A Play of Lords
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Author’s Note
The Middle Ages Come to Life . . . to Bring Us Murder.
A PLAY OF DUX MORAUD
“Deftly drawn characters acting on a stage of intricate and accurate details of medieval life.” —Affaire de Coeur
“The author is a much-respected authority on medieval times, in addition to a good storyteller.” —Romantic Times
“A meticulously researched, well-written historical mystery that brings to life a bygone era. The workings of society [are] seen through the eyes of the players . . . Historical mystery fans will love this series.” —Midwest Book Review
“Wonderful . . . As always, the author provides a treasure trove of historical detail . . . [G]ood, solid mystery.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
A PLAY OF ISAAC
“In the course of the book, we learn a great deal about theatrical customs of the fifteenth century . . . In the hands of a lesser writer, it could seem preachy; for Frazer, it is another element in a rich tapestry.” —Contra Costa (CA) Times
“Careful research and a profusion of details, especially those dealing with staging a fifteenth-century miracle play, bring the sights, smells, and sounds of the era directly to the reader’s senses.” —Roundtable Reviews
“For lovers of mystery and lovers of history, this is a find; a mystery backed by solid research.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“A terrific historical who-done-it that will please amateur sleuth and historical mystery fans.” —Midwest Book Review
Praise for The Dame Frevisse Medieval Mystery Series By Two-Time Edgar®-Award Nominee Margaret Frazer
“An exceptionally strong series . . . full of the richness of the fifteenth century, handled with the care it deserves.”
—Minneapolis Star Tribune
THE SEMPSTER’S TALE
“What Frazer, a meticulous researcher, gets absolutely right in The Sempster’s Tale are the attitudes of the characters.”
—Detroit Free Press
THE WIDOW’S TALE
“Action-packed . . . a terrific protagonist.”
—Midwest Book Review
THE HUNTER’S TALE
“Will please both Frevisse aficionados and historical mystery readers new to the series.” —Booklist
THE BASTARD’S TALE
“Anyone who values high historical drama will feel amply rewarded . . . Of note is the poignant and amusing relationship between Joliffe and Dame Frevisse.” —Publishers Weekly
THE CLERK’S TALE
“As usual, Frazer vividly recreates the medieval world through meticulous historical detail [and] remarkable scholarship.”
—Publishers Weekly
THE SQUIRE’S TALE
“Meticulous detail that speaks of trustworthy scholarship and a sympathetic imagination.” —The New York Times
THE REEVE’S TALE
“A brilliantly realized vision of a typical medieval English village.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)
THE MAIDEN’S TALE
“Great fun for all lovers of history with their mystery.”
—Minneapolis Star Tribune
THE PRIORESS’ TALE
“Will delight history buffs and mystery fans alike.”
—Murder Ink
THE MURDERER’S TALE
“The period detail is lavish, and the characters are full-blooded.”
—Minneapolis Star Tribune
THE BOY’S TALE
“This fast-paced historical mystery comes complete with a surprise ending—one that will hopefully lead to another ‘Tale’ of mystery and intrigue.” —Affaire de Coeur
THE BISHOP’S TALE
“Some truly shocking scenes and psychological twists.”
—Mystery Loves Company
THE OUTLAW’S TALE
“A tale well told, filled with intrigue and spiced with romance and rogues.” —School Library Journal
THE SERVANT’S TALE
“Very authentic . . . The essence of a truly historical story is that the people should feel and believe according to their times. Margaret Frazer has accomplished this extraordinarily well.”
—Anne Perry
THE NOVICE’S TALE
“Frazer uses her extensive knowledge of the period to create an unusual plot . . . appealing characters, and crisp writing.”
—Los Angeles Times
Dame Frevisse Medieval Mysteries by Margaret Frazer
THE NOVICE’S TALE
THE SERVANT’S TALE
THE OUTLAW’S TALE
THE BISHOP’S TALE
THE BOY’S TALE
THE MURDERER’S TALE
THE PRIORESS’ TALE
THE MAIDEN’S TALE
THE REEVE’S TALE
THE SQUIRE’S TALE
THE CLERK’S TALE
THE BASTARD’S TALE
THE HUNTER’S TALE
THE WIDOW’S TALE
THE SEMPSTER’S TALE
THE TRAITOR’S TALE
Also by Margaret Frazer
A PLAY OF ISAAC
A PLAY OF DUX MORAUD
A PLAY OF KNAVES
A PLAY OF LORDS
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
A PLAY OF LORDS
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / August 2007
Copyright © 2007 by Gail Frazer.
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For Sister Linda, O.S.B.
Chapter 1
Taken all in all, this autumn of 1435 might not have been the best of times to first come to London.
Or, then again, perhaps it was.
Joliffe supposed the difference lay in how much one valued a quiet life over a . . . not-quiet life. And given that he had chosen to be a player in a wandering company of players rather than settle into the other possibilities there had been for him, he had to suppose it was the not-quiet life he valued. Which was just as well, since quiet was what London presently and most particularly was not.
Not that London was likely ever a quiet place. Set tightly against the river Thames with its shipping out to all the wide world and back again, and crowded full with ten times more people than any other town in England, and with a good many of those people rich merchants and the rest hoping to become as rich, there was never more than a fool’s prayer—despite all London’s churches and their clergy—that it would ever be a quiet place. Add to that an in-gathering of lords and powerful commoners from all over England to the parliament set to meet in a few days, mix it with word of how badly the war in France was presently going and the accompanying over-boiling of general anger at the newly traitorous duke of Burgundy, England’s erstwhile ally, and Joliffe had no trouble guessing that London’s noise and crowding were beyond even its usual froth and ferment.
The players had come into London only yesterday, part of Lord Lovell’s household, a crowd of riders and carts and carriages bright with the Lovell colors of red and gold among all the other crowd of travelers, wagons, carts, and livestock that from a good three miles outside London had thickened and slowed each other into a crawl with much shouting but mostly good humour over what could not be helped, things being as they were. Joliffe thought that if the players had been on their own, if they had been the nobodies they would have been here a few years ago, it might all have been too much, and they would have turned aside before they ever came there. But to come as part of Lord Lovell’s household meant they came as somebodies. Meant, too, that once through Newgate’s too-narrow gateway and into London’s streets, they had not been faced with wondering where they should go and where they would stay. Lord Lovell had his own place kept for the times he was in London, and Joliffe had still been staring upward at the sky-scraping steeple of St. Paul’s Cathedral, giant over the lesser rooftops and towers and other steeples of London, when Basset jostled his arm, and he found that Lord and Lady Lovell and the other riders at the head of the household train had turned and were disappearing through an arched gateway, the heraldic arms boldly painted over it telling this was Lord Lovell’s inn.
The players were a small company and had been smaller, had been barely surviving lean times, before Lord Lovell took them into the safety of his service a few years ago. He was not one of the great lords of power, but he had wealth in plenty, and under his protection Basset’s small company had prospered. They mostly still traveled on their own with simply their own horse and cart around the countryside, coming only seasonally—or when summoned—to Lord Lovell’s household. This time was the first he had summoned them to travel with him, with their own cart and horse left at one of the Lovell manors near to London, their hampers of garb and gear packed into one of the household’s carts with some of the furnishings being brought to London, so that in the yard at Lovell’s inn, Basset, Ellis, and Joliffe had quick work making certain their own hampers were stacked to one side and together, while Basset’s daughter Rose kept watch over both the gathering of hampers and her son Piers, and Gil went to find out from the household steward or someone where the players were to stay in the several-storied buildings ranged around all four sides of the cobbled courtyard.
Being of somewhat less matter to the steward than the household furnishings and foodstuffs brought for Lord and Lady Lovell’s comfort, it was a while before Gil came back with a stout, smiling man who said he was John Hyche and kept the gate here and they were to stay with him. “Or not with me, quite,” he had said, all wide and welcoming. “What with the wife and children, you’d not much like that. But one of the gatehouse rooms that you can have all to yourselves has been made ready for you. Come this way. I’ll show you.”
Basset had said grateful things, and with John Hyche helping by taking a hamper’s handle, they had been able to shift all their belongings out of the yard’s purposeful chaos at once. The inn’s double gates still stood open to the street, deep-set under what had to be a long room overlooking both yard and street. Like the rest of Lovell’s inn, the buildings flanking it were stone-built on their ground floors but of timber and plaster above, and it was into a small, stone-walled room on the gateway’s left side that John Hyche showed them, saying, “This would be the guards’ chamber if there were need of guards these days, which there isn’t, Saint Erconwald be thanked. My wife and the younglings and I, we live the other side. Up there is a priest.” He had pointed at the beams and floorboards overhead. “But he has his own stairway, so you’ll have this place all to yourselves. Be able to lock the door, too, if you want. Mind I give you the key. There’s the fireplace, too, see, and I’ve set by enough for your first fire, but I don’t doubt you’ll have to see to your own kindling and coal after this. You’ve your own bedding, I hope?” he had asked, worried, because the room was bare except for a battered joint stool, an equally battered wooden table, and the basket of coal and kindling sitting beside the small fireplace in one wall.
“We do,” Basset assured him with a nod toward the straw-stuffed pads lying over two hampers’ tops.
“That’s good then. They’ll likely tell you about meals, if they haven’t already. The jakes is the other side of the gateway. Water’s to be had at the conduit in Cheapside, just off that way a ways.” John Hyche had pointed vaguely away through a wall and added, giving Piers a grin, “At least you’ve a fine boy to do the carrying for you.” He had looked around the bare little room again as if trying to find out something else to say about it but settled for, “You need anything, we’re just the gateway’s other side. You’ll all do fine once you’re settled in. He’s a good lord, is Lord Lovell.”
With ready agreements with that and assurances that everything looked very well here and that they would ask for any help they needed, the players had finally seen the helpful fellow out, looked at each other by the slight light of the single, small window set high on one wall, and heaved sighs all together that said, “Well, here we are and not bad at all,” without anyone saying the words aloud.
Used as they were to setting up camp or settling into a different place nearly every night, settling in here had not taken long. With their sleeping pads stacked against one wall, their hampers lined along two others, and their cushions for sitting tossed onto the floor, everything immediately needful was done, and Basset had looked at Piers bouncing impatiently from foot to foot and said, “We’re not likely to be needed until later, supposing my lord wants us at all today. So shall we go have a look around?”
As Piers bolted for the door, his mother had caught him by the collar and swung him to a halt, saying firmly, “Together. Today we all go together.”
And they had, although not so very far that
first time. With every likelihood of being easily lost and there being so much to see at almost every step, they had settled for circling St. Paul’s Cathedral, and that had proved to be walk enough. Besides that its spire, topped by a golden cross that flashed in the sun that came and went through wind-hurried clouds, was the tallest thing any of the players had ever seen, the church itself was as long as some villages they passed through on their travels and wider than Joliffe cared to guess. Its pale stone walls were cliff-high, arched all around by the spider-leg curves of buttresses, and pierced with tall windows full of sun-reflecting glass. Buildings large in themselves but looking low and less against its size and grace were crowded around its flanks. Some had to be of the monastery of the monks who served the cathedral. Some were surely the bishop of London’s palace. One was beyond doubting a bell tower, a peal ringing for mid-day prayers as the players were passing it, so that Ellis winced under the downpour of sound and said, “I’m going to tire of that fairly soon, near as we’re staying to it.”