The Boy's Tale

by Margaret Frazer

  Nell sighed. "That's not so bad then. Though he died unshriven and all, and that's bad, but maybe he had a chance to say Godamercy and that would help, wouldn't it?"

  "Assuredly," Frevisse said. "I'll do extra prayers for him, to help."

  "And I will, too. I hope they find whoever did it and gibbet him high!" But there was fear as well as anger in Nell's voice, and she added, "They'll catch him soon, won't they, the man who's doing this?"

  "Yes, of course. It would be charity to pray for the other man who's dead, too. For Colwin."

  "I will, though he wasn't nearly so good as Will. I think he would have bullied a girl if he'd had the chance, would that Colwin fellow. He was more fond of himself than he'd reason to be. Oh my!" She crossed herself. "I'm speaking ill of the dead and him not even buried yet. It's awful, people being killed like this, all of a sudden. And nearer all the time. Nobody wants to sleep here tonight but where could we go and know we're safer, I ask you?"

  "I doubt any of you are in peril. It's the people who came with Sir Gawyn who are dying. May I see Will's shirt?"

  "What? Oh, surely, indeed, Dame Frevisse. Here."

  She held it out readily and Frevisse took it. "You've made a grand mend of it. Where was it ripped?"

  Pleased to be praised, Nell showed her. "Here, just along the shoulder seam. A big rip it was."

  "Yes, now I can see. How did he do it?"

  "He didn't say. He just asked me to mend it and I said I would. I was glad to, he was so pleasant and—"

  "Was there anything else wrong with the shirt? Was it wet or anything? Or dirty as if he'd been in a fight or some such thing?"

  "Just man-dirty. It's still not been washed. I was going to do that. See, it's grimed around neck and sleeve edges. But no, it wasn't wet."

  Frevisse gave it back to her. There was nothing about it to tell her anything except that Will had told the truth at least about it being ripped. But he had lied to her about how, and how would she find out the truth of it, now that Will was dead?

  She found chapter meeting had ended when she came out of the guesthall and saw Dame Alys crossing the yard toward her, on her way to her morning bullying of the guesthall servants. Frevisse, when she had been hosteler, had found they worked well enough if an eye was kept on them and an ear given to their troubles, but Dame Alys seemed to find them all a lazy pack of scruff-ridden layabouts, to use her own words, lice-headed fools who needed her constant nagging to do anything at all. By the lowering expression on her face, things were going to go worse than usual for them today, and seeing Frevisse in her way plainly did not help.

  "You, Dame!" Dame Alys demanded. "What have you been about that you couldn't be bothered to come to chapter?"

  Frevisse braced herself and said, "Master Naylor wanted to see me because the squire Will had been killed in the night in the guesthall's back passage."

  Dame Alys sucked in her breath through clenched teeth. "Killed? Murdered, like the other one? In my guesthall? And Naylor summoned you instead of me? That's wrong, Dame! The guesthalls are mine, not yours anymore!"

  "It isn't a matter of the guesthall. It's a matter of murder and in that the problem is mine."

  "And that's wrong!" Dame Alys declared. "You're seeing into what isn't your business. That's Dame Claire's doing and she's wrong to let you do it!"

  There was never any use in answering Dame Alys's anger with anger; it only drove her to greater excesses. As mildly as she could, Frevisse said, "It's only until the crowner can come. Then—"

  "Five men killed hardly a week ago and now two more dead on our doorstep! We're in need of more than the crowner. We're in need of armed men to hunt down whoever is doing this and keep us safe while they do. It's out of hand and ought to be stopped. There's been enough of it, and if Dame Claire doesn't do something now, somebody else ought to!"

  "I'm trying to, Dame," Frevisse said evenly.

  "But it isn't you who should be trying! It's Dame Claire's friendship for you that's brought us to this. There was never this sort of thing when Domina Edith had her way here. I said as much in chapter this morning and I'll say it again. There are things wrong here, very wrong, and it's clear Dame Claire can't put them right!"

  Frevisse abruptly understood it was not the murders that had her in such a rage, or even that Frevisse had been called to the guesthall instead of her this morning. Those were merely sticks to beat the matter she was really angry over—that Dame Claire had authority she did not have, and that when the time came Dame Claire would in all likelihood be elected prioress instead of her. What made it worse was that Dame Alys had an edge of right to what she said. It was not Frevisse's place to be doing what she was doing over the murders, and only Dame Claire's permission allowed it. And there was indeed something very wrong here: something she was deliberately concealing not only from the nuns but very specifically from Dame Claire who had the greatest right to know. Stiffly, knowing that if everything eventually came out in its tangled detail she would be at Dame Alys's mercy, Frevisse said, "I'm sorry you've been offended," and moved away from her.

  'There'll be more about this in chapter tomorrow!" Dame Alys declared at her back, loudly enough to be heard from guesthall to cloister.

  Head and back held straight, Frevisse went on, refusing her any answer.

  She found Dame Claire at her duties as cellarer in the kitchen, waited while she finished discussing what greens there were for dinner, and asked her to come to the slype. Dame Claire gave her a hard, questioning look but came. She was pale from the night spent in prayer in the church, but as Frevisse detailed Will's death her face lost what color it had left. Shaken out of her usual, competent calm, she said, "Another murder? How can this be happening? What are we going to do?"

  "Bring Sir Gawyn and Mistress Maryon into the infirmary for their own safety," Frevisse said promptly.

  "You can't be serious!"

  "A badly injured man is in peril of his life. He can stay in the infirmary and not even be seen."

  "Dame Frevisse, have you thought about what you're asking? Bring a man into the cloister?"

  "And a lady. These people are in danger and unable to help themselves. How can we refuse them the greatest safety that we have?"

  "How much safer will they be in here?" Dame Claire returned. "Whoever is doing this is apparently desperate and assuredly bold."

  "But the boys have only been attacked when they're outside the cloister, and whoever shoved them in the water yesterday and then killed Colwin didn't attack me. Something holds him back at least that much."

  "But if there's no other way to come at his prey—"

  "Master Naylor can put a guard at every door."

  "There aren't men to spare."

  "For this he'll have men."

  Dame Claire's chill expression did not change.

  Desperately, Frevisse said, quoting from the Rule, " 'Let all who come to the monastery be welcomed like Christ, for he will say—'"

  Dame Claire interrupted her with uncharacteristic impatience, her eyes angry. "Your point is made. But in all its existence, there has never been a man allowed to stay in our cloister."

  Frevisse made no reply, only waited.

  At last Dame Claire said, "Can this wait at least until Sext so Sir Gawyn can be brought in without any of us seeing him?"

  "Yes," Frevisse agreed quickly, relieved and willing to accept nearly any concession so long as he and Maryon could come into safety.

  "Then send Master Naylor word of it and that he's to post the guards as he sees fit. But mind, whatever comes, even the end of the world, you're at Sext."

  Frevisse bowed her head and curtsied. "Yes, Dame."

  Dame Claire made to go, then said instead, angrily, "What is it about these boys? They're the cause of this all, aren't they? Why is this happening?"

  Miserably, Frevisse could only shake her head. "I can't tell you."

  "What if something happens to you? How will I know what is going on or what's best to do if
something happens to you?"

  "Domina Edith—"

  "—directed me to trust you and I am, as best I may. But she's beyond questions or answering now."

  "Then Maryon knows, and Sir Gawyn."

  "Who are probably as marked for death as all their men have been."

  Dame Claire's blunt, practical mind could be uncomfortable upon occasion. Inwardly flinching, Frevisse answered bluntly back, "That's why it's still better you don't know."

  "I begin to doubt that," Dame Claire snapped and again made to leave.

  But Frevisse asked, "How is it with Domina Edith?"

  To her surprise Dame Claire's anger drained away into a slight, pleasured smile as she said gently, "Very peaceful. Go up to see her if you want. We agreed in chapter to go one by one through the day, as we chose, to see her, pray by her briefly, say good-bye." Behind the smile tears welled up. No matter how peaceful the parting, it was parting forever. Dame Claire tried to say something else, could not, shook her head, and went. Left alone, Frevisse made a short prayer asking for strength and mercy, and then went to find a servant to send in search of Master Naylor.

  She waited for him in the cloister and stepped outside the cloister door into the yard to talk with him when he came. He took the orders grimly, made terse agreement to them, and asked bluntly, "Are you sure of what you're doing?"

  "No," she said back, and reentered the cloister.

  There was only a little while until Sext, and though she would rather have allowed someone else the task, she supposed she should tell the boys of Will's death as well as what else was toward. She turned toward their room, in time to see a flick of child-sized movement disappearing into their doorway. Anger born of frustration clenched in her. Were they such fools they still didn't know their danger and understand they had to stay in their room? And where were Tibby and Jenet with their strict orders to keep them in it?

  Grimly, Frevisse went along the walk, rapped sharply on the door frame since the door already stood open, and went in without waiting to be asked. Tibby and Jenet rose to their feet with bobbing curtsies, a little startled at her suddenness. Edmund and Jasper sitting on the rush matting playing at something with straws looked up, ready to be interested in anything new. Lady Adela, standing beside them, dropped in a deep curtsy and said, understanding Frevisse's face before anyone else did, "It was me in the passage, Dame, not them! They've stayed in here just as they were told to."

  "And you've only come to keep them company," Frevisse said, no less grim outwardly but her anger dissipated by the child's explanation. "Not lead them out to mischief again?"

  "No, Dame." Lady Adela shook her head urgently to show how sincerely she meant it, her fair hair flicking around her shoulders with her vehemence. "We won't go out anymore, ever, until you say we can."

  "You promised me that before and you went anyway. Why should I believe you now?" Frevisse included Edmund and Jasper in the accusing question.

  "Because we know it's dangerous now and won't do it again. Will we?" Lady Adela asked Edmund and Jasper.

  Both boys shook their heads. They seemed none the worse for yesterday, except for a kind of solemnity, a wariness to their watching, that Frevisse had not noticed in them before. Partly she was glad of it; it meant yesterday's terror had left a lesson and they would assuredly be more careful because of it. But it also angered her, because it was a lesson they should not have had to learn so young.

  But all she said was, "That's good then. See that you remember it, please." Including Jenet and Tibby in what she had to say next, she went on, "But I'm afraid I have bad news to bring you."

  "Colwin is dead," Jasper said sadly. "He was drowned where we nearly were. Dame Perpetua told us."

  "She came between breakfast and chapter to tell them," Tibby explained quickly. "She thought it best they know as soon as might be and hear it from her rather than someone else."

  "That's well," Frevisse said, sick with what she had to say next. They had seemingly absorbed Colwin's death well enough, but they had known Will better. What his death would mean, coming so close after everything else, she did not know. "But last night sometime—we don't know when yet—Will was killed, too. In the guesthall."

  Tibby's mouth dropped open. Jenet shrieked and threw her apron over her face, pressed her hands to it, and began to rock and keen. Lady Adela sank down on her heels between the two boys and put her arms around Jasper. He and Edmund stared up at Frevisse, their eyes huge and shocked.

  "I'm sorry," Frevisse said, feeling the words were useless.

  Tibby stood up. "I'll bring something to drink from the kitchen. Cider. Something. We need something."

  "That would be good," Frevisse agreed, and Tibby left. Frevisse sank down to the children's level, to see their faces directly. Stricken and silent, they stared back at her, nobody heeding Jenet wailing across the room. To the children Frevisse said, "We'll find who did it. We don't know yet but we'll find out."

  "How did they kill him?" Edmund asked.

  "He was stabbed. In the heart. He would have died almost as it happened."

  "Did he fight them?"

  "He didn't have a chance to."

  "He should have fought them! Jasper and I would have fought them!" Edmund's anger was not enough to stop the tears welling up and sliding down his face. "They won't kill us like that! We'll fight them if they come!"

  "Nobody is going to kill you," Frevisse said. "You're safe here."

  "They've killed Hery and Hamon and Colwin and Will," Jasper said in a curiously calm voice. He was not crying; he was not doing anything except sitting there and saying the truth with horrible certainty as he stared into nothingness over her shoulder. "They tried to kill us at the pigpen, and they tried to kill us at the pool, and they'll go on trying because they don't want us to be alive anymore."

  "Jasper," Frevisse said in agony for the pain and fear he was refusing to show. "Who would want you dead? Why?" Those were the most basic questions of all and she had no answers to them.

  But Jasper did. He shifted his eyes and looked at her. "The people my mother is afraid of. She sent us away because she's afraid of what they want to do. She was trying to save us."

  Trying to pretend he was not crying, Edmund said, "We thought they'd all been killed when we fought them by the stream, before we came here, but there must be more of them. They'll try to kill Sir Gawyn and Mistress Maryon next!"

  "No they won't. We're going to bring Sir Gawyn and Mistress Maryon into the cloister, into the infirmary, and there'll be guards at all the doors. No one will be able to reach them here. Or reach you either." Unable to face Jasper's expression that refused even that little hope, and not knowing what to do about Edmund's tears, Frevisse rose to her feet and snapped, "Jenet, stop wailing! You've done nothing else since you came here and we're all tired of it!" To the three children, more gently, she said, "I have to go see to other things now. Edmund, Jasper, you will stay here, in this room. You understand now? No going out for anything unless I say you may?"

  "We'll stay," said Edmund. "We won't go out at all." Jasper nodded.

  Frevisse thought Lady Adela would stay with them, but the girl followed her from the room, trotting as best her limp would let her to catch up and then stay beside her as Frevisse went along the cloister walk.

  Well away from the boys' room Frevisse stopped. Lady Adela stopped with her. "Do you want something, child?" Frevisse asked. Lady Adela had never sought her company before.

  Her hands clasped prayerfully in front of her, her face tipped up to see Frevisse's eyes, Lady Adela asked, "They will be all right, won't they? You won't let anyone hurt them?"

  "I'm doing all I can to keep them safe, and so are other people. And no one will hurt you, either, so you don't have to be afraid."

  "I'm not," Lady Adela said indignantly. "Not for me. It's just that I love Jasper and I mean to marry him, and so no one had better hurt him."

  Improbable young love was something Frevisse had no time or patien
ce for just now. "My Lady Adela," she said with what restraint she could manage, "you are Lord Warenne's daughter. I don't think you can go choosing whom you will marry." She refrained from adding, "And especially you should not choose either of these boys."

  As much as her soft, sweet face allowed, Lady Adela's expression hardened in unwonted stubbornness. "My father doesn't want me and I'll choose whom I like, no matter what he says."

  "Lady Adela—" Frevisse began, then decided this was not an argument she had to participate in, most especially now. Instead she asked, "Why did you break your word and go out yesterday?"