The Bishop's Tale

Chapter Thirteen

When Frevisse came into her aunt's bedchamber she found Matilda lying in bed desperately clinging toAlice's hands and Alice saying soothing things in a voice that toldshe had been saying them for a long awhile. Matilda's facewas ravaged with tears and hopeless crying. Frevisse went toher and laid a hand on her shaking shoulder under the covers. Still holding with one hand to Alice, Aunt Matilda reached theother to grasp Frevisse's wrist, sobbing brokenly, “I miss him somuch! I miss him so much!”

“I know, Aunt. I know. I do,too,” Frevisse said with aching sincerity, and without warning wascrying with her; huge, unbearable tears scalding down hercheeks.

Sire Philip joined her at the bedside. His voice warmer than Frevisse had ever heard it, and calm withdeep authority, he said, “My dear lady, you've made yourself illwith your grieving. You'll break your heart if you go on, andthink what your husband would say to see you like this.”

Matilda choked on a sob and with the ghost ofa smile trembling on her lips, said, “He… he would say… ‘N-now,Maude. Now, Maude.’”

“Exactly so. So imagine he's sayingthat to you and try to find the peace he would want you tohave.” He bent over her, not to give blessing but to tuck theembroidered cover more comfortingly under her chin. “You'reover-wearied and must stay in bed all this day. You've beentoo brave for too long and need your rest to regain your strength,just as Master Chaucer would want you to. If you wantanything, we'll joyfully do or bring it.” He glanced aroundthe room, eliciting a nod or faint murmur of agreement fromeveryone there. “You see? We love you, too, and wantyou well again. We've lost the head of our household; wecould not bear to lose its heart.”

Aunt Matilda sniffed tremulously and manageda watery smile. Tears still stood in her eyes but the rawedge of hysteria gone. She had let go of Frevisse's hand andwas holding Sire Philip's now.

He turned to one of the women holding agoblet at the foot of the bed. “Is that for my lady?”

“A sleeping potion, sir.”

She held it out and he took it. Alicelifted her mother on the pillows and, still holding her hand, SirePhilip gently held the goblet to Matilda's lips, waiting patientlywhile she drank it a sip at a time, until she had taken itall. Then he handed the goblet away and took her hand in bothof his.

“You'll stay with me?” she quavered. “Even while I sleep? You'll stay with me and pray? ForThomas?”

“And for you, my lady. I'll be herewhen you awaken,” he promised.

Worn out, she did not resist whatever hadbeen in the drink but soon slipped into a drowse, with tears stillon her cheeks. Even with the drug, it was a shallow sleep,pathetic in its fragility.

Frevisse had drawn back from the bed whileSire Philip tended to her aunt. Now, with everyone keepingvery still for fear of disturbing her aunt, and Sire Philip clearlyintending to stay there for as long as he had promised, she slippedsideways to the door and out. Silently, she edged the doorclosed but not latched behind her, whispered, “She sleeps but onlylightly,” to the pair of serving maids hovering in the outerchamber, and gave them no time to ask her anything else, but wentbriskly on.

Now, while for this once she could be sure ofwhere he was, she meant to look through Sire Philip's room.

If she had met anyone in the chapel'santechamber, she would simply have gone in, as if intent onprayers. But there was no one, and she went up the narrowstairs in soft-footed haste. Outside his door she paused torap sharply, lest his servant be there. No one called out,and she went in.

The bed had been made, the shutters set opento the pallid sunlight. The sparsely furnished room wasneatened to the point of being utterly impersonal. There wasno trace of yesterday’s chaos of emotion and desperation.

Frevisse crossed to the table. Shetouched her fingertips to its scrubbed top, where Sir Clement hadfallen forward, as if an answer might come to her by that. Nothing did. She looked around and saw the only closed placewas the aumbry, from where the bottle and goblet that had given SirClement his last drink had come. When she opened its doors,she was confronted by three neatly ordered shelves. Thebottle on the bottom one, beside two cups and a pewter plate wasnot yesterday's; this one's cork had not been pulled. Shetook up the nearest cup and found it unremarkable, of blue-glazedpottery, simple, undecorated, austere like the rest of theroom. Its fellow matched it. The plate might have comefrom a peasant's cottage.

On the middle shelf was a goldencasket. Even before she opened it, Frevisse knew that it mustcontain the essentials for the last sacrament. She crossedherself, took it down, and reverently opened it. Everythingappeared exactly as it ought to, with the tiny jars of chrism andholy water, a gilt Crucifix, a small wax candle, a pyx. Sheclosed the box and rubbed her fingers with her thumb, to remove anytrace of holy particles.

Feeling guilty for her intrusiveness, shereached among and behind the few pieces of folded clothing on theupper shelf for anything hastily put out of sight and foundnothing.

She went to the bed. The straw-filledmattress rustled at her prodding. She stooped to lookunderneath. There were only the ropes laced through a plainwooden frame, and his servant's narrower truckle bed. Carefuleven in her haste, she felt all through the coverings of SirePhilip's bed and then pulled out the servant's and did thesame. Finding nothing, she unmade them, to inspect themattresses. Neither showed any sign of having been cut openand sewn shut again and, hoping she did it identically to how theyhad been, she remade both beds.

She tried the prie dieu next, running herhands along its sides, and tilting the bench to look at itsunderside. As nearly as she could tell, there was nowhere fora hidden place in it. The cushion on its kneeler was firmlytacked down along all its edges and though she kneaded the cushionthoroughly with both hands she could detect nothing odd about itsstuffing.

The desk remained. Like the prie dieuit seemed to have no secret places, and the books were commonplaceones. A worn psalter, an Oculus Sacerdotis with acarved leather cover, the ubiquitous Lay FolksCatechism, from which Frevisse andnearly everyone she knew had been taught their prayers inchildhood, and a handsome copy of Stimulus Amoris, writtento stir the reader's love of God. Frevisse riffled throughthe pages of each one, finding the first three to be plain copiesof indifferent craftsmanship, heavily annotated in all theirmargins in firm, dark writing. The Stimulus Amoris wasanother matter. Its script had been done in a clear, steadyhand meant to make the words as lovely in their seeming as in theirmeaning; what notes there were, were lightly done, as if todistract from the beauty of the pages as little as might be. And it was illuminated as the other books were not, paintedthroughout with pictures in bright, exquisite detail, shining amongthe pages. Despite where she was, and why, Frevisse lingeredover it.

When she put it back at last and lookedaround the room, she could find nothing else to question. There was nothing here to suggest murder.

But why should there be? Sire Philiphad had all night to dispose of anything dangerous tohimself. A trip to the necessarium, a bottle, a packet, ascrew of paper dropped down the hole, and he was rid of evidencethat he had killed a man. But aside from that, it wasdifficult to imagine that he had had some sort of poison in hisroom at all. Why would he? On the chance he mightsomeday have occasion, desire, or chance to use it? If hewere indeed a man who kept poison to hand that purposefully, he wasfar different and more dangerous than he seemed.

Or had he had it to hand especially for SirClement? Knowing for weeks that Chaucer would die, and thatalmost surely Sir Clement would come to the funeral, had heprepared for the chance? But then how had he given him thepoison at the feast and again in the room? For surely it hadto have been a double dose of the same poison for the symptoms tobe the same?

She had the why Sire Philip might havedone it: Sir Clement was a threat to his advancement in theChurch. But the how eluded her. In the room,yes, there might have been chance, but in the hall Sire Philip hadbeen seated far down the table from Sir Clement and not come nearhim until after Sir Clement had been stricken.

Wait. Yes, he had.

He had gone to Sir Clement on the occasion ofSir Clement's outburst, had spoken with him with just before SirClement had called down God's judgment on himself. Had Sire Philipgoaded that from him? And if so, had there been a chance then toput something in his food? Frevisse shut her eyes, trying toremember the scene. He had come up behind Sir Clement, but shecould not recall that he had ever bent over the table or even comeclose to it. Dishes and drink had been well out of his easy reach;anything he might have done that way would have been obvious tosomeone.

Then had he had help? An accomplicefrom among other victims of Sir Clement's tormenting, willing toshare the risk and not likely to become a greater threat to SirePhilip than Sir Clement was? Who had been in a position to dowhat needed to be done at the table in the hall?

Jevan, of course, with access to every dishhe had served to his uncle there. He could have easilyintroduced poison to some dish before serving it. And Guy andLady Anne had both been there, in reach of the dishes after theywere served. It had been Guy who took the bottle and cup fromthe aumbry here in Sire Philip's room, before Sir Clement's finalattack. Had they planned that far ahead, to have poison tohand here if Sir Clement failed to die in the hall?

It would surely have been best if he had diedat the table, saving the peril of giving him more poison. That brought her back to the continuing question of how he couldhave been poisoned there and no one else affected. Unless…she had read somewhere that a poison taken in small doses longenough would be rendered harmless to the person taking it.

That was too complicated. Surely thatwas too complicated, involving too many people – Sire Philip, Guy,Anne, possibly Jevan – over too long a time. Unless she couldfind they were acquainted before now and had been in contact witheach other months ago.

Frevisse realized she had lingered adangerously long time in a room where she had no right to be. But belatedly she realized there was one last place to look, andbrought the stool from the table to stand on so she could see theaumbry's top. Nothing was there, not even an appreciableaccumulation of dust; Sire Philip's servant was thorough at hiswork.

Careful to replace the stool exactly, shewent to open the door enough to look out. There was no onethere, and she slipped out and down the stairs, stillthinking. It would be simplest if God had indeed struck SirClement in the hall, meaning to give an awful but not fatalwarning, and then a human hand had taken advantage of the moment topoison him in Sire Philip's room. Only Guy and Sire Philiphad handled the cup of wine. Guy had opened the bottle – andby its cork it had been opened before. Had there been chancefor someone else to put something into the cup as it went from theaumbry to Sir Clement's hand? She had not beenwatching. She did not remember. It was possible, thoughit would have been far easier to have put the poison in the bottlebeforehand. And it needn't have been Sire Philip, though itwas his bottle and his chamber. Anyone might have chosen his- or her – time and come in to do that, just as Frevisse had chosenhers. Though that carried the risk of someone other than SirClement being poisoned.

Who was desperate enough to do any ofthis?

Sire Philip who might have no better chanceto be rid of Sir Clement's threat. Lady Anne, who was in lovewith Guy but threatened with marriage to Sir Clement whom sheopenly detested, according to Robert. Guy, Sir Clement'sheir, wanting Lady Anne for himself, hating his uncle. JevanDey, tired of Sir Clement's insults and torments.

They had all been there. And thephysician, but he at least had no reason to want Sir Clementdead. Or no reason that Frevisse knew of, she amended.

She had reached the bottom of the stairs andwas crossing the antechamber to return to her aunt when the chapeldoor began to open behind her. Instantly, because it waseasier than having someone wonder why she had been up to SirePhilip's room, Frevisse swung around, to seem that she was justcoming toward the chapel.

Lady Anne, coming out, bent her head inslight, silent greeting, and would have gone past except Frevissesaid, “Please accept my sympathy on Sir Clement's death.”

The girl's face had been quiet, hersummer-blue eyes down after her glance at Frevisse. Now shelooked up, a corner of her cupid mouth slightly awry, as ifsomething amused her that she knew should not. “Thankyou.”

Frevisse asked, “Is Sire Philip in thechapel?”

“Sire Philip?” Lady Anne's puzzlementwas clear. “Who…?”

“The priest who was with Sir Clement at…the end, yesterday.” Frevisse dropped her voice and eyes asif not wishing to intrude on or add to Lady Anne's grief.

“Oh. I didn't know his name. No,I haven't seen him today.”

She walked on. Frevisse went with her,asking with seeming casualness, “Will you be leaving soon, as soonas…” She paused over the words, delicately short ofmentioning matters that might be distressing to the girl.

With no apparent distress, Lady Anne said,“As soon as the crowner says we may, yes.”

“And you'll take Sir Clement's body withyou?”

“Oh, no. Some of our people will followafter with it. With the cold, we'll ride on as fast as maybe.”

Frevisse said in a discreet tone, slightlychanging the subject, “He wasn't a well-liked man.”

“He was a hated man,” Lady Anne said withoutqualm. “By a great many people.”

“And now you'll be free to marry Guy, won'tyou?”

Lady Anne stopped to look at herwide-eyed. “How do you know that?”

Frevisse made a light gesture. “Peoplegossip and I can't always help hearing them.” More to seeLady Anne's response than because it was her own opinion, sheadded, “He seems a goodly young man.”

Lady Anne's smile brightened her eyes todazzling. “He is! Oh, indeed he is!” A littlemischievously, she asked, “Did the gossips also know we're to bemarried as soon as the banns have been cried?”

“They didn't know that, no.” Frevissefound the girl's smile infectious, and was glad Lady Anne's slenderbody precluded suspicion that desperate need more than desire wasbehind her eagerness to marry.

But such great love, long thwarted by SirClement as it had been, could have grown desperate for that reasonalone. Was Guy's desire for her as great as hers for him?

But Lady Anne was going on about his virtueswith all the certainty of youth that they would be enough to bringthem happiness. “He's handsome. Anyone can seethat. And brave. You should see him on the tourneyfield. And Sir Clement's heir. He'll have everythingnow that Sir Clement is dead. I think that's why Sir Clementhated him. Sir Clement never wanted anyone to have anythingof his. How disappointed he must be to find himself dead andeverything gone into Guy's hands.” She was clearly delightedwith the idea.

“I actually heard him call Guy murderousduring that quarrel in the great hall.”

“He was always saying things like that! Miserable man.”

“But Guy never fought him over it?”

Lady Anne's pretty face tightened into anexpression of deep disgust. “He never would. He said heowed Sir Clement duty as head of the family. But that wholebusiness of him trying to murder Sir Clement always made me soangry.”

“Guy tried to murder him?”

“No, of course not.” Lady Annelaughed. “Some time before I was his ward, for Christmas orMichaelmas or Lady Day or some such, Guy brought him marchpane fora gift. Sir Clement had a greedy tooth for sweets and shouldhave been well-pleased. Rude, as always, of course, butpleased. Instead he raged that Guy trying to poison him andeven threw the marchpane – all of it – on the floor!” Thewaste of so much sugar, butter, almonds, and whatever elsedelicious might have been in the expensive treat clearly appalledher.

“Why? Did the marchpane make himill?”

“He didn't even taste it! He justlooked at it and threw it on the floor! Afterwards he wasforever calling Guy a murderous whelp or something like, but Guynever heeded and neither did anyone else. Everyone knew whatSir Clement was like.”

“Then it was very good of you to have been inthe chapel praying for him.”

Lady Anne made the expression of amusedexasperation used by women indulging the man they love. “Guysays it will be best to show what courtesy we can toward him, nowthat we won't have to do it much longer. But I doubt prayerswill do Sir Clement any good, do you? I think he wentstraight to hell and there's the end of it.” They had reachedthe door to the series of rooms the women guests had shared; by nowLady Anne and her women would be nearly the only ones left. Lady Anne, letting Frevisse see she was ready to be done with hercompany, made her a pretty little curtsy and said, “If you willexcuse me, Dame.”

Frevisse bent her head in acceptance andfarewell, but before she could go her own way, Guy came from theroom as if in haste to somewhere else.

“Guy!” Lady Anne exclaimed, moving eagerlytoward him and holding out her hands to him.

He caught and kissed them, right andleft. “I came to see if you were back from prayers yet andyou weren't. Are you all right?”

Lady Anne made a face of distaste. “I've prayed all I can stomach for him and I'm not doing anymore. You didn't come. You said you would.”

“I said I might. I've been seeing towhat can be done so we can leave as soon as the crowner finisheswith us.”

“Has he come yet?”

“Not yet, but soon, I should think.”

“He shouldn't even be needed. Everyonesaw what happened. It was an act of God. The bishop'sword alone should be enough for it. Shouldn't it?” sheappealed to Frevisse.

“You would think so, but the law has its ownway about these things.” To Guy she added, “Lady Anne and Ihave been talking of your uncle.”

“My cousin,” Guy corrected politely. “Or rather my father's cousin and so mine once removed.”

“And the farther removed the better,” LadyAnne said.

She was holding on to Guy's arm now, ready togo away with him, but Frevisse continued her relentlessgossiping. “Lady Anne was telling me how he's kept a quarrelwith you these many years.”

“Oh, yes.” Guy smiled with rueful goodhumor. “The infamous marchpane.”

Jevan appeared behind him. “My lord,”he said.

Guy looked over his shoulder – toward but notdirectly at him – and said curtly, “Yes?”

“There's a question of what can be packed andwhat you'll want while you're still here.”

“You can't decide?”

“It would be better if you did.”

“I'll see to it,” Lady Anne said. “Ihave to ask my maid about something anyway.”

She kissed Guy's cheek lightly. BeyondGuy, Frevisse saw Jevan's face was bleak with a control that didnot quite hold before he stepped back with a bow to let Lady Annego past him.

Frevisse remembered something she had wantedto ask and said brightly, “Oh, Lady Anne – and you gentlemen, too -I was wondering – Master Broun who was with Sir Clement at hisdeath – God keep his soul – Master Broun was saying he saw the markof a hand on Sir Clement's face.” She lowered her voiceimpressively, much as the physician had done. “A red mark asif an inhumanly large hand had slapped him. I had to admit Ididn't see it, but I was wondering if you had? It would besuch a great wonder.”

Lady Anne said after a moment's hesitation,“Why, no, I never saw anything like that.”

“Nor I,” Jevan agreed.

“He was just all welts all over,” Guysaid. “Maybe it was on his other cheek than the one I saw,”he added helpfully.

“No, I saw both sides of his face,” Jevansaid. “There were only the welts, no pattern to them.”

“Oh. That's that then,” Guy said; andadded to Jevan, “Go on with Lady Anne.”

Jevan bowed, and as he followed her away,Frevisse asked Guy, “You'll keep him in your service?”

Guy shrugged. “For a time anyway. He's knowledgeable about Sir Clement's affairs so he'll be useful awhile.”

“And then?”

“He was Sir Clement's dog. I'll be ridof him as soon as may be. He can find employmentelsewhere.”

“But he didn't like Sir Clement any betterthan you do.”

“He served him nonetheless. And he hastoo much of his look. I don't want him around me.”

“Did Sir Clement make provision for him, orwill he have nothing when you let him go?”

The impertinence of her questions had begunto penetrate his absorption with his own affairs. Frowning,he said, “I've no idea.” And added, “If you'll excuse me, mylady.”