The Bishop's Tale

Chapter Fourteen

Very few of the other guests were to beinconvenienced by the crowner’s coming. Only those who hadbeen nearest Sir Clement at the feast supposed they had to stay,but they were precisely the people Frevisse wanted to talk with,and since the morning was worn away well toward ten o’clock anddinnertime, she guessed they could be found in the hall, a warm andconvenient gathering place.

They were there: A lady and five men, threeof them booted and cloaked for travel, standing at one end of thedais, out of the way since the servants were busy setting up thetables only in the lower part of the hall, in token that the familywould not be dining here this midday. With a touch of dismay,Frevisse realized she did not know any of them by name; but as amember of the family she had reason to approach them, to ask aftertheir well-being, and join politely in their conversation. She and the lady exchanged slight curtsies; the men removed theirhats and bowed to her; she bent her head to them. Their talkhad broken off at her coming. To set it going again she said,“I hope you’ve been made comfortable. If there’s anything youneed…“ Her gesture indicated it was theirs to ask for.

“We’re doing very well, thank you, mydear,” the lady said. She was middle-aged, wide, andcomfortably matter-of-fact. “How does poor Matilda?”

“Very poorly at present, I fear. It’sall been too much for her, with Uncle Thomas’ death and everythingshe’s had to deal with and then that dreadful trouble at thefuneral feast.”

“Bad business,” one of the cloaked men said,shaking his head. “Bad business all around. Not a goodway to go, and a pity it had to happen here.”

“It was bound to happen somewhere. He’dasked for it over and over,” one of the others said. He gavea knowing wink. “Is there any of us who haven’t heard himbluster for God’s judgment a score of times at the least?”

“I thought he’d done it less often of late,”said one of the men not dressed for travel. “The times I’vebeen with him this past year or so, he seemed less given toit.”

“Not that you spent anymore time in hiscompany than you could help! St. Roche, but that man was aplague to everyone around him.” The cloaked man shook hishead with a bitter grin of remembrance, then bethought himself andadded, “God keep his soul.”

“The devil more likely. But there’s nodenying his sheep had some of the best wool this part ofOxfordshire.”

“That’s young Jevan’s doing, not oldClement’s. Old Clement wasted his brains in looking forquarrels, but that youngling knows what he’s about with sheep.”

The talk veered off to wool and overseasprices, confirming Frevisse’s thought that the men ready to leavewere likely merchants. The other two, because they had sat attable near Sir Clement, must be knights, and one of them did notjoin in the general talk but stood gravely a little behind the ladywho, though probably his wife, was taking knowledgeable part in thewool talk. Frevisse eased toward him and said aside from theflow of the conversation, “You were seated near to Sir Clement atthe feast, I think?”

The man was tall, with a soft voice. “Ihad that misfortune, yes. Next to the young lady.”

“Sir Clement quarreled with you during thefeast, didn’t he?”

“Over a matter of grazing rights that wassettled in court three years ago, but since legality never matteredto him, he brought it up whenever we had the ill-fortune tomeet. Like Jack says-” He nodded at the merchant whohad claimed to see a mellowing in Sir Clement of late. “-he’dlost some of his edge at making new quarrels, but he could stillhold to his old ones well enough.”

“So he hadn’t truly changed his ways?”

The man gave a faint, mild smile. “He’dmaybe worn out his fondness for saying ‘May God strike me down’ sooften, but he could still make life a hell for anyone in hisreach.”

“Still, Ralph, he’d given up fisting anyonein the face who displeased him,” put in the other man knight. He had sat next to Guy at the feast, Frevisse suddenlyremembered. “I’d noticed that of late.”

“Ah, that’s because he was growing too oldfor it, Sir Edward,” Sir Ralph’s lady said.

“Maybe it finally came to him that someonewould fist him back someday if he went on the way he was,” theshorter and rounder of the merchants said.

“Someone should have, and a long timeago.”

There were noddings and general agreement tothat. They were plainly enjoying the chance to cut at SirClement now that it was safe to do so.

“He made that poor girl’s life none tooeasy,” Sir Ralph’s lady said. Then she added mostly under herbreath, “And now she’ll do the same for Guy, I’d guess.” Sheand Frevisse exchanged private smiles, understanding that daintyLady Anne had a will of her own.

The men began talking of Guy’s goodfortune. Now that Sir Clement was out of his way, he wasexpected to do well.

“He’s a solid enough fellow, with none of thecrotchets that family seems to carry like other folks pass on brownhair,” the short merchant said. “But the day isn’t going tobetter for our staying here and we ought to be on our way. Weonly stayed to talk with you this while longer, and now wehave.”

He embraced the lady, dropped a casual kissin the vicinity of her cheek and said, “You take care,Eleanor. No rheums this year, you hear?’

“And the same to you, brother,” shereturned. “We’ll expect you at Christmas if you know what’sgood for you.”

There were handshakes and bows all around,and the three merchants left the hall in a bustle of cloaks andservants.

“Ah, now, I’ll miss him,” Lady Eleanor saidwistfully.

Her husband took her by the arm and drew herclose. “Christmas isn’t so far off,” he saidcomfortingly.

“If the weather doesn’t have us all pent uplike badgers by then,” Sir Edward said. “All the signs saythis will be a bitter year.”

“It’s been bitter enough for Sir Clementalready,” Frevisse said. The three of them would leave to sitto dinner soon, and there were still things she wanted to ask thembefore then, so she returned directly to Sir Clement. “I’llbe asked endless questions when I return to St. Frideswide’s, but Iwas so far away from what happened. You were all beside himat the feast. What especially did you see?”

The three looked at each other. SirEdward shrugged as if he could think of nothing special, and LadyEleanor answered more fully, “Why, nothing in particular. SirClement was simply being offensive, as always, and I faced awayfrom him as much as might be, talking to the lady on my otherside. Until he quarreled with my lord.” She smiledsympathetically up at her husband. “And not very long afterthat he began to make strange sounds. That wasterrifying, let me tell you!”

“I thought he’d choked on something atfirst,” Sir Ralph said.

“There wasn’t any warning? He justbegan to choke?” Frevisse asked. She did not know what shewas trying to learn, but if she kept asking questions, someonemight say something that mattered.

Sir Ralph shook his head. “After hisoutburst at me – and mine at him, I lost some of my temper, too,”he admitted to his wife’s knowing prod at his ribs, “we all set toeating again. He snapped at a server for not refilling hiswine fast enough, but that was all.”

“Jevan was waiting on him then?”

“Not with the wine,” Sir Edward said. “That was all from the household servers, moving in front of thetables, you know, and keeping an eye on everyone. They didwell. Your aunt’s to be complimented on her people.”

“But lightning itself wouldn’t move fastenough for Sir Clement,” Lady Eleanor said.

They agreed on that, and went on chattinguntil dinner was called. Then Frevisse assured them her auntwas most sorry for the inconvenience to them, and received theirassurances that they held no one responsible for the trouble -except Sir Clement who continued to be a trial even in death, theyagreed – and they all parted in mutual goodwill.

Dame Perpetua was still in Chaucer’s library,huddled down on a stool in front of one of the aumbries with anopen book on her lap, too intent on it to notice Frevisse’sarrival. Across the room Master Lionel, scrutinizing aselection of documents laid out along the window seat, did notacknowledge her, either. Amused, Frevisse slipped across theroom to lay a hand on Dame Perpetua’s shoulder.

The other nun twitched her head a little andsaid, “Mmmm?” without looking up.

“Is it a good book?” Frevisse asked.

“Mmmm.” Dame Perpetua drew herattention reluctantly away to blink up at her, decided she wasreally there, and said enthusiastically, “It’s Mandeville’sTravels! I haven’t read it since I was a girl. Iloved it then. All those wonders-“

Knowing how long Dame Perpetua could go onabout a book, Frevisse asked, “Did you find anything useful to ourproblem?”

Dame Perpetua’s face blanked; then shebrightened. “Indeed I did! Here.” She setMandeville aside and took up one of the volumes lying besideher. “Your uncle was wonderful. There are books hereabout everything. I could stay forever. This one is aMateria Medica, with a whole part just about poisons andtheir effects.”

Frevisse took it. “How did you manageto find it? And so quickly?”

“I asked Master Lionel,” Dame Perpetua saidwith the simplicity of the obvious. She lowered hervoice. “He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, but he knows whereeverything is. I asked about poisons and he showed me thisone right away.”

“Does it have what we need?”

Dame Perpetua looked abashed. “Idecided to let you see for yourself if it’s any help, whileI…” She lovingly touched the book in her lap.

Frevisse knew she had been no better herselfwith the Gawain book earlier that morning. She smiled andsaid, “I’ll look through it. You go on.”

The book was everything Dame Perpetua hadsaid it was. A little skimming of the pages brought her tothe part about poisons, just after a treatise on the diagnosing ofhumours according to the planets. She sat on the chair atSire Philip’s desk, laid open the book, and began to read. Her Latin was imperfect, but unlike literature, this was mostlystraightforward text and she could follow its gist,translating the fragments that were pertinent to thequestion: Was there a poison whose symptoms matched SirClement’s fatal ones?

The list ranged from commonly known poisonsfound in any English woodland or roadside to ones difficult toobtain except from merchants with very particular contactsabroad. It seemed very complete.

And none of the poisons listed createdsymptoms that at all matched Sir Clement’s.

There were ones signified by difficultybreathing but not the swollen, strangled closing of the throat Dr.Broun had described. There were vomitings of differentquality and color, and sometimes fits or mania; but Sir Clement hadbeen quite clear in his mind and not given any sign of being evensick to his stomach, let alone vomiting. As fordiscolorations of the body, particularly of extremities, there wereno suggestions of his general blotching of itching welts on faceand arms.

If Sir Clement had been poisoned, it was notwith any poison described in what seemed to be a most scrupulouslythorough book.

Dame Perpetua had been paying closer heedthat Frevisse had thought. She said from across the room, “Itdoesn’t have what you want?”

“No.”

“Then perhaps Bishop Beaufort is wrong. Perhaps it was God’s hand against Sir Clement.”

“No.”

Dame Perpetua made no effort to hide hersurprise. “You don’t think so anymore?”

“I’m not sure anymore. Not theway we were sure when it happened. I want to ask morequestions. Will you look for another book on poisons? There might well be another here.”

“If you think it’s needed, certainly.” Dame Perpetua put down the Mandeville.

Frevisse had noted that Master Lionel,ceasing to shuffle among his papers while she talked, had beenstanding still with his head partly turned to listen. Now shesaid directly to him, “Will you help Dame Perpetua with this,Master Lionel?”

The old clerk’s head snapped away and hishands began to move busily among his papers. But he made asound that might have been agreement, and Dame Perpetua smiled andnodded in confirmation.

Satisfied that between them they would do farmore than she could, Frevisse left them to it.

She went next to Aunt Matilda’schamber. Her aunt lay sleeping, her plump body under thecovers, her ravaged face looking vulnerable. Her daughter hadsent for her sewing and was sitting comfortably on a cushion underthe window, coloring a rose pink with silk thread. She lookedup when Frevisse entered and put a long finger in front of herpursed lips. Frevisse nodded and went to peer more closely ather aunt, who never stirred. Joan was sitting on a stoolbeside the bed, staring at her mistress, her own face wretched.

Frevisse bowed her head, offered a prayer forthe solace of this sad company, and left.

The kitchen of Ewelme manor house was verylarge, floored with stone flags, and rising two stories to a roofset with louvers that could be opened to let the smoke and heatout. A tray of roasted chickens was cooling on a table, and acook’s helper was leaning gingerly into a low-burning fireplace tostir a large pot hanging over the coals. The cook himself wasseated on a tall stool, wiping his strong-looking hands with aclean towel. When he saw Frevisse, he got at once to his feetand bowed twice.

“You grace this room with your presence,” hesaid, bowing yet again. He spoke with an accent Frevissecould not identify. He was a tall man, with dark, curly hairthat glistened as if washed in oil, and he moved his handseloquently as he spoke. “Is there some way I may helpyou? Something I may bring to you?”

“Will you answer one or two questions?”returned Frevisse.

“Of course, if I can. Do you want arecipe to take back with you to your nunnery?” He turned tothe helper. “I require a bit of paper, a quill, and some inkat once!”

Frevisse raised a hand to stop thehelper. “No, it is nothing like that. This concerns thefuneral feast, from which a guest had to be helped, who laterdied.”

The cook sat down as if someone had cut hishamstrings. But he said nothing, only waited.

“Do you know the man who died? SirClement?”

“No, madam. But he sent his servant into speak to me about what would be served at the feast.”

“Which servant?”

“I do not know, madam. A lean fellow,with brown hair and a sad face.”

“Why was Sir Clement interested in what wouldbe served?”

“Because, I gather, he had an unhappystomach, which required certain things to keep its balance.”

“What things?”

The cook gave a lengthy sigh, held up a hand,and began to count on his fingers. “The milk used in themaking of any dish must be fresh, as Sir Clement could not abidesour milk; his saltcellar must be full and clean, as he used a gooddeal of salt on his food and was inclined to throw a contaminatedsalt cellar on the floor; any dish containing nuts must beannounced when it was brought to his place, as he would not, underany circumstances, eat anything in which were nuts; and the goblethe drank from must be silver or gold as he could not bear the tastepewter gave to his drink. I will say what I told thisservant, madam. I assured him that only the finest, freshest,and most costly ingredients were going into every dish prepared inthis house, and that the final remove, which Sir Clement never gota chance to throw on the floor, contained filberts. And I hadthe impertinence to ask if Sir Clement had brought a goblet of hisown to use, as it was quite impossible for us to take the gobletreserved for, say, the duke of Norfolk and give it to Sir Clement’suse. And it so indeed he had, as this problem had arisenbefore on Sir Clement’s journeying, and he had learned to bring hisown.” The cook had set off on this story calmly, had becomeindignant by the middle of it, but cooled to triumphant amusementby the end. The cook’s helper, by his nodding, stood ready toback the cook in every particular, so Frevisse did not questionhim, only asked the cook to write down for her a list of what hadbeen served at the feast. He did. She tucked it up hersleeve, thanked him for his cooperation, and withdrew.

She decided to go see if Master Lionel hadperformed another prompt, masterly trick with the book search, butto her surprise Dame Perpetua was not in Chaucer’s chamber. Frevisse paused in the doorway, looking around to be sure she wasnot crouched behind the desk or a stack of books. Someone hadlighted a fire in the small fireplace against the day’s deepeningcold; its bright flickering against the gray light falling throughthe windows made a slight promise of warmth, but Master Lionel wasbusy at his chest half the room away from it, oblivious both to itspossibilities and her entering. And Sire Philip was standingat the window, staring out with a troubled frown easy to read evenacross the room.

The frown smoothed itself away as smoothly aswarmed wax slipped down the side of a candle, and his voice wasmerely its familiar neutral as he spoke. “DameFrevisse. You expected Dame Perpetua, obviously.”

She could not trouble to care she might beendangering her reputation by being alone with him, howeverpriestly, with only a madman for a witness. In compromise,she left the door open a crack. She was tired from herefforts, from talking endlessly to people, from being in aonce-familiar place that had become strange to her. And shewas chilled. She went to sit on a stool in front of thefire. Putting her feet forward and holding her hands out tothe warmth, she said, “Am I sickening for something or is the daysuddenly colder?”

“The day is suddenly much colder.” SirePhilip held the flat of his hand toward the glass in front of himwithout quite touching it. “You can feel it pouring in as ifthe window were open. I’ll not be surprised if the moat isfrozen by morning.”

Frevisse gave way to a weary sigh. There was the long ride back to St. Frideswide’s to be endured in aday or two, and she could not decide whether she preferred bittercold and firm roads or warmer weather and endless mire.

His back still to her, Sire Philip asked,“Are you free to talk now about Bishop Beaufort’s interest inyou?”

“To obey the bishop’s will, I have had to askquestions of so many people that I doubt it is any secret. “He does not believe Sir Clement died by God’s hand.”

“He thought that from the very first.”

“And because my uncle told him I had a subtleintelligence, he asked me to learn whether it was indeed miracle ornot.”

Sire Philip swung from the window to stare ather. “And have you?”

“I am sure it wasn’t God who killed him.”

The priest took that with admirably containedsurprise. “Then who?”

Frevisse shook her head. “That Ihaven’t learned. Or exactly how they did it. But it wasat least begun at the feast, and as nearly as I can tell, youdidn’t have the chance to do anything to him there. At leastnot directly.”

Sire Philip’s brows drew together as he beganto gather fully what she had said. “You suspected me? On what possible grounds? Or were you just generallysuspecting everyone?”

“I am suspecting anyone who had an enemy inSir Clement. You are on the list. If Sir Clement madegood his claim that you were born in villeinage, your chance torise high in the church could be destroyed. By coming herefor a reason not connected with you, Sir Clement gave you anopportunity, perhaps, to act against him without the suspicion thatmight be raised if you went to him, or had caused him to besummoned here. It was a chance to be rid of him that you’dnot likely have again.”

“But there was no need for me to attack him,to murder him. I took care years ago to be sure the needfuldocuments were all in order. There was no question of hishaving any claim over me, no matter how much he prated of it. And I made sure anyone who inquired and needed to know the futilityof his insolence did know of it. He was an annoyance, not athreat.”

Frevisse believed him. It was the kindof thing a man of Sire Philip’s intelligence would have done. “But you’ve never told Bishop Beaufort that?”

“It would have been somewhat presumptuous ofme to offer the information without being asked.”

“But you know he’s interested in you.”

“He suggested to Master Chaucer that I mightbe of service to him, and to me that I could profit by learning theways of an important household. I accepted Master Chaucer’soffer gratefully. For one thing it gave me my brother’scompany for this while.”

“Your brother?” The one Robert had notbeen sure was alive or not.

“Gallard Basing, the household usher. You didn’t know?”

“No one told me your surname was Basing.”

“I suppose there was no reason to. Andwe look nothing alike.” He bounced a very little on the ballsof his feet, and his smile, twisted as it was in the webbing ofscars on his face, was nevertheless charming.

He came to sit on his heels on the other sideof the hearth, rubbing his hands as he held them out to theflames. The gesture reminded Frevisse of something – someone- but the half-memory slipped away behind the realization thatGallard Basing had had free movement through the hall all throughthe feast, and probably access to the food before it wasserved. Was Gallard protected by the same documents thatprotected Sire Philip? Did Gallard even know about thedocuments? How much did the brothers love one another? Trust one another? Use one another?

Her silence had drawn on too long; SirePhilip looked around and up into her face. “You didn’t cometo talk to me. You came to seek refuge among your uncle’sbooks, didn’t you?”

“A comfort remembered from childhood, Ifear.”

He smiled. Again Frevisse was surprisedat how that, and the warm depths of his eyes, negated the ruin ofthe rest of his face. Perhaps it was merely that he did it sorarely. “A comfort I shall be sorry to leave,” he said, “ifmy lord of Suffolk decides he wants a different house-priest thanme.”

“Won’t Aunt Matilda have a say in that?”

Sire Philip shrugged. “I think that asher grief settles into her more deeply, your aunt is going to giveup most of her interest in running this house. Perhaps shewill join you at St. Frideswide’s. It is not unknown for awidow to take the veil.”

Frevisse dropped her gaze to her lap. She feared her aunt would make an unhappy nun, for silence,humility, and obedience were not Aunt Matilda’s strongestvirtues. Anyway, Sire Philip was right, the full center andsingle mainstay of her life had been her husband.

“Of course, Countess Alice may provide herwith grandchildren, and give her new interest in life,” the priestsaid. “We can only wait and see.”

To change to an easier subject, Frevissesaid, “Did my uncle ever say to you what he planned for his booksafter his death?”

“I think the best he’s willed to BishopBeaufort. Most of the rest are for Suffolk, and the remainderwill be sold.” Sire Philip’s gaze traveled across theaumbries. “Your uncle had a taste for the unusual and rare aswell as the precious.”

“He valued every book he had as a candle litagainst the darkness, against the ignorance we all sink into if weknow only our own minds.”

“And we all, by our nature, seek beyond ourearthly limitations for God, so it is necessary that a book begoodly, if it is to give good instruction.” He said this asif it had significance beyond the obvious.

Not knowing what point he was moving toward,Frevisse said, “I agree that mere individual reason cannot find Godalone except by the greatest difficulty. Unless God himselfcomes to enlighten it.”

“He comes to whom he chooses. God who‘cannot be comprehended by any man’s intellect or by any angel’s,since we and they are all created beings.’“

Frevisse smiled. “The Cloud ofUnknowing. Uncle loved that book. He said he had nohope or inclination toward the contemplative life, but the idea ofit gave him pleasure. He also said the Unknowingreminded him that ‘It will be asked of you how you have spent thetime you have been given.’”

“And we often forget that we have but onegoal on earth: To earn Heaven. ‘Him I desire, Him Iseek-’”

“‘Nothing but Him.’” Frevisse said thelast of the quotation with him. It was an idea to which shehad given over her heart when she was young. She and SirePhilip smiled with shared understanding of something more thanmerely precious.

Then he said, “Since you’ve admitted tothinking I might be a murderer, may I ask about something I’vesuspected of you?”

“If you like.”

“Your uncle had a copy of a psalter thatisn’t here anymore. I’ve looked, Master Lionel haslooked. It’s nowhere in this room, and he was always verycareful to keep it here.”

Nearly Frevisse smiled, but she only raisedher eyebrows and said nothing. Sire Philip went on, “I ratherthink you know the psalter I am speaking of. You came awayfrom your first meeting with the bishop carrying a closely-wrappedbundle about the size of the missing book. I think he gave itto you, perhaps on the instructions of your uncle.” Helowered his voice and leaned forward. “It is a copy of thevernacular translation by John Wycliffe.”

Over fifty years ago, John Wycliffe hadpresumed to translate the Bible into English, that all men mightread and ponder freely on its words without the interpretation orcontrol of the church. Except that he had had powerfulfriends among the nobility, Wycliffe would have been condemned bythe church and burned as a heretic. As it was, he had diedfree and in his bed. Not until 1417 had his bones been dugup, burned, and the ashes thrown into a river. But from thevery first, his Englished Bible had been a forbidden thing. License to own a copy could be had from bishops – for a price andonly to people the Church deemed acceptable – but unlicensed copiesnonetheless existed, even sometimes in nunneries. Chaucer hadhad a copy, presumably with a license, and also a psalter,containing only the psalms, and kept both buried in an obscurecorner among other, unoffending books of theology, and thereFrevisse had found them as a girl. She had delighted in beingable to read freely what was so slow and difficult for her tofollow in Latin. Chaucer had not forbidden her, and her faithhad never been hurt by it, only her dependence on what any ignorantpriest might choose to say the Bible said.

“Do you have it?” Sire Philip asked.

“I haven’t seen it,” she said with perfecttruth. Then honesty compelled her to add, “But I haven’topened the package Bishop Beaufort gave to me.”

Master Lionel straightened from a sheaf ofdocuments he held and stared down the room at her. His suddenfocus on something beyond his arm’s reach drew both of them to lookback at him. Not seeming to notice he had become the focus oftheir attention, he muttered, “Not to be trusted to know wheretheir shoe is, when it’s right on their foot. Women.”

Sire Philip nodded with relief. “That’slikely where it is, then. I was afraid it had gone astray,that someone had it who shouldn’t. But your uncle saw to itssafety.” He looked at her and said, “I will tell no one thatI know where it is. Because, in plain fact, I do not.”

“And, if anyone asks me, I can truly say thatso far as I know, I do not have the book in my possession. What I suspect can remain my own business.”

They smiled widely at each other, pleasedwith that sophistry. A heavy wind shook the windows and acold draught whispered across the rush matting to startle the fireinto burning higher. Frevisse pushed her shoulders back andsat up straighter on the stool. “I’ve sat been here toolong. I still have questions to ask. The servers at thefeast may be able to tell me something.”

Sire Philip sobered, the ease leaving hisface. “It isn’t something that can just be left. Andyet, in some ways, I wish we could leave whoever did it to God’sjudgment and mercy.” That had never entered Frevisse’sconsideration, and before she could form a reply, he asked, “Whatmade our lord bishop think there was a human rather than the divinehand in Sir Clement’s death?”

“He said he had heard Sir Clement demandGod’s judgment too many other times. He didn’t see why thistime in particular God should choose to answer him. He wanted to besure it was God who chose this occasion and not someonemortal.”

“And now you agree it was someone else, notGod. Why?”

Frevisse thought before answering, becauseshe was not sure exactly when or how she had changed her opinion,but finally said, “Partly because it seems an unreasonable way forGod to kill a man. A great deal of the lesson for the rest ofus was lost by not having him simply die outright at thefeast.”

“And your presume to understand God’s intentin these things?”

Frevisse forebore to acknowledge thejibe. Instead she said, “In The Cloud of Unknowingit’s said that each person comes to God at a different pace. Today some men who knew Sir Clement said he was changing of late,that he was not so violent as he had been, nor demanded God’sjudgment so often. Maybe, in his own wickedly slow way, hewas coming to God. Would God take a man still deep in sin whowas at least beginning to come toward grace?”

at least beginning to come toward grace?”

“God might,” Sire Philip said. “In factI know he does.” He waited, and when she did not answer, headded, “Those aren’t the reasons you’re going on with this.”

Frevisse watched the fire play among the logsfor a while, feeling her way among her own thoughts before saying,“No, they aren’t. I want to know what happened. Whatreally happened, not what we imagine happened. I want to knowwhether there was a human hand in this, or if it was indeed God’sact against a sinning man.”

This time she waited and it was Sire Philipwho did not answer. He did not even move but, like her, satstaring into the flames.

Frevisse rubbed her hands over her face wherethe skin felt dried and tight from the fire’s warmth and finallysaid, “I also remembered the old story of the devil and a summonertraveling together, where the devil refuses to take a cart andhorses, though their driver in a bad temper is wishing them tohell. But later when the summoner is tormenting an old womanand she wishes him to hell, the devil takes him on theinstant because, says the devil, he knows a true wish when he hearsit. I wish we could believe that in the moment Sir Clementdemanded God’s judgment yesterday, he truly wanted it, if only forthat single moment, and so God gave it to him. I wish I couldbelieve that. But I don’t.”

She waited, but again Sire Philip saidnothing. The fire made small sounds in the stillness, and shedid not look at him because she knew he was looking at her and shedid not want to see his expression.

It was a relief when Dame Perpetua appearedfrom the shadows of the doorway and said eagerly, breaking thesilence between them, “There you are, Dame Frevisse! I’vebeen looking everywhere for you.”

“And I came here looking for you,” Frevissereturned. She and Sire Philip were both drawn to their feetby Dame Perpetua’s obvious excitement. “You found it?”

Smiling with triumph, Dame Perpetua held outa slender volume. “Here, in here, there’s exactly what youwanted.”

Frevisse took the book from herexcitedly. “Why, it’s Galen.” The master of alldoctors, the Roman authority second only to Aesculapiushimself.

“Here.” Dame Perpetua took the bookback and opened it to a place marked by a broken end of aquill. “On the right side.”

She pointed and Frevisse read. SirePhilip came around to read over her shoulder. When they hadfinished, he stepped back and they all three looked at one anotherfor a silent moment, until Dame Perpetua said, “It was MasterLionel who found it actually. Found the Galen and said heremembered something was in there about rashes and all.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing as this,”Sire Philip said, indicating the book.

“Nor I, but there it is. Some of what Ineeded,” Frevisse said.

Dame Perpetua’s face fell. “Noteverything?”

“It tells me in a general way what killedhim, but not precisely. Nor who gave it to him. Orhow. Though I’m beginning to guess,” she added.

Sire Philip looked at her sharply. “Youhave an idea of the murderer?”

“Oh dear. I hoped I’d done so well,”Dame Perpetua sighed. “Or rather that Master Lionel had.”

Frevisse patted her arm. “You’ve donewonderfully.” She raised her voice. "And so have you,Master Lionel. Thank you.”

Dame Perpetua said, “Oh, I forgot to tellyou. Word has come that the crowner will be here certainly bylate tomorrow morning.”

“Then the matter is out of your hands,” SirePhilip said to Frevisse.

He was right. The crowner would takewhat she had learned so far and thank her and dismiss her becausethere was no place for her, a nun and a woman, in hisinvestigation. Bishop Beaufort would be satisfied there wasan answer other than God to Sir Clement’s death. She couldreturn to her grief and to tending her aunt, and be done with SirClement. But last spring she had used her cleverness toshield the guilty from the law. She would probably never knowwhether she had been right to do so, or sinfully in error. But here, now, she had chance to make reparation for that byfinding out another murderer, more deeply guilty than the one shehad protected.

“No,” she said in answer to SirePhilip. “I’m not done with the matter yet.”