“I do not have it,” Magdalene breathed, backing away along the wall as if she were mindlessly trying to get as far from him as possible, but that made him turn to keep her in sight. “Really, I do not. I swear it. And why should your master care what was in the messenger’s pouch?”
He laughed when she came up against Sabina’s chest and reached toward the water pitcher but let her hand drop as if she knew throwing it could not save her. By then, the door was at his back. He did not notice Sabina squirming along the floor toward it…or did not care.
“None of your business why, whore!” He stretched an arm toward her, but she had got out of reach and leaned farther away toward the chest. “All whores are liars,” he said. “I tell you now that what will happen to you for admitting you stole the pouch is nothing compared to what will happen if you do not give it to me. If you do, I will let you be—after a kick or two to abate your pride.”
“I do not have it!” Magdalene whispered, raising a hand in a pleading gesture and dropping it.
“You do, and you might as well tell me before I smash in your nose and cut off your ears as tell me after the pain has broken you. If you do not tell me at once, I will break your fingers, too, beyond mending—so you cannot even embroider. You will starve in earnest if you do not give me that pouch immediately.”
Chapter Fifteen
25 April 1139
Old Priory Guesthouse; Tower Of London
The man took a threatening step forward. The hand Magdalene had dropped with seeming hopelessness grasped the edge of Sabina’s slop bowl and swung it viciously toward him. The dirty water sprayed into his face; the edge of the heavy bowl hit his cheekbone. He took one staggering step back, began to roar wordlessly with rage, and choked and gagged as the liquid running down his face filled his mouth. Even before he caught his breath, he started forward again, only to be propelled ahead a great deal faster than he intended by a violent blow in the back from Sabina’s staff.
Blinded by the washwater, choked by the dirty liquid in his mouth, made breathless by Sabina’s blow, and totally off balance, he still stretched his arms to catch Magdalene. But Magdalene was no paralyzed rabbit. She had dropped to the floor and scuttled sideways out of his reach, and he fell forward, the chest catching him just above one knee so that his momentum bent him almost double and his forehead hit the wall. Half dazed though he was, gasping for breath, he was a well-trained fighting man. He was still trying to twist around to lay hands on his prey when Sabina’s staff came down once more, this time on the back of his skull.
In the open where she could swing the staff freely, the blow could have done much more damage. In the close confines of her bedchamber, it was only strong enough to bring him to his knees, dazed but not truly unconscious. With a tenacity born of desperation, he turned toward Sabina, flung up an arm, and caught the staff. He pulled, but he was on his knees, blocked by the edge of the chest, and could not exert much power in his twisted position. Sabina pulled back hard.
As soon as Sabina struck her attacker on the head, Magdalene had gotten to her feet and run into the kitchen to seize Dulcie’s long-handled pan from its hook beside the door. She returned only a few heartbeats later during the tug-of-war. The man, now struggling to get a foot under him so he could rise from his knees but constantly pulled off balance by Sabina’s fierce tugging, saw her. His eyes bulged with rage, but he did not dare let go of Sabina’s staff, which, once free, could next be thrust into his eye or his throat. His mouth opened to shout, but it was too late. Magdalene had swung the cast-iron skillet, which came down on his head with a most satisfying thunk. He fell forward.
“It’s all right, Sabina,” Magdalene gasped. “I think he has lost his senses now.” She breathed for a moment and then added, “I hope we did not make so much noise that Letice’s client was alarmed.”
“I do not think so,” Sabina whispered, lowering the staff to the floor and leaning on it. “He shouted only once, and men do that while futtering. He was talking softly while he threatened you. Maybe he guessed there were others in the house who would come to your assistance.”
Magdalene fought to control the trembling that threatened to make her helpless. This man could not simply be carried out and dumped in the street. There was a great deal to do, and it would all be harder without Dulcie.
“Love, if I gave you the pan, do you think you could hit him again if he moves? I must go see if all is well.”
Sabina swallowed. “Yes. Just let me come behind him and feel out the distance between us. Then if I hear him move, I need only lift the pan and bring it down.”
“Do not be too gentle,” Magdalene warned, taking the man’s sword from where he had leaned it near the head of the bed. “A knock or two on the head can do him little harm, but if he seizes you, I will have to run his sword through him.”