The Sempster's Tale

by Margaret Frazer

No matter if a nunnery were large or small, rich or poor, a nun’s life was lived around the cloister walk. She passed along it to the church for the Offices and to all her other duties elsewhere inside the nunnery, sometimes worked there and often took her recreation, as Frevisse was now, walking around it. The very familiarity should have been a comfort to her but it was not, and for once she would have welcomed the chance to distract herself in talk with someone else; but while the Benedictine Rule of silence had grown slack in nunneries since she had become a nun, here the nuns still kept to silence on Sundays at least, denying her even the diversion of talk. Nor could she sit still and read as usually she would have gladly done and as other nuns were doing, including Dame Juliana who had accompanied her here from St. Frideswide’s.

  Seated in the shade on the low wall between walk and garth with a book of saints’ lives open on her lap, she was probably more dozing over it than anything, Frevisse thought sharply, not in the humour for charitable thoughts toward anyone, however blameless. In truth just now she was ready to blame everyone, including herself, for everything; nor did knowing that was unjust and made no sense change her humour in the slightest. Which only served to irk her the worse as she continued to walk, her pace measured, her hands tucked quietly into the opposite sleeves of her black Benedictine gown, her head a little bowed, around the walk and around and around again, wishing she could settle, knowing it would be better not only for herself but for the seeming that she was come to London for only the plain reason given to everyone, including Dame Juliana.

  The plain reason but a false one.

  For the world and all to know, she was here on the matter of funeral vestments her cousin Lady Alice meant to give to St. Frideswide’s in memory of Lady Alice’s late husband, to go with provision of special prayers for his soul. That Lady Alice’s late husband had been the powerful duke of Suffolk and murdered not two months ago on his way into exile made the gift less ordinary than it might have been but still straightforward enough: Frevisse was to meet with the vestment-maker to agree on the patterns to be embroidered and the cloth to be used and then confirm the commission on Lady Alice’s behalf. Prevented as Lady Alice was by her present mourning from making the London journey herself, it was reasonable she had asked Frevisse be allowed to go in her stead, a measure of her favor and trust toward her cousin, with no reason for anyone to think the business over vestments hid another matter altogether.

  But it did, and it was that other matter that had Frevisse restlessly pacing, angry to be here, as inwardly a-seethe as England presently was outwardly. With Suffolk’s years of misgovernment for the king and this past year’s headlong losses in the French war—with most of the late King Henry V’s great conquests in France now gone—there was such a continuing rumble of angers and rebellions that this was no time to be traveling, which Lady Alice had acknowledged in her letter to St. Frideswide’s prioress Domina Elisabeth when telling her of the intended gift and requesting Frevisse’s part in it as well as promising the use of her own rowed barge so that Frevisse and her escort could travel by river rather than road from Oxford to London.

  Domina Elisabeth, more than willing to oblige so wealthy a patron as Lady Alice, had agreed without apparent second thought. Frevisse, under a nun’s vow of obedience, had had no choice but to accept and obey. She had been uneasy, though. She and Alice had not last parted pleased with each other, that Alice should be asking this of her now; and her unease had only increased at finding the barge stripped of any sign it belonged to the duke or duchess of Suffolk. From bow to stern the Suffolk colors of blue and gold were painted over to a plain brown, and the canvas tilt no longer bore the ducal heraldic arms.

  Worse had come when the barge’s master had taken secret chance to give her a sealed letter, saying with a wary look around them, “My lady ordered it was for only you to know of.”

  Frevisse had slipped the folded and sealed paper into her sleeve with a sinking certainty she was not going to like whatever it said. She had learned to be wary of Alice’s secrets, and her wariness had not lessened when she finally had chance to read the letter, such as it was. The two sentences told her nearly nothing: “When my agent in London meets you about the vestments, he will have another matter for you that none else must know of. However much I have lost your friendship of late, I pray you, in mercy, to aid me in this.” That was all; and just as the wax seal had been plain, there was no signed name to betray who had written it.

  The writing had seemed Alice’s, though, and Frevisse was left with nothing but to pretend all was as it outwardly was supposed to be while keeping to herself her low-held anger and ill-graced curiosity at what Alice wanted of her. And now, after scarcely a day in London, her waiting might be at an end. Across the cloister garth a nun had stopped beside Dame Juliana and, mindful of the Sunday silence, was moving her hands in quick signs, to which Dame Juliana shook her head and pointed toward Frevisse. The nun started around the walk toward her, and Frevisse walked on to meet her, trying to curb any outward show of impatience. When they met, the nun signed with her hands that Frevisse was wanted somewhere, and Frevisse nodded silently that she understood and followed the woman out of the cloister walk and away through several rooms to the parlor near the cloister’s outer door where nuns met with such guests as they were allowed.

  At St. Frideswide’s the guest parlor was little used, friends and relatives only sometimes coming so out of the way to visit, but the nuns in St. Helen’s were mostly of London families, with much come and go of visiting, and their parlor was comfortable with cushioned chairs, cloth-covered table, rush matting underfoot, and tapestried walls. As Frevisse entered, the man there turned from considering the tapestry showing the Foolish Virgins with their burned-out lamps, and the St. Helen’s nun murmured, “Master Raulyn Grene,” before sinking onto the chair just inside the door as if all the walking to and fro had worn her out. Since no nun should meet alone with a man, she would stay there, but Frevisse supposed that must be a difficulty this Master Grene had considered aforetime. Supposing he was Alice’s agent. But who else in London was likely to seek her out?

  At any rate, Raulyn Grene was a comely man in his early middle years and undoubtedly a prospering merchant of some sort, confident of bearing and his dark blue, three-quarter-length over-gown soberly cut but of a silken-finished worsted with the standing collar lined with green velvet, his black hosen close-fitted, his low-cut shoes of fine leather, and a pearl hung from the silver brooch on the rolled brim of his round-crowned hat that he removed as he bowed to her. He would have less by which to judge her, she knew, gowned as she was to her feet in the several layers and full skirts of black Benedictine habit, with her face encircled by a white wimple under a black veil, so that all of her that showed were her hands folded together at her waist and her face, which she was fairly sure betrayed nothing of her thoughts as Master Grene said, “My lady, it’s my pleasure to meet you. Her grace of Suffolk has asked I be her agent and of service to you in this matter of vestments.”

  ‘It’s equally my pleasure, Master Grene,“ Frevisse said as graciously back to him. ”Although I hope you know more of the business than I do.“

  ‘I have my lady’s commission in full. If you would care to sit?“ He gestured to two chairs well away from the door, set either side of a small table where two goblets and a small plate of crisp cakes awaited them. As he led Frevisse to one of the chairs, Master Grene asked, ”I hope your journey went quietly?“

  ‘Quite quietly, save that we heard about the Kentish rebels only after we were on our way. Master Naylor kept us a day more in Oxford, until we heard they had drawn off.“

  ‘Master Naylor?“

  ‘Our nunnery’s steward.“ Frevisse sat and gestured for Master Grene to do the same. ”He and his son saw Dame Juliana and me to London.“

  ‘He did well to be careful.“ Master Grene handed her one of the goblets, sat himself, and took up the other. ”But London itself was always safe enough. The bridge can
be kept against them easily enough.“

  It was courteous, shallow talk, the sort made between two people before setting to business. Here it was probably as much for the nun across the room as for themselves, and Frevisse kept it going with, “There’s some wondering, I gather, that the king did not do more against the rebels.”

  What she had truly heard was outright anger at King Henry, but Master Grene said moderately enough, “He’s a man of peace, our king.”

  Frevisse held back from saying tartly that if he were truly a man of peace, he would have seen to the truce with France being kept last year rather than letting it be stupidly broken and the French war flare out again. But about that she knew too much, held silent, and took a drink of the wine while Master Grene went on, “It does seem that he’s going to have to deal with them after all, though. There’s report that they’re moving this way again.”

  ‘True report?“ She felt no particular alarm. As Master Grene said, London bridge could be easily held against them. But Master Naylor would be unhappy at the news. Even more unhappy that he had been in Oxford at her insistence they go onward to London when he would rather have waited longer.

  ‘Who knows, these days?“ Master Grene said lightly. ”Even if it is true, they’ll still be on the wrong side of the Thames. Or, rather, on the right side for us. With the bridge shut against them, there’s nothing they can do.“

  Except to Southwark at the bridge’s other end and unprotected, Frevisse thought but did not say.

  ‘But to business, shall we?“ Master Grene shifted aside his goblet and the plate of untouched cakes, brought out several pages of paper from the finely worked leather pouch at his belt, unfolded them, and laid them on the table. ”Here is somewhat what Lady Alice has in mind.“

  The top paper did indeed have the shapes of various priestly vestments sketched on it, and Master Grene shifted his chair around the table, putting him nearer to Frevisse as if the better to point out whatever was on the papers but also putting his back mostly toward the door and the nun beside it while he said, “I’m a mercer, you see. I’ve served her grace of Suffolk before this, and when she expressed her desire about these vestments in memory of her husband, God keep his soul, I could promise her not only a choice of fine cloths to her need, but recommend a woman for the work. One Mistress Anne Blakhall.” He dropped his voice a little, making it less easy for the other nun to hear him without seeming to be hiding his words. “A widow, she’s taken over her late husband’s craft of tailoring and is in her own right a skilled embroiderer. Thus, she can both make the actual vestments and embroider them as well.”

  While Master Grene provided the undoubtedly very expensive cloth. If that had been all there was to the business, Frevisse would have resolved to make very sure of this Mistress Blakhall’s skills and the quality of the cloth Master Grene offered. But the vestments were only a part of it, it seemed, and keeping her eyes to the paper, she asked in a voice too low to be heard by the nun, “And the other matter?”

  Equally low-voiced and without pause, Master Grene answered, “It has to do with a sum of gold that must be taken to her grace of Suffolk without anyone knows or even suspects it’s come into England at all.” He turned over the first paper in front of them to a second scrawled with vague drawings of figures probably meant for saints. Randomly pointing at them as if they were intended designs, he went on, “When you visit Mistress Blakhall about the outward business, she will give you this gold in coins. You will keep them concealed and take them with you when you leave London, returning up the Thames as you came. No one will think it odd if you pause on the way to visit your cousin at her manor of Ewelme, so near the Thames, to report about the vestments.”

  ‘Why?“

  Her question stopped Master Grene. “Why?” he echoed, as if he had expected no question from her, only acceptance.

  But simple acceptance had never come easily to her. That had made her early years as a nun difficult, and although she had bettered at it after all this while, she was by no means perfect at it and saw no reason to be so in such things as this, and she asked, “Why must it be done in secrecy? Isn’t it my cousin’s money?”

  ‘Of course it is,“ Master Grene said. In his surprise he was forgetful to be fully careful of his voice and added for the other nun to overhear, ”You’ll not find better samite for your purpose in London, I promise you.“ He dropped his voice again. ”Of course it’s hers, come to her from her husband. But there are those who were against him who might lay false claims if they knew of it.“

  Given what she knew of Suffolk, Frevisse had doubt about how false their claims might be. Those rights and wrongs were out of her knowing, though, and she only said, “I want to understand more about it.”

  She saw Master Grene want to say she only had to do what she was told, not understand it. She also saw him think better of it; but he gained time over his answer by taking a long drink from one of the goblets and setting it down before he answered, “Yes. Well. When the king exiled my lord of Suffolk, my lord of Suffolk saw fit to provide for his safety and comfort in exile by delivering a large sum of money here in London to the commissioner of a money-dealer in… of a city overseas. It doesn’t matter where.”

  Nor did Frevisse care and said, to show she was not completely ignorant in such matters, “Suffolk had to do that because he’d not have been allowed to take a great deal of gold with him out of England.” Because to do so was illegal. No ruler anywhere in Europe willingly let large sums of gold or silver or jewels leave his country if it could be helped. Wealth was power, and governments did all they could to keep power from sliding from their country to someone else’s. So, no, Suffolk could not have openly taken his wealth with him and, “Therefore he bought a bill to exchange the money,” Frevisse said.

  ‘You understand how such an exchange works?“ Master Grene asked, surprised.

  Frevisse accepted his surprise. He knew nothing about her except she was a nun, and bills for the foreign exchange of money were hardly something for which a nun had use. “I know a little,” she said quietly. “For such a bill, he gave up a sum of gold to someone here in exchange for a paper that confirmed he’d done so.”

  ‘Just so. Then, abroad, he would have given that bill to the money-dealer, who would have given him gold in return. A suitable fee for the service being paid in the course of it all, of course.“

  ‘And a chance for Suffolk to make money on the exchange if the sum of gold paid here is worth more in the place of exchange when the time comes to exchange it—“ A thing she had never understood and did not try to grasp now. ”—than what he paid for it here, yes?“

  ‘You have it. As it happens his grace would have done well. The exchange was very much to his favor then.“

  ‘But he never lived to make the exchange. He never reached France. Wasn’t the bill lost when he was seized?“

  ‘He had sent it by messenger out of the country ahead of him, to someone in his service abroad. He thought to overtake it when safely into exile.“

  ‘But he did not, and now it’s been sent back.“

  Perhaps glad to find a point of ignorance between them, Master Grene said quickly, “It couldn’t be. Such a bill can only to be exchanged at a certain place, by a certain time. Suffolk’s bill was changed to gold coins in… where it had to be.”

  ‘Then another bill could have been bought with that money, and the new bill returned to England, to Lady Alice, for another exchange into gold,“ Frevisse said with a wry certainty that she would not be here if it were that simple.

  ‘That could have been done,“ Master Grene agreed. ”And if it had, she would have seen some small profit on the return, given how gold presently stands here against its worth abroad. But…“

  They had been talking rather long without feigning to consult the paper. Master Grene looked sidewise toward the other nun, and so did Frevisse. The warm afternoon and waiting had taken their toll: her head was nodded forward into what looked to be sle
ep, and Master Grene went on, “But the value of it in exchange abroad is presently very high. Suffolk’s agent made the exchange as he was supposed to, yes, but the gold that he got, if used to buy another bill of exchange to send back into England…”

  ‘Which would be legal,“ Frevisse said.

  Master Grene gave her a swift glance while pointing at something on the paper at which neither of them were looking. “… would pay back only a little more than the original amount my lord of Suffolk paid. With all that’s gone wrong for her this year, my lady of Suffolk is in need of the greater sum, not the lesser. Therefore choice was made not to make another exchange but to send the gold itself.”

  ‘Meaning,“ Frevisse said coldly, ”that the gold has been conveyed illegally.“ Out of wherever the exchange had taken place—probably in France or Flanders or Holland.

  With a small movement of one hand, Master Grene acknowledged she was right, then waited to see if she would go on from there. The next step not being difficult, Frevisse took it, saying, “Since my help is wanted, I must presume the gold is safely here, but since I’m wanted to take it secretly to Lady Alice, rather than her agent deliver it himself, there must be some trouble about it. Such as someone else wants it?” Which was not unlikely, given how much Suffolk had probably stolen in his years of ill-governing.