is not clever,” Magdalene said as the brother led her through the dim room toward a cot lit by a single candle, “but he is a good man. I am an embroideress in a good way of trade. If there is any comfort he desires, will you see that it is given him? I will pay.”

  The infirmarian shook his head. “I do not think he will be with us long enough to desire any further comforts. He is bleeding deep inside, and I have no way to stop it. What you bring, your care and your kindness, will provide all the comfort he will need.”

  Magdalene choked back a sob and brought out five pence from her purse. “For whatever purpose can bring him the greatest ease,” she said, pressing the coins into the hand of the infirmarian.

  He looked down at the silver and sighed. “We will pray for his soul,” he said but he went away to fetch a stool, which he set beside the cot so she could sit in comfort and stay longer. “I will leave you with him. If you sit for a while, he may wake. He drifts in and out of sleep because of his weakness. Also we have dosed him for the pain.”

  He left her then, disappearing into the shadows at the end of the long chamber, where Magdalene could barely make out the oblong deeper shadow of a doorway. She sat down beside the cot, loosening her veil so her masked face would not startle the wounded man.

  “Manville,” she said softly, “can you hear me and speak?”

  At first there was no response, but at a second repetition, his eyelids fluttered and then his eyes opened. He stared at her for a few moments and then asked, “Are you an angel?”

  “No,” she said, smiling although tears stung in her eyes. “I am a friend of Hertha’s. She could not come, but she sent me to tell you how sorry she was that you were hurt. She is very angry also, that anyone should hurt you. She asked me to come because I have a strong, brave friend who will avenge your hurt—if you can tell me who did this.”

  “Hertha likes me?” he asked in a small, wondering voice.

  “Yes, she does, and she wishes to see you avenged. Who wounded you, Manville?”

  “Didn’t see,” he said. “Pissing. Heard someone at the door. I moved aside to make room…” His brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “He hit me. Why did he hit me? I was moving out of the way.”

  “He is an evil man. I think he is the man who killed St. Cyr. Do you know who did that?”

  “Yes.” He smiled a little. “Know who. Make…make trouble for him. Spoil…spoil the game.”

  “But who is it? My friend will punish him for what he has done to you and to St. Cyr.”

  “Aimery.” Tears came into his eyes, ran down his face. Magdalene found a cloth on a little table near the cot and wiped his face. He said, “Thirsty.”

  She saw a covered pitcher and a cup and assumed since it was there that he was allowed drink. She poured a little into the cup and lifted his head. He drank. His eyes fluttered shut. Magdalene laid his head on the pillow again.

  “Knew Carl when he was…butcher’s son…Culham,” he whispered. “Long ago. Not me. From Sutton. Never saw him. Never knew name Carl, no Aimery…Aimery recognized him. Saw him go in…”

  His voice faded and his eyes closed again. Magdalene bit her lip and waited. After a little while she said, “Manville, can you tell me nothing about this man? How will my friend find him?”

  His eyes opened again. “Aimery knew him. He said…he had come up in the world.”

  “What did he look like, Manville?”

  “Look like?” His head mov
ed a fraction to and fro on the pillow. His brow furrowed. “Could show…if I saw.”

  He looked distressed because he was unable to satisfy her. Magdalene said, “Never mind,” abandoning any hope of a description. Instead she asked, “But why should he attack you?” hoping that Arras would give her some clue.

  He tried to smile again. “Figured…what Aimery meant. Tell them not to go…there. Spoil…”

  “Surely he wouldn’t try to kill you for that. Did Aimery tell you anything else he knew about that evil man, not about the lodging?”

  “Told me, long ago…” His eyes opened wider but his voice was weaker. “Long ago, Carl saw…girl killed. Carl had…maid… Late to meet mistress. Carl…no, Aimery…must call him Aimery. Followed…saw…dead girl. Then…killed maid too. Carl was afraid. Hid… Then he…became my friend. Wanted…learn to fight.”

  “No, not long ago, Manville. Something that happened here, in Oxford,” Magdalene said urgently.

  His eyes had closed again, now they opened only to slits and closed again. “Met again…Oxford. Lodging…” It was a thread of a whisper and tears glittered in the slit his eyes were open. “Tried…”

  The last word was more a movement of his lips than a spoken sound. Magdalene took his hand and squeezed it. “You did very well, Manville. Very well. You did everything right. You remembered.”

  His lips twitched, perhaps he meant to smile at the praise. Magdalene would have said more, but tears choked her voice as she sought for new words of comfort. She was angry with herself for having plagued the dying man, but if he was to be avenged she had to discover whom to be avenged upon. Perhaps if she let him rest a while, he would regain some strength and be able to tell her more.