A Mortal Bane (41 page)

Master Domenic meanwhile was bobbing a whole series of bows to Winchester and babbling in an awed whisper about how much he was honored by the bishop’s approval of his copies.

“They were good copies,” the bishop said, also quietly. “At first we could not tell them from the originals.”

No guilt disturbed Master Domenic’s expression; in fact, he beamed. “Oh, were they compared? I did not know that would be possible. I knew the originals were Master Jacob the Alderman’s work and were borrowed and had to be returned quickly, but I thought….” His brow wrinkled. “Surely Master William told me the copies were to go into his master’s chapel in Oxford. Oh, well, it does not matter. As long as you saw them, my lord, and appreciated the work.”

“Oh, indeed I did,” Winchester remarked dryly. “They were brought to my attention” —irresistibly his head was drawn around, and his eyes fixed for a moment before he went on— “by some very unusual circumstances.”

The goldsmith had naturally followed the direction in which Winchester had looked. “Why, there is Master William,” he said with pleased surprise, his voice much louder than it had been when he spoke to the bishop.

In that moment, Guiscard de Tournai looked up from the parchment on which he had been trying to squeeze the priest’s and archbishop’s phrasing into a space too small for it. His expression changed the goldsmith’s pleasure into doubt as he realized that “Master William” should not be scribing at the Bishop of Winchester’s table, but in Oxford with his copies of the candlesticks.

“I only wanted to express my gratitude, Master William, for bringing my work to the bishop’s notice,” Domenic said, his voice now somewhat tremulous with uncertainty and his eyes shifting swiftly to gauge the bishop’s expression.

“You fool!” Guiscard shouted and snatched up the knife with which he had sharpened his quills.

The roar of his voice startled everyone into immobility, except Bell, who thrust himself between the goldsmith and Guiscard, pushing the tubby man back so hard that he staggered well away from the table. Bell started to draw his sword, but Guiscard had no interest in a worthless revenge. He leapt instead for the bishop, right past Magdalene, who was as frozen as anyone else, and before Winchester could move, he had seized the bishop’s head in his left hand and with the right pressed his knife, which was small but very sharp and with a keen point, to the bishop’s neck, just under the ear where a big vein pulsed.

“Stand still and be silent,” Guiscard hissed. “I assure you one more death will not trouble me at all. One move, one shout for help, and the bishop dies. And you need not think I do not know that if I kill him, I will free you to kill me. I will die anyway if I cannot use him to help me escape, so I will either be free or take him with me.”

“My son—” Father Benin whispered, stretching out a hand.

“Shut your mouth and stand perfectly still,” Guiscard snarled and shifted his eyes to Bell, who was scarlet with rage and frustration, frozen with his sword half drawn.

“You” —his lips curled down in bitter distaste— “strutting peacock, go out and order the bishop’s litter to be brought to the door. When it comes, you will raise the curtain on the side facing this door, I will get in with the bishop. You will lower the curtain and then walk with the litter to my lodging. There you will go in and get from the chest at the foot of my bed the bags of coin and—”

“I will need the key,” Bell said, sliding his sword fully back into its sheath and placing both empty hands on the table. “And do you want any other valuables? The candlesticks? The golden pyx?”

“They are not in the chest. I am not such a fool as to keep them….” Guiscard’s voice faded and his hand tensed so that a small bead of red blossomed on the bishop’s neck where the knife pricked him. “Oh, you think you are so clever, that you have tricked me into admitting that I stole those things.” He laughed. “Why should I deny it? I will either be safe and far out of your reach…or dead…very soon. Neither way will lying be of any benefit to me.” He laughed, but not hard enough to move the knife from its position. “Half the pleasure of taking the things was doing it under all your noses. And all of you cared so little for me that you did not bother to discover that my mother had died, so I had a perfect place to dispose of my gleanings.”

“It must have been…amusing.” Bell’s eyes flicked to Magdalene, but not for long enough for Guiscard, whose attention was mostly on Winchester, to notice. “I suppose the whore let you in and out through her gates so you could enter the priory in secret anytime you liked.”

Magdalene bit her lip in mingled hurt and fury, but she had sense enough to be silent. She was entirely too close to Guiscard to want to attract his attention. One thing she was sure of, he would be as happy to kill her as to leave her standing. Then she realized he had discovered he enjoyed killing, and even if he escaped safely, he would not let Winchester live. Her hands tightened on the scarf she held and she twisted it, tears misting her eyes.

“I would not trust a whore!” Guiscard had spat. “Not that one, who will cheat an agent out of his just fee and whine to the bishop about it. She would have run to Winchester the moment I asked.” He laughed again, a little more heartily. “You are all such fools, even the so-wise, so-powerful Bishop of Winchester. I had copies made of all the keys to the Old Priory Guesthouse when I showed her the place.”

The bishop twitched, and Guiscard gripped his head tighter.

“Of course,” Bell said, very quickly. “I forgot you held the keys to that place. But it could not have been so easy to get the key to the priory safe box.”

“But it was.” Guiscard raised his brows superciliously. “It only took a little planning. Brother Knud was a priest, but he has a little secret; he is a bit too fond of little boys. When he was sent to the bishop for punishment, I received the charges against him and offered him the alternative punishment of being the sacristan’s lay brother in St. Mary Overy. Naturally, I came now and again to make sure he was doing well. We talked about his duties, so I knew the days and times when he cleaned the plate. Once I came when he had just begun to clean. The key was on the table. I said I saw he was busy and went away—with the key. When I returned, he was almost finished with his work and I had a copy. If he suspected” —Guiscard smiled across the room at Knud, who had fallen to his knees with his hands over his face— “I knew he would never mention it to anyone.”

“I thought Knud knew more than he was saying,” Bell said. “I intended to question him again, but….”

He leaned farther forward over the table, as if totally absorbed in what Guiscard was saying. He seemed to be putting all his weight on his hands, which should immobilize him, but Magdalene saw how the table cut into his thighs and she realized he was balancing himself against it so that his hands were really free. Unfortunately, Guiscard was no more deceived than she.

“Stand back,” he snarled, and the red bead marking the point of his knife against the bishop’s throat enlarged into a thin trickle of blood.

Bell straightened up. “Sorry,” he said. “I was—”

“You thought you were distracting me by letting me talk and were about to leap on me. You are a fool. I am not. You were misled because I was willing to talk, but I have time, until the bells ring for Tierce. There are several ships in the river that will sail on the tide. I thought it would be safer to wait here, but you are getting too cocky.”

“Ships?” Bell echoed, eager to distract him.

Guiscard laughed once more. “How surprised you look. I have kept myself informed of every sailing on every day we were in London for near a year. Safe is better than sorry, but I am afraid you will make a mistake and I will have to kill Winchester before—” He cut his words off and added quickly, “I would rather get away than kill him. You had better go and order his litter now, and do not warn those in the outer room, either, or call your men. You may succeed in stopping me, but the bishop will be dead before I am.”

Magdalene had held her breath when Bell leaned forward. She had seen from the angle of his body that he intended to throw himself across the table and try to push Guiscard to the right, toward her and away from Winchester. Although the bishop had not apparently moved, she thought she had seen a shadow under his chair shift very slightly, and she hoped he was setting his feet so he could lunge away from the knife.

Guiscard had been too wary, however. Worse, Magdalene knew the abortive effort had fixed his attention on Bell so firmly that Bell would not be able to try again to attack him. She caught her lip between her teeth and bit down hard when Guiscard’s slip about not wanting to kill Winchester “before” confirmed her fear that he intended to murder the bishop no matter what. And if Winchester were dead, her easy life and prosperity might also be over—and one of the few churchman who had at least tried to be fair to a whore would be lost. Bell, too, if Guiscard could somehow manage it.

She stood as still as the stones themselves against the wall, hardly breathing. Guiscard did not care enough about her now to try to hurt her, but if she interfered, she would be the only one close enough on whom to vent his rage. Was it worth the risk to try?

“The key to your chest,” Bell said desperately. “You never gave it to me.”

He moved an open hand slowly toward Guiscard, who instinctively started to relax his grip on the bishop’s head. But he did not make that mistake, either, and instead, shouted, “Out! Get the litter!”

In the same moment, never having answered the question she had asked herself, Magdalene took two steps forward, threw the scarf she had been holding between her hands over Guiscard’s head, and yanked him toward her with all the strength she had.

As she pulled, she screamed, “Jump!” at Winchester, who showed himself as brave as he was clever. Instead of trying to wrench himself to the left, away from the prick of the knife but against the pressure of Guiscard’s hand, he rose straight upward, knocking his heavy chair backward with the force of his movement. The knife scored a long line down his neck, but because Guiscard’s left hand had lost its grip on his head as he rose, he was able to lean away from the pain, and the blade did no more than slice the skin.

When his victim and safe-conduct tore free of his hold, Guiscard knew he was dead. Unable to find better prey—he knew the bishop’s layers of rich vestments would armor him against the blade of the little knife, and that the bishop was no physical weakling—he turned on Magdalene as he tore the scarf from his head.

“Bitch! Whore!” he shrieked, striking at her face. “No one will ever wish to lie with you again!”

She raised her arms instinctively to protect herself, felt the sting as the sharp blade pierced through her sleeve to cut her arm. She tried to back away, but he was upon her, dragging her arms down, screaming obscenities. She saw the knife rise, realized it was aimed for her eye, and tried desperately to fight his grip and free herself.

Then he screamed wordlessly and she was able to pull her head away. The knife came down, but only slid against her neck, which was covered by her gown. And then he fell away altogether, and she was looking at Bell, who had a long poniard dripping red in his hand.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered, backing so she could lean against the wall.

“Give her the stool or she will fall,” the bishop said, and Bell pulled the stool out from under the table and set it beside her so she could sink down upon it.

“And you, my lord, are you hurt?” Bell asked anxiously. “I am so sorry. Fool that I am, I thought he would go for Master Domenic.” He bent and righted the bishop’s chair. “Sit down, my lord. I will fetch the infirmarian.”

“Is it safe to leave Guiscard without a guard?” Winchester asked, sitting down rather heavily and looking at the body on the floor.

“He is dead, my lord,” Bell said. “I am sorry about that, too. I did not mean to kill him, but in a fight…I had no time to draw my sword, and when I hold a knife…habit and training, my lord.”

Magdalene had closed her eyes at first, but they snapped open when Bell said Guiscard was dead. She could see only the side of Bell’s face, and his eyes were down, looking at the bishop, but they flicked once sideways to her and she knew he was not at all sorry. He
had
meant to kill, and he meant it because Guiscard had been threatening her.

Then her eyes closed again. She did not faint, nor did she slip off the stool, but she was not really conscious of what was happening around her—beyond a blurred and indistinct sound of voices coming and going—until someone lifted her arm. She uttered a low cry because the movement made her aware of the ache.

“You said you were not hurt!” Bell’s voice, low and angry.

She opened her eyes, saw the bishop still in his chair, now with a bandage around his neck, the infirmarian loosening her sleeve, which was marked with a wide stain of blood, Bell behind the monk, bending forward to see her wound, his face anxious. Drawing a deep breath, she looked down. Guiscard’s body was gone. Raising her eyes, she saw that Master Domenic and Master Buchuinte, the priest and the Archdeacon of St. Paul’s, the prior and the monks—all except for the infirmarian—were also gone. On the table near her was a pot of salve and more bandages.

“It was only a small cut,” she said.

“It bled enough,” Bell retorted.

“The knife touched a small vein,” the infirmarian put in, “but the bleeding has stopped now, and it assures a clean wound.” As he spoke, he reached for the salve, applied it gently, and wrapped her arm in the waiting bandage. He came upright and looked at her carefully. “Hmm. There is another small spot near your neck. I think the point just touched you there. Take the salve and apply it if you need it.”

He would not ask a whore to loosen the neck of her gown, Magdalene thought, suppressing a smile. But at least he had been willing to treat her. Still, he was quick to turn away, gathering up the bandages and another small pot, which he put into a leather bag, and walking around the end of the table. When his bulk no longer blocked the bishop’s view of her, Winchester turned in her direction.