The Bishop's Tale

Chapter Eight

After the first moment of shock, the hallseethed into chaos, with some shouting, a few screams, and muchexclaiming. People rose to their feet, some trying to pullfarther away from Sir Clement, others crowding toward him. Afew climbed onto benches, craning for a chance to see, andfragments of prayers rose among the exclamations, inquiries, andfrenzied chatter. Sir Clement was blocked from Frevisse'sview, but like the abbot she kept her seat, knowing futility whenshe saw it; even with the added height the dais gave to the hightable, she would see nothing if she stood. There was nothingshe could do at this distance and no way to get through the turmoilto Sir Clement. But she crossed herself and began a ferventprayer for him, because he was clearly in God's hand now and forhim especially that must be a terrifying place. Very rarelywas God's judgment seen so clearly, swift and sure, in thisworld. With that fear on her, she added a prayer ofacceptance of his will, because God forbid she contradict him inhis judgment, lest in another way she be as guilty as SirClement.

Beside her, she noticed, the abbot wasdeep into passionate prayer of his own.

Down the hall some sort of order was beingforced. People shifted back so that a few men – mostlyservants, but Sire Philip among them – could help Sir Clement tohis feet and away from the table. He was bent far over, stillstrangling for breath, his fists pressed hard against hischest. Crying “Make way!” the men holding him up half led,half carried him from the hall. A momentary silence followedthem, but when they were gone the babble of wonder and alarm beganto rise again.

Bishop Beaufort rose in his place to hisfull, impressive height and, with his hands held wide to includeeveryone in front of him, declared in his strong voice, “Goodpeople! We've seen a wonder here with our own eyes. MayGod, having made his will manifest, have mercy on this man. Let us pray for him. And for ourselves, who may be as nearand unknowing as Sir Clement was to God's great judgment. Return to your places, I bid you. Sit, that we may pray.”

He was so completely sure of their obediencethat – scared or awed or wary – people complied, the guestssubsiding onto their benches, the servers to their places neartheir lords or along the screen to the kitchen. The gap whereSir Clement, his ward, and nephew had sat remained eloquentlyempty; people glanced at it and nervously away, or kept their eyesaverted entirely.

Bishop Beaufort waited until the hall wasstill and all their eyes on him. Then he brought his handstogether, said, “Oremus,” and bent his head. Everyhead in the hall bent with him, and in a voice that carried allthrough the hall, meant to reach everyone as well as God, he said,“Lord of power and might, may we – dust in your wind – learn not totempt your wrath. If it be your will, spare Sir ClementSharpe, that he may be a better servant in your sight to the end ofhis appointed days, if these be not they. Sed fiatvoluntas tua. And may we all come to the ends you haveappointed and find your mercy at the last, through Christ our lord,who lives and reigns forever. Amen.”

He lifted his head and said in a more commonvoice, “Now let us remember that we came to honor our friend ThomasChaucer and go on with this meal in remembrance of him, may he restin God.”

A murmurous response ran through thehall. Hands moved, making the cross from head to breast, leftshoulder to right. Some heads remained briefly lowered inpersonal prayers. Much subdued and in deep order, the mealcontinued. Bishop Beaufort sat down and turned to comfortMatilda, pale and shaken beside him.

Frevisse gave up anything more than thepretense of eating, and with her headache did not dare drink morewine. Robert did not return, and the abbot made no moreeffort at conversation. Left to her thoughts, she did notlike their morbid turn; God so directly manifest against someonewho had tried his patience past endurance was not a comfortingsight. She took her mind away from it, sheltering in watchingother people down the hall.

Two servers were clearing away the dishesfrom Sir Clement's place. One righted a goblet and dropped atowel over a wide wine stain.

Farther down the tables, Sister Perpetua hadstopped eating and, very white faced, sat with bowed head, lipsmoving in silent prayer. The nun sitting beside her wasweeping and telling her beads. Sire Philip had not returnedand a large woman had shifted sideways to take advantage of hisvacated place.

The next course, of roast pork on a bed ofsaffron rice with apricots and mushrooms, was just being set infront of her and the abbot, when her aunt's lady-in-waiting Joanleaned over her shoulder and said low in her ear, “My lady andCountess Alice ask if you would mind going to see how Sir Clementdoes, and return to tell them.”

“Assuredly,” Frevisse said. She couldleave the table with less disruption than anyone else, shesupposed, and her report would probably be more detailed than aservant's.

Aside from those considerations, she welcomedan excuse to leave the hall. She rose and asked, “How is itwith my aunt?”

Joan shook her head and made smalltch-tch-tch sounds. “She's being very brave, despite thefright that fool gave us all. She'll see the day through wellenough, but there'll be payment tonight and afterwards, poorlady. Valerian would help her rest if she'd take it, but shealways refuses. You might speak to her about that, my lady,if you would.”

“I will,” Frevisse said as Joan curtseyed andreturned to her mistress. With a murmur of apology to theabbot, Frevisse excused herself, leaving the hall by a door behindthe dais. She stopped a servant in the corridor who said thatSir Clement had been taken to the priest's room above thechapel.

Among the benefits of being priest in ahousehold as large and rich as Thomas Chaucer's was a private roomfor sleep and prayer and study. It was a sensible place tohave taken Sir Clement; it would not inconvenience any of thefamily, was well out of the way of other guests, and could beeasily closed to the curious.

The narrow, dark, steep stairway to it wentup from the chapel's antechamber and opened directly into thepriest's room. It was the size of the chapel directly belowit but austere, with everything in it, even the cross above theprie dieu against one wall, plain or old or both. There wasan aumbry along one wall for storage, a bare wooden table, a singlechair, one joint stool. A narrow bed was along a wall, with aservant's truckle bed under it and gray woolen blankets onit. Only the rug underfoot gave the room any color, and itwas obviously a cast-off from some other part of the house, itspatterns faded and muddled with wear.

This barrenness was not Chaucer's provisionfor his priest. Frevisse remembered coming to make confessionhere when she lived at Ewelme. There had been a colorfulhanging, a gaudily painted Crucifix, and a far bigger bed with abright coverlet. This austerity must be Sire Philip's choice,but she noticed that the one fine piece of furniture was a talldesk, set to catch the best light from one of the two narrowwindows, and the only sign of wealth were the books on the shelvesbehind the desk's footrest. It was a scholar's desk, meantand used for work, and had, in contrast to all else in the room, acompletely superfluous and beautiful fretwork of wood deeply carvedand swirled between its legs.

Frevisse absorbed all that in the firstmoment she reached the doorway, then focused on Sir Clement. He was not lying on the bed but seated at the table, leaningforward over it, his hands braced on its edge and all hisconcentration given to his breathing, which was clearly easier thanit had been when he was taken from the hall. Near the furtherwindow were Guy and Lady Anne, he standing rigidly, she close tohim, one hand on his arm, the other pressed to the base of herthroat as if to hold down her fear. Jevan Dey stood near thembut apart and alone, nervously rubbing his hand on his thigh.

Sire Philip was beside the table, and behindhim a plainly dressed man Frevisse took to be his servant waitedalertly. Directly opposite Sir Clement, a physician – tojudge by the cut of his dark gown – was bent down to starebroodingly into his face, concentrating on Sir Clement as ifconcern alone might be enough to cure him.

Suddenly Sir Clement shoved himself uprightto draw a deep, wheezing breath. The physician and everyoneelse started. Frevisse smothered a gasp. The man'snormally lean features were not only bloated, but viciouslypatterned with irregular red welts across his cheeks and down intothe opened collar of his houppelande.

But in a voice still recognizablyill-tempered, though thickened, Sir Clement demanded, “Adrink. Even water. Something.”

The physician looked at Sire Philip andnodded, and the priest gestured at his servant who moved toward theaumbry as Guy turned to look in its half-open door, then reached totake out a long-necked bottle.

“That one, yes,” Sire Philip said. “Andthe cup, too.”

Looking annoyed at Guy's intervening in hisduties, the servant brought out a pottery cup while Guy pulled atthe bottle's loosened cork.

Sir Clement, his breathing still ragged,glared at the physician, then shifted his gaze past him to Guy andLady Anne. “Not yet,” he grated. “You won't have heryet.” Lady Anne's hand tightened on Guy's arm, holding himback from a harsh move forward. Sir Clement looked at Jevan;his mouth quirked cruelly. “Live in hope and die in despair,boy. I'm still here.”

Jevan's eyes darkened with deep anger. Lady Anne shook her head, warning him to keep back whatever he wasabout to do or say. Whether for that, or out of his longhabit of control, he held silent and still. But the angerremained in his eyes.

“Here.” Sire Philip took the filled cupfrom Guy and made to offer it to Sir Clement.

But Clement made an inarticulate noise andbegan to fumble franticly at the wide cuff of his houppelande'slong sleeve, loosening it and then pushing it as far up as it wouldgo, to let him come at the red rash covering his arm. “Hell'sfire! I'm being spared none of it!” He began clawinghis fingernails at the rash. The physician put out his handto stay him. Sir Clement left off scratching longenough to shove him in the chest, forcing him back a pace,growling, “Leave me be!” Then he seized the cup from SirePhilip, snapping, “Give me that!”

He drank all the wine down in clumsy gulps,flung the cup at the table, and began to dig at his arm again.

From a safer distance the physician said,“You should try to lie down now, my lord. To rest. I…”

“Ass! I can't… breathe… lyingdown.” Sir Clement's breath caught and fought among thewords. He struggled and it broke loose with a snoring sound.He wheezed a few deep breaths to catch up his air and sat with hishead cast back, eyes shut. A thin rivulet of drool ranunheeded out of the corner of his mouth. Around him, everyonestood motionless, eyes fixed on him.

After a few moments, when nothing changed,the physician said in a whisper, as if that would keep Sir Clementfrom hearing him, “He's better than when he came from thehall. There's that for hope.”

“But you don't know what it is?” Sire Philipasked.

The physician cast him a dark glance. “It's not like anything I've seen, no.” In a lower whisper,almost between his teeth, he added, “It wouldn't be, wouldit?” Because who among them had seen God strike down asinning man before?

Sir Clement reared his whole body back in hischair in a sudden terrible struggle for air again. His upperlip had shaded to blue; his eyes were staring with panic at nothing- or at nothing anyone else in the room could see in front ofhim. Then, with his fists clenched and his forearms pressedagainst his ribs as if to force air out, he lurched forward to leanacross the table in much the same way he had in the hall when thefirst attack came on him.

The physician and Sire Philip and the servantclosed on him as if there were something they could do. Jevan, grabbing the wine bottle from Guy's hand, came to snatch thecup from the table and fill it. Belatedly Guy followed butonly a few steps, keeping his distance from his uncle. LadyAnne stayed where she was, her hands pressed over her mouth,looking more a child than ever in her wide-eyed fear.

Sire Philip drew back a step now and made thesign of the cross over Sir Clement, large enough to include hisservant and Jevan and the physician all together. Thephysician gestured Jevan's cup away. He was trying uselesslyto straighten Sir Clement to see him better. Sire Philipcrossed himself and began to pray in Latin.

Frevisse and everyone else there crossedthemselves in response.

How long Sir Clement's struggle to breathewent on Frevisse could not have said. Forever. And notlong. The tortured gasping turned to a high wheezing and thengutteral choking. Frevisse, raising her head bowed as sheprayed aloud for mercy, for pity, saw Sire Philip turn from thetable to the aumbry. He was still praying, too, his lipsmoving silently now while his hands did something out of hersight. Then he turned back to the table with a glass vial anda piece of bread in his hands, and Frevisse realized what he heldand what he was going to do and sank to her knees.

Pushing Jevan and the physician aside, hebent over Sir Clement and said loudly at him, “Do you repent? Do you ask for the body of your Savior and repent of all yoursins?”

Belatedly everyone else in the room saw andknelt, even the physician though he was last, resisting the endthat had to come.

Sir Clement's body shuddered with thestruggle for breath, but Frevisse was able to see his now-desperatenod to the question that could mean his soul'ssalvation. Sire Philip forced the small bit of breadinto his mouth, poured oil – the blessed chrism – from the vialonto his own fingers and drew a cross on Sir Clement's reddened,swollen, shuddering forehead. His eyes staring and mouthagape with the uneaten bread in it, Sir Clement fixed his gaze onSire Philip who stayed bent over him, face close to face, prayingat him until Sir Clement's head fell back, his mouth now workingsoundlessly, his eyes suddenly fixed on the ceiling for an ugly,drawn-out moment before they went sightless and he slumped in thechair, still staring upward but his eyes empty now of anythingalive.

Then Sire Philip said, “In manus tuas,Domine, commendo spiritum eum.” Into your hands, O Lord,I commend his spirit. The hoped-for last words of everyChristian that Sir Clement had not been able to say forhimself.