Mistress Blakhall left Lucie and Pernell in a rush, to join her at the window, asking, “What’s happened? Are they hurt? Is there fighting?”
‘No. They’re saying…“ Mistress Hercy leaned farther out. ”No. It’s our folk are shouting. They’re saying—“ She broke off, pulled back from the window, and turned to say with open dismay, ”They’re saying the rebels are crossing London Bridge. Someone opened the gates. They rebels are crossing into London.“
Chapter 15
Anne had barely time for her relief at seeing Daved was safe, never mind the news he had brought, before she had to turn back to Pernell struggling up from her chair, crying that she needed to see for herself what was happening. Mistress Hercy was already away toward the stairs, but Anne and Dame Frevisse, with Lucie hovering close, helped her to her feet and to the window. There was little to be seen by then, only two of Raulyn’s men heaving the last bale of cloth up the outer stairs, and Pernell had sunk down on the window bench, a hand pressed between her breasts as she tried to catch breath into her cramped lungs, when footfall too quick for Mistress Hercy came up the stairs.
Knowing it was Daved even before he was through the doorway, Anne’s heart leaped, and she knew her face must betray her, but everyone’s heed was on him as he went to Pernell and down on one knee before her, catching her free hand in his own while saying quickly, his own breath short from his hurry, “Raulyn said I should tell you he’s set watch at both the front gate and in the rearyard. Has ordered all the lower windows shuttered and barred. Has clubs for all the men. There’s no need for you to be afraid. Everything here is safe.”
Pernell gripped his hands tightly and said desperately, “But if they burn everything, if they burn London…”
‘There’ll be no burning. They want London on their side, not destroyed.“ Daved had his breath now, and his face lightened almost to laughter as he added, ”But if need be, I shall sweep you into my arms and carry you to safety, fair lady.“
Pernell was surprised into a half-tearful laugh at thought of anyone sweeping her ungainly body into their arms.
From where she stood, a few paces aside, Dame Frevisse asked, “Master Weir, what’s truly happening? What have you seen?”
Standing up, still smiling, Daved answered lightly, “Not much. My uncle and I were readying to row out to our ship from Botoph Wharf just below the bridge. With the bridge so full of houses, we couldn’t see much of what was toward there but heard the roar of shouting from its far end well enough. While we stood trying to guess what was happening, the shouting started to cross the bridge. If there was fighting, it was done almost before it started, but there were surely a great many men on the move, and by the sound of it they were being welcomed. That told us someone must have lowered the drawbridge and opened the gates.”
‘St. Paul bless us,“ Pernell breathed. ”St. Paul bless you for coming to warn us.“
Dame Frevisse asked, “Then they’re fully into London by now?”
‘As we crossed Fish Street past St. Magnus church, Cade’s banner-bearer was just riding off the bridge. If we hadn’t been running, we’d never have been ahead of them.“
‘But what will they do now?“ Pernell asked, all her fright naked in her face and voice and rigid back.
‘That we’ll have to wait for,“ Daved said easily. ”But we’re safely tucked in here.“
Raulyn hurried in then and Pernell held out her hands to him with a sharp, glad cry. Daved moved aside and Raulyn in his turn clasped one of her hands and, sitting down beside her, asked, “He’s told you? That there’s no need for worry?” while holding out his other hand to Lucie, who took it quickly. Sagging gratefully against him, Pernell half-sobbed something into his shoulder that only he could hear.
While he quietly answered her, Dame Frevisse moved away to the other window, leaving them private together; and for seemingly the same reason Daved came the few steps aside to Anne, as if to assure her, too, that all was well. That was as alone as they were likely to be here, and Anne snatched the chance to say, low-voiced, “You should have gone to your ship. You’d be safe if you’d gone on.”
‘Safe is so tedious,“ Daved said, his voice low but still light. ”Besides, Raulyn said he meant to bring you to Pernell today. On the chance he had, here I am.“ As if that had made his choice simple; but he added letting go a little of his lightness, ”Now promise me you’ll stay here until we’re more certain what’s happening.“
‘Bette is alone at home.“
‘You could do naught to make her safer by being with her. You can be of better use here with Mistress Grene in her need.“
‘Will you be staying?“
Daved searched her face, maybe reading how half-ready she was to forego his warning. “If you do, yes. For tonight at least. Until we know more how things will be.”
She ached to touch him, to have him touch her in return, but they must not. It had to be enough that he was there, and she said, “I’ll stay at least tonight.”
Dame Frevisse turned from the window and made a small beckon at Daved and her. They joined her, and she asked, “Is that what you heard?” toward the window.
Daved listened for a moment, then said quietly, “Yes.”
‘What is it?“ Raulyn asked sharply.
‘We can hear them,“ Anne answered. ”Not fighting,“ she added quickly. ”Just shouting, just as Master Weir said.“
From apprentices’ sometime holiday-brawls in Cheap-side, she knew the scruff-sounds of fighting in the streets. This high-hearted shouting was nothing like that. Was more like what there had been three weeks ago, when King Henry had ridden toward Black Heath to deal with these same rebels now being shouted for.
Raulyn gave Pernell a quick kiss on the cheek and left her, asking as he crossed to join them at the window, “Can you tell where they are?”
Daved leaned out the window. “By the sound of it…” He paused, listening. “They’re coming along Candlewick.” The street that St. Swithin’s Lane met beside the church.
‘This way?“ Pernell cried. ”They’re coming this way?“
Daved moved away from the window. “I’m going out to see what’s happening.”
‘I’ll come with you,“ said Raulyn. Pernell began to protest, and he went to her, took hold on her hands so she could not grasp at his clothing and kissed her quickly but drew back almost as he did, saying as he let her go, ”By the sound of it, it’s safe enough. We have to find out what’s happening, that’s all.“
Pernell cried out, “Raulyn!” But he and Daved were both gone, and for one bitter moment Anne flared in anger at them—that they could come and go so easily, so readily, while she had to stay. And Pernell, even trapped by her body as she was, at least could cry out to Raulyn and hold to him when he was here and be held by him, while Anne could hold and cry out to no one. And her anger faded into a sadder, darker humour. All she had was her love for Daved, without right to cry out to him or dare to have him hold her. And her love could keep him with her no more than Pernell’s love had held back Raulyn.
But Pernell was struggling to her feet again, Lucie trying to help her, and Anne went to steady her just as Mistress Hercy returned, bringing a pitcher of probably more wine. Pernell cried out to her, “Raulyn is going out! He mustn’t!” But Mistress Hercy said briskly, setting the pitcher on the table, “He must. It’s what men do. Don’t fear. Master Weir will see to him. Come away to your chair again.”
Pernell let herself be guided back to the chair and sat down heavily, saying on a half-sob, “And there’s Hal lying there in the church alone, with no one praying over him.”
‘We’ve paid Father Tomas good coin to pray beside him,“ her mother said.
‘Paid prayers!“ Pernell snapped, suddenly angry. She lurched to her feet again and away from both her mother and Anne, awkward with the straddled walk of a bearing woman, her hands clasped under the weight of her belly and angry tears running down her cheeks. ”He needs more than paid prayers!
He’s lying there alone. He’s…“
Out of the way and silent until then, Dame Frevisse said, “He isn’t there.”
Pernell paused her pacing. “What?”
‘Your son has long since gone free. It’s not your Hal there, only his body.“ She went to Pernell, took her by the arm, started her walking again but slowly now, saying with steadying calm, ”Grieve for him being gone, but let go worry for his body. Whether it’s buried or lying in the church, he’s done with it. Until the Last Judgment and the Resurrection, it matters not at all. Whatever comes to it, Hal is gone from it. Only your love for him still matters, and nothing can hurt or touch that, can it?“
‘No.“ However much bewildered she might be by all the rest Dame Frevisse had said, Pernell was sure of that.
But shouting more near than before jerked everyone’s head around to the window, and on a sob of fear, Pernell said, “Oh, please,” though for what was unclear. God’s help? Strength? Safety? Dame Frevisse turned her in a gentle curve toward the southward window, saying, still quietly, “Listen. Those are glad shouts, not angry ones.”
Anne, Lucie, and Mistress Hercy joined them at the window. The nun was right, and Mistress Hercy added firmly, “They’re going past, staying on Candlewick. ‘Strike your sword on Londonstone. Claim the city for your own.’ That’s what Cade’s doing.”
The large, rough stone sat in the middle of Candlewick Street, no one certain from when or why, but yes, there was a rhyme that went that way, and as a greater shouting burst up beyond the houses hiding view of Candlewick, Dame Frevisse said, “He’s done it, I’d guess. Struck Londonstone and claimed the city for his own.”
‘Seems he’s welcome to it so far the king cares,“ Mistress Hercy said bitterly. ”Now you’d best sit again, Pernell. Remember you’ve a babe that needs you careful of him.“
Dame Frevisse began to ease Pernell toward the chair again, and Pernell let her, seeming calmer, as if finally willing to be comforted. Mistress Hercy—with a wary eye on her daughter—put an arm around Lucie still standing beside her straight-backed and wide-eyed, maybe afraid to move or cry for fear of making something worse, and said, “Come, Lucie-dear. Whatever else is afoot, everyone is going to want their supper. Let’s go be sure the servants are seeing to their work, not thinking to go out to see the sport.”
Even as she lightly said it, a look of understanding and agreement passed between her and Dame Frevisse. She would see to Lucie and the servants. Dame Frevisse would see to Pernell; and while Mistress Hercy bustled out with Lucie, Dame Frevisse sat Pernell down, sat down beside her, and Anne copied them, sitting on the window bench with wary care, half-fearing a sudden movement would unsettle the little peace. In that moment she envied Mistress Hercy and Dame Frevisse, both of them so ready and certain at decisions not only for themselves but for others, both of them— being widow and nun and much of an age—free of the burdens of childbearing and the body’s passions. Just now Anne would have given much to be free of her body’s passions—fear, for one, but also her ache to be in Daved’s arms and alone with him again.
Mistress Hercy’s round sewing basket sat in the bench’s corner, its lid shoved aside, a baby’s unfinished yellow gown partly hanging over the edge. Anne took up the gown, found the needle and thread where Mistress Hercy had left off gathering the cloth into a narrow neckband, and began to sew. Dame Frevisse seemed to be praying with Pernell, and Anne, making even in-and-out stitches, thought how sewing was for her much what prayer must be for the nun— giving her mind comfort and sanctuary, somewhere to be besides in worry.
But not from hearing the rabble-noise as it rose momentarily louder through the window. Pernell’s head jerked up and around, and Anne said, deliberately going on with her sewing, “They sound farther off, don’t they? They’re headed up Walbrook, I’d say. Toward the Stocks Market. They’ll be making for St. Paul’s. Or the Guildhall, I’d guess. It sounds like holiday-making, doesn’t it?”
‘Not like riot or fighting, certainly,“ Dame Frevisse said, and Pernell murmured agreement and bowed her head to the nun’s praying again.
Done with stitching the small gown into its neckband, Anne took up Lucie’s sampler. A strip of fine-threaded linen cloth with each and fastened to a wooden rod so it could be rolled up at one end while being unrolled at the other, the sampler was Lucie’s guide to all the stitches she learned and record of patterns she might some day use. Unrolling it to the beginning, then rolling her way forward, Anne smiled at the evidence of Lucie’s growing skill these few past years, trying by that small satisfaction to turn her thoughts from her body’s need, her heart’s longing, her mind’s fear. Trying, but not much succeeding.
Chapter 16
Frevisse had long ago found that she was better at watching than at being part of what went on around her. She had passions, she knew, and they ran deep and strong; but their running was toward God rather than into the passing happenstances of every day, and sometimes, even now, she wondered whether, if she had chosen marriage and motherhood, her passions would have turned as fully to husband and children or whether, instead, she would have failed both husband and children, drawn as she was so fully another way. She would never know. She had followed where her heart and mind had led her and never regretted her choice. Her only—and only sometimes—regret was that, living her half-step aside from other people as she did, she sometimes saw more than she was happy to see.
Living that little aside from the thick swirl of desires and fears by which most people let themselves be governed, she was able, even here and now while comforting Pernell and listening for any change to the street-shouting, to be thinking how steadily less happy she was with what she saw between Anne Blakhall and Daved Weir. Their awareness of each other was sharp enough to cut; beyond doubting there was more between them than should be between a virtuous widow and any man.
But outwardly Frevisse went on comforting Pernell as best she could, leading her in the Kyrie, saying with her, “Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison.”—Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy.—over and over because words said over and over until the mind was given up to them could serve to loosen the mind’s tight moorings to the world, letting it float free toward what lay beyond the body’s fears and needs, away from the Lesser and toward the Greater. If Pernell was to have any deep comfort at all, it would be there, in the Greater. So, “Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison.” Lord have mercy. On the living, and on the souls of the dead.
But even while doing that she was listening to the shouting going more northward than westward, and judged it was not toward St. Paul’s then but still with no sounds of fighting. With no threat seeming near to hand, a quiet scratching at the stairward door frame was too slight a thing to fright even Pernell, who simply broke off praying to say, “Yes?” and Dickon sidled warily into the room, maybe afraid he would find frantic women.
Quietingly Frevisse said to Pernell, “He’s mine.” And to Dickon, “Yes?”
He bowed in a general way to all of them and said to her, “My father hasn’t come back. I was wondering…”
‘We’ll stay here until we know better what’s toward,“ Frevisse said. And added, knowing full well how tempted he must be to see for himself what was happening in the streets, ”You and I will both stay here.“
Although his face was younger and less formed than his father’s, it matched Master Naylor’s in giving nothing away. Only the faint underlay of disgust in his voice betrayed him as he said, “Yes, my lady.”
‘Meantime,“ she said, ”help as you may with whatever watch and guard is being kept here.“
He bowed again and left. Pernell, gazing after him, said, “My Hal would have grown to be much like him,” and bent her head, her tears falling into her lap; but they were quiet tears, not rending ones, and Frevisse let her cry in silence, and she was done before Mistress Hercy returned with Lucie and quick, diverting talk about having kept the cook and kitchen servants to their bus
iness of readying supper. Frevisse moved away, leaving Pernell to Mistress Hercy. Because Lucie had gone to sit beside Anne, Frevisse went to the other window, that overlooked the yard, with Mistress Hercy, behind her, asking Pernell’s help in planning coming meals. “Because it’s best to make what we have on hand last. I don’t want to pay what the market-rascals will be asking if this goes on.”
She did not add that there had to be the worry, too, that if alarm spread too greatly into the countryside, the daily inward flow of food to London could stop, leaving bakers soon out of flour for bread, greengrocers of fresh produce, the flesh markets of meat. But while they talked and Anne occupied Lucie with some new stitch for her sampler, Frevisse was left with nothing but the waiting, hoping for Master Naylor’s return. Wherever the rebels and loud Londoners were, she could no longer hear them. Were they too far off for any harsh sounds of fighting or the thicker noise of pillaging to reach here? At least there was no black-clouded smoke from burning buildings that she could see, but the quiet now settled onto London was, in its own way, disquieting. She had grown used to the constant undersound of London busy about its business and pleasures, and she admitted to herself that, much like Dickon, she would rather find out for herself what was happening, not have to wait here to be told.
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