A Mortal Bane(37)

The bishop stared at her for a long moment, then slowly nodded his head. “I think you speak the truth. I do not believe you guilty. I knew Messer Baldassare, and taking into consideration his character and manners, there is nothing he would have done that could have roused your ire. But others—” He paused and lowered his eyes to his hands, one of which still held the letter he had been carrying. “Others…yes. Baldassare may have had with him something for which a few might kill.”

Magdalene struggled to keep her face from changing. She suspected the bishop had guessed she knew Baldassare was a papal messenger, and that she knew what he carried. She wished with all her heart that she could tell him about the pouch and where it was. But confessing would be no favor to Henry of Winchester.

Just then her expression did not matter; when he spoke the last sentence, the bishop was still staring at his hands, or the letter, or his ring of office. His eyes then lifted, but not to her; his gaze had moved past her to the door and his face wore an expression of anxiety that changed as she watched to angry determination. Then he looked at her and his lips twisted with a kind of cynical doubt. Magdalene looked back with what she hoped was innocent inquiry, but inside, a cold shiver traveled from her spine to her belly. The bishop knew that William of Ypres used the Old Priory Guesthouse for more than assuaging his lust. Did he wonder if others also used her place for political purposes, purposes that could have led to Baldassare de Firenze’s death?

With his eyes steady on her, he added, “No, I do not believe you or any of your women stabbed Messer Baldassare, but it was from your house that he went to his death. From your house, we must seek his killer.”





Chapter Five



21 April 1139





The Bishop’s House; St. Mary Overy Priory



“Oh, yes, my lord!” Magdalene exclaimed, clasping her hands together to keep from hugging him. If the bishop would back her search for the murderer, she and her women had a far better chance of succeeding than they would on their own. “We will do everything we can to find the killer.”

The Bishop of Winchester’s brows rose. “You do not fear retribution? That your clients will not like too much curiosity associated with your house?”

Controlling her impulse to swallow hard, Magdalene smiled faintly. “You think it strange I should be so eager to help? It is not, not at all. If the murderer is not found, will not Brother Paulinus’s accusations seem more and more likely? Our only hope of complete vindication is that the true killer will be found and exposed. And as to my clients, some will never know but others may wish to help.” Magdalene hesitated for a moment, then looked aside and said, “William of Ypres would not be sorry to see your enemies discomfited.”

“Perhaps he would not,” the bishop said, “but—” His voice checked as the bells of St. Mary Overy rang for Sext. His lips thinned. “I have no more time to spare for you just now, Magdalene, but if you wish to help, you must have an innocent reason to come here. You may say I have given you a commission to embroider an altar cloth for my private chapel and need my opinion, and…yes, a woman is too confined by custom to move about and freely question. Wait here. I will bring in Sir Bellamy of Itchen, who does for me such tasks as are more suitable to a knight than to a clerk.”

When the door of the bishop’s closet opened. Bell got quickly to his feet. He was interested to see that the letter Winchester had been holding was still in his hand. Either what the bishop had heard in his inner chamber was so absorbing he had forgotten to put it down or the letter itself was important. The bishop raised the hand with the letter toward him; Bell started forward to take it, feeling slightly disappointed, but Winchester shook his head and looked past him, out toward the hall as if he were seeking a new messenger. Bell stood still, thinking with pleasure that the bishop might have more interesting work for him than delivering letters, unless…but at that moment, Guiscard stood up. Winchester looked at him.