“True enough,” Magdalene said, “and I am very much afraid that poor Arras was not long for this world in any case. Did you have enough time to look at that parchment, Loveday? Was it really a will signed by St. Cyr? Who witnessed it?”
“What do you mean he was not long for this world in any case? And yes, I had time to read the will,” Loveday replied. “It was very simple, it just said that everything in St. Cyr’s possession was willed to Manville d’Arras. It was written by Peter, priest of Sutton, and witnessed by a mercer and a butcher of the village.”
Magdalene nodded in a satisfied way. “What will any of you wager that Arras has something—some small property or an income from his family—and that there is an identical will leaving everything Arras owned to St. Cyr?”
Bell laughed. “I do not wager on sure things.” Then his lips turned down. “And I fear that what Magdalene did not say was true also—that when it suited St. Cyr, Arras would have had a fatal accident or died in some action that Lord Waleran’s troops fought.” He shrugged. “I really must go or I will not reach Wytham until after dark.”
Magdalene walked with him to the door and across the bailey to the stable. “Can there actually be any danger for Loveday and me in riding to Oxford?” she asked. “I really must go. Raoul de Samur must hear about this listening place at once. If he can discover what Waleran and Alain are planning we could—” She stopped, aware of her mistake.
“Could what?” Bell made a sound of disgust. “Doubtless if one ploy fails, another will be tried.” He shrugged, then said, “Arrows can go anywhere and either you or Loveday might be seized as a hostage and threatened so that Niall will give up the purse. Why take the chance? I can seek out Raoul—” He laughed harshly as he saw the expression on her face. “Very well. I suspect you will ride alone if I deny you. All you can think about is your precious William’s benefit once his spy has this news.”
Magdalene shook her head, although Bell had sensed the truth. The thought of how much Raoul’s information could benefit William if he could find St. Cyr’s hiding place made her want to ride to Oxford at once, but she dared not say that and incite more jealousy in Bell. Beside that, she was afraid to foul William’s plans by bringing Niall into the city too early. So she only squeezed Bell’s arm and said that if the danger were not acute, it would be better for Loveday to come too because she would be more likely to receive a sympathetic hearing from the king.
Bell sighed, caught her to him for a hard kiss that expressed mingled frustration and amusement, and went into the stable. Magdalene, returning to the house, heard an echo of her own statement coming from Loveday’s lips.
“But my love,” she was saying, “it will have an entirely different effect if
I,
weeping and trembling, present my letter and my petition to be pardoned for forgetting to mention my betrothal, than if you simply give them to Lord William, who will give them to a clerk. Why, the king, in the great press of business that falls upon him, might never get to see them. Whereas if I am there, complaining of the forged betrothal and then I beg him to honor my true betrothal—”
“I have just spoken to Bell,” Magdalene interrupted, fearing that she would have to listen to Loveday repeat the same message, although in different words, until they actually left the next day, “and he admits he does not think an ambush very likely, just wishes to be sure. Let the matter rest for now, because I think Niall should know what Bell discovered about St. Cyr’s death.”
Niall was only too happy to fall in with this proposal and Loveday was also well satisfied. She had had the last word on the matter and felt her reasoning might have more effect if she did not nag. Both listened eagerly to Magdalene’s explanation of why Bell was almost certain St. Cyr had been killed by a knight.
“But who?” Niall protested. “What knight would so soil himself when he could have easily found cause in the man’s drunken insolence to cut him down?”
Magdalene frowned suddenly, thinking of a knight who had worn mail but was unlikely to be capable of cutting down St. Cyr. “Sir Jules of Osney?” she suggested.
Loveday giggled. “Not Jules,” she said. “I do not think he has donned his mail for a year.”
“But he was wearing it that night. Lord Ormerod told Bell that Sir Jules had been ranting about how he would make St. Cyr leave you in peace. His sister, knowing him to be pot-valiant, took fright and begged him into his mail shirt.”
“Marguerite is sweet and clever,” Loveday said, with a rather fond smile. “Her fault is that she loves her idiot brother too much to deny him what he desires—and thereby does him great harm. Oh well, she is young yet. I hope she learns better before he destroys Osney completely.”
Magdalene cocked her head. “If Niall did not exist and this stupid business with St. Cyr had not catapulted you into the need for an immediate marriage, would you eventually have accepted Sir Jules?”
Loveday’s lips turned down with distaste. “I might have if nothing better appeared or I was threatened with a worse marriage. I know I could manage him—one way or another—and Osney is, or was, a good estate. Perhaps it could be brought back to a decent yield. My children would have been gentlefolk…” She shrugged, then turned to look at Niall and smiled. “Thank God and all His saints I have that and more—a real man to take to my bed and father my children and teach my sons to be men.”
Niall, who had been looking distressed while Loveday answered Magdalene’s question, now grinned at her. “You may rest assured I will see to fathering the children and raising my sons as men. And your children will be gentlefolk.” He took her hand. “I am sorry I will bring almost nothing else to our marriage.”
“Do not be so silly,” Loveday said. “You will bring William of Ypres’s favor, which will be worth more in the long run than a ruined estate that might drain Noke and Otmoor in my attempts to save it. Your father will help us set up to breed horses— I know just where they can be grazed.” She squeezed his hand. “And you bring yourself, a man willing to let me do what I love to do, see to my lands and my flocks. Which is why I was never willing to marry Tirell Hardel, even though he is a good man, I owe his father much, and I knew Master Reinhart desired our marriage.”
Reminded by the name, Magdalene then recounted her talk with Mayde, the server in The Wheat Sheaf, and repeated her description of the merchant-looking man.
Loveday nodded. “That might well have been Tirell. Master Reinhart told me that he had gone to seek out St. Cyr to see what kind of man he was and try to come to some arrangement with him to forego the betrothal, since I was clearly unwilling and would fight to be free.”
“I doubt he was successful,” Magdalene said. “Mayde told me that he looked as if he were about to strike St. Cyr but then left the alehouse. It is fortunate that he is most unlikely to have a mail shirt—”
“But Tirell does have mail,” Loveday said. “When he was a boy, he used to tell me all the time how he dreamed of being a knight and wanted to learn how to fight. Knighthood was only a dream, but Master Reinhart indulged him with some lessons in fighting and Tirell kept them up even after he became truly interested in the wool trade. And as he grew into a man, he showed so much skill and promise in arms that it occurred to Master Reinhart that his own son would make the most reliable leader possible for the guards he hires to protect his pack trains against thieves and outlaws. And then, of course, he bought him the best armor that could be obtained. Master Reinhart does not lack for money, and he loves his son, so mail it was.”
“How would he match up against a trained man-at-arms?” Magdalene asked.
“I have no idea,” Loveday said, laughing, but then sobered suddenly. “You think he would not trust himself in a fight against St. Cyr and that he crept up behind him and killed him?”
“I don’t know the man, and I heard him say to his father that he had taken care of the business they had spoken about and that it was finished. Over.”
Loveday shook her head. “No. No, I cannot believe Tirell would do such a thing. And why should he? He had no cause. Tirell certainly did not want to marry me, as I had no desire to marry him.
Oh,
we are fond, as brother and sister are fond. Perhaps if I had been married to St. Cyr and he had mistreated me, then Tirell might have killed him, but not to become my husband, not murder.”
Magdalene nodded, although she was not truly convinced. St. Cyr had been a disgusting creature and considering what most merchants thought about men-at-arms, Tirell might easily have felt the world would be a better place without him. And if Reinhart had convinced his son that Loveday’s estate was essential to them, Tirell could have nerved himself to kill. Sister-like or not, Loveday was pretty enough and well made, and Noke and Otmoor was a profitable estate. For the sake of his inheritance Tirell might have put aside his doubts and killed St. Cyr only later to regret the bond he must make.
The discussion had taken them near to Vespers and they all walked down to the village to hear the service and then back to eat a leisurely evening meal. Magdalene gave them the news of the bishop of Salisbury’s arrival and then answered the few questions they still had about the murder. But now that Niall was proven innocent, that subject was growing less and less important to them.
Soon Magdalene was listening indulgently to Loveday and Niall planning the future and discussing what should go into the formal betrothal agreement that must be written even though they intended to marry as soon as possible. Softly, Magdalene sighed, hoping that the plans Waleran was making would not cause war, and that plague or any other misfortune would not bring sorrow instead of the planned joys. And then the talk of betrothal brought her mind back to St. Cyr and she remembered Raoul saying that he had made no secret of his intention of marrying Loveday.
Suddenly Magdalene was aware of a possibility she had not considered before—that Waleran de Meulan had ordered St. Cyr’s death. The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Was it possible that Lord Waleran could have remained totally ignorant of what St. Cyr was saying? Would not gossip among his men have carried to him the news that such a creature as St. Cyr was claiming he would take an heiress to wife? If Arras was right, the priest had told Waleran about Loveday not in the Hall but in his private solar. So, if Waleran had not chosen St. Cyr for Loveday, might he not have suspected that St. Cyr had found some way to spy on him?
That would have been enough to sign St. Cyr’s death warrant. Waleran was not the man to bother seeking proof, from what Magdalene knew of him. He would simply order St. Cyr killed. Another thing to tell William, Magdalene thought. But a faltering in the talk drew her eyes to Niall and Loveday. Magdalene saw him stroking her arm and the way she was leaning toward him. Suppressing a grin, she yawned widely and shook her head.
“Sit up and talk if you will, children,” she said, “but I am not so young and strong. We must be up and on the road early tomorrow, so I am off to bed.”
With the words she rose and made her way to the chamber at the back. Well away from the two lovers, she let herself chuckle softly. Since she was sharing Loveday’s bed, they would be saved from any physical excesses all the talk of their forthcoming marriage might have stimulated in them. Not that it was important, really, but it would be best if Loveday could swear that she was a maiden still.
More tired than she had realized, Magdalene fell asleep as soon as she had gotten herself into bed and slept so soundly that she was totally unaware when Loveday joined her. She rested well, however, so that when Loveday rose, she woke also. The chamber was still very dark and she called out to ask if anything were wrong.
“No.” She heard the smile in Loveday’s voice. “It is morning and time to rise, but the shutters are closed. We will have a wet ride, I fear.”
Magdalene groaned, but got out of bed and found the washbasin by the light of the night candle. When she had washed and dressed, she followed Loveday out into the Hall, where servants were already setting up a trestle table for a more substantial fast breaking than usual since they would be riding out. Niall was also awake, wearing shirt and hose with his gambeson laid ready near his mail shirt.
Halfway through the meal of porridge, cold pasty, bread, and cheese, they heard a hail at the gate. Niall went out and came back with a soaked and furious Bell, but his rage was somewhat abated when Magdalene hurried to him with a drying cloth and Loveday drew another stool to the table.
“I had forgotten,” Magdalene said with a sigh, “how unreliable the weather is in the spring. Yesterday and the day before were so fine.”
“And neither of you two madwomen will consider remaining here warm and dry? Niall and I must go. He to Lord William’s command and I because the dean desires that I present a petition from the priest of Lothbury, near the Jewery in London, for the closing on Sunday of the houses of Change near the church. It seems they close on Friday afternoon and remain closed on Saturday, but open again on Sunday so that churchgoers are distracted.”
“Would not addressing the mayor of London be more to the purpose?” Magdalene asked.
Bell grinned sourly. “It is a reason for me to be there that has nothing at all to do with the bishop of Winchester, and not too transparent an excuse because Stephen is always interested in anything to do with London. Londoners were the first to welcome and acknowledge him king and they have always supported him.”
Whereupon he addressed himself to his breakfast with strong devotion, mumbling as he ate that the meals provided by the brothers of Wytham Abbey to the residents of their guesthouse were somewhat less lavish than those to which he was accustomed. However, his efforts to make up for past deprivation had a second good result. By the time he was finished and Loveday packed for her stay in Oxford, the rain had eased off somewhat.
The heavy rain earlier may also have been an advantage, although they would never know. All they knew was that they rode safely; there was no ambush. Whether that was because there never had been any such plan, or because the attackers were driven off by the rain or felt their prey would wait for better weather, no one could guess. In any case, they arrived safely, wet but not soaked, at the Soft Nest near to Tierce. Bell rode on toward the castle and Niall took Loveday with him to the armorer’s house from whence he would send a message to William of Ypres asking for orders.