Across the garden Dame Perpetua sat on another of the turf benches, a small box with awl, thick needle, and heavy thread beside her and a breviary in need of mending on her lap, though she seemed working on it only slightly more than Frevisse was on her accounts. And if Dame Claire’s excuse for being here was because, as infirmarian and responsible for the nunnery’s health, she needed to see to the herbs here in the garden that she used in her medicines, she looked to be doing no more than drifting from one plant to another, plucking an occasional leaf to smell with what looked more like idle pleasure than purpose. At least Dame Juliana was truly at work, diligently weeding one of the corner beds where something undesirable had apparently been creeping in among the gillyflowers; but then, the garden here and in the cloister garth were her delights and a chance to work in them were all the pleasure she could ask of any day.
On the other hand, Sister Johane and Sister Cecely were making no pretense of doing anything. Their embroidery was left on a bench, not a stitch done, while they walked together in the arbor, their black gowns and black veils dappled with sunlight among the leaf-shadows, talking despite it was still the silent time of the day, when no one should talk except at need. They were the youngest of the nuns and cousins to each other and in St. Frideswide’s more by their families’ wishes than their own inclinations, by all that Frevisse had ever noted about them.
She caught herself on the thought and made a quick, small prayer of contrition. However true, it was a petty thought, and for a while afterwards she set herself to the kitchen accounts…
Die sabbati proximo ante festum Pentecostes: Item in piscibus—for fish, one shilling ten pence. Item in farina avenarum—for ground meal, nine and a half pence. Item in pipero—for pepper, three pence.
And another pence to the carrier for having bought and brought it by particular request from Banbury, she remembered and penned in.
Item in piscibus etfabis—for fish and beans… Why had she put them together in the account? she wondered… and found she was looking not at the page in front of her anymore but at the bees in the blue-flowered spires of the bellflowers across the path, their hum and bumble far more interesting than Item in primis in pane—for bread, one shilling twelve pence—that had been when the priory’s oven had needed repairing and they had had to buy from the village instead of baking their own—and told herself with in-kept laughter that after all it was only right she take an interest in the bees. The past years’ hard weather had made for a death of bees and thereby a dearth of honey and none knew better than she did, as the priory’s cellarer, that if the priory’s hives failed to thrive this summer, there would be need to buy honey come the autumn and there was presently small money in St. Frideswide’s for buying anything, even necessities, which honey was because certainly they could not afford sugar and without even honey it would be an unsweet winter.
The trouble had come with their last prioress who, one way and another, had made a waste of the priory’s properties and taken them deep into debts—as well as into other troubles. Domina Elisabeth, their present prioress, was slowly bringing matters around, St. Benedict keep her. She had brought peace and prayers back into the nunnery, there was good hope for the harvest, Master Naylor had bargained a better-than-expected price for the wool clip, and Domina Elisabeth’s plan to bring in a little ready money toward settling some of their debts by setting the nuns to copying books to sell had actually begun to pay. In fact, today was a little holiday because of their latest success at it; yesterday had seen the finish of a psalter ordered for an anchorite in Northampton by her family as a gift for when she took her final vows of enclosure on St. Mary Magdalen’s day. It was a plain work, no one in St. Frideswide’s having skill at illumination, but that was all the better for an anchorite in her plain life. What mattered was that the script had been well written, clear and even and an almost unvarying black—Dame Perpetua had an excellent receipt for ink—with only the faintest differences to show how many hands had worked at it.
St. Frideswide’s was a small priory, unable to spare anyone from their other duties to do only scribework, and among the ten nuns, only Domina Elisabeth, Dame Perpetua, Dame Juliana, Sister Johane, and Frevisse had proved skilled enough to do it at all and all of them had offices or other duties that took up much of their time aside from scribing.
Or else their scribing took them away from their offices and so Frevisse was behind in the kitchen accounts and should be paying better heed to them now while she had the chance, she thought, and tried again to take an interest in Item in candelis—for candles, two pence. As cellarer she was responsible for the nunnery’s worldly needs within the cloister—what they ate or wore or used; what they were in need of; whether what they had would do or if, St. Zita forbid, something had to be bought. Besides that, she was also kitchener, overseeing everything that was done, everything that was used, in the priory’s kitchens, both in the cloister and in the guesthalls. What time those duties did not take up, the account keeping for them did, it seemed, so that between all that and the scribework and the eight daily Offices of prayers in the church, time merely to sit had been slight.
Dame Claire and Dame Juliana were now talking together over one of the lavender-bordered middle beds, and Frevisse noted sadly that although Domina Elisabeth had made some attempt to restore the rule—lost under their last prioress—that silence should be kept except at certain times and places in St. Frideswide’s, no one held to it very much, even the older nuns, except herself sometimes, when she was able, and Sister Thomasine always, when she was allowed.
But then Sister Thomasine had never lost her quiet, even in the worst days under Domina Alys, and if she had no other duty to hold her, she was probably praying in the church even now.
The garden’s gate opening turned everyone to look, even Sister Johane and Sister Cecely pausing in their chatter to see who was come, despite the gate led only to the cloister and no one more unfamiliar than another nun or cloister servants was likely; and indeed it was only Sister Emma and everyone went back to what they had been doing, except Frevisse because Sister Emma, after a moment’s hesitation to look around the garden, came purposefully toward her, and regretfully Frevisse rolled closed the accounts. Today Sister Emma was taking turn to attend on Domina Elisabeth, and if she was seeking Frevisse, it was on Domina Elisabeth’s behalf rather than her own. Indeed she called while still bustling along the path, before she reached where Frevisse sat, “My lady says you’re to come. She needs you in her parlor right away, please you.”
Tucking the account roll under one arm and picking up the pen and ink, Frevisse asked, “To what purpose?”
Reaching her, Sister Emma dropped her voice to almost a whisper, as if somehow it must be kept a secret, “There’s a Master Spencer come to see her.”
Frevisse did not see why that needed whispering, but she asked as she rose and started back toward the gate with Sister Emma, “She’s there alone with him?”
‘Oh, no!“ Sister Emma indulged in being scandalized at the thought that she might have left their prioress in private with a man. ”Sister Amicia is there.“ Sister Amicia presently being hosteler, in charge of the guesthalls and therefore of any guests to the nunnery, which Frevisse presumed this Master Spencer was. ”And Master Naylor has been sent for,“ Sister Emma added, a little breathless though Frevisse had been trying to hold in her quicker walk to Sister Emma’s bustling one.
Hand out to open the garden’s gate, Frevisse paused to look at her. “Master Naylor?”
Sister Emma nodded, catching her breath and eager to tell more. “This Master Spencer gave Domina Elisabeth a letter and added, right then and there before Sister Amicia could leave, that it might be well if she were to send for Master Naylor to come to answer in the matter.”
Frevisse went out the gate and along the way to the slype, the narrow passage into the cloister walk, Sister Emma still happily saying behind her—because almost anything out of the way of the cloister’s ordinar
y day was delight to Sister Emma, and with the rule of silence slackened, there was little to hold her back from her best pastime of talk—“So Domina Elisabeth bade Sister Amicia wait a moment and she read the letter, only there wasn’t much of it…”
Frevisse supposed probably nothing more than “I pray you pay heed to the bearer of this letter. He knows what I wish said to you,” with signature and seal to identify the sender, and who that was Sister Emma surely did not know or she would have said.
‘… and then she said I was to find someone to go for Master Naylor and then I was to find you and bid you come, please you, and Sister Amicia could stay with her.“ More breathless now, talking to have it all said as she and Frevisse went around the cloister walk toward the stairs up to Domina Elisabeth’s rooms, she added, ”What do you suppose it’s about?“
‘I couldn’t guess,“ Frevisse said, leaving speculation to Sister Emma who was enjoying it so much.
As they passed the short passage from the cloister walk to the outer door, Master Naylor was coming in and paused to let them pass, bowing to them while they did. He was never given to much talk; nor had he ever, Frevisse knew, found it easy to take direction from women, even St. Frideswide’s prioresses, but through one thing and another, something like respect had grown between him and her over the years, and she bent her head in answer to his bow, then led up the stairs to Domina Elisabeth’s parlor, Sister Emma panting behind her, Master Naylor following after.
The parlor door stood open but Frevisse paused to knock lightly and receive Domina Elisabeth’s “Benedicite” before she entered. Because among her duties St. Frideswide’s prioress had to receive important guests and conduct such nunnery business as needed more privity than the daily chapter meeting involving all the nuns, her parlor was more richly furnished than the rest of the nunnery, with not only a fireplace and glass in the three tall windows overlooking the courtyard but brightly embroidered cushions on the window seat and a Spanish woven carpet over a table set with a silver ewer and bowl and two chairs, one of them high-backed and elaborately carved, rather than the usual stools for sitting. For Domina Elisabeth, a scribe’s slant-topped desk had been added, set beside the window for best light, where she could work at the copying tasks she shared with her nuns, and beside the hearth there was a cushioned basket where her cat occasionally slept between whiles of trying out various beds in the nuns’ dormitory, usually preferring Dame Claire’s, who did not like the beast, while scorning Sister Johane’s endless attempts to win its affections.
As she entered, Frevisse took in Domina Elisabeth standing beside her desk, one hand out to rest on a letter lying open there—the message she had lately received, Frevisse supposed—and a man—Master Spencer, surely— standing nearby, facing her, and Sister Amicia keeping watch beside the door for propriety’s sake, in the moment before lowering her eyes properly toward the floor in an unknown man’s presence while she crossed to make deep curtsy to Domina Elisabeth, then stepped aside for Master Naylor to make his bow while Sister Emma announced the obvious with, “I’ve brought them, my lady,” and added brightly, “Good company makes short miles!”
Sister Emma used proverbs far more often than she understood them, and even though this one was somewhat more apt that Sister Emma’s often were, Domina Elisabeth paused, distracted, said, “Yes. Well.” And, “Thank you.” Then, “You and Sister Amicia may go.”
It took a brief pause for Sister Emma and Sister Amicia to realize they were being sent away without having heard anything worth telling anyone, but they recovered, made hasty curtsies to Domina Elisabeth, and left in a swish of long black skirts, and only when they were gone did Frevisse realize Domina Elisabeth had given no order for food or drink to be brought for whoever this man was, a failure of courtesy that roused a warning in her even as Domina Elisabeth said somewhat crisply, “Master Naylor, you and Master Spencer are acquainted, I believe?”
‘We’ve worked together, yes,“ Master Naylor answered, and then, as if he had been asked for an explanation, ”He’s Lord Lovell’s bailiff for Prior Byfield.“
Seemingly introducing her to Master Spencer was another courtesy being bypassed, and Frevisse raised her head to see what passed between the men as Master Naylor nodded greeting to the other man with, “Master Spencer. I hadn’t thought to see you again before Michaelmas.”
Master Spencer returned the nod but only barely and looked away to Domina Elisabeth who said as if doing a thing she did not want to, “He’s come from Lord Lovell with a problem concerning you, Master Naylor.”
Master Naylor looked between the two of them with a trace of surprise on his usually unrevealing face. “A problem?”
‘It seems Lord Lovell has had report that possibly you’re a villein of his,“ Domina Elisabeth said.
In the sudden gap of silence then, Frevisse was aware of the soft cooing of doves around the well in the courtyard below the open window, the warm shift of air across her face as a corner of the day’s light wind found its way into the room, the distant clop of horses being led across cobbles in the outer yard, until slowly, as if finding his way to the words, Master Naylor said, “What am I to answer to that except to say it isn’t true?”
‘You could, if it’s true, admit it,“ Domina Elisabeth said, as carefully as he’d asked it, ”because clearly you’ve had far more than your fugitive year from him and are free, even if you were born bond.“
Master Naylor looked at Master Spencer. “In this case, that wouldn’t serve, would it? Lord Lovell always pursues his rights to any villein that flees.”
‘He would have entered his claim to you into the courts when you first fled, yes,“ Master Spencer agreed. And under law, that gave Lord Lovell right to claim his property no matter how long a time had passed.
‘Except I was never his villein,“ Master Naylor said.
‘That will have to be proven.“ Master Spencer turned from him to Domina Elisabeth. ”You understand that with his skills and abilities, Naylor is valuable enough for my lord to pursue this in hope of having him back.“
Frevisse noted that Master Spencer had already reduced Master Naylor to only Naylor, as without title as he would be without freedom if Lord Lovell’s claim were proved true.
‘And there are his wife and children, too,“ Master Spencer went on.
Frevisse saw Master Naylor’s hands clench into fists at his sides, his first overt sign of anger and not for himself but for his family, threatened because a person’s freedom or unfreedom were determined not only by their parentage but by their birthplace. If Master Naylor was proved to have been born unfree, then even if his wife was freeborn, their children would be unfree like their father, Lord Lovell’s property along with him, unless it was shown they had been born on freehold land, and Frevisse knew for certain that at least some of them had been born here in St. Frideswide’s priory that was not freehold. So if Master Naylor were proved villein born and his children born here, they could only be free if their mother was freeborn and not married to their father. But that would leave them bastards.
Tense with in-held anger, Master Naylor said, “My wife is freeborn. And my children. And me.”
Not looking at him but somewhere into the air over Domina Elisabeth’s shoulder, Master Spencer answered, “I promise you I’m no more pleased with this than you are, Naylor, but we both have to see it through, that’s all.”
‘Then,“ said Domina Elisabeth curtly, ”you might begin by continuing to call him Master Naylor until it’s proven otherwise against him. Who made this accusation?“
‘That isn’t something I’m free to say,“ Master Spencer answered. ”Someone saw him and recognized…“
“Thought they recognized,” Frevisse put in with a curt-ness that matched Domina Elisabeth’s.
‘Thought they recognized him,“ Master Spencer said stiffly, giving her a sharp, resenting glance, ”and rightly sent word to Lord Lovell of it.“
By St. Benedict’s Rule, the nunnery was required t
o take in as guests any travellers who asked for hospitality. It could have been anyone among those who had stayed in the guesthalls, here for only a night or two in passing, through the past few weeks, who had seen Master Naylor and thought they knew him and felt duty bound to tell Lord Lovell. Unless Master Spencer chose to tell them, they had no way of guessing who it had been, and likely who it had been did not really matter. The hurt was done and would have to be dealt with, whoever had caused it, Frevisse thought, while Master Spencer went on, “What I’ve come for, besides to tell you of it, is to insure he doesn’t have chance to run again while this is sorted out.”
‘I can’t run ’again,‘ “ Master Naylor said grimly, ”not having ever run at all.“
Except for a sideways flinch of his eyes, Master Spencer ignored that. “Because he’s potentially so valuable to his grace, I’m here to take him into my keeping, to see him to Minster Lovell, where he can be held safe, since bringing it to court will take time.”
‘No,“ Domina Elisabeth said with flat certainty.
Momentarily off-balanced by so utter a refusal, Master Spencer stared at her, then recovered his place and dignity, drew himself up, and started, “I fear I have to insist…”
The Reeve's Tale Page 3