“You know him?” William asked.
“We are acquainted,” Somer replied. “He was friendly with Henry of Essex and Camville and a few others in the king’s Household, but I do not think he had any appointment.”
“The king’s Household?” Bell echoed. ‘Then why does he carry a cinquefoil badge on a red-and-white ribbon in his purse? The king’s badge is a lion with blue and gold.”
William of Ypres’s eyes went to Bell, and Magdalene said quickly, “Sir Bellamy of Itchen, the Bishop of Winchester’s knight. I sent for him when I realized this man, Sir Raoul, if Somer says so—intended to force his way into my house will I, nil I. Sir Bellamy lodges near the bishop’s house, just around the street from us, so Dulcie could reach him quickly. You were too far away.”
William had started to look offended when she said she had sent for Bell, but as she well knew, he did not really care deeply enough to reject a reasonable explanation. He nodded brusquely, but his attention was still on the man his occasional bedmate favored. Bell had now met Ypres’s eyes. Magdalene held her breath and, at the same time had to fight against an impulse to giggle. Their expressions reminded her vividly of two dogs, bristles up, circling. But it was not in the least funny, really.
Then Bell bowed his head abruptly in a stiff sign of respect. “My master has ordered me to do what I can to discover the murderer of Baldassare de Firenze, who was my friend and his, and to find the pouch he carried.”
“Most reasonable,” William said. “I would be happy to help in any way I could, but I do not see what that has to do with Beaufort’s man. And which Beaufort?”
“Why do you not ask me?” Sir Raoul put in.
All attention switched to the prisoner. “Very well,” William said, “I will ask you. Who is your master and how did you come to know of the papal messenger’s death and the loss of his pouch?”
“Very simply by visiting a friend I happen to have in the Bishop of Winchester’s Household. I know him from times when the bishop and the king were on better terms, and—”
“Beg pardon, my lord,” Bell interrupted. “That may be true, but if this man is carrying Beaufort’s badge, he is no longer with the king’s Household.”
“Which is why I was carrying, not wearing, my badge,” Sir Raoul snapped. “My liking for my friend has nothing to do with our masters and I wished to save him from just such suspicion as I see in you.”
“That is possible,” William said mildly. “So who is this friend who is a churchman of such pure spirit that he takes no sides between his own master and an avowed enemy, who gossips about important Church business to a most unclerkly friend, and then recommends that friend to the most expensive whorehouse in England?”
They could all see the struggle in Sir Raoul’s face, but then, knowing he would tell one way or another and that his “friend” was already compromised because, no doubt, the bishop would winnow his Household to find who had a “friend” in the Beaufort Household, he shrugged and said, “Guiscard de Tournai.”
Bell made a wordless sound, expelled from him by a mixture of outrage—but, he realized even as he felt it, not surprise—and enlightenment. He had always been a little puzzled by the richness of Guiscard’s dress and the luxury of his lodgings, although butchers and physicians could become rich and might indulge a child; still, the answer had left him unsatisfied because Guiscard did not have that indifferent acceptance of wealth that a man born to it has. Now he understood. No doubt Waleran de Meulan paid well for information about the plans and activities of the Bishop of Winchester.
William flashed a glance at him, but plainly felt no impulse to discover what revelation Bell had had. He returned his attention to Raoul de Samur and asked, “And which Beaufort condones a friendship with his enemies?”
“The Bishop of Winchester is no enemy to Beaufort. Did he not arrange for Hugh le Poer to obtain Bedford—”
“This man did not come from Hugh le Poer, who is here in London, in the Tower of Montfichet,” Magdalene said. “He has ridden a long way. Look at his clothing, William. And his horse was exhausted when he came to my gate, covered with dust and mud.”
“Likely from Nottingham,” William agreed. “It would be an easy transfer from king’s hanger-on to Waleran’s Household.”
“I never denied that,” Sir Raoul said quickly, although his eyes, fixed on Magdalene for a moment, said “bitch and whore” before he added with some bravado, “No reason why I should deny that I am Lord Waleran’s man. No matter what you think, I had some personal business and got leave to come to London. You know it is a four-day ride from Nottingham. There is no way I could have known about the papal messenger when I started out. Curse me if I ever again do more than I am asked to do, but when I heard of the pouch, I just thought that if I could find it, my lord would be pleased.”