The Sempster's Tale

by Margaret Frazer

  ‘Well,“ Mistress Hercy sighed. ”There’s naught we can do, is there? Only wait while the men sort it out. Though why Raulyn had to go out, I don’t know. It’s just foolishness. Men. This Jack Cade. No one was going to mind he robbed Philip Malpas clean from floor to rafters and did for those men yesterday. None of them were liked. But London won’t take general thievery or much killing going on for long, no. Why he was ever let over the bridge anyway…“ And again, with deeper annoyance, ”Men.“ Her indignation seemed to have used up the last of her strength, though. She sank back into the corner of bench and window, closed her eyes, and murmured, ”I am so tired.“ But her hands knotted tightly together in her lap told how little eased she was, and before Frevisse found anything to say, she had opened her eyes again, to look at Lucie.

  Dickon had brought out a long string, was playing cat’s cradle games for the girl, and Mistress Hercy smiled. “There’s a good young man. Poor Lucie. It’s all going so hard with her. I gave her some of her mother’s sleeping draught last night to help her sleep.” Mistress Hercy closed her eyes again. “I wish I could do as much for myself.”

  ‘Why don’t you?“ Frevisse encouraged.

  ‘Because that would be when Pernell started birthing, wouldn’t it be?“

  ‘Is it likely to be a bad birthing?“

  ‘No worse than most, save she’s so frighted this time. St. Margaret defend us from the worst that could come, but if it did, what could she do, big-bellied as she is and hardly able to stand? Not flee or fight or help herself or Lucie or anyone. It would fright me, too, to be so helpless.“ Mistress Hercy rubbed at her cheekbones with her fingertips. ”I think the world has gone mad.“ She looked, abruptly sharp, at Frevisse. ”With the friar dead, that talk that Master Bocking and Master Weir are Jews will stop, won’t it?“

  ‘What? Stop?“ Frevisse repeated blankly, left behind by the shift of thought.

  ‘There’s no talk among the servants. I’ve pried. Asked if they knew what the trouble was. As if I hadn’t been told. So if there’s no talk among them, and if you say nothing, or your men either…“

  ‘I won’t and neither have nor will they.“

  ‘And Anne won’t say anything. For her own sake as well as Master Weir’s.“ Mistress Hercy slid a quick look toward the bedchamber. ”Though what’s to be done about her and this…“

  ‘Is for her and her priest to determine,“ Frevisse said quickly.

  Mistress Hercy, covering a yawn, granted that with a small nod, and closed her eyes again, murmuring, “True. True.”

  Her voice trailed so gently to silence that Frevisse hoped she was slipping into sleep. Even a few minutes oblivion would be a blessing. But eyes still closed, Mistress Hercy said darkly, “What I’d truly like to do is get my hands on the villain that lured Hal out to his death. That would give me some pleasure.”

  Frevisse caught on one of her words. “Lured?” No one had said anything about the boy having been lured.

  ‘Lured,“ Mistress Hercy repeated darkly. Dragged back from however near sleep she had been, she sat up and glared out the window. ”Some villain came to Master Yarford’s door, asked to speak to Hal, told him he was wanted at home, his mother was in a bad way, and that’s the last was ever seen of him. Until he was found.“

  ‘I thought he just went out,“ Frevisse ventured. ”The way boys do. And didn’t come back.“

  Mistress Hercy shook her head, firm against that. “This fellow came for him. Hal didn’t even stop for his hat, just said over his shoulder to one of the other apprentices that he had to go and went, and that fellow must have killed him.” Her glare out the window failed to hide the tears filling her eyes. “God only knows why. There was never a better boy.”

  Despite it would have been kindness either to offer comfort or else lead her thoughts a different way, Frevisse asked, “You’re sure of that’s what happened?”

  Mistress Hercy dashed an angry hand at her tears. “It’s what Hal’s master said when he came the next day to see how things were with Pernell. I heard him myself. Raulyn made light of it, and we didn’t tell Pernell. But after the second day of him being gone and Raulyn still making nothing of it, I knew we couldn’t keep it longer from Pernell and went myself to ask questions. Master Yarford hadn’t been there that night, see, only the other apprentices, but they said the same about how he’d come to leave.”

  ‘They didn’t see who was at the door?“

  ‘The boy who answered the door didn’t know him. Some rough-looking man like you see being idle in the streets. The kind in riot with the rebels now and likely attacked Brother Michael outside our gate for the sport of it. Unless they were Lollards.“

  A new thought jarred into Frevisse’s mind. She had never questioned that the attack on Brother Michael had been other than by chance—by men who would have attacked any friar they happened on. Or by Lollards. But what if it hadn’t been? If his death had been Raulyn’s doing, what if the attack had been, too? Had Raulyn hired men to do it? They’d not been using weapons, so maybe Brother Michael wasn’t to be killed, only made to think it was Lollards so he’d turn his heed back to them. Or maybe he was to be hurt enough he’d leave matters be a while, until Daved and his uncle could be gone, hopefully not to come back for a long while. Raulyn had probably expected only ripples of talk about Jews after Hal’s body was found—enough unease and talk to drive Daved Weir and his uncle out of London, nothing more. He hadn’t counted on someone like Brother Michael seeing the body. Nor had he known Father Tomas’ secret. Or that Brother Michael would find out Daved’s secret. Or that the rebels would keep Daved in London when he might have been gone.

  By way of all that, everything had become far more dangerous than Raulyn had ever intended it to be. And he’d surely never meant those men—if indeed he’d hired them— to attack Brother Michael outside his own gate. Or for himself and Daved to see it. Or Daved to go to the friar’s aid. After that, everything was far worse than before, and Raulyn had desperately needed to have the friar dead.

  If she was right that the friar’s death was Raulyn’s doing.

  She paused, reminding herself she must not take such tight hold on believing him guilty that she missed anything leading another way. Everything so far was all so much guessing.

  But she was momentarily out of questions; and Mistress Hercy, her eyes shut again, looked by her shallow, even breathing to be lightly sleeping; and Frevisse folded her hands into her lap and bowed her head, looking for a prayer that might comfort. Rather than something from one of the missed Offices, what came into her mind was the prophet Micah’s question, “For what does the Lord your God require of you but to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly in his ways?” And when all was said and done, what else did God require? Christ had said everything was summed up in “Do to others as you would have them do to you, and love your neighbor as yourself.” If that was all that was asked of mankind—to love, to be kind, to do justice, and to live humbly—why did mankind live instead in angers, hatreds, fears, and greeds? Why were there men like Raulyn Grene—and God guide her right and forgive her if she were wrong about him—who ruined lives without care for anyone but themselves?

  The answer was supposed to be Eve’s and Adam’s sin in the Garden of Eden—the Original Sin from which all others came. But Christ’s death was said to have redeemed mankind from that Sin, so if the Great Sin was paid for with Christ’s death, what were sins since then? Were all sins no longer part of the great Sin but only petty sins, with men more petty with every one they did, lessening themselves sin by sin until they dwindled away into hell, their souls too shriveled to reach toward heaven anymore?

  And why should Daved with his love and his courage be damned forever, while someone like Raulyn Grene could save his soul if on his deathbed he declared he repented of all his sins?

  She knew it was not as simple as that. Theologians wrote their thick volumes of arguments and declarations, all followed by thick volumes of church law to
enforce those declarations, so it could not be as simple as she saw it.

  Or it was that simple, and Mankind’s sin was crowned in its folly by teaching by way of endless arguments and tangled laws that salvation was more difficult to have than ever God had meant it to be.

  She was thankful to be saved from thinking those thoughts further by the maidservant Emme hurrying into the parlor. At the other window Lucie’s soft laughter at Dickon’s cat’s cradle games had not disturbed Mistress Hercy, but at Emme’s footfall she immediately lifted her head and asked, “What is it?”

  ‘Cook wants some ginger from the spice chest, please you,“ Emme said with a quick curtsy.

  With a weary sigh, Mistress Hercy pushed herself to her feet. “First, let me see how Mistress Grene does. Wait while I do, on chance you need to fetch anything. No, dearling,” she added to Lucie who had stood up, ready to go with her. “You stay there. Your mother doesn’t need you yet.”

  Lucie willingly turned back to Dickon, and as Mistress Hercy left them, Frevisse said to Emme, gesturing to the bench, “Sit down while you can.”

  Emme did, saying, “Bless you.” She was a plain-faced, plain-mannered woman, past her young days but not old, looking to be of settled ways, and making a guess Frevisse asked, “You’ve been with Mistress Grene a long while?”

  ‘Since before she was Mistress Grene,“ Emme said readily. ”She was Mistress Depham when I first came to her and not even a mother yet. I’ve seen all her children born and helped to raise them. I remember when Hal…“ She wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron. ”Poor lamb. At least he had a mostly happy life, and that’s more than many can say.“ She gave a chuckle a little choked by her tears. ”The worst that ever came to him was he and Master Grene were chalk and cheese together.“

  ‘They didn’t get on well?“ Frevisse asked, keeping her voice level. ”Oh, they didn’t quarrel, no, but they couldn’t find two things together to say to each other most of the time. Master Grene, he’s all sharp wits and doing things. Hal, he let life be easy. Wasn’t given to hurrying things. He and Master Grene were both the happier when he went off to Master Yarford.“ She was dry-eyed now and even a little smiling. Talking seemed to comfort her, and Frevisse said, to keep her talking, ”Well, it’s a blessing Mistress Hercy is here for all this. Master Grene must be most grateful.“

  ‘If he is, it’s the first time he’s been,“ Emme said, just short of a snort.

  ‘Chalk and cheese again?“ Frevisse asked lightly.

  ‘More knife and whetstone. One’s always sharpening the other, if you see what I mean.“

  ‘They don’t get on?“

  ‘They do, and they don’t.“ She shrugged. ”Not of one mind about most things, and neither of them behindhand in telling the other. Except they both agree he was a good marriage for my mistress.“

  ‘Still, they’re together in keeping Mistress Grene from the worst of all this,“ Frevisse ventured.

  ‘They are that. Even though it’s not as if any of us would say aught to Mistress Grene would make her hurt worse.“

  ‘My guess is that Hal’s death has taken Mistress Hercy far harder than she shows.“

  ‘Oh, by the Virgin’s mercy, yes,“ Emme said. ”It’s all for her daughter’s sake she keeps such a good front. Hal was her dear and no mistake. The spit of her late husband she used to say. It’s been cruel hard on her, for certain.“

  ‘Is there any thought at all among the household about who could have done it? Has there been anyone around here of late that shouldn’t have been, taking more interest in things than they should have? Any strangers?“

  ‘Oh, we were asking ourselves that before anyone else was,“ Emme assured her. ”But it wouldn’t be around here they’d be looking but at Master Yarford’s, wouldn’t they?“

  Frevisse hadn’t hoped for better answer to her question. She was merely going blindly, hoping to blunder into something.

  A servant carrying a wide, well-laden tray came from the stairs. “Mistress Grene’s dinner,” he said with a glower at Emme. “Cook gave up waiting for the ginger.

  Emme stood up, saying, “I’ll be blamed for that, sure,” and would have gone to open the bedchamber door ahead of him, but Dickon with a young man’s interest in food was quicker, and Emme stayed where she was, going on to Frevisse, “No, the only thing strange of late is that pair of hosen gone missing, and I was blamed for that, too, and it was no more my fault than the ginger. As if I’d lose a pair of hosen between here and the laundry basket and not see them on my way back.”

  Quickly Frevisse said, “That’s just the sort of thing a servant gets blamed for when it’s not her fault at all. When was this?”

  Willing to have someone sorry for her wrongs, Emme sat down again. “Last week. No, I tell a lie. Monday it would have been when Mistress Hercy was counting out the household laundry before it went to the laundress in Birchin Lane. That’s like her, you know.” Emme was openly a-grieved. “Mistress Grene has always left the counting to me, and I’ve never lost anything. But Mistress Hercy must see to everything herself, and there’s this pair of hosen gone missing. ‘Shouldn’t there be more than one pair of Master Grene’s hosen here?’ she asks and sends me off to search the bedchamber for them. I didn’t find them and had to hear about it afterward, and what I wanted to tell her was that if they aren’t in the bedchamber and aren’t in the dirties, then they aren’t anywhere, and it’s not my doing!” Emme’s indignation had brought color into her cheeks. “That’s the truth of it, no matter what she thinks! But it’s me that’s blamed, and Cook will blame me for the ginger, too,” she added bitterly, “which is no more my fault than that was.”

  Chapter 25

  After Emme left her, Frevisse stayed at the window with her suddenly sharpened thoughts, knowing her own dinner would be brought to her in good time. Servants were in a household to serve, but they also saw and listened to all they could of things done and said. She had had no secrets out of Emme, merely what anyone in the household was likely to know, and that Emme’s view of matters was probably not that of either Mistress Hercy or Raulyn Grene did not lessen its worth. Briefly, Frevisse wondered what the servants in St. Frideswide’s said among themselves about her and decided she did not want to know. The line between humility and humiliation could sometimes be too thin.

  Lucie had followed Emme into the bedchamber, and Frevisse called Dickon to her and ordered, “When you go down to your dinner, don’t tarry over it. Eat and come straight back. I need you for something.”

  Dickon brightened. “You know something, don’t you? You’re going to find out who killed the friar, aren’t you?”

  Frevisse said quellingly, “What I know is that there are more things I want to know. Eat and come back, and don’t say anything to anyone about me while you’re at it.”

  ‘Not a word. Does Father know what you’re doing?“

  ‘Your father knows.“ Whether he approved or not was another matter. ”Go on.“ As afterthought, she added, ”You could bring my dinner when you return, to save someone else the steps.“

  Dickon bowed and left with eagerness for more than the bread and cheese and cold meat that were likely waiting for him.

  The servant came out of the bedroom. Frevisse told him that her man would be bringing her meal, then asked, “Has Master Grene come back yet?”

  ‘Not when I’d come up“ the man said, bowed, and left Frevisse to her continuing uncomfortable thoughts. If what she suspicioned against Raulyn were even half true—if he were guilty only of Brother Michael’s death—Pernell’s life was going to be torn to unmendable shreds; and if the rest of what Frevisse feared was true—if Hal’s death were his doing, too—Pernell’s pain would be hardly bearable. As great as her grief now was, what would it be then? And her anger. Because anger would surely come, later if not sooner, maybe made the worse because she had borne Raulyn a child and was carrying another for him at the very time he killed her first-born. Would she see her children by him as ta
inted with Hal’s blood because they were Raulyn’s, and come to loathe them, even hate them? All that should be set, too, to Raulyn’s account in Heaven’s reckoning against his soul, Frevisse thought. The sin of Pernell’s hatred should lie as heavily against him as against her, because he was the wanton, willing cause of it all.

  Frevisse had found before now how narrowly most murderers saw the world. For most people their own needs and desires were what mattered most to them, but most people also granted the worth of other people’s needs, accepted other peoples’ right to their own desires, their own lives. Murderers like Raulyn Grene were otherwise—not simply first in their own regard but only. Other’s were worthless unless of use to them; and if someone else’s death might be of worth, then murdering them was reasonable. Only fear of being caught could stop such a man—or woman. Other things than a blind heed of only the self could bring a person to murder, Frevisse knew, but she did not think it was so with Raulyn Grene. But if he had killed Hal, what she didn’t see was why he had. There had to be more gain from it than being rid of Daved Weir, but what?