A Mortal Bane(9)

Almost as if he had heard her thought, the guest said he was glad to hear the country was at peace, because he had some traveling to do, and without asking directly, he drew from Sabina the information that King Stephen would likely be fixed at Nottingham for a little while. The king, Sabina added in explanation, was examining the treaty Queen Maud had made with King David of Scotland. Letice tapped her knife and spoon together and everyone except Sabina turned to look at her. She made a few gestures; Magdalene nodded.

“Someone told Letice that what is delaying the king’s confirmation of the treaty is the dissatisfaction of the barons of the north.”

“They are the most affected,” the man said, but his eyes were on Sabina’s hand as she walked her fingers over the table toward her cup.

Wondering if he were feigning lack of interest, Magdalene enlarged on the theme. ‘The barons do not like the terms, which might give the Scots some advantage if the treaty were to be broken, particularly because the truce arranged by the pope’s legate last November did not hold. But since Waleran de Meulan’s twin brother, Robert of Leicester, was involved with the queen in the making of the treaty, it is likely that Stephen will approve it anyway.”

The man shrugged. “It is the business of the English and the Scots,” he said, making his indifference clear. “What is of more interest to me is that Letice can say what she needs to say, even without a voice.”

“Sometimes,” Magdalene replied, “but only to those who know her well. I have been thinking about teaching her to read and write—”

[page]“Teaching her to read and write!” the man echoed, looking shocked. “What for? And who would teach a whore such things?”

So for all his courtesy, he has a churchman’s attitude toward women, Magdalene thought. “What for?” she repeated. “To ease her spirit. So when she is bursting with a thought and cannot find a way to say what is in her heart, she could write it. And who would teach her? I would.” She laughed aloud at his expression. “From whom did I learn? Why, of course, from a churchman who did not wish to pay me in coin. I have found it a useful skill.” Then she laughed again. “I am sorry that you cannot read him a lecture on the evil of teaching deep mysteries to such fallible creatures as women, and whores at that. He is some years dead, poor man. He kept his purse strings drawn tight, but I liked him anyway.”

“Because he did not think you weak and fallible?”

“No, because he knew what I was and found me no worse, if no better, than the rest of humankind.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I cannot complain that what he did would not much help to save your soul when I am here—which surely will not help to save mine.”

“That is easily amended,” Sabina said, faultlessly using her knife to spear right through the chunk of meat on the last piece of gravy-soaked bread. “If you are troubled, you have only to follow the path in the back garden to the gate in the church wall. It is just on a latch. You can go through, around the apse of the church, and into the north door. Cross in front of the altar to the south door, which leads into the monks’ quarters, and I think you will find a bell that will summon a priest.”

“How convenient,” the man said, his full lips twitching. “Is the offering expected as high as the price here?”

Magdalene shook her head. “I, who have been treated with forbearance, can ill afford such a jest. The prior of the monastery is a gentle man of tender conscience. He has never been here himself and I believe him of a perfectly pure life, but I imagine that he writhes with the pain he thinks such sinners must feel and wishes to provide relief. If bad conscience draws from those who sin among us a substantial offering, well, it is not exacted by the church.”