12 The Bastard's Tale

by Frazer, Margaret

  The back of his neck was crawling with expectation Suffolk would call him back or send the two squires after him but he reached the passage’s far end and turned the corner rightward, deeper into the cloister, without either happening, and once out of sight he walked faster. He did not know where he was going. Out of the cloister, into the confusion in the Great Court, out of the abbey, into Bury. That far he could see but not farther, except he knew he would not go back to Bishop Pecock. Nor to Joliffe. Nor to Dame Frevisse. Suffolk had seen him, there of all places, and recognized him. Lady Alice’s carefully prepared excuse would keep her and Dame Frevisse clear but Suffolk would ask why he had been there and Lady Alice would tell him and Suffolk would guess more. How many reasons could there be for wanting to see the man who had been killed instead of Gloucester?

  So no going to anyone for help anymore.

  What he would do instead, he didn’t know.

  Chapter 23

  Suffolk turned from frowning after Arteys, but before he could begin another question, Alice said, “I’ll see you later, Dame Frevisse. Yes?”

  “Of course, my lady,” Frevisse said, quickly made a courtesy toward Suffolk sufficient to satisfy him of her humility, and went away across the yard opposite from where Arteys had gone, to the library. Once out of sight, she went up the stairs as if going to sanctuary, wishing she was, but at least it was quiet and somewhere to think. More than thinking, she needed to find Bishop Pecock and Joliffe, or have them find her.

  The young monk was on duty at the door and openly unhappy about it, giving her a look that said it was her fault. Dame Perpetua gave better welcome, looked up smiling from her copying to whisper, “I’ve nearly finished.” She laid a hand on a pile of papers beside her. “Here’s what you and the young man did. I hope you don’t mind I brought it here.”

  Frevisse assured her she did not and went on along the desks, hoping Bishop Pecock might be in his study stall, but he was not and Frevisse sat down at his desk and found she was trembling—not outwardly but with a fine inward shuddering. Finding for certain how twisted a way Suffolk was moving against Gloucester had un-steadied her more than she had expected. Then to come face to face with Suffolk himself… that had not been good. Alice might well convince him that she and Frevisse were innocent of anything but everything would show Arteys was not.

  Elbows on desk and face in hands, she sat long enough to steady herself. Suffolk and Alice should have left the yard by now, she supposed, and although she was still unsure what she would do, she could sit no longer, rose, and left the library, only to find Joliffe coming up the stairs. He was in his own clothes, his hair sleek from washing out whatever had been in it and looking so much himself after so lately looking so completely someone else that she said, unguarded with relief, “You did better by Lydgate’s play than I would have thought possible. You were excellently the fool.”

  ‘You saw it?“ Joliffe seemed far more pleased at that than Frevisse would have expected had she thought about it.

  ‘Arteys and I were both there for the last part.“

  ‘Is he here? And Bishop Pecock?“

  ‘Neither of them. I don’t know where Bishop Pecock is. Arteys…“ She found she was not as steady as she had hoped she was. She paused to draw breath, made sure of her voice, and told Joliffe what they had found out and what had happened.

  ‘That’s bad,“ said Joliffe at the end. ”Every way, it’s bad. We can be all but certain Suffolk gave the order for Gloucester to be murdered and now he’ll be suspecting it was Arteys killed his man.“

  ‘And that therefore Arteys knows about the intended murder,“ Frevisse said. ”Worse is that there’s nothing we can do against Suffolk, even though we know.“

  ‘That’s worse, yes, but worst will be if Suffolk decides to move against Arteys. Will you stay while I go look for him? One of us should be here if he or our good bishop comes, and I can look farther and more quickly than you can.“

  Because that was all true, Frevisse said, “I’ll stay,” despite she wanted to do something more than that, watched Joliffe leave, and went back to the library. She did not offer Dame Perpetua more help, doubting the worth of anything she might try to do just now, but brought Aelred of Rievaulx’s Speculum Caritatis she had noted another day to a table from where she could see the door and tried to read. Unfortunately she was more aware of the sunlight’s shifting slant through the high windows, telling the afternoon was slipping away, than she was of holy Aelred and her last pretense of patience was nearly gone when Joliffe appeared briefly in the doorway, saw her see him, and slipped out of sight again.

  Frevisse closed the book, left it lying, and went out, to find Joliffe waiting at the stairfoot. Judging by his face, she did not want to hear what he was going to say but asked at him sharply anyway, “Did you find them?”

  ‘Not Arteys. I’d just found Bishop Pecock, was telling him about Arteys, when someone from St. Saviour’s came for him, said he was wanted to give the duke of Gloucester last rites, and took him away.“

  Frevisse made the sign of the cross for Gloucester’s soul even as she asked, “Why Bishop Pecock? There are bishops in plenty in Bury St. Edmunds just now.”

  ‘I’d guess because somebody felt more than a plain priest should be there for a duke’s dying and that Pecock is so minor a bishop and not known to be on one side or another that he was ’safe‘ to go, that he’ll be believed if he says there’s no wrong in Gloucester’s death.“

  ‘The lords know how this all looks, then?“

  ‘If they’re listening, they’ve heard what people are starting to say and it’s not to their favor. They don’t care—or Suffolk doesn’t—so long as they’re rid of Gloucester.“

  ‘What’s going to happen to Arteys when his father’s dead?“

  ‘I don’t know. Will you still stay here longer?“

  ‘Until Vespers.“

  Joliffe accepted that with a curt nod. “If he does come, tell him to go to my place and wait for me. Just wait, not do anything. If I find him… You’ll be where you were before in the church?”

  ‘Yes.“

  ‘I’ll come there after Vespers, to tell you how things are, whichever way.“

  Left to wait again as best she could, Frevisse returned to Aelred of Rievaulx, found him no more comforting company than he had been but did not bother to find something else because nothing would be any better, her mind taken up with uneasy awareness that soon, if not already, the duke of Gloucester would draw his last breath, alone among enemies. It was a bitter end for anybody, and if the thought of it hurt her, how much worse it must be for Arteys?

  But when Gloucester was done with earthly troubles, Arteys wouldn’t be.

  Nor would Alice.

  What had passed between her and Suffolk? She had answers ready for his questions, but would she ask questions of her own or ask him nothing, questions being useless when she would not trust his answers?

  Frevisse welcomed the bells’ calling to Vespers. This being Lent’s eve, there was a greater gathering of people in the church and she and Dame Perpetua had to thread their way among them to St. Nicholas’s chapel, glad of its quiet when they reached it and, almost, Frevisse was able to give herself up to the Office’s prayers and psalms but today she heard more deeply than usual their grief. Domine, miserere nostri… multum satiati est anima nostra irrisione abundantium, despectione superborum. Lord, pity us… our souls are glutted with the mockery of the rich, with the contempt of the proud.

  Joliffe was not there when the Office ended and she asked Dame Perpetua, “I need to wait here awhile. Will you stay? And please, no questions?”

  ‘Of course,“ Dame Perpetua agreed mildly and sat down on the low stone bench along the wall. Frevisse joined her, listening to the throb of voices and shuffle of feet over stone as the crowd of other worshipers left the church, going out to whatever feasting and pleasures they could cram into the few hours before midnight. The church had nearly emptied, was falling silent,
before Joliffe came, and as Frevisse moved to meet him, away from Dame Perpetua, she knew that whatever news he brought was bad.

  ‘Gloucester’s dead?“ she asked, low-voiced.

  What she did not know was that he was angry until he said, “I don’t know.” So furious he could hardly say the words. “It’s Arteys. He’s been arrested. Arteys and, from what I saw, everyone else who came with Gloucester.”

  ‘You’re certain?“ she asked, wanting him to deny it.

  ‘I saw it. I’d finally found him. Had seen him anyway. He was ahead of me along a street and it looked like he’d met up with someone he knew, another of Gloucester’s men. While I was going toward him, they went into a tavern there. I followed them in, was making my way toward him, when half a dozen men with the king’s badge crowded through the door and one big-mouth ordered everybody to stand and line up along the walls. Then he demanded if any of them were the duke of Gloucester’s men and Arteys and three others stepped forward. Not that it would have been any use to not. Everyone who didn’t step forward was asked who they were, and if they answered with a Welsh flavor to their words, into the bag they went.“

  ‘Arteys doesn’t sound Welsh.“

  ‘No, but it wouldn’t have mattered with him. Hell’s foul breath, they had someone with them who looked at everyone, and when he came to Arteys, he gave him a hard, long look, pulled him forward, and said, ’This is the one. Keep him and this man with him apart from the rest.‘ “

  Frevisse drew a sharp breath. “They were looking for him.”

  ‘They were, and there wasn’t a damned or undamned thing I could do to help. Worse, as they were being herded out, he saw me and all I could do was look back at him and do nothing. Nothing.“

  ‘He saw you?“

  ‘He saw me, and oh, my lady, he was afraid. He knew what trouble he’s surely in and he was afraid.“

  ‘It’s my doing. It’s because Suffolk saw him.“

  ‘Probably,“ Joliffe agreed uncomfortingly. ”Saw him, found out he knew about the dead man, and not knowing how much or how little Arteys knows, he’s settled for supposing he knows too much and means to shut him up.“

  Frevisse stepped back from him. “You shouldn’t be talking to me. Even if Arteys keeps silent about where he’s been, Suffolk saw him with me. If you’re seen with me, Suffolk could turn on you next.”

  ‘Too true, unless your cousin convinced him you and she were innocent in this.“

  ‘How do I undo this? What am I going to do?“

  ‘You’re going to do nothing except go back to your nunnery,“ Joliffe said. ”As soon as possible.“

  ‘I can’t just leave, not after making this trouble.“

  ‘You didn’t make it. Suffolk made it. We have to keep him from making more. And by we, I mean myself, Bishop Beaufort, and even Bishop Pecock if he chooses. Not you.“

  ‘Or you either, Master Joliffe, if I may say so,“ Bishop Pecock said from the chapel’s open end.

  Both Joliffe and Frevisse startled, and Joliffe started, “You,” said Bishop Pecock sternly, “forgot to watch your back or you’d have seen me here.” He entered the chapel, making his bow to the altar while saying, “I, on the other hand, have left Master Orle outside with instruction to cough if anyone at all approaches into hearing.”

  Dame Perpetua, forgotten and silent until then, stood up from the bench. “I’ll join him, if I may. All this is something I shouldn’t hear, isn’t it?”

  ‘Very probably, yes,“ Bishop Pecock granted before either Frevisse or Joliffe could. ”And Master Orle will welcome your company.“ He and Joliffe bowed her away before he turned back to Joliffe and said, ”Now, it’s advisable you remove yourself from this matter because you are far more easily assailed than is Dame Frevisse. If Suffolk should learn of your help to Arteys and decide to deal with you, it would probably be done and over with before Bishop Beaufort could move to save you. Of the three of us, I not only have the most power to act but, as a bishop, am the least easily assailed should things go wrong.“

  ‘Remember Becket,“ said Joliffe. An archbishop of Canterbury murdered on a king’s orders three hundred years ago.

  ‘Saint Thomas Becket was a great and holy man who worked long and hard to have his martyrdom. My ambitions do not lie that way. I’m merely being practical. I am better placed than either of you to go against Suffolk. Why make it harder by getting either of you into trouble if you need not?“

  ‘But if you do fall into trouble,“ Frevisse said, ”you can’t disappear as Joliffe and I can.“

  ‘Being a bishop, I don’t need to disappear, merely withdraw with dignity to my bishopric. Besides, I don’t see anything any of us can do at present anyway. Myself or either of you.“

  ‘You could tell the king that Suffolk ordered the duke of Gloucester’s murder,“ Joliffe said.

  ‘With what proof?“

  ‘Arteys. He saw the man you found in the river. He says it’s the man he killed.“

  ‘Which will serve to get Arteys into deep trouble and prove nothing against Suffolk, who can deny any knowledge of it. Which, for all we know, may be true.“

  Joliffe threw up his hands impatiently. “Yes. I know. There’s no proof.”

  ‘And rather than make things worse for Arteys,“ Frevisse said slowly, ”you advise we wait quietly for… what?“

  ‘For what comes. For what I may find out. For whatever mistake Suffolk may make or someone else may make on his behalf. We wait to see what happens and do the best with it we can. For one thing, I doubt these treason charges against Gloucester’s men will ever come to anything, not now that Gloucester is dead, God keep his soul.“

  He said that sadly and crossed himself. Frevisse and Joliffe copied him but Joliffe asked while he did, “When?”

  ‘About three of the clock this afternoon. Not long after I reached him.“

  ‘It was a quiet death?“

  ‘As deaths go, yes.“

  ‘No sign of poison or anything else amiss?“

  ‘Nothing.“

  Not that that proved anything, Frevisse thought. Poisoning could be done with sufficient subtlety to leave no sign. But even Bishop Pecock forebore to point that out in the long moment they stood silent, before Joliffe said heavily, “You’re in the right. Everything being as it is, the best we can do is wait.”

  ‘But will you?“ Bishop Pecock asked.

  He and Joliffe exchanged a long, mutually assessing look before Joliffe bent his head slightly toward him and said with only faint mockery, “I will.”

  ‘Until we find something we can do usefully, rather than foolishly,“ Bishop Pecock said.

  Joliffe bent his head again. “Until then.”

  The pity was, Frevisse thought, that waiting would likely be, of almost all things, the hardest.

  * * *

  She found out all too soon how hard it was. A message sent that evening to Alice, asking to see her, brought no answer, leaving her to a night restless with circling thoughts and too little sleep. In the morning the church draped in the mourning purples of Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent did nothing to help. Even the weather was gone gray again. The only comfort was that the air still had a mild edge, giving hope for spring; and at the end of Prime one of Alice’s ladies found her, to say Alice would see her in the Lady Chapel after Mass if Frevisse would be so good. Frevisse sent back her thanks and word that she would be there.

  It was by force of will that Frevisse held her mind to the Mass but, after it, parted from Dame Perpetua with a willingness she hoped did not show and crossed the church to the north transept and the Lady Chapel. It was newer than most of the church, all pale stone and painted statues below tall windows and a blue-painted, golden-ribbed ceiling, with a carpet woven mostly in the Virgin Mary’s blues on the altar steps.

  Knowing she would fail, Frevisse did not try to pray but simply waited until soon—not soon enough—Alice came. Gowned in deep purple except for the wide curve of her high, gold-and-pearl-t
rimmed headdress and the pale gray yards of fine silk trailing from it, she left a gray-gowned lady-in-waiting behind her at the doorway and came, the long train of her gown whispering across the chapel’s tiled floor, to where Frevisse waited. Without greeting, she held out two folded pieces of parchment, each with a large red wax seal hung from it by a ribbon and said, “Your deed. Confirmed and sealed with the king’s own signet. You should have no trouble with it. And a grant from the queen after I reminded her of her promise to you. A small property of her own to St. Frideswide’s.”

  Both taken aback with surprise and greatly pleased, Frevisse took the parchments, thanking Alice and asking that she thank the queen, too, on the priory’s behalf.

  Alice waved that aside, saying bitterly, “What she gave you cost her nothing but a clerk’s effort and some ink, paper, and wax. She’s hardly had the property in her hands to know she’s given it away. It’s come from what they started grabbing from Gloucester before he was even dead and they’ll be taking more.” The bitterness deepened. “It’s like watching carrion crows on a corpse.”

  ‘Alice…“

  ‘There’s a jest running among them, too, that yet again Gloucester has taken the easy way out of trouble. ’Took it lying down, too,‘ that idiot Bart Halley said and they all laughed. King Henry has even ordered there’s to be no mourning. What’s the matter with him? With them all?“

  ‘What happened yesterday after I left you?“

  ‘Yesterday.“ Alice circled back through her thoughts as if going a long way and said no less bitterly, ”I told Suffolk the ’truth‘ we’d prepared of how we came to there. I said I knew no more than you did why Gloucester’s son wanted to see the body. That’s true, you know. You must know something about it but I know nothing and therefore know ’no more‘ than you do. Though Suffolk didn’t hear it that way nor did I mean him to. Then I asked him why, since the dead man was one of our people, he hadn’t been seen to properly. Suffolk laid his hand on my shoulder and told me it wasn’t something I need concern myself about.“ Darkly, she added, ”He’s going to do that once too often.“