Bone of Contention (7 page)

As she thought it, two women came to lift a curtain. Seeing Bell, they posed and smiled. Magdalene swallowed more bile. She herself had stood in one of those doorways when she served in the Soft Nest. Any man had been free to push her in or walk past her into the small, windowless chamber behind the curtain. When it fell, she had been on her own. If a client thought she asked too much, she would be beaten, and the whoremistress would not interfere. The condition of the tiny chamber and how she protected herself and collected and kept her payment had been up to her. For that privilege, she had paid a penny a night in rent.

From behind the two closed curtains nearest them came characteristic sounds of sexual engagement—mostly grunts and groans, but Magdalene did hear one masculine laugh and a feminine giggle. At least those were sounds that told of a well-regulated place. There were no thin shrieks of abused children, no screams of agony, no snarls of sadistic rage.

Magdalene swallowed once more, and walked up to the table. “Is Mistress Florete here?” she asked, speaking English rather than French.

The man, who had been looking at Bell, expecting him to ask for a chamber or some other accommodation, turned his head to Magdalene. “Out back. She—oh, here she is now.”

A medium-sized, sturdily built woman was coming down the corridor. Magdalene saw with relief that her shift, which was tied a decent inch above her cleavage and well above the edge of her low-cut gown, was clean and white. The gown itself, a pleasant shade of light green, was also unstained and clean, its folds those of the chest rather than of the bed. Her hair was clean, too, a glossy brown, worn in two thick plaits, one falling over each shoulder.

As she approached, Magdalene was sorry to see that Florete’s brown eyes had lost their sparkle and were without expression and that her lips had become thin and tightly drawn to give nothing away. But in the next moment, her whole face changed. The eyes brightened and opened wide, the lips softened and tilted upward.

“Magdalene!” she cried, running forward. “Magdalene! What in the good earth are you doing here?”

“Not setting up a rival establishment,” Magdalene said, laughing.

“Nor looking for work,” Florete said, examining Magdalene’s riding dress, which was a soft gray-blue, simple until one noticed the quality of the cloth and took in the elaborate embroidery around neck, sleeves, and hem.

“No.” Before Magdalene could control it, a shudder passed over her. She suppressed another and smiled. “I have a long tale to tell and a huge favor to ask, but I don’t want to keep Sir Bellamy from his duty any longer than I must. I just wanted to make him known to you so that, if I cannot stay here, I could leave a message for him so he would know where to find me.”

Florete blinked, looked from one to the other, then smiled at Bell. “I am not likely to forget him.”

Bell smiled back. “My name is Bellamy of Itchen, and I serve the bishop of Winchester. If any message besides those from Magdalene should be left for me, you will be well rewarded if they come into my hand and into no other.”

An expression of anxiety crossed Florete’s face. “For a friend of Magdalene’s, I promise to do my best to make it so, but you must understand…we are whores here. If we are questioned straitly, we answer before worse befalls us.”

“Good enough,” Bell said, pleased with her honesty. “If you do not offer information, I will be satisfied.” To Magdalene, he said, “You know where I will be. A message left with the dean will reach me. I doubt I will be able to come back to Oxford today. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, unless William sends me away from the city. In any case, I will leave word for you if I am not here.”

He bowed slightly and left. Florete stared at his back, then bent sideways so she could watch him cross the yard. When he seized the reins of the destrier and mounted, she turned back to Magdalene.

“I thought you swore you would never be any one man’s woman again.”

“And I have kept that oath. That Bell would like me to break it is neither here nor there. He is welcome in my bed only on the understanding that others will be welcomed there also.”

“Does he understand the honor bestowed upon him?” Florete asked, her eyes full of laughing mischief for a moment.

Magdalene laughed aloud. “Almost. He has even stopped flinching when I mention William.”

The mischief in Florete’s eyes was replaced by wariness. “The same William?”

“Yes, the same.”

For a moment Florete was silent, then she went to the door and across the yard into the street. She looked both ways. When she came back, she told the man at the table to call her only if necessary, beckoned to Magdalene and went to her bed. Having crept inside the curtains and gestured for Magdalene to join her, she said softly, “I cannot go out now. Business will begin to increase soon. This is the best I can do for privacy.”

“It is enough for now,” Magdalene assured her, speaking no louder than she had. “I have no great secrets to keep or to tell. I am indeed here at William’s behest, but I know no more than that. All his clerk told me was that he needed a safe house.” She sighed. “Naturally he asks that of me right in the middle of the greatest concourse of men to take place in years. Do you know of a small house that I could empty temporarily? My old house? I can pay.”

“What about here?” Florete asked.

“The cocking chambers are not large enough,” Magdalene said at once. “There are likely to be several men, and the curtain at the door does not give enough privacy.”

Florete repeated “Cocking chambers?” and looked surprised. “How could you think I would suggest a cocking chamber for
that
William’s purposes?” Then she shook her head and laughed shortly. “I forgot you were gone by the time I added the back chamber.”

Magdalene raised her brows and Florete shrugged and went on, “Well, you know we never used the garden. This is better than a stew but not like your house, where noblemen are cozened with talk, tidbits, and wine if a woman is not ready.” A note of bitterness had come into Florete’s voice.

Magdalene uttered a single bark of laughter. “And you are likely to make a powerful enemy if the entertainment is not sufficient or his lordship doesn’t like to be reminded that his sword is not the only one that dips into that sheath. Do not envy me too much.”

The tightness in Florete’s expression relaxed and she shrugged. “To each her own joys. But anyway that’s what I did with the garden. I built a room where a man could be really private—if he were willing to pay.” She shrugged again. “I learned from you that a whorehouse is a good place for meetings that should not be taking place. I get some of those. I get some wild parties. I also get men who desire to dress as women, who desire to be together rather than with a woman, who want several women who will permit unnatural acts, preferably all at once.” She sighed. “All kinds.”

Magdalene’s face lit with hope. “Oh, let me see. If the room is suitable and I can be assured that no one else will have it for the week I am here…”

They got out of the bed and Florete led the way to the back of the corridor. The heavy door was suitable to protect the back way into a house. However, instead of opening on a lane or a yard, the door opened into a long, narrow, but surprisingly pleasant room. To the left was a large bed with curtains looped back. Past them, Magdalene could see a small hearth in the corner and an open window, large enough to let in light and air but well barred against intrusion. The room had other windows, all barred, two in the back wall and another in the wall to the right. A second bed stood against the right-hand wall.

In addition to the beds, there was a chest under the window in the left wall, a single, high-backed chair with arms, and perhaps half a dozen stools arranged around the room. A tall candlestick with a thick, very white candle stood beside each bed, and brackets for torchettes were fixed to each wall. One could have, Magdalene could see, as much or as little light as one chose.

“How much?” Magdalene asked eagerly.

“A shilling a week,” Florete replied, then bit her lip as Magdalene merely looked surprised without answering. “I wish I could offer it for nothing or ask less, but—”

“Less?” Magdalene exclaimed, “But you are asking far too little already. You must make double that by renting the room by the day or night in ordinary times, and you could make double or triple
that
while the city is so crowded.”

Florete grimaced. “Yes, if I wanted a troop of men-at-arms in here. Can you imagine the havoc they would wreak with my women and my business? My boys are good boys, but they could not manage a troop of armed men. That is why the room is empty.” She seemed to hear what she had said and closed her eyes and sighed. “Sorry,” she muttered. “You can have it for nothing, Magdalene. I am growing so hard that even what I owe you grows dim in my mind.”

“And so it should,” Magdalene said, putting an arm around the woman. “You owe me nothing for a simple act of Christian charity. And even if there were a debt, it is not the kind that can be paid for in coin.”

“I
know
it.” Florete put her cheek against Magdalene’s hand, which lay on her shoulder. “It was my
life
you gave back to me when you picked me out of the gutter—”

“Perhaps,” Magdalene interrupted sharply, “but that has nothing to do with a fair rent for your room.” She gave Florete a brief hug and released her with a laugh. “Likely I will not be paying for it anyway. I am reasonably sure William will make good.” She looked around the room again. “Three shillings for a day and night is fair… Yes, I will give you a pound for the whole week. That would be more than your regular fee, but for this time it is not unreasonable.”

Florete blinked back tears. “You have not changed. You could have taken my offer and told your William that the price was a pound for the week. He would never have known—” She stopped, catching her breath a little at the horror on Magdalene’s face.

“Never! I would
never
tell William a lie, not a small one about money or a large one in which my life hung in the balance.” She shivered.

Florete stared at her then shook her head. “Your life must get very complicated if there are two men to whom you are pledged.”

“Why?” Magdalene laughed. “I never said I wouldn’t tell
Bell
a lie. I tell him what it is best for him to know.” She sobered. “And I do not tell William more than
he
needs to know either. I simply never tell him a lie.”

With the most urgent problem of lodging settled, Magdalene asked Florete for a messenger. She produced a reasonably clean, nice-looking boy of about twelve, left on her hands by one of the whores who had died. Diccon was a clever boy, she said, tousling his hair affectionately, and accustomed to carrying messages.

That seemed to be true enough, for he nodded at once when Magdalene told him Father Etienne’s description of the house in which most of William’s captains were lodged. “In the small
lane
that goes off the road around the castle,” he said. “The armorer’s shop or the mercer’s?”

“Oh that silly man,” Magdalene sighed. “He didn’t say, only that it was the largest house in the street.”

The boy grinned and nodded again. “That’ll be the armorer. Who gets this?”

“Lord William of Ypres, but I doubt he will be there. I believe he himself is lodged in the castle. Ask for Sir Niall Arvagh or Sir Giles de Milland. If not them…”

“Any knight in Lord William’s service?”

Diccon’s eyes were knowing. Service in the whorehouse had made him quick to recognize the difference between gentry, merchant, and peasant. He would not mistake a common man-at-arms for a belted knight. Magdalene nodded to his question, only cautioning him to make sure that Lord William’s men were still lodged in the armorer’s house or that Father Etienne had not made a mistake when he identified the place. Not that delivering the note to the wrong person would be a disaster. It said only, “I am lodged in the Soft Nest on Blue Boar Lane. Magdalene.”

She then told Diccon to wait for an answer but to leave at once if he were told there was no answer. And when he turned to go, she touched his shoulder and gave him a farthing. His slightly widened eyes and broad grin showed both surprise and pleasure with such largesse. Few of the women in the house would pay him; to their minds they had better uses for their money than paying for service from a boy who already got his food and lodging free, but a grateful and willing messenger might be valuable to Magdalene.

Her most pressing duty done, Magdalene began to settle into the Soft Nest. She arranged for the care of her horse and mule with one of Florete’s men, who told her the animals could be kept in a shed in the small overgrown space that was left of the garden behind the house. There was some grazing there, and he’d bring them water. He also offered to bring in her traveling basket and canvas carryall.

Magdalene noticed his eyes on her, fixed on her face at first and then traveling downward to take in her dress. He looked away, then back, and his mouth set in a dissatisfied line, showing he had marked her as beyond his touch. Still, hope springs eternal and he said he was very ready to do any service she requested. Magdalene thanked him, but to make perfectly clear that she would not, like many whores, trade sexual favors for work done, she gave him a penny, telling him to buy fodder for the animals, and to keep any amount that remained after the transaction.

He hesitated for just a moment, glancing sidelong at her unveiled face, then sighed, took the coin, and went out. A moment later she went to the common room to speak to Florete, who was presiding at the entrance. Magdalene wanted a table for her room so that William and whoever he was meeting could sit and talk. There was nothing like having one’s legs under a table to discourage men from leaping up and launching blows at each other.

That was easily arranged, but Magdalene was heartily annoyed when two men in the act of paying over their fees both immediately chose her and began to quarrel over who should have her first.