15 The Sempster's Tale

by Frazer, Margaret

  With the Naylors keeping guard, too,“ Frevisse said, to discourage whatever foolishness Anne might desperately think to try.

  ‘No, not the Naylors,“ Master Grene said. ”They have to rest, to be ready for their turn on watch.“

  Anne took hold on his doublet and pulled demandingly. “It has to be tonight you help him. Before he’s taken to the bishop.”

  Master Grene loosened her hands from him but kept hold on them. “Anne, there’s nothing I can do. Brother Michael isn’t going to drop his guard, and I’m near to being in trouble right along with Daved. If Daved escapes, by any means whatsoever, I’ll be the one to answer for it, no matter what my innocence else. Anne, I have Pernell and the children to remember. I don’t dare do more than I have.”

  Anne gave a sob dry with a grief and hopelessness past tears and leaned her forehead against him. He put his arms around her and pleaded, “Forgive me.”

  Anne straightened and said wearily, “There’s nothing to forgive. I know how it is. But, please, isn’t there some way I can see Daved again, talk with him for a moment? Half a moment.” Her need was giving her strength again. “I have to see him.”

  Master Grene took her by both shoulders and said steadily, as if willing her to understand, “Anne, for now Brother Michael has no reason to look at you. For everyone’s sake, keep it that way. Give no sign Daved is anything to you. It will only go the worse for him, let alone you, if you’re found out. There’s nothing you can do. Father Tomas is already lost. Don’t you be, too.”

  ‘Father Tomas is a priest,“ Anne said wearily. ”Nothing will happen to him.“

  ‘Anne,“ Master Grene said very gently, ”there’s Hal’s death.“

  Anne wrenched free of his hold and stepped back, staring at him. Half-strangled on sudden anger, she said furiously, “That’s not something even to be thought! Father Tomas had nothing to do with that!”

  ‘Somebody did,“ Master Grene said, sounding too weighed under his own weariness and grief to meet her anger. ”Anne, somebody did, and it’s Father Tomas’ word against the friar’s that those aren’t Jewish marks cut into Hal’s body.“

  He looked to Frevisse for help, and she went to lay hands on Anne’s shoulders and draw her away, saying, “Master Grene should go in to Pernell now. Best you come sit and recover yourself.”

  Anne let Frevisse seat her while Master Grene went into the bedchamber. A goblet and a pitcher stood on the table, and Frevisse poured wine and gave it to Anne, who was drinking it as Mistress Hercy came from the bedchamber. In the unguarded moment when she turned from closing the door, deep-worn lines of weariness showed in her face before she gathered herself, shoved away her weariness, and bustled toward Frevisse and Anne with, “Bed for the rest of us, too, I should think. Anne-dear, why don’t I see you to yours before I settle down with Lucie on the truckle beside Pernell?”

  Anne emptied the goblet in a long gulp, set it down un-gently on the table, and came abruptly to her feet. “Yes,” she said. “Bed. Thank you. Yes.” And left. All so suddenly that Frevisse and Mistress Hercy were left staring after her, wordless, until Mistress Hercy shook her head, said, “Well. I was going to say you could share the bed with her tonight, since Lucie won’t be, but…”

  ‘Here still suits me very well,“ Frevisse said.

  Master Grene came from the bedchamber, shutting the door with silent carefulness before he looked around to ask, “Where’s Anne?”

  ‘Gone to bed,“ Mistress Hercy answered. ”And Dame Frevisse is about to, I think. Is Pernell asleep?“

  ‘She and Lucie both,“ Master Grene said, going to the southward window to look out. ”No sign of anything burning,“ he said after a moment and began to close the shutters across the window. ”I’ve shuttered the window in the bedchamber and am going to close these, so if trouble does break out in the night, maybe Pernell won’t hear it.“

  ‘Well thought,“ agreed Mistress Hercy, and she went to close the shutters across the window overlooking the yard. ”Now, Raulyn, what’s this with that friar and Jews? There’s nothing in it, is there?“

  While Raulyn told her there was something in it but tonight wasn’t the time to talk about it, Frevisse drew her last night’s bedding from the corner where it had been left all day. Mistress Hercy insisted on more from Raulyn and when she had it, tersely though he told it, she veered between dismay that it could be true and declaration that she did not believe such treacherous pretense of either Master Bocking or Master Weir.

  ‘It’s what Brother Michael believes that calls the dance,“ Master Grene answered. ”I’m going to see to the watch now. Father Tomas and I will be where we were last night if you need me—or us—later.“

  Mistress Hercy let him go, stood silent in apparent thought for a moment after he was gone, then asked Frevisse, who now had the mattress unrolled and blankets spread, “Will you do well enough tonight, my lady? Do you need aught?”

  ‘I need nothing,“ Frevisse assured her. ”See to yourself for a while.“

  Mistress Hercy’s smile was small, all her weariness openly upon her. “If everyone will just stay asleep until dawn, I’ll do well enough. By your leave, I’ll bid you goodnight, then.” And she went into the bedchamber, silently closing the door behind her.

  Frevisse, at last blessedly alone, blew out the lamp and knelt to Compline’s prayers, but they did not come, only an ongoing churn of worries and, she realized, anger. At what-she wondered; and the answer came easily. At Brother Michael and his eagerness to bring Daved Weir and Father Tomas to destruction.

  Knowing that lying down to sleep would be no use, she rose and went to partly open one of the shutters at the southward window and sat down on the seat there, looking out. She had never seen London so dark. The law might be that householders were supposed to have a lantern lighted outside their door through the night, but very few folk tonight were willing to chance drawing unwanted notice their way. Such glows as she could see looked to be torches on the move in the darkened streets; but she still heard no screams of fear or anger, only what sounded like loud tavern-reveling. Out-of-the-ordinary loud and from too many places, though, and she doubted the likelihood of Brother Michael getting Daved Weir to the bishop tomorrow through streets full of roving rebels.

  That, in its way, was to the bad, because the sooner Daved Weir was away the better, before Anne Blakhall betrayed herself too openly. For her to confess to her own priest and be given deep penance for her sin was one thing and necessary. It was another matter altogether to think of her put to Brother Michael’s mercy. Heresy was a treachery of the mind, not a sin of the body. Whatever Anne’s wrong in taking Daved Weir for her lover, Frevisse had no doubt she was misled by her body’s passion, not by any thought of heresy.

  Frevisse also had no doubt that the Inquisition would see it otherwise.

  She understood the guard that had to be kept against the corrupting danger of heretics. It was the charge of heresy against the Jews that she didn’t accept. As Daved had said, scholars considering, explaining, amplifying the Bible’s teachings had been part of Christianity from the beginning and many of them had been saints. No one charged that their studies had corrupted or changed Christianity, nor had Brother Michael in his furious exchange with Daved explained why it should be otherwise for Jewish scholars, why their learned men discussing and interpreting God’s word turned their faith to heresy. Until someone brought her to understand that, she would not accept it. Or that Daved Weir was a heretic.

  Besides that, she fiercely liked the way he had held his own against the friar. One of the things that made the friars of the Inquisition so terrible was their skillful use of their great learning as a weapon against all foes; but watching Brother Michael and Daved Weir had been like watching two equally armed men. Learning for learning, certainty for certainty, Daved had wielded words and knowledge as readily as Brother Michael had. There had been nothing of the merchant in his dealing with Brother Michael. No bargaining. No seeking to make thi
ngs better. That was probably because he knew there was no “better” for him now. Even should he turn Christian and so save his life, he would be expected to betray a great many people. She did not doubt it would take torture to bring him to that betrayal, and tortured he would be, because although torture was against civil law in England, it was not against the Church’s.

  And if he broke to the torturer, Anne Blakhall was among those he would betray.

  Frevisse closed the shutter and readied for bed in the darkness, taking off only her veil and wimple. Like last night, she would otherwise sleep clothed, not only for seemliness’ sake but because there was nowhere to put the gold hanging heavy from her neck except where it was. She lay down and took the first prayer that came to mind—Noctem quietam, et finem perfectum concedat nobis Dominus omnipotens.-— A quiet night and a perfect end grant to us, almighty Lord.—steadily repeating it until it carried her into sleep. A sleep from which she was jerked by fast-thudding footsteps up the stairs. With effort so sudden it hurt, she sat up as a maidservant burst into the parlor, hand up to shield the flame of the candle she carried from the haste of her going as she crossed the room, ignoring Frevisse and calling as she went, “Mistress Hercy! Master Grene says come quickly! The friar’s been killed, he says!”

  Chapter 20

  As the maidservant obeyed Mistress Hercy’s call to come in, Frevisse struggled to her feet, groping for her wimple and veil in the uneven candle-shadows, putting them on by feel, used to that in the nunnery dorter’s darkness, while the maid’s voice and Pernell’s shrilled together in the bedchamber. By the time Mistress Hercy had commanded and soothed both maid and Pernell to quiet, Frevisse had her veil pinned into place; and when Mistress Hercy came from the bedchamber, bedrobe wrapped around her and saying over her shoulder, “No, Pernell, just keep in bed. I’ll see what this is about. Stay with her, Lucie,” Frevisse followed in her and the maidservant’s wake out of the parlor and down the stairs.

  Jumping candle-shadows and lamp-flare ragged with people moving in the screens passage made the stairs treacherous in the dark and only the worse for having skirts to handle. Mistress Hercy stumbled once. The maid caught her arm to steady her off the bottom step and into the passage, and here Mistress Hercy shoved into a clutter of servants, men and women together, demanding, “Where is he? The friar and Master Grene. Where are they? What is this, Wyett? James, aren’t you supposed to be at the rear gate?”

  James immediately began to fade backward among his fellows while Wyett pointed toward the outer door, saying, “They’re out there. Master Grene sent us inside. Pers found him. He was outside the gate. He…”

  Already going for the outer door, Mistress Hercy snapped over her shoulder, “You, stay here,” at the maidservant, who instantly stopped where she was. Frevisse might have been included in that order but chose to think she was not—nor would have obeyed anyway—and followed out the door to find she had slept more than she had supposed. A fading to the darkness over the eastern rooftops would soon be dawn. But more by the clear night’s starlight than otherwise, she and Mistress Hercy made their way down to the yard and toward the black shapes of a few men gathered around the yellow glow of a lantern set on the cobbles just inside the foregate.

  Reaching the edge of the lantern light and men, Frevisse saw Master Naylor and Dickon were among them, standing with a household servant beyond Master Grene and Father Tomas kneeling to either side of Brother Michael laid out on his back on the cobbles. The friar’s face was hidden by Father Tomas’ shadow, but the grey friar’s gown twisted around his body made certain who he was. Unless, somehow, it was another Franciscan friar, Frevisse thought. Or someone else in Brother Michael’s robe. Or…

  Before she could go further through that scattering of thoughts, Father Tomas sat back on his heels, away from the body, and the lantern light showed not only his own face, tired and stricken, but Brother Michael’s, slack-jawed with death, eyes emptily staring.

  Heavy-voiced, Father Tomas said, “He’s gone,” and reached a hand to close the eyes.

  The men and both women crossed themselves even as Mistress Hercy asked, “He wasn’t dead yet? Emme said he was.”

  Master Grene stood up. “Pers found him in the street and dragged him in the gateway, then ran for help. I think he was dead. Father Tomas…” He moved a hand vaguely at the priest.

  Hand still on the eyes to be certain they would stay closed, the priest said slowly, “I said the words. I had no oil or anything, but I did that much.” He dropped his hand back into his lap. “I’ll swear his intent was there. His soul is safe.”

  ‘But he said nothing?“ Frevisse asked.

  Father Tomas shook his head as if too tired for words. It was Master Grene who answered, “Nothing.”

  ‘But what happened to him?“ Mistress Hercy persisted. ”How’s he dead?“ Because nothing showed in the lantern light of any wound.

  ‘He looks to have been stabbed,“ Master Grene said. ”In the back. At least that’s where all the blood is.“

  ‘He wasn’t beaten? There wasn’t an attack on him like yesterday?“ Frevisse asked.

  ‘Nobody heard any, no.“

  ‘But how did he come to be outside the gate?“ Frevisse persisted.

  ‘My lady,“ Master Naylor said, ”should you be out in the night air?“

  Frevisse knew when she was being quelled, and Master Naylor was maybe right that questions here and now over the friar’s newly dead body were unseemly. But what was more seemly than trying to find out how he had come to be so suddenly dead? Mistress Hercy, disregarding seemly or unseemly, demanded at the household man standing there, “Pers, it’s all well to say you found him, but why did you let him out the gate at all? And why did you hear nothing of something happening?”

  The man gave a rather desperate look at Master Grene while answering, “I didn’t let him out. I wasn’t here. Master Grene was.”

  ‘I was here a while,“ Master Grene said. ”When I was going the rounds to be sure all was well, I found Pers here more asleep than awake.“

  ‘Not full asleep,“ Pers defended.

  ‘It’s all right,“ Master Grene said. ”I told you so then. You’d been at it for the most of two nights. The fault was mine for not setting matters better.“

  Father Tomas began to climb to his feet, stiffly like a far older man than he was. Master Grene put a hand under his elbow, steadying him while going on, “I sent him to have a sleep for a while in the back of the shop, saying I’d keep the watch myself. But I never saw Brother Michael, either.”

  ‘We can’t leave him lying here,“ Father Tomas said. ”We need to get him at least to the church.“

  ‘We can’t risk that,“ Master Grene said sharply. ”Listen. They’re still at it.“ And that was true enough. The sounds of merry-making in surrounding streets were much lessened, men finally wearing out with the night, but there was still too much of it. ”I’m letting no one out this gate, and not in the dark, surely.“

  ‘Why did you let Brother Michael out?“ Frevisse asked. And how didn’t you hear the attack on him?”

  ‘I didn’t let him out! That’s the trouble. I didn’t, nor Pers, either, from what he says.“

  ‘Then how—“ Master Naylor began impatiently.

  Master Grene said sharply, “I had to go once to ease myself. There’s a closestool in the rear of the shop. So if someone is tending the board alone, he doesn’t have to leave it. It’s not fifteen feet away.” He pointed toward the shop’s back door. “It took no time at all, but that’s when he had to have let himself out.”

  ‘He surely opened the gate’s door, rather than the gate itself,“ Frevisse said. ”You didn’t hear it open?“

  ‘It’s kept well-oiled,“ Master Grene answered.

  ‘But it’s kept barred, like the gates. Didn’t you see it wasn’t barred anymore?“ Master Naylor asked.

  ‘We aren’t keeping guard with a great light blazing. Why draw anyone’s heed to here? So, no, in t
he dark of the passage here I didn’t see the gate was unbarred. Nor did I check it,“ he said, forestalling the next question. ”Why should I?“ he added, irritated, as well he might be. A dead friar at his gate was going to bring questions down on him from Church as well as constable, crowner, and sheriffs before this was done.

  ‘But you heard nothing else, either? Not here or in the street?“ Frevisse insisted.

  ‘Nothing.“

  ‘How was Pers back at the gate after you sent him off?“ Mistress Hercy asked.

  Master Grene made a short, unhappy sound. “I started to turn sleepy myself. I fetched him out with hope he’d had enough sleep to take over until at least dawn.” He looked around and said, surprised, “Now it is dawn.”

  The passage was still in darkness, but beyond it the yard was indeed grown grey with dawn’s coming. There would soon be no need for lantern light.

  ‘We can’t leave him lying here,“ Father Tomas said again, his hands clutched together, more to keep from wringing them than in prayer. ”We have to move him.“

  ‘To the cellar,“ Master Grene said. ”He can be laid out decently there without setting people to worse worry by seeing him the way they will if we put him in the hall. We can set candles around him if you like. Pers,“ he ordered, ”fetch someone and see to it.“

  Pers shot away as if glad of any task that took him elsewhere.

  ‘But why would he have gone out the gate at all?“ Frevisse asked again. ”And why was he stabbed instead of beaten, like before?“

  ‘Because someone would have heard a beating or any outcry. Even Pers,“ said Master Grene. ”This was done by someone who simply wanted him dead and quickly.“

  A momentary silence among them then was broken by Master Naylor saying, “Master Bocking.”

  ‘Where’s Daved Weir?“ asked Frevisse.

  Not sounding certain, Master Grene said, “He’s still in the solar.”

  Master Naylor started toward the house. “We’d best see, hadn’t we?”