At the Carfax, still wordless, they parted, Bell moving quickly north through the market toward the stable where Monseigneur guarded his saddle bags. His need to appear in Court had only increased, and he needed clean clothing. He blessed the dean’s sudden uneasiness and his, which had made him decide to carry all his possessions with him on the off chance that he would need to ride to Winchester in a hurry. No longer an off chance, he would have to ride for Winchester this very night, but he needed to see just what the king’s response to the riot would be.
Magdalene turned south to go to the Soft Nest. If Florete was surprised to see her return wearing the cloak that had been lent to Bell, she kept it to herself. Magdalene found her pocket still tied safely around her waist, extracted her key, and let herself into her room.
She was not much aware of how the next few candlemarks passed. She must have washed and changed her clothing, and she remembered sitting at the table with her head hidden in her arms, shivering and weeping, for a long time. But whether that was before or after she washed and changed, she had no idea. She remembered, too, that Diccon had come in to ask whether she wanted dinner and that she had ordered a whole pasty, two roasted chickens, stew, greens, two loaves of bread, and a generous portion of sweet pudding. Diccon looked at her as if she were mad, but she could not explain what she was doing—and she did not eat any of the food when he returned with it, nor did she offer him any. She just put it away and went to lie down in her bed and weep some more.
She had no idea why she was crying—certainly not for Ferrau—and she fell asleep wondering about it. However, when she woke, hearing Bell call her name, the confusion was gone. She knew very well why she had ordered all that food and why she had been crying.
“What are you doing alone in the dark?” Bell asked from the doorway.
She fumbled her way to the table and took a candle from the holder there, slipped by Bell, and lit the candle from the one in the corridor.
“I was tired…and frightened,” she said. “I fell asleep.” Bell followed her into the room carrying the large, heavy, leather-covered roll that she knew held his mail. He put it down on the table, watching her collect enough torchettes to fill every holder on the walls and go around lighting them. Then she lit both night candles, and came back to the table to light the branch of candles that sat on it. When she was done, the room was bright as day.
She caught at Bell’s hand before he could ask what she was doing, and said, “What happened? What did the king say to Salisbury about the riot?”
Even in the golden light of the candles and torchettes, he looked gray. “God, you were right about not mixing Winchester into this business. Stephen got what he wanted. I had hoped he knew nothing about it, that it was Meulan and Count Alain that mixed this mess of poison, but the king knew. I should have known how treacherous he could be, after he appointed Theobald archbishop instead of his own brother.”
Magdalene reached up and put her fingers gently over his mouth. “Do not say it, love. It could be taken as a reflection of Winchester’s thoughts. Everyone knows you are a favorite with him.”
“But no doubt you will tell Lord William!” She dropped her hand and moved back a step. “I tell William only what he needs to know for his own safety, and you and Winchester are presently no threat to him. Tell me what happened at Court. You need not fear I will recount that to William. I am sure he was there.”
He turned away a little and began to unwrap the leather-covered roll, baring his gambeson, which was wrapped around his mail shirt. “I reached the castle soon after the king rose from dinner. He had already sent for Salisbury, who came in soon after me. The king accused the bishop of failing to keep the king’s peace. Salisbury made light of the matter, saying it was a small fracas among a few hotheads. He said he was sorry about it, but that the men had been miserable from camping out in the constant rain, since no provision had been made to lodge them. They had become envious of Count Alain’s retainers, who were few and lodged in a hall much too large for them.” Bell paused, looked down at his armor, which he was absently stroking. “He made a mistake.”
“Who?”
“Salisbury. He spoke to Stephen as he must have spoken when the king was a boy fostering in King Henry’s Household, in a kind, understanding way, as if he did not need to make explanation and did so out of indulgence. I think he was frightened, sought to remind Stephen of their long association, and misjudged. Stephen then said, quite sharply, that if the bishop had not brought more men-at-arms than the king himself had, there would have been room enough.”
“I imagine Salisbury changed his tune?”
“Oh, yes, but then it was too late—if it had not been too late before he even came to this accursed Council. Then he said he would make restitution to those who were injured and apologized more contritely, but the king replied that he now realized it was not meet nor fitting for a man of God, a bishop who should be overseeing the souls of those in his cure, to be burdened with the secular care of so many armed men. It was clear that he could not control his secular followers and thus it was not safe for him to hold so many strong castles, and he demanded the keys of Salisbury’s strongholds, not only the royal castles that he held by the king’s will, but those he had built himself.”
“Will he give them up?” Magdalene breathed, seeing in her mind’s eye William assaulting those strong keeps.
“I do not know. He demurred, begging for time, but one thing I do know—the king’s peace is broken and Oxford will not be a safe place. Those in Salisbury’s debt may try to rescue him. There will be bitterer quarrels among the men-at-arms and more riots. The sheriff, the Watch, they are not fit to control what will happen. I must ride to Winchester, of course, but I want you to come with me. I am sure the bishop will give me permission to take you home to London or provide some other escort for you if I must ride back here.”
Magdalene’s throat closed and for a moment all she could do was shake her head. This was why she had been crying. She had been too shocked by the attempt on her life, too exhausted, to formulate the thoughts clearly, but she had known it would come to this, that Bell would have to leave Oxford, that he would want to take her with him. There was even some truth in what he said: Oxford would be more dangerous now. But this crisis was why William had summoned her. It was now that William would have to talk to men who were Salisbury’s supporters, men who would not want their friends to know that they were dealing with the king’s man. Yet William must induce them to talk to him, to listen to him, if he were to keep the kingdom from breaking apart.
Finally she forced out words. “Do not be so silly, Bell. No one will blame a whore for a conflict between the king and his chief minister.”
“Not even one who entertains the king’s prime enforcer? Whose men do you think went to make sure that Salisbury came to the king?”
“Mine.” The well-known voice was loud and flat.
No one in the Soft Nest would dare speak a word to William of Ypres unless he asked a question. He had walked past Florete and her men and had opened the door silently. Now he stood in the doorway, examining the well-lit room.
“William!” Magdalene exclaimed. “I did not think you would have time to come here today.”
“I don’t. I happened to be riding to the South Gate, so I stopped to tell you that we will be six for the evening meal tonight…I hope.” He turned to look at Bell. “Bruno of Jernaeve told me you were right in the middle of that fracas outside St. Peter’s. What were you doing there? Is Winchester—”
“No! Good God, no! He knows nothing of this.”
“No?”
“William, we were there by accident.”
“You were there too?” Now Ypres’s voice made the flames on the candles shiver.
Magdalene did not shrink back or wince, she smiled at him. “Yes, I was. Bell escorted me to see who had the lodging opposite St. Peter’s churchyard. I was told that the murderer of St. Cyr lodged there.”
“
I thought I told you I wasn’t interested in that anymore,” William said impatiently.
“So you did, but I was interested.”
William snorted with irritation but shrugged indulgently.
“Do you want me to ask him—with a hot iron on the side, so he’s quick to answer?”
“He’s dead. He was the man who ran out of Alain of Brittany’s lodging screaming for help from Salisbury’s men. He is Alain of Brittany’s man, and he instigated the riot.”
William’s face froze, but Magdalene thought she saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. After a moment, too softly, he said, “I see. Who killed him?”
“I did,” Bell said.
“Clever man!” William muttered approvingly, his small eyes closing and then opening wide with relief. “At least any questions must end in his grave. Who was he?”
Bell’s lips thinned at that cynical remark. Whether or not any questions could be answered, the trail of deceit led straight to the king. But all he said was, “His name was Sir Ferrau de Surtaine, and he was a murderer five times over.”
William thought a moment, then shook his head. “Never heard of him. It does not matter, since Count Alain is on his knees, apologizing profusely for what happened. He takes the full blame for his men having responded with force but insists they were assaulted first.”
Bell shrugged. “It is possible, I suppose, that Salisbury’s men struck first—given the right prodding. They were already wet and cold and furious.”
William did not seem to have heard him. He smiled and said, “Actually we are well met, Sir Bellamy. I know you are Winchester’s man and that he trusts you.”
“I hope he does. He has reason for it.”
William’s little blue eyes stared, blinked, stared. “I assume you will be riding to Winchester to report on what happened here?”
“You assume correctly.” Bell’s voice had gone hard, his lips stiff, his hand dropped to his sword hilt.
William raised a placating hand. “I am not trying to interfere with your duty,” he said, his expression intent. “I only wish you to tell your master that the king offered no challenge to the Church or to Salisbury’s wielding the full power of his Church office. All King Stephen demanded was his own secular property, the castles Salisbury held as royal grants, and the secular castles that Salisbury had erected without royal grant.”
“I will report faithfully what I saw with my eyes and heard with my ears,” Bell said.
“Do not be a fool!” For once William’s voice was low, but there was as much force in it as when he shouted. “There is nothing so terrible as a full civil war. A little rebellion here and there is one thing. Every man’s hand against every other is another. Tell the bishop of Winchester to keep the Church quiet and—”
Bell laughed, harsh and humorless. “I am the bishop of Winchester’s knight. He trusts me—yes, but only to wield my sword as he directs. He would not take my advice if I offered it, and I am not likely to offer advice so much against common sense and decency.”
“You mean it would be more decent for the king to wait until Robert of Gloucester landed and Salisbury used those castles he has stuffed and garnished for war to overthrow the anointed king? Stephen was anointed king and his claim to the throne was validated by the pope only three months ago.”
“No one has challenged his right to the throne!”
William’s expression was bleak. “No one has challenged the right of the bishop of Salisbury to be a bishop. The king may change the officers of his realm at his own will. When a man leaves his office, he must return to the king what he held from the king during that office. That is all that has happened. All. Will you tell the bishop of Winchester so much in my name?”
Bell relaxed, nodded. “If I may use your name and say you bade me say those words, I will—”
“Thank you.” William nodded at him, then turned his head to look at Magdalene. “Remember, Chick, six for the evening meal. Tell the whoremistress to keep five girls for us. I do not know if anyone will be in a temper fit for using a woman, but if inquiries are made, the whoremistress will be able to say that those girls were with those men.”
Having said that, he walked right past her, opened the door, at which two men were standing guard, and went out. Magdalene dropped her head and let out a long sigh. William at his worst, she thought, and then felt guilty because she knew his mind was occupied with half a dozen other things…and it was William who faced assaulting the bishops’ keeps and taking them if Salisbury and his nephews did not yield.
“Five girls?” Bell’s voice was choked, “Then he intends to sleep with you!”
“I doubt any of the men will be bothering with women tonight,” Magdalene said tiredly, although she was reasonably sure that William probably would stay the night. She was glad she had cried herself out during the day. Her eyes were dry now, although she feared what was coming.
“He does not even care that this whorehouse might be marked by the concourse of great men suddenly coming to it? There is an alehouse full of men-at-arms right next door. They could easily be paid or driven to attack this place.”
“He cares, but he is busy now trying to keep everyone quiet until their first fine fury subsides and they have time to think.
Once men begin to think, they are less likely to fly to arms. And as for the men-at-arms next door, they are more likely to come to the aid of the Soft Nest than to attack it. Please do not worry about me. I am too insignificant to be a target.”
“You are known as William of Ypres’s woman—and if you were not before, you will be now. There will be those who think you can tell them what he plans. There will be those who will think he can be constrained by holding you hostage.” He put out a pleading hand. “Come with me. Do you fear he will turn on you if you do not obey him?”
“No.”
That was not completely true. William might indeed punish her if she went with Bell, not for disobedience but for betrayal. But she was not staying out of fear of William. Partly she was staying because William needed her, trusted her so completely that he used neither bribes nor threats to keep her in Oxford even though he must have known that Bell would urge her to leave. And partly she was staying because if she went with Bell, she would be his and only his in her own mind and heart, and she did not believe she could survive the pain when he called her whore and turned away from her.
“Then why?” Bell cried.
She could not tell him her fears and listen to his easy assurances that he would never think of her as a whore and drive her away. Sooner or later, he would. So instead she said, “Because I love William, too. Because he needs me more than you do right now.”
“You said you owed him. You said nothing of love…” He choked and began to wrap his gambeson and armor back into the leather.
She saw what he was doing and tears stung her eyes but she did not let them fall. “When you owe a man as much as I owe William and do not hate him with every fiber of your being…why, then you love him. You should have known that without my telling you. I do not love him as…as I love you, Bell, but love him I do, and I will stand by him and give him whatever help he will take with my body or my wits or my very soul—whether he asks it of me or not—as long as he needs me.”
Bell’s face was white gray and looked as if it were carved of granite. “Fare thee well, Magdalene,” he said. “May only good befall you and may the Merciful Mother keep you.” And he picked up the untidy bundle of armor and went out of the room.
For a long time Magdalene stood looking at the closed door. She knew that whether the bishop of Winchester sent him back to Oxford or not, she would not see Bell again. She did not weep, she had done her weeping already. Finally she went out and asked Florete for another stool. William might not want to sit in the high chair if he intended to cajole Salisbury’s friends so she would need an extra stool, unless she wanted to stand. Then she scrubbed the table and put out the cups she had bought and the flagon of wine.
/> When William’s guests began to arrive, she smiled at each with apparent pleasure, extending a graceful hand in welcome, lowering her lids over her eyes in modest acceptance of the compliments about her beauty from those who did not know her. She served the wine, then the food. Once the serious talk began, she sighed and looked utterly bored, retreating to a corner and coming forward only to refill cups as needed. She started with well-simulated surprise when one of the men spoke to her and again when another asked her what she thought.
She laughed then, making clear that she was totally indifferent to what they said to each other.
Much later, when the guests were all gone either to their lodgings or to the women waiting for them and she was lying beside William, whose breathing had deepened into sleep rhythms, tears began to trickle down her face again and an occasional sob shook her. A heavy arm fell across her and gathered her close.
“Not to worry, Chick,” William murmured sleepily. “He’ll be back. Can’t remember how many times I swore I’d be done with you, that I was a fool to trust a whore. Well, I was wrong about that, but I didn’t know it then. Came back anyway. So will he.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Political infighting in the reign of King Stephen might not have been quite as complicated as that in the early twenty-first century, but in many ways it was more interesting because it was less a matter of vague, faceless corporate and national interests and more driven by individual personalities. For those who are interested, or only confused by the personal relationships and conflicts, I hope this author’s note will be of help.
Bone of Contention Page 35
