Bone of Contention (26 page)

Magdalene cocked her head looking puzzled, but then nodded with satisfaction. “Yes, because St. Cyr was looking for others to buy his ale at The Lively Hop but offered a round to the house soon after he came into The Wheat Sheaf.”

“Right. And that is when he and Sir Jules had a difference of opinion. It seems that Sir Jules took the cup, but when St. Cyr said he wished to drink to his coming marriage to Mistress Loveday of Otmoor, Sir Jules poured the ale on the floor, said he’d see St. Cyr dead first, and rushed out of the place.”

“Hmmm. I am surprised that St. Cyr did not react to that. I wonder—”

She stopped and turned her head to the door as someone scratched at it. A moment later Giles de Milland’s voice called, “Magdalene, may I come in?”

“Yes, come,” she responded.

He came in and shut the door, but did not advance toward the table. “Only a message,” he said. “Lord William would like you to ride out to Noke and tell Niall to return to Oxford by midmorning tomorrow, bringing the documents that clear him of murder.”

“Is Lord William suddenly so short of men that he cannot find a messenger to send?” Bell asked sharply. “It is dangerous for a woman alone to ride abroad with so many men-at-arms wandering loose.”

Giles grinned. “Lord William said that he was sure Magdalene could find a Churchly escort. He does not want to send any of his own people because he desires no connection with Noke or Loveday of Otmoor until the matter of the accusation against Niall is settled.”

“Do not be so silly, Bell,” Magdalene said. “William does not take me for a fool and he knows I would find some escort through Florete if it was impossible for you to accompany me. He would make good the price of the escort, too. Is there anything else, Giles?”

“Lord William says it seems certain that Salisbury will arrive sometime today and present himself to the king either at or after dinner. Lord William wants to see how that goes but thinks the first meeting will go well. He wants to clear Niall of suspicion in St. Cyr’s death before dinner tomorrow.” He shrugged and grimaced. “Before anything happens that will draw attention away from Lord William’s proof of innocence and the false accusation of his man.”

Bell raised his brows. “A very good sense of timing. I hope everything moves according to Lord William’s plan.”

“Good planning makes for less hoping,” Giles said and lifted a hand in farewell.

Sir Giles went out and Bell and Magdalene looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then Magdalene said, “If you want to be here in Oxford so you can report to the dean about the first meeting between Salisbury and the king, I can hire—”

“No, there are half a dozen young priests and several friars, all of whom have no connection to Winchester who will gladly carry the news. In fact, the dean insisted that I be at Wytham Abbey when Salisbury arrives so it cannot be said that I went to greet him or to bring him any message. I’ll ride out to Noke
with
you.”

“Yes, but not immediately,” Magdalene said. “Niall doesn’t need to be in Oxford until tomorrow morning so we can have dinner first and talk to the serving people in the alehouses. No, let’s talk to them right away, before dinner. The morning should be a quieter time for them, and we’ve just broken our fast so we can eat later.”

Bell finished his ale and agreed, but before they could decide whether to take cloaks in case it began to rain, there was a second scratch on the door.

“Who?” Magdalene called.

“Hertha. Florete said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Hertha…” Magdalene muttered, trying to remember, and then, gesturing at Bell to make himself less in evidence, “Oh, yes. Come in Hertha.” And when the door opened, Magdalene asked, “You are the woman who lay with the man asking for Aimery St. Cyr’s woman?”

“I was not that, thank God, but he did lie with me twice, complaining bitterly about the price and demanding I suck his filthy rod and stick my fingers in…” Her lips turned down. “He stank, too. I told Florete that I would not take him again. Oh, was that why he made trouble for you? I am sorry, but—”

“No, no. It is nothing to do with that. You know St. Cyr was murdered?” Hertha nodded and Magdalene continued, “Someone I know might be blamed for the murder so I am trying to find out who was truly guilty. I just wanted to know why St. Cyr’s friend wished to be with St. Cyr’s woman.”

Hertha frowned. “I didn’t know you would be interested, so to tell the truth I didn’t listen. It’s boring enough to have to lie there with some fool pounding away on you, listening to what they say is too much. And that one! He was the stupidest man I’ve ever had. I mean, they’re all stupid, but this one could hardly talk.”

Hertha was not a whore who would ever make more than a penny, Magdalene thought, and as soon as she lost her looks she would be in the farthing room. She was pretty now and clean enough, but plainly she never tried to make a man feel welcome and important. That was what brought a client back, what drew from him an extra coin. Magdalene suddenly had to bite her lip to cover a bitter smile. There was something to be said for the painful way she had learned to please Brogan, that training plus her beauty had made her a very successful whore.

She took a farthing from her purse and showed it in her open palm. “Do you remember anything about St. Cyr?”

“I remember that St. Cyr told me not to worry about his being married—as if losing him as a customer would worry me. He said he’d be a better client than ever because he’d have more money to spend. I was annoyed so I asked him what if I told his future wife, and he said it didn’t matter. He had a highborn friend who would arrange that the girl be betrothed and married to him, will she nill she.” Hertha was silent for a moment and then said, “If I’d thought she’d listen to me, I’d’ve warned her.”

“She knew. She was in hiding from him.” Magdalene put the farthing in Hertha’s hand. “The man who wanted to lie with you in St. Cyr’s name, can you guess whether he was glad or sorry about St. Cyr’s death?”

“Oh, I think he was sorry about that…which was another reason I thought him addle-witted. He cried when he talked about St. Cyr, only he called him Aimery. Said he knew him for years, that he taught Aimery to fight, but Aimery—he called him something else then, too—Carl, I think. Anyway, it was Aimery who got him a place in Lord Waleran’s troop, which was better pay and less real work than what he’d been doing before.”

“Cried, did he? But for grief or guilt, Hertha?”

The woman thought for a moment and then said, “It’s hard to believe, but real grief, I think. He said he asked for me because he was Aimery’s heir so it was right he should use me instead of his usual girl.” She shook her head. “Stupid.”

Magdalene laughed but gave Hertha another farthing. “I doubt it means anything, but I’m glad to know St. Cyr had an heir. It wouldn’t be the first time an heir collected a bit early…and even felt bad about collecting.”

Hertha took the second farthing. “Not this one, I think. I don’t know why but I…I almost liked him.”

“I have a feeling you’re right about him, but if you remember anything else either that St. Cyr said or this other man, come and tell me. I don’t promise to pay, but if what you say is worth thinking about, I will.”

When the woman was gone, Bell came around from the hidden side of the bed where he had been sitting quietly on Magdalene’s clothing chest. “Manville d’Arras?” he asked.

“It must be,” Magdalene agreed. “I wonder if we will find him in any of the alehouses? I would like very much to talk to him, but not quite enough to go to Waleran’s barracks and ask for him.”

Bell nodded agreement, glanced out the window again and took his cloak, which he had left hanging with Magdalene’s when he rushed out in a rage the previous afternoon. Magdalene followed his lead and they went out, deciding as they walked toward the Carfax to reverse Bell’s order of investigation and start with The Lively Hop. They were just about to go in the door, when Magdalene, glancing idly down the street, saw Sir Ferrau in the cookshop where Diccon usually bought food for the women of the Soft Nest.

“Lord have mercy,” she said to Bell. “There’s Sir Ferrau at the cookshop. Did I tell you about his asking me to get the purse Niall cut from St. Cyr’s belt?”

“Of course. Loveday maneuvered me into saying I would fetch it, but it went right out of my head when we all decided to ride to Noke to discover what had happened to Niall. And then in the excitement of learning that Niall was innocent, I forgot all about it while we were there.”

“Me too,” Magdalene admitted. “And I don’t suppose it matters any more, since St. Cyr is dead and can’t bring any complaint. Still, I did say I would try to get it for Sir Ferrau, so I suppose I should step over there and ask him if he still wants it.”

She had no chance to do that, nor any doubt about the answer to her question because as soon as they started in his direction, Sir Ferrau noticed them, stood up, and met them halfway.

“Have you brought the purse?” he asked eagerly.

“No,” Magdalene replied, feeling considerably surprised by his eagerness. “I am sorry, but after I heard St. Cyr was dead and could make no complaint to Lord Waleran or anyone else, I am afraid I put it out of my mind. I did go to Noke, but I forgot to ask for it.”

“Good Lord,” Ferrau said, looking quite put out. “I must have it!”

“But why do you want the purse of a common man-at-arms?” Bell asked.

Ferrau made an ugly grimace. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “Count Alain wants it and charged me with the duty of retrieving it. How am I to do that now? I cannot ride out to Noke and ask for it. For one thing, I do not know where the accursed place is, and for another I greatly fear that Sir Niall will deny ever taking the purse if I ask for it.”

“But surely now that St. Cyr is dead—” Bell began, then hesitated and asked, “Are you sure Count Alain knows the man is dead?”

“Oh yes,” Ferrau said bitterly. “When he sent for me this morning and asked for the purse, I immediately told him that St. Cyr was dead and would make no trouble.” He shrugged. “If he heard me, he gave no sign of it, merely asked again when I would have the purse.” He grimaced again. “One does not ask questions of Count Alain.”

“It is possible,” Magdalene put in, “that it is the pound of silver in the purse that Count Alain wants.” But a small smile curved the corners of her lips upward and inner laughter lightened her misty blue eyes almost to silver.

Bell looked astounded. “Pound of silver? Where would St. Cyr have come by a pound in silver? I heard the captain of his troop say he knew him unable to pay for—for something he wanted badly.”

Magdalene now had control of her mouth, but her eyes were still bright with amusement. “It does not matter,” she said. “I believe the money now belongs to Manville d’Arras.”

“Manville d’Arras?” Ferrau repeated. “Who is that, and why should the contents of St. Cyr’s purse belong to him?”

“I am not certain, but a whore in the Soft Nest with whom this Manville lay told me that he told her that he was St. Cyr’s heir.” Magdalene laughed and shook her head. “He is not a very clever man, this Arras. He seemed to think that he had inherited St. Cyr’s whore with the rest of his goods. She was quite annoyed, not having been particularly fond of St. Cyr.”

“Who can believe the word of a whore!” Ferrau exclaimed, and then drew a sharp breath, recalling to whom he was talking, and made a gesture of apology.

“What you say may be true,” Magdalene replied calmly, nodding acceptance of the apology, “but usually even a whore needs a reason to tell a lie, and I cannot imagine why she should lie over something so silly.”

“In any case,” Bell said, his voice a good deal colder than Magdalene’s had been, “we will need to determine whether the whore spoke the truth and Arras is truly St. Cyr’s heir—I mean legally—before we hand over this purse. If Arras is St. Cyr’s legal heir, there can be no contest, the purse and its contents belong to him.”

“A common man-at-arms…” Ferrau’s mouth turned down. “His claim cannot come before that of Count Alain of Brittany, legal or not. If you will get the purse for me, Count Alain will make all smooth, I am sure…unless, does this Manville
d’Arras know the contents of the purse?”

Magdalene shrugged.
“I
don’t know. He didn’t say anything about that to the whore…or, wait, perhaps he did hint that he would have more money in the future? No, that was what St. Cyr said to her, and he was referring to his marriage to Loveday, not to the contents of his purse.”

“Look,” Sir Ferrau said, appealing to Bell, “my master wants that purse. I have not the faintest notion why. But if I obtain it, I will have his favor, if I do not he might even turn me away. He is not the easiest master in the world, but there are many advantages to serving him. For old times’ sake…”

Bell got a funny look on his face, but then nodded. “I cannot promise that the silver will still be in the purse. Niall would not have touched it, but who knows what has happened since he took it or before he took it? But he is coming to Oxford early tomorrow and we can ask him to bring the purse. Once it is here, we can determine the rightful owner. Likely Arras would be willing enough to let Count Alain have it if you, as the count’s representative and St. Cyr’s friend, asked him for it.”

“Good God, don’t call me St. Cyr’s friend. I am almost grateful to whoever did away with him! He was nothing but trouble.”

Bell grinned. “However did you come to know the man?”

Ferrau sighed. “I knew him in the village from which I came, oh, years ago. He used to deliver… I forget what to the manor house. He was some tradesman’s son. He remembered me, accosted me. I saw that he had been beaten and, fool that I was, I was sorry for him. I bought him a drink.” He shook his head. “If I had known the trouble that one drink would cause me, I would have stuck a knife in him then and there and saved his murderer the trouble.” He shrugged. “In any case, I will thank you for the purse if you can get it for me.” He sighed again, smiled weakly, and added, “I had better finish my dinner before the cook takes it away.”