A Mortal Bane(107)

The two others had come soon after. Sabina’s client was a horribly ugly but gentle man, scorned and derided for his looks by his wife. He had been introduced by a friend who valued him highly and hoped that Magdalene and her women could restore a spark of joy to his life. That hope had more than been fulfilled. He adored Sabina and had already asked Magdalene whether he could buy her and keep her for his own.

Letice’s “guest” Magdalene thought must, from his complexion and halting French, be a fellow countryman; he had been brought to Magdalene’s by a shipmaster and was apparently very rich. Although he had his own house on the north shore of the river in London, he always stayed the night. Something about Letice fascinated him, and he spent more time playing an odd, high-pitched little pipe and watching her dance than he did in her bed.

When they were all safely closed away and busy, Magdalene got a large, tight-woven white cloth and a thin piece of charcoal from her workbasket, pinned the cloth to the table, and began to sketch out a design for the altar cloth the mercer wanted. A lock-and-key border for the bottom of the cloth and a large cross in the center would bind together a pattern of interlocking square frames with rounded and barbed sides. Within the frames she would embroider pictures of various saints. It took some time to draw the squares with their convoluted sides, and she rubbed out more than once. When she came to the saints, all she could do was to sketch in some vague forms. The mercer would have to tell her which of the saints his customer wanted shown.

[page]Magdalene sat back and looked at the design with considerable satisfaction. She lifted her eyes as she heard a man’s sharp, impatient voice telling Ella to be good and that he would see her again the next Tuesday, and then the closing of the back door. Ella had not named him BamBam for nothing. Doubtless she had been urging him to stay longer, but it did not matter; although impatient, as usual, he seemed flattered, not angry.

Ella should now clean herself and straighten her room, but sometimes she forgot. Magdalene watched, saw the girl come back down the corridor, reenter her room. Magdalene’s eyes went back to her design. She would use a fine, blue-dyed canvas for the background, she thought; she had seen just the right kind of cloth in the shop of the mercer across the way, too costly to buy on speculation, but now that she had a commission, she could please and profit her neighbor, too.

The bell at the gate interrupted her thoughts; this time she rose quickly, smiling. Ella would be ready for another client soon and would be delighted to serve him, since BamBam often left her unsatisfied. Magdalene again wondered why he bothered to pay two pence for Ella when he could get a common whore’s service for a farthing. He never wanted to linger and play, she thought, as she went to the gate, that perhaps he disliked the filth or the danger of the common stew. He had the right to do what he liked with his own money.

She opened the gate, then gripped it tight. Another stranger! She did not recognize the man holding a dusty, tired-looking horse. “Yes, my lord?” she said, polite but distant.

“I have a friend in the Bishop of Winchester’s Household who told me that I could get lodging for the night and most excellent entertainment at this house.”

Magdalene raised her brows and let the man see she was examining him carefully. She did not remember ever having a client recommended by the bishop. No, not the bishop. He had said a “friend” in the Household, not the bishop himself. Most of the bishop’s men were as abstemious as he himself was, but there were a few who were not, and one who was an infrequent and very shamefaced client. He could have…and there was Bell. Would Bell send her a client?

The man’s voice was cultured, his French the kind spoken most commonly among the gentlefolk of England; his clothing was badly travel-stained but of good quality, and the sword belted around his hips had a hilt that glittered with gems on pommel and guards. Behind his high saddle was a thick, heavy roll, covered by oiled leather, that Magdalene guessed was his mail hauberk. Almost certainly a knight, and not poor. But where were his shield and helmet? If he had a place to leave those, why did he ask for lodging?