“Likely it will, she thinks.” Dulcie voiced what Letice would have said if she could. “'Nd if nothin’ else don’ look wrong ‘nd th’ purse be in th’ church, not far from where th’ poor man be kilt, it don’ matter much. Them as finds it’ll think stuffin’ it in th’ hole there did th’ damage.”
Magdalene took another ten pennies and added them to the gold coins in the bottom of the purse, then replaced the bull, the king’s letter, the letter of credit, and on top of the others, the letter of introduction.
“I think that will look right,” she said. “The letter he used most is in front, the most precious at the back where he could not pull it out by accident. The fact that the gold and a good sum in silver are there will mean to most that we did not open the pouch. Who would believe that a whore would not take gold, or clean out every scrap of silver?”
She took up the cords that tied the pouch and pulled them until the smooth parts, which had not been part of the knot, matched. Then slowly, carefully, making sure that every bend in the cord folded into the new knot, she wove the knot anew. When it was tied, she examined it front and back, Dulcie and Letice examined it front and back, and Sabina ran her sensitive fingers over the cord and the knot.
“It is smooth,” she said. “I cannot feel any place where the cord feels crimped, nor any uneven spot on the knot itself.”
“I’d swear that were never touched,” Dulcie confirmed, and so did Letice with a nod. “I’ll go get me cleanin’ rags now. Sooner that be out o’ here, th’ better.”
All the woman heaved a sigh of relief when Dulcie had packed the pouch into the basket with her sand and ash and straw and rags. Unfortunately, they had relaxed too soon. In only a few moments, Dulcie was back.
“Can’t open the gate,” she reported. “'Tis locked, it is. Latch goes up and down, but th’ gate don’ move.”
“It must be stuck,” Magdalene said.
Dulcie shook her head. “I be no weakling, ‘nd I pushed hard.”
They all stared at her, dumbfound. The gate had been locked when they first moved into the house because the previous renter had run an ordinary stew. There had been noise and brawls, and the women had displayed themselves in unseemly ways, even coupling in the garden, which could be seen from the windows of the second-floor dorter. Henry of Winchester had ordered them out.
On the way to Oxford in company with William of Ypres, an old friend, he had complained about the outrage. When William arrived in Oxford, he had repaired to his favorite house of ease, only to have Magdalene ask her most powerful patron to vouch for her as being honest and discreet so she could rent a larger house. William quickly put two and two together, decided that having Magdalene in London would be more convenient for him, and suggested to Winchester that he offer the now-vacant house to Magdalene la Batarde, his favorite whore mistress. She would pay the exorbitant rent, William assured the bishop, and she and her women passed as embroiderers and would not offend.
Within a month of moving into the Old Priory Guesthouse, Magdalene had contrived to meet the prior and convince him that the gate should be opened for the benefit of the souls of her clients and the finances of the church. She had not mentioned that the more secretive of the men who visited her house could thereby reverse the process, that is, enter by the priory gate—a holy and laudable place to visit—enjoy their pleasures, and then go out through the priory so that none would know they had visited a whore. Since the men rarely forgot to leave an offering at the priory, neither Magdalene nor the prior had regretted the arrangement—in spite of the sacristan’s displeasure—and the gate had remained open ever since.
“Brother Paulinus!” Magdalene exclaimed bitterly. “Now what can we do?”
“Since the bull names the bishop legate and will be of great benefit to him, could you not bring the pouch directly to him?” Sabina asked slowly. “You would have to admit the man was here, but surely Henry of Winchester is not such an idiot as the sacristan to think we would follow a client to the church to kill him.”
“God, no!” Magdalene exclaimed. “Only his worst enemy would give the bishop this pouch. How could he explain how he came by the pouch of a papal messenger who was murdered so near his London house? And he must present to the king the letter that confirms him in power, so he could not just hold his peace until he needed to act as legate. And just now, since the king contrived that election of Theobald, Winchester and his brother are not on the best of terms. William of Ypres told me that really harsh words had been exchanged. That would be a rich broth for the bishop’s enemies to find tasty nuggets in. To defend himself, he would have to admit I brought him the pouch. Who would then believe we did not kill the man?”
“Could someone climb the wall?” Sabina asked uncertainly. She had never seen the wall and did not know how high it was.