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and Magdalene said, “This is Father Etienne, who has come as William’s messenger. I will have to leave for Oxford the day after tomorrow—” She turned and said to the priest, “That will do, will it not?”
    The priest’s brows drew together. “Ah, how long will it take you to reach Oxford? A baggage train—”
    Magdalene shook her head. “I need no baggage train. I will ride and take a mule to carry what I need. If any of William’s men are going back, I could ride with them, or I could hire a man or two from the Watch to accompany me. In any case, if I leave on Saturday, I will be in Oxford either late on Sunday or early on Monday.”
    “You should not ride in late on Sunday. You will be sleeping in the street if you do, I am afraid.”
    “Oxford!” Diot exclaimed. “But are there no whores in Oxford that Lord William must—”
    “None like Mistress Magdalene,” Father Etienne said.
    Magdalene twitched her fingers, and Diot bit her lip, indicating she knew she had spoken amiss. Magdalene saw her glance uneasily at Father Etienne, but his eyes had moved toward the corridor, where Letice had scraped a slipper against the wall to draw attention. He shrugged his shoulders, taking in a totally different kind of near perfection. Letice’s skin was dark, her eyes nearly black, and her hair a smooth, shining curtain that hung to her knees and had something of the sheen of a crow’s feathers.
    She came forward, smiling, extending a hand, and although she made no sound, it was clear that Father Etienne felt her welcome. Magdalene smiled with satisfaction as she performed her introduction again. Letice could not speak but now she could read and write. She had made enormous strides in the two months since Magdalene had begun to teach her, her desperation to find an outlet to express herself changing the drudgery of lessons into a precious gift.
    As she watched Letice silently charm the priest, Magdalene dismissed her worries about how the Old Priory Guesthouse would function during her absence. Letice had worked in the place for a long time, and she had come as a volunteer. Despite her name, she was neither English nor Christian, she had communicated to Magdalene that in her culture whoring was an acceptable profession—not as honorable as being a wife, but not reviled. Letice had every reason to ensure the continued success of the Old Priory Guesthouse.
    Letice knew how the whorehouse worked; she knew most of the clients, she knew the prices. Father Etienne could do the accounts, but he would not know if there were subtle disruptions in the services provided or minor dissatisfactions among the clients that would make them resent the high prices Magdalene charged. Letice would know, and now she had a way to transmit even involved information. And since Diot could not read and write, she would never know that Letice was compiling a day-by-day account of what was happening.
     

Chapter 2
     
16 June,
Bishop of Winchester’s House
     
    About midmorning on Friday, Magdalene checked once more that her undertunic was tied in a chaste bow around the base of her throat, that her linen gown was unsoiled and not laced too tightly. The color was a soft blue-gray, suitable for a warm day and modest enough for a merchant’s wife’s everyday wear. She drew a light veil the same color as the gown over her hair and the lower part of her face, felt for the letter concealed in the pocket tied around her waist, and set out for the bishop of Winchester’s house.
    She had been there several times before, and when she was admitted, she did no more than glance around the large, stone-vaulted room. It looked even larger today because it was far emptier than on her previous visits. There were no writing stands near the windows set between several of the arches and only four men lounged on the benches at right angles to the stone hearth about midway in the room. The fire was banked to dull embers in this mild weather but never allowed