A Mortal Bane(4)

“Richard de Beaumeis!” Magdalene repeated, beginning to laugh as she returned to her seat. “Oh, that wicked young man. It was pure mischief to send you here with that explanation. Richard de Beaumeis attended school in the priory, and he knows very well what kind of guesthouse this is. He has availed himself often enough of our Ella’s company.”

The man laughed also. “He told me that he had attended the priory school. He said nothing of the extracurricular activities he enjoyed.”

“Naughty!” Magdalene sighed. “He has an antic sense of humor I never suspected, but I fear he has done you an ill turn. There is no decent inn to which I can recommend you on this side of the river. Of course, if you do not mind the plain food, the prayers, and the early hours, you may ask for lodging in the true priory guesthouse” —she smiled and shook her head— “which is now on the grounds of the priory. Or, if you have business with the Bishop of Winchester, who is in residence just now, I am sure you will be made welcome—”

“No,” he said, “I have no business with the bishop, but I do have an appointment for a meeting on this side of the river, not far from here, around Compline. So, if you will have me, I think I will stay here.”

“We are rather costly, I am afraid,” Magdalene said. Her guest shrugged and waved a hand at the surroundings. His appreciative glance took in the floor bestrewn with clean, sweet-smelling rushes, the scrubbed table with a long bench on each side and two short ones at head and foot, the grouping of stools near the hearth, one with a lute on it and the two others with sewing baskets beside them. At the north end of the room there was an open corridor, and on the wall at each side, a set of shelves holding pewter and wooden platters and cups and some drinking horns. The lowest shelves held several large hard-leather vessels and sealed crocks.

“I had expected that,” he said. “But I will want to stay the entire night, since I have no place else to sleep.”

“You will be welcome to stay. I must lock the house and outer gate at dark, but your woman will let you out and wait to let you in again.” She rose to her feet and gestured to the group of stools. “Please, do sit down. We do not serve meals unless they are specially ordered ahead of time, but I can give you wine, or beer, and bread and cheese, possibly a slice of pasty or some cold meat if you are hungry. I must see what is in the kitchen.”

“Wine, if you please,” he said, clearly restraining a shudder at the thought of ale or beer.

[page]Magdalene smiled and fetched a pair of stemmed pewter drinking cups from the shelf. Having set them on the table, she filled them from a polished pitcher and brought the cups back. She was amused again when the man sipped gingerly, as if he expected something unpleasant, then smiled and drank more deeply. It was good wine, she knew. It was supplied by William of Ypres, leader of all of the king’s mercenary troops. Lord William had been her patron and protector for almost ten years and had uses for her house that had little to do with her skill and beauty or that of her women.

For that matter, most of her regular clients supplied their own wine, which was stored in the guesthouse cellar, each cask marked with a sign only she and her women would associate with the owner. William, because of those other purposes, sent more than he would ever drink, and some was for her own use. It was from that store that she had drawn the pitcher earlier in the day, so she felt free to offer it.

“Something to eat?” she asked.

“I thank you, no. I had my dinner at a friend’s house not long before I arrived here. The wine is very good.”

“A gift from a friend,” she said.