There was no telling whether, in the end, Medcote resisted the temptation to make trouble or simply decided that irking Father Hewgo would be more diverting, but he said, “I agree. They should have full payment and no quarrel.”
Balked of his last hope of an ally, Father Hewgo folded his arms across his chest and stood glowering at them all, Medcote included, while Master Kyping went on with the counting-out.
This was the second time Joliffe had seen Father Hewgo’s expectation of support from Medcote disappointed. Whatever alliance the priest thought they had was either ended or one on which he had better learn not to depend.
Master Kyping finished the full counting, then counted out the players’ share to one side, all very openly and fairly. While Father Hewgo brought a small but iron-bound box from a closed aumbry against the wall, Basset loosed his leather pouch from his belt, swept the players’ share into it, latched it firmly closed, and refastened it to his belt. While the priest scooped the considerable remainder of the coins into his box as if expecting someone would yet try to “cheat” him out of even more, Basset and Joliffe bowed to the other men with more thanks given all around and then got themselves out and away from the sacristy, gathering speed as they left the church, wanting nothing so much as to be well away from the place. By the time they were outside and crossing the churchyard, they were at as full a stride as possible short of breaking into a run.
The village was nearly settled back to its usual quiet, with most of those come for the church ale well on their way home by now, to be there before dark or not long after. Joliffe wondered if Mary’s husband had hired a horse for the day, or if she would be walking back to Faringdon, the child asleep in her arms, his head heavy on her shoulder. Or maybe her husband was a good enough husband that he would be carrying the boy, with maybe a hand free to be holding Mary’s hand.
Joliffe was unready for the loneliness that shifted through him then, and he gave it a hard shove to keep it shifting right on and away. Choices made were choices made, with regrets and what-ifs to be left behind with the choice unchosen. Or else carried well back in the mind, to be brought forward and considered in the balance when time came to make new choices. And presently he had no need to make new choices or regret old ones, well settled as he was into the player’s life and things going as they were for the company.
Basset waited until the village was behind them and the road all theirs, with the lowering sun throwing shadows long across the level fields around them, before he said a few sharp things about Father Hewgo, and then, “Saints! I don’t know when I’ve seen so many ill-humours going so many different ways as we have here.”
“Gosyn and Master Ashewell at least are friends, by the look of it,” Joliffe said, “but neither of them much likes Medcote, and nobody likes the priest.”
“Who returns the favor. And then there’s the man who was quarreling with Medcote in the churchyard just now, with bad blood there, for certain. And those are just who we’ve noted the few days we’ve been here.”
“You missed the fellow angry at Gosyn earlier today,” Joliffe said. “And Gosyn angry at him, come to that. Let alone what had passed between Hal Medcote and Gosyn, and Nicholas Ashewell. You didn’t see that either.”
“Saint Genesius see us away from here tomorrow,” Basset said from the heart. “When does that bailiff mean to talk with us? He should have heard by now from the steward or his abbess why we’re here, but asking him in the church seemed a poor thought since I doubt he wants anyone here to know they’ve been spied on.”
“That’s likely it,” Joliffe said. “Maybe he means to meet us on the road after we’re away.”
“However it is, it’s his trouble to talk to us, not ours to find the chance to speak to him. No matter what, we leave in the morning,” Basset declared.
“Amen!” Joliffe agreed.
By the time they came to the field, Tisbe was unharnessed and set to graze, and Ellis and Gil were just lifting the first hamper out of the cart. Basset stopped them with, “It was a great day in more ways than one! Before we do anything else, lay out the exchequer cloth, Rose!”
An exchequer cloth was painted in large squares—checkered—and used for counting out and reckoning money by large households and governments with money enough to need such accounting. The players did not have, had never had, any such cloth, and laughing at her father, Rose got her white apron from the cart and laid it on the grass beside the firepit. The players gathered around it, sitting down on their heels or on the grass. Basset emptied today’s coins into a heap on the apron and with due solemnity counted them out in even shares, one share to each of them and a share for the company purse.
In the usual way of things, Basset would then write it all down on the small scroll he kept of the company’s accounts, such as they were, give each of them a few coins from their share, and all the rest to Rose to hide in the cart in a place only she was supposed to know. There it was carefully kept and given out as needed, rather than wantonly spent, with the company’s share kept to meet the company’s day-to-day needs and any grievous necessity that might come, St. Genesius forbid. But this time with the counting finished, Basset sat back, looked at the separate gatherings of coins, and then shoved all of Ellis’ toward him, all of Joliffe’s toward him, and so on to the others, saying, “This you’ve all earned twice over. Today’s work was more than I’ve ever asked of you, and you met my hopes to the full.”
Piers whooped and scooped his coins into his belt pouch before springing to his feet and into delighted dance around the campsite. Rose put an arm around her father’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. Ellis, Joliffe, and Gil thanked him heartily.
“My thanks doubled to you,” Basset answered. “Without it was all of us together, we’d not have made it. Now let’s finish the day and have our well-earned rest.”
With a sense of high triumph, they set to their end-of-day work, the men and Gil making short work of hauling the hampers out of the cart, then leaving them to Rose, seeing to building up the fire and putting the bedding into the tent again, while Piers fetched water and Rose looked over the garb and properties they had used that day, finding nothing that needed washing and only the hem on Christ’s robe in need of mending where it had pulled out. That was something easily done and could wait for a better time, because by the time everything was folded and packed away to her satisfaction, dark was drawn well in. It was by firelight and the sunset’s last glow that the men reloaded the hampers into the cart along with everything else except what they would need tonight and in the morning.
With that their day was done except for supper, and after their good meal in the village, they settled now for simply bread and cheese and ale, no work for anyone, most especially Rose. At his grandfather’s bidding, Piers had built up the fire against the coming darkness and cooling night, and they gathered around it, fairly tired past much talking, simply eating and drinking, with it becoming clear that Medcote had done one good thing today. While Rose sat with one arm around Piers, who was leaning against her more asleep than not, on her other side she was leaning against Ellis, his arm around her. The comfort he had given her today, and her anger and fear at Medcote, had brought down the wall she had set between herself and Ellis. It was maybe forgiveness between them now, or maybe it was only her need of him, but by the look of it, Ellis had hope she would take more than comfort from him tonight, Joliffe thought.
Then for a few days all would be well. Until her conscience began to shove against her happiness again.
The only thing worse than a woman with a conscience, Joliffe thought, was a man without one.
And that was not true and he did not believe it. It was merely one of those things that sounded more clever than it was. And he immediately wondered how he could sometime use it in a play.
Then he wondered if it might be more than his life was worth if Rose took it badly.
Tisbe had grazed herself to the edge of the firelight, maybe wanting their co
mpany, but now she raised her head to stare into the darkness toward the gate as if seeing something there. An instant silence fell among the players, and into it Basset said quietly, “Joliffe.”
Joliffe needed no more. He was nearest the cart. With seeming ease, he rose and went to its open back as if to fetch something of no great matter but putting himself in reach of the thick wooden clubs kept in a rack against the cart’s inner wall, to be quickly in reach whenever there was need. Let him see a need and he’d have them tossed one after another to the other players in seconds. He couldn’t juggle but he could toss clubs, and his hand was already resting on one when Master Kyping walked into the firelight.
Joliffe left the cart and sauntered back to the fire as the rest of the company stood up, bowing with the rest of them as Master Kyping reached them, nodded in return, and asked, “May I join you for a time?”
Basset waved to his own cushions and stepped aside, saying, “By all means, sir.”
Master Kyping waved him back to them and sat down cross-legged on the other side of the fire, holding his hands out to the warmth and saying, “There was no good time to talk to you today. I’ve had word from my lady abbess of St. Mary’s that Lady Lovell had offered the help of her players in learning something about our troubles here, and since I suppose you’ll be leaving early come the morning, tonight seemed a good time to ask if you’d had any success.”
“Indeed, sir,” said Basset. He and the rest of them had all sat down again with every outward sign of ease, Piers with his head now on his mother’s lap and already mostly back to sleep. “Lady Lovell did honor us with that task. I hope that gave no offense.” Because not every man would care to have unasked help thrust on him.
“No offense at all,” Master Kyping answered with a smile. “I take what help I can and gladly. Have you learned aught beyond what’s openly known?”
“We think we have,” Basset said.
“And guessed some things, too,” Joliffe added.
Master Kyping looked to him. “I take guesses.” He looked back to Basset. “So?”
“So I don’t know that we’ve learned anything you don’t already know. There’s little secret about all the dislikes running every which way among folk here, that’s sure.”
“Too sure,” Master Kyping agreed.
“Master Ashewell seems the least trouble among them.”
“He is. He’s done well beyond the ordinary, but has a lighter hand and maybe more wits to him than either Walter Gosyn or John Medcote.”
“He’s good friends with Gosyn, though?” Basset asked.
“They’ve known each other all their lives here, yes.”
“But despite that, the servant-talk is that Master Ashewell is thinking of marrying Nicholas to Medcote’s daughter,” Joliffe said.
Master Kyping snapped his head around to look at him, eyes narrowed. “What?”
“So an Ashewell servant says,” Basset said. “That Medcote wants it and Master Ashewell is maybe thinking to do it, and that neither Mistress Ashewell nor Nicholas is pleased about it.”
“I wouldn’t think they would be,” Master Kyping said. “There’s no love lost between the two families. Young Nicholas married to Eleanor? That would be more like throwing a baby to a wildcat than a marriage. But you say there’s talk that way among Ashewell’s servants?”
“Some talk, yes,” Basset said.
From the side of his eye Joliffe tried to tell if that reminder had made any harm between Rose and Ellis but could not tell, while Master Kyping said thoughtfully, “Something is wrong there, right enough, if Master Ashewell didn’t refuse out of hand an offer like that from Medcote. If he hasn’t, I have to wonder why. It would go far to explaining something of what I’ve felt building here without being able to put hand to.”
“I wonder if Gosyn knows about it?” Joliffe said mildly. “I’d have thought a match between his daughter and Master Ashewell’s son more likely.”
“Yes. That’s what we’ve all thought.” Master Kyping looked back and forth from Joliffe to Basset and around at the others. “Aught else?”
Basset answered, “From something said between Nicholas and Claire, it seems Hal Medcote is angling for her and she doesn’t like it.”
“Her father won’t like it either, if Hal Medcote means more than a jest about it,” Master Kyping said grimly.
“She seems to think he does, but from what was said, his father favors it no more than Gosyn is likely to,” Basset said.
“That helps.” Master Kyping was grim about it. “There’d be three kinds of hell let loose if Medcote and Gosyn set up to quarrel over something like that. Not that Hal Medcote can’t make hell all by himself. You’re sure Claire wasn’t taken with thought of him? He’s good-looking enough to turn women’s heads.”
“I think she said he made her flesh crawl,” Joliffe offered. “And she didn’t look pleased with his attention today, if you saw that.”
“Yes. I did see.” Master Kyping gave a sharp nod, as if satisfied of something. “Good enough. And anything else?”
“Nothing else that isn’t open for everyone,” Basset said.
“Well, you’ve given me more than I had before and enough to go on, certainly. My thanks.” Master Kyping rose to go. The players stood up, too. “I’ll see to Lady Lovell knowing you’ve done well by things here. Good journeying tomorrow.”
Basset thanked him for that, adding, “Good fortune to you, too.”
“With this lot I’ll likely need it,” Master Kyping said with a grim half-laugh and walked away into the darkness.
The night was clear; beyond the firelight there was starlight enough for him to see his way, but, “I wonder where he’s going to,” said Joliffe. “He didn’t ride. I heard no horse.”
“Just so he’s gone and tomorrow we can go,” said Ellis. He stretched his arms wide and yawned. “I’m for bed.”
He held his hand out to Rose, who took it and let him draw her close. He said something softly in her ear. She nodded, and while the others did their final readying for sleep, he brought his bedding and hers from the tent and went to spread them under the cart.
No one was fool enough to say anything. Leading Piers, more asleep than awake, Basset and Gil went to their own blankets in the tent, while Joliffe lingered to bank the fire for the night, bringing the darkness in around him, so that he stood for a few moments, waiting for his eyes to grow used to only starlight before turning for the tent himself. With the fire out, the stars were a thick wash of pale light across the sky, and when he looked toward the hills, the White Horse was faintly there, and he raised one hand in salute to it before ducking into the tent.
He slept heavily and only reluctantly came awake to pale light through the tent’s canvas when the others began to stir and shift and crawl from their blankets. He resisted doing as much himself until Gil set back one flap to go outside, and said, “Oh. Euw.”
Basset echoed that, and Joliffe unburrowed his head to see a thick mist hiding the world beyond half a dozen yards away. The only brightness was from the flames that Rose was encouraging under a pot hung over the fire. “Something warm to set us on our way, I thought,” she said as Basset, Joliffe, Gil, and Piers joined her. “Even if only oatmeal.”
Basset gave a yawning stretch and asked, “Where’s Ellis gone?”
“Down to the stream. I’m supposing he’ll find his way back through this.”
“If I find him wandering, I’ll point him the right way,” Joliffe promised, took a towel from the two warming on the drying rack beside the fire, and set off to where he had to suppose the stream still was. The mist wreathed lightly among the trees and he heard the purl of water well before he saw it. Ellis, coming toward him, loomed dark-shaped out of the gray-whiteness, and Joliffe said as they passed, “It turned chill last night. Did you keep warm enough?”
“Shut it and put the bar across it,” Ellis said pleasantly and kept going.
“Double that from me, whelp,” Basset
said cheerfully, closer behind than Joliffe had thought he was. He lightly slapped the back of Joliffe’s head, and Joliffe grinned, neither harmed nor chastened but making show of rubbing his head.
The morning’s first necessities seen to, the players mostly gathered around the fire to their breakfast of oat pottage. Only Piers among them was enjoying the damply shrouded morning, running in long loops out of and into sight through the mist, making strange noises for the sake of hearing what the mist did to them, until he came too close and his grandfather collared him, saying, “Finish eating so we can clear and get on the road.”
“It’s too hard to see for us to start out yet,” Piers protested.
“We’re not going at a mad gallop,” Basset said. “We’ll do well enough.”
“And if need be,” added Ellis, “we can always send you ahead to fall into any pits there may be before we get to them.”
Done with eating, they did what little was needed to be on their way. The tent, heavy with damp, was the worst part of it. Wherever they stopped and however they stayed tonight, they would have to have it out to dry lest it mold. While the others wrestled with it, Joliffe got Tisbe into harness and hitched to the cart. She showed her displeasure at that by butting her head into his chest, but he assured her, “No, truly, you know you’ll be glad to be on the road again. You were starting to find all this eating dull, weren’t you?” She butted him again, and not as if she agreed with him, but when the time came she leaned into the harness and pulled the cart bumping out of the field and into the lane willingly enough, turning to the left at Joliffe’s lead.
Behind them, they left the pasture near to what it had been when they came, with the grassy turfs replaced in the firepit and nothing to show they had been there but the matted-down grass of their camp and the cropped stretches of Tisbe’s grazing. The first would soon straighten and the rest grow and there would be nothing to show they had been there, nothing left but their memory of the place, and that would soon blur and be lost among fading memories of uncounted other places they had been. Walking at Tisbe’s head into the white wall of mist that obscured their way as surely as time obscured the future, Joliffe admitted to himself, not for the first time, that it was an odd life but it suited and satisfied him.
A Play of Knaves Page 13