A Mortal Bane(96)

William, who had been staring down into his wine cup, looked up. “Well, I can discover when he arrived in Canterbury, and I can have my men ask along the way about his passing. Now tell me the rest of the tale.”

So she did, from Baldassare’s decision to stay in the whorehouse once he heard there was a short way to the church, to Sabina’s finding his body on the north porch. Then she described Bell’s investigation and conclusions and was relieved when William only grinned at her. He stopped her a few times to ask questions, like why she and Sir Bellamy were so certain the killer had to be inside the walls, but in general, he just listened intently until she suggested that there might have been another piece of news that Baldassare was carrying that was important and asked whether the pope could not have included a letter to the king stating his decision about Stephen’s right to the throne.

[page]“If the decision had been made,” William replied, yawning, “and it may have been, because I doubt the pope would waste much time over it. I expect he did send a letter. It makes sense to send one messenger with both documents. But there has never been any doubt what that decision would be. William de Corbeil, who was then the pope’s legate as well as Archbishop of Canterbury, had accepted Stephen as the rightful king. The pope is not likely to reverse that decision.”

“No, but one of my clients felt that there was a great difference between that old approval by a legate and the pope’s personal decision recorded and sealed by the curia. He seemed to fear that an attack by the empress was planned and that her partisans would feel that news of the pope’s decision would discourage men from flocking to her banner. If so, it would certainly be worthwhile to destroy the document and, perhaps, the messenger, who might know what he carried and cry aloud of the theft.”

“One of your clients—”

William’s stare challenged, but Magdalene ignored it. He knew she would not reveal the name of a client unless the need was acute. She said, “This client could not have been involved with the murder. He was in Berkhampstead on Wednesday night, fetching his son home from fostering. However, he might well fear invasion. He comes from the south, although he never told me exactly where his lands lie.”

“Fear of invasion, or hope for it?”

“If he hoped the empress were coming, would he have mentioned the idea of someone killing Messer Baldassare to keep the pope’s decision secret?”

“Likely not.”

William sighed and pushed away the platter from which he had been eating, took a last drink of wine, and allowed himself to fall sideways onto the bed so that his head was on the pillow. Magdalene jumped forward to get the table out of his way before he kicked it over as he lifted his feet onto the bed. Setting the table aside, she went to remove his shoes and undo his cross garters. When she looked at his face, his eyes were barely open.

“Tired,” he mumbled, and then, “When I wake, remind me of the names of my men who are allowed to come to you and know the ways of your house and about the back gate. I will be able to clear most or all of them, which will save your Bell from needing to pry into my affairs.”





Chapter Thirteen



24 April 1139





Old Priory Guesthouse



By midmorning on Monday, William was gone, having cleared all but two of the men sworn to him who frequented the Old Priory Guesthouse. Those two had been away from Rochester on his business, and it would be easy enough for him to discover where they were on Wednesday night and let Magdalene know.

By accident, while talking about who was with the king in Nottingham, William had also cleared five other noble clients. Although he had chosen not to join the court himself—mostly, he said sourly, because he had been hoping to bring the papal messenger with him when he next approached the king—William knew who was there and what was going forward almost day by day. A stream of messengers—sent by this man and that who owed him favors (or wanted one), or who simply hated Waleran de Meulan—flowed out of Nottingham to Rochester and would follow him to London.