Chains of Folly (36 page)

“It is a kindness to let him die,” Bell said to Magdalene in a troubled way when Spencer had left the room. “I have seen wounds like that. If I stopped the bleeding…if I could stop it, but I am not sure I could because I think the knife caught the edge of the heart or that big tube that comes out of the heart… But if I could he would die anyway, only in terrible pain and it would take days…”

He was babbling out of shock and guilt. Magdalene came forward, carefully lifting her skirt to keep it out of the blood on the floor.

“It was not your fault, Bell,” she said soothingly.

Bell never seemed to feel any guilt over those he had decided to kill for what he considered a good cause, but for some reason Magdalene could not fathom he seemed to have sympathy for Sir John. Apparently, Magdalene thought with exasperation, Sir John’s clear intention of killing Bell was not a good enough cause for Bell to kill him. She put a hand on his arm to give comfort.

As for her part in Sir John’s death, her only interest in it was to keep Bell from discovering that she had been the cause. The blood no longer bothered her, nor did the two bodies on the floor. The shock of Linley’s sudden death had brought back an evil memory, but she had buried it again.

Actually a definite sense of satisfaction covered any horror she might have felt regarding Sir John’s death. He had tried to kill her dearling Bell; he had drawn his sword while Bell was unprepared, continued to wield it when he saw that Bell could not draw his own weapon without endangering Spencer and Claresta. No, she was not going to be worried about pushing Sir John into Bell’s knife.

Unaware of Magdalene’s thoughts and soothed by the comfort of her hand on his arm. Bell sighed. “No,” he agreed, shaking his head, “it wasn’t my fault. I saw no reason to kill him and didn’t intend to do so. I intended to stab his sword arm, if I was lucky get my knife into his wrist so that he’d drop the sword. I can’t imagine why he leapt at me.”

Magdalene could feel Bell’s arm trembling under her hand and she squeezed it gently. She did not like it that Bell was still so distressed. He would continue to worry about how Sir John died, might remember a half seen movement and suspect she had been involved.

“Perhaps he tripped on Linley’s hand,” Magdalene suggested blandly. “It is stretched out and I freely admit I was not watching Sir John’s feet.”

“I suppose,” Bell said frowning as he looked down at the position of the bodies; then he laughed ruefully. “I was not watching his feet either.”

Delighted that her suggestion was taking hold, Magdalene said, “Well, it would be justice if he tripped on Linley’s hand, would it not? Perhaps Linley’s lingering spirit moved the hand or even grasped at Sir John’s foot.”

That had a greater effect than Magdalene had intended. Bell shuddered and said, “We need a priest.”

“We certainly do,” Magdalene agreed.

She reconsidered an impulse of denial. It would be better to let the idea that Linley’s ghost had tripped Sir John fix itself in Bell’s mind. If that were true. Bell would be freed of all guilt for Sir John’s death. If Linley’s spirit had exacted vengeance through Bell’s hand, Bell was not responsible. Also, Magdalene thought with satisfaction, it was not something he would wish to dwell upon.

Bell stepped away from Linley’s body and asked irritably, “Where is that Jean?”

“Here,” a choked and shaking voice replied from the doorway.

“For sweet Mary’s sake, why did you not speak sooner?” Magdalene snapped, then shook her head when Jean cringed. “No, never mind that. Go at once to the nearest church for a priest so that he may give the last rites to these poor men. And as you go, send Hugo in here.”

Jean rushed out and Bell looked puzzled. “Why Hugo?”

“Master Rhyton has a horse, I am sure. Hugo, I know from when Bertrild was killed, knows horses and can ride. If you tell him how to find Master Octadenarius’s house, you can write a message to the justiciar and he can come himself or send someone to take the evidence about these deaths.”

“You are right,” Bell said. “It will be best if the tale is told when it is still clear in everyone’s mind.”

It was after dark before Bell finally reached the Old Priory Guesthouse. He came from the bishop of Winchester’s house, across the grounds of the priory, and through the back gate. Thus he did not ring the bell at the front gate but knocked softly on the door of the house itself. For a moment his heart sank when no one answered. He was so tired he was near weeping.

He had raised his hand to knock again when Magdalene’s voice came, tense and frightened, “Who is there?”

“Bell,” he replied.

“Wait,” she said, her voice light now, relieved. “I have to get the key.”

When the door opened, he just stood in it, blinking stupidly, until Magdalene, smile of welcome fading from her lips in her concern, put her arm around his shoulders and drew him in. She pushed the door shut with her free hand, and Bell dropped his head to rest his cheek on her hair.

“What happened?” she asked. “Did Octadenarius make things difficult? After he sent you to the kitchen to get off as much of the blood as you could, he asked me what had happened. He knows my house and my reputation. I was sure he believed me. Then he went above to speak to Claresta and Spencer, and when he came down he said my tale fit perfectly with theirs, that he had two witnesses, and since I was excommunicate and could not bear witness, I could go home. I could swear he was satisfied.”

Bell lifted his head and Magdalene pushed him gently toward the table. She released his shoulders and he gathered enough energy to go to his usual place. Magdalene followed, unbuckled his sword belt, and propped the sword against the table for him. Bell muttered something, perhaps thanks, and sat down heavily on the bench.

Magdalene hurried to the shelves at the back of the room to bring a fine horn cup and a flagon of wine—William’s wine, she thought, but she would not mention that to Bell and William would not grudge it. She sat down and poured a full cup for him.

He drank about a third of the cup in one swallow, then set it down. “No, Octadenarius gave me no trouble about the killings. Claresta and Spencer told him how Sir John had blamed Linley for all his troubles and then stabbed him in the throat when Spencer had distracted my attention. And Spencer insisted Sir John had gone mad, that he attacked me, and then not satisfied with trying to cut me in half with his sword, leaped on me despite my shouting a warning and skewered himself on my knife.”

“Then you are clear of any blame,” Magdalene said.

Bell shivered. “I know, but Octadenarius wanted to hear it all from me, from Nelda’s death and the letter.”

“Gentle Mother, why?”

“Because
he
would have to explain to both Mandeville and Surrey what had happened to their men. I had forgot that.”

“Did you tell him that Sir John and Linley were the ones who carried Nelda’s body into the bishop’s house?”

“Yes. Once I mentioned that, Octadenarius realized why Sir John was angry enough to kill. And he understood why Sir John attacked me when I refused to allow him to leave for Normandy. But before I was finished, Master Rhyton arrived.”

“He had heard about what happened?”

“No. He didn’t even notice the bodies but went right up to the solar, thinking Linley was there with Claresta. It was something in the contract, apparently something that Linley had lied about.” Bell smiled suddenly. “I do not think you need worry about Mistress Claresta being forced into another noble marriage. It seems Linley, or his father, had inserted into the contract a clause forbidding Rhyton to come as a visitor to Godalming or to have Claresta visit him here.”

Magdalene shook her head. “It seems that Linley was truly his father’s son, greedy to take but not to shoulder the results of the taking.”

“Yes. Rhyton was livid. It shamed him, denied what he most desired, to be thought a landed lord. But it would not have mattered because Mistress Claresta told him in no uncertain terms—well, Octadenarius and I heard her all the way down the stairs and I think would have heard her through two closed doors—what came of trying to force his way out of his own class. She said she would have Spencer, no idiot nobleman who would no doubt ruin the business and think of her only as a brood mare.”

“I would not wonder if she then told him about the two dead bodies in the common room and pointed out that respectable burghers would never behave that way.”

“Ah…yes.” Bell found a tired smile. “I was witness to that. Mistress Claresta brought her father down to show him the result of his unadvised attempt to bring noble blood into their family. She said that hope was dead…”

Hurriedly, because she saw Bell’s expression change and wished to divert him from thoughts of Linley’s dead hand, Magdalene said, “I wonder if she will buy those cuffs or the ones with leaves and flowers and some other embroidery? But of course if she heard anyone calling me a whore…though why my being a whore should make my embroidery less beautiful, I have no idea.”

But Bell was not listening. He finished the wine in his cup, and Magdalene took it from his hand and refilled it. “I asked if I could go report to the bishop while Octadenarius was explaining to Rhyton, but he said he was not through with me. Once rid of the merchant, he wanted to hear about how Linley had managed Gehard’s death. I could only give him our guesses, and he sent for the sheriff of Southwark, and the two of them wanted proof. Fortunately I remembered the apothecary had said he would recognize the purchaser of the poison. They sent for him and he was able to identify Linley and told them of Linley giving his name as Gehard fitzRobert and the tale of the mad dog. So that was settled.”

“Good. Can you eat?”

“No need. The bishop fed me while I was explaining the whole thing to
him.”

“Oh, poor Bell. Over and over.”

He sighed heavily and drank again, but only a sip this time. “At least I was able to tell Winchester about Linley… Ask him, I mean, whether he thought it possible that Linley’s spirit could move his dead hand.” He took a slightly larger sip and shuddered.

“I have no idea what Winchester would say, except that whatever made Sir John fling himself on your knife, it was no fault of yours.”

A faint smile bent Bell’s lips again. “Yes, he said that, and also absolved me of any sin of omission, like looking away from Sir John at the wrong moment so that Linley was murdered.” He sighed again. “I have no idea why it sticks in my mind so. I do not really feel guilty. I would have prevented Linley’s death if I could, although he certainly brought it on himself by enraging Claresta and through her, Spencer…but I keep seeing that dead hand rise and grip Sir John’s ankle…”

Now it was Magdalene who shuddered, very visibly. She was bitterly sorry she had used that suggestion to prevent Bell from thinking about how she could have pushed Sir John onto his knife. Many ghosts must haunt a long-time soldier. She had only one, and she could understand all too well that Bell did not need another.

“Sorry.” Bell patted her hand, misunderstanding what had caused her distress. “I did not mean to raise horrors to trouble you.”

And suddenly a new idea came to Magdalene. “Well, you did,” she said, deliberately shuddering again. “And this is now a night when I do not wish to sleep alone. Come to bed—tomorrow you will know in your heart and head both that what the bishop said is true and the light of day will clear away my terrors.”

Bell stared across the table at her. Slowly he emptied the cup of wine and replaced the cup on the table. “But nothing is changed.”

Magdalene bent her head. “Nothing can change. Twelve years ago, to save my life, I committed a crime. No door but death was open to me, except that of a whore. I became a whore. I
am
a whore. Nothing can wipe out the past, no wish of mine, no prayer, not even a miracle.”

“You think I will turn on you and call you whore and leave you?”

“Have you not done so once already?”

“And you said you would not have me back.”

Magdalene sighed. “I did. And I tried, but I found that you were rooted deep in my heart. I could not tear you out. Why should I suffer pain and misery now only because I fear that pain and misery in the future? It is better to have a present joy and endure the suffering when it actually comes.”

Bell took the five silver pennies out of his purse and laid them on the table. “I have been carrying these since the day after the bishop sent me here. If you are a whore…I, too, do not wish to sleep alone. Take them.”

“Well, I will,” Magdalene said briskly, scooping the coins off the table; the shock on Bell’s face made her giggle. “The condition you are in tonight, I do not think my usual payment of pleasure and laughter will be forthcoming.”

“I am not so tired as
that,”
Bell protested.

But Magdalene only laughed and took his hand and pulled him to his feet and then, swordbelt trailing from his free hand, into her chamber. Within, he freed himself and put his sword conveniently to hand by the side of the bed on which he always slept. Then he pulled off his tunic and, seeking the chest on which he laid his clothing, turned to face her. He found that she had tied the five pennies in a wisp of fabric and hung them from the frame that held the oval of polished silver she used as a mirror.

She saw the relief on his face, relief because she had not put his coin with those that her women earned, thus setting it aside from pay for whoring. She grinned broadly. He did not know that the oval of silver had been William’s gift, as were most of the costly things in her chamber. But she said not a word and went swiftly forward to untie the rolled ribbon that held his shirt closed.

“I could not root you out of my heart either,” he murmured, dropping his head to meet the lips she raised to him, “nor this place. My mother and sisters would have a fit if they knew, but to me this is home.”

Copyright © 2006 by Roberta Gellis

Originally published by Five Star (9781594144721)