The Bishop's Tale

Chapter Two

Frevisse bent lower and rested her foreheadon the cold stone of the altar step, her clasped hands pressedagainst her breast, her knees aching beneath her. She hadbeen there since the end of Tierce, the mid-morning office. Soon it would be Sext, and the other nuns of St. Frideswide’sPriory would be returning. She would have to rise and takeher place with them in the choir, and she was not certain her kneeswould hold her when the time came to stand.

She sighed and straightened, raising her eyesto the lamp burning above the altar. Its oil was renewed bycaring hands every day, its small flame deeply cupped in the curveof red glass. It burned without wavering, simple and enduringamong the shadows and cold air eddies of the church, and life.

Frevisse shivered. She was latelycaught in a cold eddy of life and could not seem to escape it,despite all her prayers and penance. Half a year ago she hadmade choices and a final choice that had come because of them – andsince then had lived with what she had done, and found nopeace. There were people dead who might have been aliveexcept for her choices. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maximaculpa. By my fault, by my fault, by my most grievousfault.

As if in sympathy with her sorrow, the dayshad been gray and damp and chill under lowering skies for seeminglyas long as she could remember. It had been summer, a longtime ago, but there had been few warm days among the chill andwet. Then had come the rainy autumn, and what there had beenof harvest had rotted in the fields. Now, hardly passedMartinmas, late November in the year of God’s grace 1434, there wasnothing to look forward to but a famine winter and much dying, asif the world were a reflection of her soul.

Frevisse’s mouth drew down tightly at thethought. That was her self speaking, the worldly self she hadbeen so harshly purging all these months.

The prioress had understood her sickness ofheart. In the shifting of duties she had made at Midsummer,Domina Edith had ruled that Frevisse would cease to be hosteler,seeing to the priory’s guests and always in contact with mattersoutside the cloister. Instead, she was made novice mistress,her duties to oversee such novices as the priory had – which waspresently none, and none expected. In place of them, she wasset to copying in her fine hand any books the prioress had promisedto someone or had borrowed for the priory – which in the monthssince Midsummer had been one.

Frevisse had been grateful for this lesseningof outward responsibility, had understood that Domina Edith hadgiven it to her so she would have chance to mend her sins andinward hurt. And she had tried. But there was still nojoy or even simple pleasure in anything she did or prayed. And that was another sin, the deadly one of accidie. God forgave all sins repented of, but one’s heart had to be open toreceive the forgiveness.

The cloister bell began to clang flatly,telling it was time for Sext. Wearily, Frevisse crossedherself and rose painfully to her feet. The offices, seventimes each day, from midnight through to bed again, were hercomfort and refuge. She almost always could forget herself intheir complex beauties of interwoven psalms and prayers, and find amomentary promise that this dryness of her heart and spirit wouldnot last forever.

But it was not ended yet. Weary ofherself, she went the little way beyond the altar to her place inthe choir, knelt there and waited, her head bowed.

Quietly in their soft-soled shoes, with onlya rustle of skirts, the other nuns came from whatever tasks theyhad been doing through the priory. St. Frideswide’s was asmall Benedictine house; there were only ten nuns and theirprioress. Frevisse could identify them all by theirfootfalls. Sister Thomasine first, her light, hurried stepsreflecting her eagerness. To serve as a nun had been her onlydesire since girlhood, and, still hardly more than a girl, shecherished it with her whole heart. It had been a shock to herwhen Domina Edith had appointed her infirmarian in place of DameClaire. And a shock to Dame Claire, who had been taken fromher beloved herbs and potions and tending to the sick to becomecellarer and kitchener, supervising the priory’s lay workers,storerooms, and kitchen. Dame Claire’s firm, even footstepsfollowed Sister Thomasine’s, with a mingling of two others closebehind her – Sisters Emma and Juliana, neither hurried nor lagging,simply tending to another of the tasks of a nun. Behind them,with no mistaking her heavy tread, came Dame Alys. She hadtaken her loss of authority as cellarer with ill grace, and made adiscontented sacrist. After her, by a goodly while, rushedSister Amicia, nearly late as usual.

Domina Edith did not enter until SisterAmicia was in her place. The prioress’ dignity required shenot be part of the crush and bustle of her nuns. But she wasonly waiting, and entered as soon as Sister Amicia had settledbreathlessly into her stall. Dame Perpetua and Sister Lucywere on her either side, hands on her elbows to steady and supporther as she shuffled to her place in her own elaborately carvedchoir stall. Domina Edith was very old, and last winter’sdeep cold had dealt harshly with her. She had survived aheavy rheum in her chest but not recovered her strength. Frevisse, risen to her feet with the others, watched her slowcoming and painful easing down into her seat with concern. Domina Edith had been prioress since the year Henry of Lancasterhad made himself King Henry IV; Frevisse could not and did not wantto imagine St. Frideswide’s without her.

Sext was a brief service. Frevisserefuged in it as deeply as she could for its little while, and atits end prayed with especial longing, “Domine, exaudi orationemmeum, et clamor meus ad te veniat.” Lord, hear my prayer,and let my cry come to you.

The prayer faded to the church’ssilence. For a moment there was no stir or whisper, only asilence heavy with the holy weight of the many prayers offered inthis place. Then Domina Edith leaned forward, and DamePerpetua and Sister Lucy came quickly to help her to herfeet. The others rose respectfully, holding their placesuntil she was gone before going their own ways, brisk now to beabout their other duties. As they left, Frevisse slid forwardonto her kneeler again, returning to the words of Sext’s openinghymn. Rector potens, verax Deus… Confer salutem corporumveramque pacem cordium… Lord of might, God of truth… Givethe body health and true peace to the heart…

The health she asked for Domina Edith. Let her live, if it be your will. But for herself, peace tothe heart, pacem cordium, peace…

A touch on her shoulder brought herback. A little dazed, Frevisse raised her head to find DamePerpetua leaning over the choir stall in front of her to reachher.

It was difficult to judge each other’s agesin St. Frideswide’s, enveloped as they all were in the loose-fittedlayers of the black Benedictine habit, only their faces showing inthe surround of white wimples and black veils, with even then verylittle of their foreheads and nothing below the chin. ButFrevisse guessed that Dame Perpetua was perhaps ten years olderthan herself, and so somewhere in her forties. She was acompactly built woman with a kind face and firm manner. Now,bound by the rule of silence, she smiled at Frevisse and made thehand gesture that meant the prioress, and another that askedFrevisse to come with her.

The prioress’ parlor overlooked the inneryard and the guesthalls that flanked its gateway through three tallwindows above a window seat made comfortable with brightlyembroidered cushions. Because the prioress’ duties includedreceiving the occasional important visitors and conducting businessthat could not be dealt with in the general chapter meetings, herquarters offered more comfort than the rest of the nunnery. There was a large, carved table covered by a woven Spanishtapestry, two chairs, and a fireplace, its flames crackling along alog to ward off the chill of this gray morning.

Domina Edith’s own high-backed chair had beenmoved close to the hearth, and she sat there, wrapped in thefur-lined cloak she wore only upon the insistence of theinfirmarian. It was drawn up to her chin and she was sunkdown into it, smaller, it seemed to Frevisse, with each passingmonth. Just now, she might have been dozing, her chin deepinto the folds of her wimple; but if she was, it was the lightsleep of the aged. She lifted her head at Frevisse’sentering, her faded eyes alert under the wrinkled lids.

“Dame Frevisse,” she said, and Frevissecurtsied to her. “Sit.” She gestured to the stoolacross the hearth from her.

Frevisse sat and was immediately aware of thefire’s warmth on her cheeks. Her urge was to hold her handsout to it, too, but they were tucked decently up her sleeves, outof sight; it would be a luxury to bring them out.

“There is a letter come for you.” Domina Edith nodded at Dame Perpetua, who had waited beside thetable and now came forward with a folded, sealed piece of parchmentin her hand.

Frevisse had supposed Domina Edith wished tosee her about some failure in her duties or to warn her against somuch time spent alone in the church. Changing her attentionto the letter, she took it, not recognizing the handwriting on itsoutside that directed it to Dame Frevisse Barrett, St. Frideswide’sPriory, near Banbury, Oxfordshire.

“I fear it is bad news,” Domina Edith saidsoftly.

As she said it, Frevisse turned the letterover and recognized her uncle Thomas Chaucer’s seal imprint in thewax. But if it was his letter, then why had someone elsewritten the address? That had never been his waybefore. Her hands beginning to tremble, because she knew hehad been ill, Frevisse freed the seal and unfolded the letter, tofind it was indeed written in her uncle’s familiar hand.

“To my well-beloved niece, may this find youin health, I greet you well, with God’s blessing and mine. Iam dying-”

Frevisse drew her breath in sharply. All of her tightened with pain, and she fought to keep herselfsteady. The letter was brief and completely to the point,without any trace of his usual dry wit.

“The disease that we hoped would draw off hasindeed proved fatal after all. I would see you one more time,if God grants it and your good prioress allows yourjourney…” Frevisse’s tears fell down on the parchment,blotting the ink. With a harsh hand, she drove others fromher eyes and read on. “If not, know I hold you dear and willremember you in heaven. Your uncle, Thomas Chaucer.”

Already blind again with tears, Frevisse heldthe letter out to Domina Edith, it being the prioress’ right andduty – and in this case, necessity – to read whatever came to hernuns. She waited, hands pressed to her face to control hercrying, until Domina Edith said with kindness, “You will leavewithin the hour. May God bring you to him in time.”