Angrily, Bell tumbled the body into the waiting cart and tossed the blanket, which Magdalene handed him, over the man, who uttered a loud groan. Magdalene sighed with relief; she had been afraid he had been stunned too thoroughly. Bell turned, took the horse’s rein from her, and tied it to the end of the cart.
Bell glared at her as he mounted to the bench but said nothing the curious mercer and grocer from across the street, who were both out serving customers, should not hear. Then, grudgingly, he gave Magdalene a hand up. When she was settled, he clicked to the sturdy mule and the cart moved forward. A thump came from the back of the cart. Magdalene jumped. Bell only looked over his shoulder to make sure that the back of the cart was well fastened.
When they got onto the bridge, however, he turned his head and shouted, “You lie quiet under that blanket or I will take a strap to both of you. Only reason I didn’t take the hide off you yet was that your mother wouldn’t let me.”
With the sun near setting, the bridge was quieter than usual and Bell’s voice carried. A few of the merchants and their customers looked around, saw the good cart and handsome mule, the decently dressed man and carefully veiled woman, and laughed, imagining the mischief a pair of naughty children could get into. Magdalene leaned closer to him and spoke in a low voice as if pleading the children’s cause, but actually she was telling him to turn right on Thames Street, that William was lodging within the walls of the Tower of London.
At the gate of the inner bailey of the Tower, Magdalene gave her name, said she had a delivery for William of Ypres, and asked for Somer de Loo. After a coin had exchanged hands, a messenger was sent and eventually Somer de Loo arrived. He looked at the heaving, mumbling blanket, at Bell, then at Magdalene, and insisted she take off her veil, his hand on his sword hilt. However, once he had made sure it was indeed she, he gestured for them to drive in.
“What the devil are you doing here, Magdalene?” he asked when they were clear of the gate. “What delivery? And who the devil is this?”
“This gentleman is the Bishop of Winchester’s knight, Sir Bellamy of Itchen,” she said, “and he was kind enough to help me when the man in the cart hit Sabina and threatened to disfigure me.”
Somer frowned up at her as the cart trundled across the bailey, not toward the great bulk of the White Tower itself, but toward the king’s palace, around which were grouped several houses that were occupied by the great nobles when the king held court in London. They headed toward the last of those, one closest to the entrance to one of the wall towers, servants and retainers on various duties or on their own business making way as they passed.
“Why bring him to us?” Somer asked irritably. “Surely—”
“If you will forgive me, I had rather tell the tale once, and where there are fewer ears to hear it.”
“That way, is it?” Somer said, eyes narrowing. “William said if you came without his summons, it would be trouble.” He moved to the side of the cart to help Magdalene down and gestured toward the guard at the door. “It’s all right. The lord wants to see her,” he said and then told Magdalene, “The stair is just within, against the side of the building. Go up. He’s waiting for you.”
Magdalene shielded her face again, but she was uneasy about whether Somer and Bell would rub each other wrong and hesitated by the door. However, it was not Somer who raised Bell’s hackles, and Magdalene soon entered the building. The hall was rather overfull of armed men, but only one or two glanced at her and, seeing a woman, looked away. Nonetheless, she was glad to get up the stair. The door was open, but she called from the landing.
“Come in, chick,” William said.
He was wearing worn leathers under a sumptuous surcoat. Worried as she was, Magdalene could not help smiling. It was typical of William to dress for safety—the leather over a light gambeson would turn a knife and even protect against all but the most direct and violent sword blow—and at the same time dress for show, because the surcoat could be pulled together to impress an important visitor. He seemed to be lounging at ease in a large chair with arms as well as a back, positioned comfortably near a stone hearth in the middle of the room, but his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
Magdalene went forward quickly, unwinding her veil and draping it loosely over her shoulders. “I am sorry to bring trouble to you,” she said, coming close to the chair as he beckoned.
He gripped her around the waist and pulled her down so he could kiss her. “What else does anyone ever bring me?” he asked and laughed. “At least you are pretty to look at.”
But he let her go quickly and stood up when the sound of heavy footsteps and heavy breathing came up the stairwell. Bell and Somer struggled into the room and to within a couple of arm’s lengths of William before they deposited their burden on his bound feet. Somer continued to steady the man, who had been writhing as they carried him across the floor but seemed to realize that resistance was futile when they set him on his feet, and Bell pulled down the hood of the cloak and removed first the blindfold and then the gag.
“Raoul de Samur!” Somer exclaimed.