A Mortal Bane(93)

For the answer, he gave her an even tighter squeeze, making her squeal. Then he let her go, allowing her to untie the laces that held his hood. When that hung loose, he bent double at the waist; Magdalene pulled the hood over his head as he lifted his arms even with his ears. She transferred her grip to the sleeves and hauled them forward. The whole mail shirt followed as William backed away, and Magdalene gathered it to her, staggering a little under the weight but holding it firmly until she could lay it out on top of her chest. Free of the armor, he sighed deeply and went to sit on her bed.

As if the relative silence was a signal, there was a scratch on the door. Magdalene let Dulcie in with a laden tray. She hurried to bring the small table from against the wall and set it beside Lord William. Dulcie deposited the tray and went out. William looked at the food blankly.

“You really are tired, love,” Magdalene said. “Why not sleep for a while. I will be here whenever you want me.”

He did not seem to hear her. “I hardly believed it when Somer told me the pope’s messenger was dead,” he said, his mouth hard. “I thought I had a way to remind Stephen how ill Waleran had advised him.” He ran a hand through his matted hair. “Ernulf, Bishop of Rochester, agreed it would be wise for Winchester to be legate. He promised to speak to the pope in Winchester’s favor. Well, all of them would, even the Bishop of Worchester, despite Waleran’s order that he should not.”

“Perhaps because of Waleran’s order?” Magdalene suggested, not because she cared, but because any hint of opposition to Waleran de Meulan would please William.

“That did not matter. They all trust Henry and were glad Stephen asked for legatine powers for him. But I wanted to put the bull into Stephen’s hands so that he could give it to Winchester himself and smooth over the breach between them. Ernulf agreed that that would be better than having the bull delivered to Winchester by the papal messenger. He said he would suggest it to the pope if he could, or try to convince the messenger to stop at Rochester—

“Oh, my God,” Magdalene interrupted, “was it your man the messenger was supposed to meet? Winchester’s knight is convinced that the man Baldassare met killed him.”

[page]“Meet? How could I arrange for anyone to meet him? I had no idea when he would set out or arrive. I hoped Ernulf would get the pope to instruct him or convince him—you say his name was Baldassare?—to have himself set ashore at Rochester instead of London. I would have provided him with a safe escort to Nottingham, gone with him myself directly to the king, been with him when he gave Stephen news of…Magdalene, what was in his pouch?”

“I do not know,” she said, sighing with regret over the lie, but knowing that if she told William the truth, he would insist that the pouch be unearthed from its hiding place so that he could deliver the contents to the king. The exposure would be her death warrant. “I know he was carrying a pouch; I saw it. But he took it with him when he went out.” She uttered a frustrated sob. “How could I know he was going to his death? He told us he had to meet someone, but he was not in the least apprehensive. He joked and laughed with me and with Sabina, who liked him so well that she has been weeping every time she is reminded of his death.”

William let out an explosive, exasperated breath and said, “Now see where all your honor and honesty gets us? If you were like other whores, you would have been in his pouch and his purse—

Magdalene poured a cup of wine and put it into his hand. “And you would be none the wiser for it, even if, like a common whore, I decided to extract a few more pence from your purse by selling you information. If I were like other whores, I would not have been able to make head nor tail of any writings he carried.”