The Sempster's Tale

by Margaret Frazer

  Someone was coming up the stairs too heavily and slow to be Dickon, even if he were carrying her dinner, and she was not surprised when Father Tomas entered. She rose to her feet and curtseyed to him, and he made a small sign of blessing at her, but when he would have gone onward to the closed bedchamber door, she said, “I pray you, Father, come sit a while. If you’ve been praying all this while beside Brother Michael, you’ve more than earned the right to rest.” And added with a nod toward the bedchamber, when he still hesitated, “They’re at dinner in there just now. Have you eaten?” Because he was so pale and bow-shouldered with weariness, she doubted he had yet broken fast today.

  ‘Just now I have eaten, yes,“ but accepted her offer of rest, sitting down on a nearby chair as if his back and knees hurt, which well they might if he had been kneeling on the cellar floor most of this while. ”I have done what I could for the dead,“ he said. He nodded toward the bedchamber. ”How does she?“

  ‘I haven’t seen her. Her mother and Lucie and Mistress Blakhall are with her.“

  Hands on his knees, rubbing them, Father Tomas nodded. “Good. Good.”

  Not knowing how much time or other chance she might have, Frevisse said, “A question, if I may, Father. About Hal.”

  ‘Poor Hal,“ Father Tomas said with a sad nodding.

  Frevisse was abruptly irked. She had not gathered Hal had been “poor Hal” while he was alive. Why should he be rendered “poor Hal” forever afterward by his death? Death, in whatever guise, did not cancel out the good days there had been in a life nor the uncounted ordinary days, blessed by their ordinariness. Let him be Hal who came to a wrongful death, not “poor Hal” as if his death was all there had been to his life. And a little more sharply than she might have, she asked, “Was he much given to brotheling?”

  Father Tomas’ eyes flew open. “What? Mercy of Mary, no!”

  ‘Would you have known?“

  ‘I was his priest. I would have known. Of his own choice he had even made a vow to me that he would stay chaste until his marriage. His last confession—“ Father Tomas stopped, his burst of indignation run out, then said wearily, ”No. I do not see him brotheling.“ And a little sharply, ”Why?“

  ‘Mistress Blakhall said someone had told her that was why Hal went out that night.“

  ‘No.“ Father Tomas shook his head firmly against that. ”No.“ He shook his head as if understanding none of it and said, sounding bewildered with grief and weariness, ”From what is said, he was lured out deliberately to be killed. But why? That is what I do not see.“

  ‘And why try to make it seem Jews had done it and in your church? Have you enemies?“

  ‘Enemies?“ Father Tomas sounded only the more bewildered. ”No, I have no enemies. Nor did anyone know of my family. Only Daved Weir.“

  ‘Did he?“ she asked carefully, covering her surprise. ”How?“

  ‘He brings letters from my sister and takes mine to her.“

  ‘And from the rest of your family, too?“

  ‘Such as still live, they do not write,“ Father Tomas said. ”They live as Christian, but in the heart they are not. When I took on the heart as well as the seeming and wished to be a priest, they cast me out. They do not know my sister writes to me or me to her.“ Father Tomas’ tired face firmed and he straightened, made the sign of the cross in the air between them, and said in the set and certain voice of a priest, ”What I have told you, I enjoin you to keep secret forever.“ He made the sign of the cross again. ”I bind you to silence on it now and forevermore.“

  Frevisse opened her mouth in what would have been resentful protest but stopped herself. Both as a priest and as a man protecting himself Father Tomas had the right to enjoin that silence on her. Whether he had the right to keep his family’s grievous secret was another matter, but by enjoining silence on her, he kept it his problem and not hers, and she willingly gave up need to think about it in favor of strict obedience to his priestly command, saying quietly with bowed head, “As you will, Father.”

  That did not mean she was done with questions, though, and as she raised her head, she asked, “Do you know why Brother Michael was in St. Swithin’s Lane yesterday when he was attacked?”

  ‘He had been at the church again with his questions.“

  ‘Of you? Or about you?“

  ‘Of everyone. And much about me, I think, yes.“ Sadness as well as weariness showed in the priest now. ”There are people not pleased now they know about me.“

  And Brother Michael’s prodding and questioning would have only made that worse. That was beyond her help, though, and she asked, “Did he say he was coming here? Or was he maybe going somewhere else?”

  ‘I do not know whether he was coming here or simply taking this way back to the friary.“ Father Tomas frowned. ”Though if he were bound for Grey Friars, it would have made better sense to go by way of Candlewick to Budge Row than this way.“

  ‘Was there anyone else in the street besides the men who attacked him?“

  ‘A few people.“ Father Tomas frowned more deeply. ”But those men went only at him.“

  Frevisse remembered Brother Michael had said they asked if he was the friar who had been preaching at St. Paul’s.

  ‘They were likely Lollards,“ Father Tomas was going on. ”They looked more London roughs than rebels, so I think.“ His voice went sadder. ”My shame is that when they attacked him, I only stood there, staring. It was Master Weir and Master Grene, come from the other way, who went to him. God forgive me, but I do not know if it was fear held me back or my dislike of him.“

  Nor could anyone answer that truly except himself; but for what comfort it might be, Frevisse said, “You were pulling him from among their feet when I saw you. That’s more than many would have done.”

  ‘But was it for shame or for love of God?“ he asked sadly.

  Another question only he could answer, and a little silence fell between them, until a flurry of voices in the yard bought him to join her at the window to see Raulyn crossing toward the house, talking excitedly to two of his household men. One of them laughed to whatever he was saying and turned back to the gate. Raulyn and the other, still talking, went up the outside stairs and into the house.

  ‘Not ill news, anyway,“ Father Tomas said, drawing back. From the bedchamber Pernell’s voice rose, querulous and frightened. Father Tomas turned that way. ”I should go to her. By your leave.“

  He bent his head to Frevisse. She curtseyed in return, and he went to rap slightly at the bedchamber door and go in, leaving Frevisse with the hope that he was as he seemed: a caring priest whose deepest desire in life was serving God.

  Raulyn came so quickly up the stairs and into the room that she barely had time to blank her face before he was saying merrily, “Cade has them where it hurts! He’s made that fawning Stockwood an alderman, God save us, and is forcing I don’t know how many others to open their purses to him because he’ll let his men loose on them if they don’t!”

  Pulling out the one good thing she heard in all of that, she asked, “He still has that much hold over his men?”

  ‘More hold than I thought he’d have by now,“ Raulyn said. ”The city’s own curs, they’re another matter. He’s had a few of those chopped for thieving he didn’t order. He’s had Hawardan out of sanctuary and dead, and that’s as much to the good as anything he’s done!“

  Frevisse did not know who Hawardan was—or Stock-wood, come to that—but Raulyn’s pleasure in all of it repelled her, and she was glad Mistress Hercy came from the bedchamber to say at him, “Come in and tell Pernell that all’s well. She needs to see you.”

  Raulyn laughed and went, pecking a kiss onto Mistress Hercy’s cheek as he passed. Rubbing at the spot, Mistress Hercy headed toward the stairs, saying to Frevisse as she went, “I’d best see how things are with the household. Are you doing well enough? Do you need aught?”

  Frevisse assured her that she needed nothing. Except answers, she silently added.


  Dickon must have been about to come up as Mistress Hercy went down; he was in the room almost as soon as she was gone, carrying a tray that he brought to set on the seat beside Frevisse, saying as he did, “It’s day-old bread, and the ale isn’t new either. The cook is sorry for that. But the chicken is today’s chicken. It’s good, even without the ginger. Have you heard Master Grene’s news?”

  ‘I’ve heard. Dickon, there’s something I need you to do.“

  ‘Go back to St. Helen’s for something?“ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Something here. There’s a midden heap by the rearyard gate. I want you to find out when it’s cleared away, find out if it’s been done this week at all, and…“

  ‘The scavagers come around on Wednesdays,“ Dickon said. ”But they haven’t this week. Cook was complaining of it this morning.“

  ‘Then what I want you to do is go through the midden and find me something if it’s there. One or both of a pair of a man’s hose. If they’re there, they’ll be nearer the bottom than the top. At almost the very bottom, probably.“

  ‘In the midden?“ Dickon asked as if in hope he had misheard her.

  ‘In the midden.“

  His wrinkled nose and wryed mouth told what he thought, but he backed a step and started to bow but paused to ask, low-voiced and leaning toward her, “Is this to do with the friar’s murder?”

  Frevisse hesitated, then leaned toward him and answered in an equally low voice, “It has to do with murder, yes. So be careful.”

  Looking somewhat more ready to the task if still nothing like glad, Dickon finished his bow and left, and Frevisse ate, finding the chicken savory with young onions and garlic, but mostly her thoughts were away to Father Tomas and what he had said about Brother Michael’s attackers. They had looked like London roughs to him, and Hal’s fellow apprentice had said that about the man who had fetched Hal away. The city’s curs, Raulyn had just called them. The kind of men easy to hire for some passing work.

  Not for murder, though. Some would be willing to it, yes, but whoever hired them would be open to extortion afterward. She didn’t see Raulyn doing more than hiring such a man to take the message to Hal and bring him somewhere Raulyn was waiting with some ready reason why he was there. Hal, set on reaching his mother, would have accepted whatever he said. Then, with the messenger paid and gone his way with no questions, Raulyn need only have had Hal to somewhere he could be struck down—not so very easy, with the city laws that kept the streets well-lighted by lanterns outside householders’ doors and people about and no reason to take some back-alley way. Maybe tell Hal they should pause at the church to make quick prayer for Pernell’s safety. And somewhere in the shadows strike him down. A dark corner of the churchyard would have given a place to wait, too, until he was sure of carrying Hal inside and to the crypt in safety. Once in the crypt, he would have been free to do all the rest—kill Hal, strip him, mutilate him—with small likelihood of being found at it. Then he need only leave the church unheeded, no great matter at that hour, and go home to Pernell and Lucie as if nothing had happened.

  It would mean Raulyn had been bold to the point of foolishness and cold-hearted almost beyond imagining.

  And the fact still held that Raulyn had lost rather than gained by Hal’s death. That made no sense. And there were two other things she wanted to know: Who had told Anne that Hal went out brotheling that night, and where had Raulyn been when Hal was being murdered?

  She was ashamed that latter question came to her only now, when it should have been one of the first. If he had been here, then he had not been out in the night killing his stepson. Was she so set on his guilt that she was failing to think of the plainest questions? What else might she be failing to ask?

  Her anger at herself brought her to her feet and started her pacing the room. Come to it, why was she so set on finding Raulyn guilty of Hal’s murder?

  To that at least she found she had immediate answer. If he was guilty of both Hal’s murder and Brother Michael’s, then all was settled. If he was not guilty of both, then likely Hal’s murderer would never be known, and she hated that thought.

  Raulyn came from the bedchamber. Frevisse’s pacing had her almost in his way to the stairs, and she moved farther aside, dropping her eyes lest her look at him betray too much. He passed her with only, “My lady,” and was gone, leaving Frevisse looking after him. A prosperous merchant with a goodly home and a settled place in London’s life, in fine health, loved by his wife, father of a son, and soon father of maybe another.

  Why would he have killed his stepson?

  Father Tomas and Lucie came out of the bedchamber, followed by Anne still carrying Daved’s doublet. She closed the door with great and silent care, and only when she had followed them well away from it did she say softly, “Thank you, Father,” and to Frevisse, “Pernell finally fell to sleep while Father Tomas prayed and Raulyn held her hand.” She looked around as if in hope he was somehow still there. “I wish he would have stayed with her. You’re going to leave, too, Father?”

  ‘It’s time I returned to St. Swithin. I may be needed there. Or at least missed.“

  She, Lucie, and Frevisse all curtsied to him, and he blessed them, signing the cross in the air toward them, before he left. When he was gone, Anne turned to Lucie and said, “I still need to mend Master Weir’s doublet. Will you find me thread in your mother’s sewing basket to close-match it?”

  She held out the doublet and Lucie took it and went with outward willingness to sit on the floor beside the sewing basket beside her mother’s chair while Frevisse said, “Mistress Blakhall, might I talk with you?” and went away to the far end of the room before Anne answered her. Anne followed her, and because they were likely to have little time Frevisse said immediately, low enough to keep her words from Lucie, “About the night Hal was killed.”

  Anne flinched. “Please, no. I’d just like not to think about—”

  ‘One question. You said he had gone out to a brothel. Who told you that?“

  ‘Raulyn.“ Anne’s voice fell even lower than it was, and she looked sideways at Lucie to be sure she did not hear. ”When Hal was first missing. He thought Hal had gone over the river and not got home before the gates closed.“

  ‘Was that something you thought likely?“

  ‘Of Hal? No. Even if he was nigh to old enough by some reckoning, he was young for his age.“

  ‘It’s not what Mistress Hercy says Master Yarford says happened either.“

  Anne frowned. “I know. It’s odd.”

  ‘Why would Raulyn say the other, do you think?“

  ‘Rather than be worried, he was making light of it, I suppose.“ Anne paused, then said slowly, as if seeing something she had not seen before, ”He was greatly merry that day, I remember. Not at all ready to be bothered over Hal gone missing. He’d been gone such a little while, after all. But he knew by then that…“ Her words trailed off but Frevisse followed her thought easily enough. Raulyn had been told by then that a man had told a lie to have Hal, and yet he had been merry.

  Lucie came with the doublet and several twists of thread of different greens. Together she and Anne went to the nearer window to see them better, but something in the yard drew Anne’s sudden heed, and she leaned over the sill for a better look. Lucie knelt on the window seat to see, too, and Frevisse, drawn by their suddenness, joined them. There were only Daved and Raulyn going down the stairs to the yard in talk together, but Anne said, aloud but more to herself than anyone, “I hope he doesn’t let Raulyn draw him into going out, if that’s what Raulyn means to do again.”

  With sharp fear Frevisse clamped a hand onto Anne’s arm and said with all the force she could, “Stop him. Say whatever you have to say, but don’t let Daved go out of here with Raulyn.”

  Chapter 26

  Not understanding Dame Frevisse’s alarm, only that it was for Daved, Anne sprang to her feet, grabbed her skirts out of her way, and went out of the parlor and down the stairs as near to running a
s she could, and came from the screens passage to the head of the outside stairs to see him and Raulyn crossing the yard toward the gate, still in close talk. She paused to gather herself and her breath, then called, “Master Weir!” And when both men stopped and turned toward her with matching question on their faces, she smiled to let them know it was nothing desperate and beckoned, hoping Daved would come back to her. But if he did not, she fully meant to go after him and take hold on him to keep him here if she had to.

  There was no need. He said something more to Raulyn, and as Raulyn went on toward James and Pers waiting at the gate, came back to her. Anne watched him come and longed to be in his arms and everything as it was a week ago, when everything had been right and she had still held hope he might, some day, for her—

  She stopped that thought. She had long forbidden herself hope that Daved might some day become Christian for her. Had told herself that whatever would come from her love for Daved, would come, and she would treasure what she had while she had it. Though it was less than what she wanted, it was more than she had right to, and when the time came to pay the price of it, she would. And still, despite herself, she had hoped. Until yesterday. Until she watched him against the friar and known he would never turn Christian for her sake or any other reason. Had known, too, that the price of her love was come due, and soon she would have to pay it.