‘Too true.“
‘So it’s not the man I killed.“
‘Seemingly not. But how many murdered men are there likely to be in a place the size of Bury St. Edmunds in one night? Here’s what he looks like…“
‘You saw him?“
‘I joined the crowd and stared with the best of them while he was still laid out on the riverbank. Listen.“
He described the body and its clothing and Arteys said doubtfully, “That could be him.”
Glumly, Joliffe said, “I was afraid of that,” and began to eat again.
‘But if it’s him, how did he come there?“
‘A good question. Eat. Then we’ll do what we can to find out.“
Chapter 19
Frevisse lifted her head, raised her gaze from the dark red floor tiles on which she knelt, past the small-burning lamp above St. Nicholas’ altar with its beautifully woven, golden-embroidered altar cloth to the window in the wall beyond it. It was a round-topped window, narrow in the thick stone wall, set mostly with blue glass that glowed sapphire when the sun struck through it in the morning but now, in early afternoon, was darkened to black-blue. Somewhat like Man’s hope of salvation, Frevisse thought, with the sun of God’s love ever-shining and always there but Man’s life a narrowness through which he either reached God and his soul’s salvation or… he did not. She had been praying for the dead man’s soul and for whoever had killed him, but she was prayed out for now and signed herself with the cross and stood up slowly, wary of her knees, taking time before trusting their cooperation and turning to leave the chapel. As always during the day, the great church itself had been murmurous and rustling with people coming and going along the nave. Some were loud, some were lesser, but quiet as the quietest might be, there was always their soft footfall, the whisper of their clothing, and from a lifetime of churches Frevisse knew how to shut their sounds away while she prayed and therefore was unknowing she was not alone in the chapel until she turned and found Joliffe and Arteys standing there.
Her irk at not knowing how long they had been there was counterbalanced by relief at seeing Arteys. Until she took in his face. And then Joliffe’s, too, as he asked, “Might we have a little of your time, my lady?”
They were as likely to be private here as anywhere and she beckoned them to come farther into the chapel as she moved toward them, asking, “Master Arteys, you’re well? Were you able to see your father last night?”
‘I saw him. I talked with him.“ The words seemed to come hard. ”But no, I’m not well.“
His voice failed him. He looked to Joliffe, who said, very low, “He had to kill a man who was trying to kill Gloucester.”
Sharply Frevisse said, “There’s been nothing said about a murder at St. Saviour’s.”
‘We know and there should have been, because all Arteys could do was leave the body lying there.“ Joliffe paused. ”On the other hand, there is your dead man from the river.“
‘On the third hand,“ Frevisse said, an edge to the words, ”we’re upriver from St. Saviour’s. The body didn’t drift against the current to here.“
‘Very probably not.“ Joliffe matched her edge. ”But if the dead man isn’t the man from St. Saviour’s, who is he? Or if he’s someone else, then where’s the man Arteys killed? Why’s there been no outcry or any word about him? Then again, if the dead man in the river is Arteys’, how did he come to be here?“
Frevisse turned to Arteys. “Tell me what happened.”
He did, or enough of it, leaving out what had passed between him and his father but clear about the killing, even though he looked sick while he told it.
When he had finished and was watching her, waiting, she said slowly, considering as she went, “First, this man tried to murder Gloucester. Why? On whose order did he do it?”
‘Maybe he was on his own,“ Joliffe suggested.
‘Do you think that?“ Frevisse asked.
‘Not for a moment.“
‘Nor do I. So. Someone tried to murder Gloucester and was murdered himself. Then, either there were two murders done in Bury last night and we have one body but not the other, or else there was one murder and the body was taken away, we don’t know by whom, and dumped into the river upstream from where he died, we don’t know why.“
‘Given that Arteys says your dead man looks much like his, I rather favor there being only one murder,“ said Joliffe.
‘As do I,“ Frevisse agreed. ”But why the secrecy and the river?“
‘To confuse things?“ Joliffe offered. ”Whoever gave the order for Gloucester’s murder can’t have been Pleased to find his murderer murdered and no sign of who did it. Arteys brought his dagger away with him and locked the door after him. Gloucester was in no condition, even before, to have done anything much against an armed man, besides he had no weapon. I suppose you could try out that Gloucester had grabbed the man’s dagger, stabbed him with it, cleaned the dagger, put it back in the sheath, then laid himself tidily out in bed and went insensible. It’s… possible.“
‘Barely,“ Frevisse said dryly. ”The more immediate trouble for whoever ordered Gloucester’s murder was that he had the wrong man dead on his hands.“
‘True. What he wanted was a dead royal duke without a mark on him. What he had was an insensible but still breathing duke and a dead murderer with a dagger wound in him. Not something I’d care to try to explain to anyone.“
‘There was nothing to show the man meant to murder Gloucester,“ Frevisse said.
‘No. But I’ll warrant he was someone who shouldn’t have been in the room at all. I’ll wager that every one of the men who had been keeping watch on Gloucester were very much in the great hall watching us last night. If anyone asked why, the answer was, well, why shouldn’t they be? Everyone knew Gloucester was too ill to leave his bed. At the play’s end someone would return to duty, find him dead, and raise an outcry. A grievous thing, to die so unprepared and all alone, but maybe it was by God’s mercy because now he need not suffer through a trial.“
‘With much shaking of heads, a suitable funeral, and no more questions,“ Frevisse said.
‘Oh, there’d be questions in plenty, but none asked openly or by anyone that could do anything about it.’
‘But we have to do something,“ Arteys put in. ”Or I have to. Before they do kill him.“
With surprising gentleness, Joliffe said, “They won do anything more to him. They only have to wait.”
Arteys went very still, fighting to steady himself, his voice very even when he finally said, “I want to know who ordered my father’s murder and then I want everyone else to know.”
‘Yes,“ Joliffe said.
Still very steadily, looking him in the eyes, Arteys asked, “Why are you willing to help me in this? You’re Bishop Beaufort’s man. Whatever he wanted out of this is over. Gloucester is going to die.”
‘Gloucester is going to die because someone is playing a filthy game that will surely befoul England and King Henry before it’s done. Bishop Beaufort has tried for more years of his life than not to protect both England and her king. Will it help if I say I’m not doing this for Gloucester but against whoever did it to him? Because that is a thing Bishop Beaufort would want of me.“
Arteys looked at Frevisse. “Why are you willing to deal in this?”
‘For the same reasons. And because I don’t like murder.“ And because she had promised Alice her help, but that was not something she meant to tell either of them, and carefully putting thought of Alice aside for now, she said, ”Bishop Pecock could be of use in this.“
Arteys looked doubtful. “He’s been kind but this is something more. This is—”
‘Dangerous,“ said Joliffe. ”Plain dangerous and probably foolish. Unfortunately, he won’t be stopped by that any more than we are. He said he would be in the library this afternoon if I needed him.“
‘When did he say that?“ Frevisse demanded.
‘This morning at the dead man.“
>
‘I didn’t see you there.“
‘You were being kindly escorted away by the crowner’s man when I followed the crowd into the garden. To spare your delicate feelings, I presumed.“
Frevisse’s mouth twisted wryly. “The crowner didn’t seem to realize that if I’d been going to faint or shriek with horror, I’d have done it by then. He said Bishop Pecock and Master Orle’s testimony would be enough and sent me away.”
‘You found the body in the river?“ Arteys asked at her. ”That’s why Joliffe said ’your dead man‘?“
‘To be precise, Bishop Pecock’s chaplain saw the body first, but Bishop Pecock and I were there, yes. That far, we’re both part of this already.“
‘It all tangles together very prettily, doesn’t it?“ Joliffe said. ”I have to join Master Wilde and the others in about an hour. Shall we to the bishop while we can?“
That they not be seen all together, Frevisse went first to the library, exchanged nods with the deaf monk at the door, spoke briefly to Dame Perpetua, slipped into her stall, and sat down to wait, twirling a quill pen between her fingers for the short while until Joliffe and Arteys unhurriedly entered.
‘Haven’t you found that play yet?“ the monk demanded at Joliffe.
‘I found it but Brother Lydgate and the playmaster are quarreling and I have to find another.“
‘Foolishness and nonsense,“ the monk barked.
‘Like much of life,“ Joliffe replied.
The monk, already bending back to the book in front of him, did not hear him. Frevisse did but did not look up when he and Arteys passed her. With effort, she made herself wait more before she rose and went to join them, in time to hear Arteys say, “I came away then, went back to Joliffe’s. I didn’t know what else to do.”
‘You did rightly.“ Bishop Pecock was seated but turned away from the desk and the book there, with Arteys standing in front of him and Joliffe leaning against the shelves beyond him. He looked up at Frevisse with a welcoming nod, then asked Joliffe, ”Have you learned anything?“
‘Only that Arteys thinks from what I told him the dead man in the river is the man he killed.“
Bishop Pecock considered that before he looked to Frevisse again. “Have you learned anything else, my lady, or mayhap thought of something since this morning?”
‘Nothing.“
‘Well, then.“ Bishop Pecock looked down at his hands folded in his lap, considered for another moment, then looked up and said, ”Until a few moments ago, I had no hesitation in leaving the problem of the man in the river to the crowner. Now it would seem to be ours after all. Do you agree, Joliffe?“
‘I have to, I’m afraid.“
‘It isn’t,“ Arteys said back at both of them. ”My lord, I’ve no claim on your help. I’ve followed Joliffe in coming to you but why would you—“
Bishop Pecock held up a hand, stopping him. “The why is very simple. The duke of Gloucester is presently heir to the throne. Accused of treason or not, guilty or not, he is still heir. Someone tried to murder him. That is, in effect, an attack but one step removed from the king himself. Someone bold enough to do that is more than a little dangerous.”
‘The someone who did it is also dead,“ Joliffe said.
‘Don’t make digression, Joliffe. None of us think it much likely the dead man attempted the murder all on his own. Someone ordered him to it. Given that, the would-be murderer, in himself, is not the important Point. Only in so far as he may help us to learn who set him on is he important, the important matter being, you see, to determine who is behind this attack on Gloucester. What we want is the person who is, in effect though not in actual deed, responsible for—“
‘Sir,“ Joliffe interrupted. ”You’re going on.“
Bishop Pecock paused, considered that, then granted, “I am. I ask your pardon. To the point, then. Why we are all willing to involve ourselves in this? Whoever ordered Gloucester’s death is dangerous. He—I say ‘he’ in the general sense of mankind, you understand, there being nothing to preclude a woman giving such an order if she held the power and the desire to do so—he is someone with likewise probably a great profit to gain from Gloucester’s death. Or a profit that seems great to him. Therefore, this man is a grave danger not only to Gloucester but to anyone whom he sees to be in his way, and he must be stopped.”
For most people, their thinking was done as by-the-way as breathing, but Frevisse was coming to understand that for Bishop Pecock thinking was a tool to be used deliberately toward determined ends and, moreover, a tool he took pleasure in using. He enjoyed thinking.
‘Toward stopping this man,“ he was going on, ”our first question must be—“ He stopped and looked to Joliffe, like a teacher seeking a student’s answer.
‘Who stands to gain from the duke of Gloucester’s death,“ Joliffe answered like the obedient student Frevisse doubted he had ever been.
‘Suffolk,“ Arteys said immediately.
‘The marquis of Suffolk first and foremost, I fear,“ Bishop Pecock agreed. ”There are others, of course, who would benefit by Gloucester’s removal. The duke of York for one. He would become the king’s immediate heir in place of Gloucester. However, since York is hardly more in favor than Gloucester, to be put more to the fore in matters would, at present, hardly serve him well would in fact likely serve him ill, and since nothing I’ve heard of him shows him to be foolish—“
‘My lord,“ Joliffe interrupted again. ”The point?“
Bishop Pecock drew a deep breath and said, “Dorset and Buckingham are among the more powerful lords around the king and not to be forgotten but, yes, I think it’s reasonable to consider Suffolk before everyone.”
‘He has the most to gain by Gloucester’s death,“ Joliffe offered.
‘He does indeed. While Gloucester lives, it’s always possible King Henry will return him to favor. Suffolk would see that as an ill thing. He openly wants his desires and the government to be the same thing. As who does not. But the more reasonable among us see what an ill thing it would be and therefore let it go.“
‘Or let it go because we can see we’re wasting our time to want it,“ Joliffe said.
‘Another portion of the truth, yes, but not one Suffolk sees, I fear. He believes it possible and is willing to do grievous things to get it.“
‘But how do we prove he’s tried to kill my father?“ Arteys broke in.
‘Or prove that he did not,“ Bishop Pecock said. ”That, too, remains a possibility. Nonetheless, at present, things standing as they are, it’s against him we’ll seek what evidence there may be.“
‘How?“ Arteys insisted.
Bishop Pecock looked at Joliffe again like a teacher expecting a favored student to take up a problem.
Joliffe pulled a face at him but answered, “We have to link him to the man who tried to kill Gloucester last night.”
Now Frevisse asked, “How? Thus far, we aren’t certain that the man in the river is the man Arteys killed, and besides that, so far as I’ve heard, no one has yet named the man from the river.”
Joliffe shrugged. “I’m willing to lay odds it’s the same man.”
‘So am I,“ Frevisse returned. ”But it will take more than having Arteys see and identify him. How do we link him to Suffolk?“ Then, beginning to see the way, she answered her own question. ”By finding how his body came from St. Saviour’s to where we found it. That might well give a link to Suffolk. Someone moved it. Several someones probably, and probably with a cart, rather than carrying it openly through Bury St. Edmunds.“
‘And if from St. Saviour’s, then very probably with a cart from there,“ Joliffe said. ”I wonder if they bothered to return it when they’d done? I wouldn’t. I’d get away from it as soon as possible and leave people to think it had simply been stolen.“
‘How do we find out if a cart is missing from St. Saviour’s? Or else that a cart has been found abandoned?“ Frevisse asked.
‘That’s what servants are for,“ Bis
hop Pecock said serenely. ”I don’t see that questions can safely be asked at St. Saviour’s itself, but I’ll set Runman to looking elsewhere for an abandoned cart.“
‘My guess would be they’d not risk bringing the body through Bury at all,“ said Joliffe. ”They’d either circle around the west side or else cross at the Eastgate bridge to go upriver to where there are fewer houses. But not too far upriver or the body would have been caught up on a weir or some other thing before it reached the abbey.“
‘That’s something Dame Frevisse and I had considered already,“ Bishop Pecock said. ”Yes, that will limit the search. You, I think, are needed with the players this afternoon?“
‘And this evening, I’m afraid. We’re to put on one of Lydgate’s farces for the king on Shrove Tuesday and Lydgate is making changes in it.“
‘It won’t help,“ said Frevisse, aloud but enough to herself that the others ignored her, Bishop Pecock going on, ”For my own part, I’ll go to St. Saviour’s this afternoon, to see what can be learned there.“
‘On what grounds?“ Joliffe asked.
‘On the grounds that I wish to pray over the duke of Gloucester. No one else is, so far as I know, except probably a priest of the hospital itself.“ He laid a hand over his heart and said with great dignity, ”I am a bishop and therefore, humble though I am, my prayers are more worthy of a duke than a mere priest’s are.“ He dropped his hand and his pose and said soberly to Arteys, ”It will give me a chance to see your father and tell you how he does. I’ll also, for courtesy’s sake, of course, spend time in talk with Master Grene while I’m there and learn what I can from him about last night and today. Dame Frevisse, may we ask you to be in Lady Alice’s company, to listen, talk, and subtly question, to learn what you can?“
Frevisse bent her head in silent acceptance, having expected it.
Arteys shifted restlessly. “What do I do while all this goes on?”
‘Keep out of sight,“ Joliffe said.
‘Stay here,“ said Frevisse. ”Favor me by doing the copying I’ve promised Dame Perpetua I’d do.“
12 The Bastard's Tale Page 19