Magdalene sighed. “I know it. My livelihood depends on the honesty of my women and the security we provide for our guests. You know it. All my clients know it. But to the monks of the priory, we are whores and thus guilty.”
“It is far more likely that some felon saw Baldassare’s fat purse.” He stopped abruptly and frowned. “Why was he here, south of London, when the king is in Nottingham?”
“For the meeting he spoke of?” Magdalene knew that was true; Baldassare had told her his meeting was close by, but she could not admit that. “He did not tell me. When he rang the bell at the gate, he asked for the Bishop of Winchester’s house, which, he had been told—apparently as a joke by that wicked Richard de Beaumeis—was behind the church of St. Mary Overy priory. We spoke for a while. I had to tell him where the bishop’s house really was and he mentioned that the church seemed very close to this house. I said there was a gate that led there, but not large enough for a horse to pass. We parted. It was cold. I had run out without my cloak. I did not stay to see which way he went.”
He had hardly listened, apparently, for with his eyes fixed on her but not seeing her, he next said, “Yes, I am sure he had a full purse, because after I arranged for the horse he would ride, he said he would go to the goldsmith—Basyngs, it was. He left and I finished up some work, then I came here.” His eyes came into focus on her face. “What time did he come to the gate?”
“It was near sunset.”
“Then he did not come here from my house,” Buchuinte said. “He must have gone to the goldsmith and spent some time there. Near sunset? I suppose I was asleep when he arrived. Ella was very” —a slight smile touched his lips— “very much herself. I woke later than usual. If only I had been awake! If I had heard his voice, I could have gone with him—”
Magdalene laid a hand over his. “Master Buchuinte, he was ahorse, you afoot. You could not have gone together. And the bishop’s knight, Sir Bellamy of Itchen, says Messer Baldassare was not seized and stabbed from behind as a thief would do. He said Baldassare knew the killer, that he may have walked with him, talked to him…trusted him. Are you sure Messer Baldassare gave no hint of whom he was to meet?”
He shook his head. “And now he is dead! Oh, I cannot believe it. He overcame so many dangers in the years he served the pope! How could this happen on the porch of a church, right in the doorway to salvation? I cannot believe it!” He sighed heavily and stood up. ‘Tell Ella I am sorry, but I cannot…I simply cannot….”
His hand went to his purse. Magdalene laid hers atop and prevented him from taking out the coins. “We grieve with you. Just send a message and Ella will be waiting whenever you wish to see her.”
He sighed again. “Likely at my usual time next week. I do grieve, but mostly from shock. I liked Baldassare. He was a good man. But he was not a friend I saw every day and will miss bitterly. I saw him only twice or thrice a year.” He sighed once more. “Nonetheless, we both came from Firenze; our families were acquainted. I must arrange for his burial and for masses for his soul and…and I suppose I must write to the pope….”
“No. That will be taken care of by the bishop, I am sure. I brought him the news this morning and he was also shocked and grieved.” She hesitated, and then continued. “You know, Master Buchuinte, if you wish to know more than what Sir Bellamy was willing to tell me, you should go and speak to the bishop, or to Sir Bellamy. They will be more open to you, I am sure.” And you will think that is how they learned you were here that night and not feel I betrayed you, she thought. “Also, perhaps, because of their knowledge of Church affairs, one of them can guess more from what Messer Baldassare said to you than you or I could.”
“Well thought of, Magdalene. Well thought of. Yes, I will do that.”
He turned toward the door, but cast a rather longing glance at the corridor that led to Ella’s room. Magdalene suppressed a smile. The shock over, she guessed that he was regretting the postponement of his visit with Ella and restrained only by the impropriety of making love so soon after hearing of his friend’s death. He knew how Ella would be waiting—sitting up in the bed naked, her hair plaited like that of a little girl, the braids hanging down beside her enchanting breasts, because that was what he found exciting.
Magdalene kept her face placid, although black memories of what she had seen flashed through her mind. She found a smile. Thank God Master Buchuinte was satisfied with Ella’s “childishness.” There were those men who literally demanded children. Well, not in her house! She rose to see him out. Once more Buchuinte sighed.
‘Tell Ella that I will bring her something pretty to make up for missing her company today,” he said.