The Novice's Tale

by Margaret Frazer

  She settled into the room’s second-best chair—Domina Edith had made no move to rise from the best—and turned her attention back to Master Chaucer. “I was with Her Grace not above a week ago. But I’ve left her service for good. Did you know that—and why?” She leaned toward him, a glitter of gossip in her eyes. “I told her my age was wearing on me and she gave permission for me to leave.” A beringed hand smacked a silken thigh. “Ha! I’m as young as ever I was. No, there’s going to be a scandal in that household. And the wise know better than to be near the mighty when there’s a fall from grace.” Lady Ermentrude’s head cocked sideways like a clever crow’s. “What rumors have you heard, Master Chaucer? About one thing or another?”

  “I’ve heard no rumors nor talk of scandal. And since you’re surely to be counted among the wise, you know the unwisdom of retelling any such to me or anyone, even our good Domina Edith, soul of discretion though she is.”

  His voice was mild, but Thomasine thought there was warning in his eyes. Lady Ermentrude paused before drawing a deep breath, her mouth opening to reply. Before she could, Domina Edith, apparently unaware of anything at all beyond the casual conversation, said, “My lady, I think you’ve failed to recognize your niece.”

  She gestured to Thomasine, and Lady Ermentrude turned to stare at her as if demanding how she had dared to go unnoticed. Thomasine, to cover the sick tightening of her stomach, stepped forward and set the bowl and towel on the table, her head bent to avoid her great-aunt’s gaze.

  But there was no avoiding her shrill summons. “Thomasine! Come here, child! Let me see you better!”

  Thomasine came as she was bidden and curtseyed, all outward politeness, but her hands were clenched up either sleeve, her eyes held carefully down to keep them from betraying her feelings.

  Lady Ermentrude took hold of her chin and twitched her face up and from side to side, eyeing her with the same scrutiny she gave a horse she was thinking to buy. “Indeed no, I hardly know you even when I look at you. You’ve sunk so far into nunhood you’re becoming quite a little worm.”

  She released Thomasine’s chin. Thomasine stepped out of reach and dropped her gaze back to her feet. “Yes, Aunt,” she whispered.

  “Pah!” Lady Ermentrude’s disgust was plain. “You become any meeker you’ll cease to breathe!” There was a familiar smirk to her voice as she added, “But you’re a novice yet and it’s not too late. There’s many a fine and lusty young man to be had. Half a dozen I know who’d have you at my word. And some two or three not so young but rich enough you’d find the marriage honey-sweet one way or other. Whatever way, I could have you married before Christmas if I set to. Master Chaucer and I, we made a goodly marriage between your sister and Sir John. She’d not be a knight’s wife now if it weren’t for us, and we can do as much for you, I warrant. Eh, Master Chaucer?”

  Young Sir John Wykeham had been Master Chaucer’s ward when Lady Ermentrude’s attention lighted on him. With no marriageable daughters or nearer nieces of her own to hand just then, she had decided Isobel would serve to bring him into Fenner circles, and since the marriage was in the young John’s interest, too, she and Master Chaucer had brought it about. The title of Lord D’Evers had died with Isobel and Thomasine’s father since there were no sons of the blood to carry it on, but the remaining inheritance was considerable, and with Thomasine purposed even then to be a nun, it would not be divided, only a smaller sum set aside to dower her into the nunnery. In every practical way, the marriage had been an excellent alliance. That Isobel and Sir John had fallen in love with one another between their first meeting and their marriage had been of no consequence one way or the other, merely a comfortable chance. More important was the fact that they had so far managed to have two sons and a daughter to secure the inheritance.

  But the success of it all had given Lady Ermentrude ambitions to do it again. Now she prodded Thomasine.

  “Here, girl! Come to your senses! There’s no need to leave all that property to your sister and her get by losing yourself behind these sad walls! Come out and have your share of it and the world, too!”

  Thomasine, knowing too well that there was no defense against her great-aunt in this mood and that she would only stop when she was sated with the game, bent her neck and said with forced mildness, “I thank you for your kindness, Aunt, but am content here where I am.”

  “Nonsense—” Lady Ermentrude began.

  But Domina Edith, in her soft, aged voice, cut across her strident tones as if unaware of them. “Thomasine, tell her why you are content.”

  Thomasine, disconcerted, looked up into her prioress’s gaze. Age had faded Domina Edith’s eyes to paleness, and her much-wrinkled face seemed to take its shape more from the confining wimple than any strength left in her flesh, but her look held Thomasine’s, steadying her out of her angry helplessness. “Tell her,” Domina Edith said again, and Thomasine, goaded into nervous daring, looked from her to Lady Ermentrude.

  Her great-aunt looked back, thin eyebrows raised as if she were unsure what was to happen. Thomasine, her voice trembling a little but sure of the words, said, “I’ve chosen my bridegroom, Great-aunt, and there’s none more fit than Him. I’ve wanted to be Christ’s bride since I was eight years old. I’m taking my last vows in less than two weeks time, at Michaelmas, God granting it, and then I’ll be beyond any marrying with mortal man, thank God!” Finishing on a strong note, Thomasine felt her head lift, and she dared to look her aunt in the face.

  Lady Ermentrude drew herself up with a sharp hiss of disapproval, but before she had regrouped herself to make reply, Domina Edith, apparently oblivious to any possibility of offense, said, “Thank you, Thomasine. You still have duties in the kitchen, do you not? You’d best be back to them, I think. Dame Frevisse, pray serve the cakes to our guests.”

  It was dismissal and diversion together, and Thomasine gladly used it, curtseying quickly before escaping out the door. Knowing too well her great-aunt’s skill at anger, she had no wish to be there for it, and as she fled down the stairs, she wished she could flee as swiftly down the next two weeks to Michaelmas.

  Behind her in the parlor Chaucer said musingly, ignoring Lady Ermentrude’s ire, “So earnest a lamb. Unfit, I’d judge, for the world beyond her cloister walls.”

  “I’ve never seen a greater urge to give one’s life to God,” agreed Domina Edith. “Never a more fervent vocation. Too intense sometimes, I think, but that’s her youth. She’ll surely be a blessing to our house.” The prioress crossed herself

  Chaucer and Frevisse echoed her gesture. Lady Ermentrude followed them more slowly. There was a silence then, until Lady Ermentrude broke it with “You’re new as hosteler since I was last here, are you not, Dame Frevisse?”

  Frevisse was reminded of a vicious dog who, balked in one attack, looks for another. But mild as milk, looking at the plate of cakes she now held, she said, “Yes, my lady.”

  “And you must serve as Domina Edith’s body servant, too, it seems. I wonder how you manage your duties in the guest hall if you’re so much busied here?”

  “We all serve our lady prioress gladly,” Frevisse said blandly, “whenever the chance comes, and do all our duties as best we may. Will you have a honey cake?”

  She held out the plate with proper meekness and downcast eyes. Lady Ermentrude gazed at her a moment longer than was necessary, then took one. Frevisse turned away to offer them to Chaucer, who took another, and while Lady Ermentrude examined hers on all its sides—looking for something to criticize, Frevisse thought uncharitably—Chaucer took a swift bite of his and said, “Delicious. You’ve a cook to be kept.”

  Lady Ermentrude nibbled at an edge. “Truly,” she agreed. “You do well for yourselves here.”

  “God sends us generous friends.” Domina Edith smiled as Frevisse held out the plate to her.

  Frevisse added, with subtle malice, “These cakes are a special matter. Master Chaucer sent word ahead of his coming, giving our kitchener time to ready
them.”

  “He is a thoughtful man,” Domina Edith murmured. Her face and voice were a study in aged innocence. Frevisse smothered a smile, having long since learned that though Domina Edith’s body was wearied with life’s long journey, her mind was not. Chaucer, himself well aware of the strength of the prioress’s mind, seemed to choke on a bite of cake and was forced to cough heartily behind his hand.

  Lady Ermentrude sent sharp, darting glances at all their faces. Her mouth tightened. “I shall be staying only a few days here,” she declared. Their faces betrayed nothing but polite interest. “I hope that will be convenient to you as hosteler, Dame Frevisse, and to St. Frideswide’s, Domina Edith?”

  “Truly,” the prioress agreed. “Dame Frevisse?”

  “As convenient and pleasant as it always is to serve you, my lady,” Frevisse answered.

  Chaucer choked again, swallowed hastily as Lady Ermentrude’s eyes began to narrow, and said, “Regrettably I’ll not be enjoying your courtesies as hosteler, Dame Frevisse. I must needs ride on this afternoon. There’s a manor of mine I mean to reach this evening if I’m to see to all there is to do before I go to France.”

  “France!” Lady Ermentrude was diverted instantly. “You’ll be seeing the King then. So fine a young lad he is. You’re meaning to go soon?”

  “This month’s end.”

  “Pray, tell His Grace from me that his dear lady mother was happy and well when I left her.”

  Chaucer inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Gladly. And is there aught else you might wish done over there?”

  Lady Ermentrude smiled, pleased at being treated at last in the way she deserved. “Oh no, I think not. My matters are all well in hand. But thank you. And how regrettable you must go on, or we could chat the evening away.”

  “He comes to see Dame Frevisse, you know,” Domina Edith said a little vaguely. “So very kind of him, I think, she being his niece and all.”

  “Yes.” Lady Ermentrude’s gaze flicked between Frevisse and Chaucer intently. “I think I knew you had a niece here but had forgotten her name, Master Chaucer. By marriage, I believe?”

  “Yes, but nurtured in my own household from middle childhood, and in many ways a daughter to me.” He smiled at Frevisse.

  Frevisse smiled back, as perfectly aware as he of how unwelcome Lady Ermentrude would find this piece of knowledge. Anyone so close to Master Thomas Chaucer was an unsuitable victim for her torments.

  “Ah,” Lady Ermentrude said shortly. “I did not know that.” Unexpectedly her face brightened. “I remember!” She turned to Frevisse. “Your mother made that unfortunate marriage to the younger son of someone or other. Most regrettable, it was thought at the time. And so you ended up in Master Chaucer’s household when they could not keep you anymore!”

  “My mother and father did not find their marriage regrettable,” Frevisse said in a level voice. “And it was my father’s death that brought me to Master Chaucer’s and my aunt’s household. Nothing else.”

  The crisp, steady words must have given Lady Ermentrude sufficient warning she should go no farther that way.

  “How stand matters with your family?” Chaucer put in. “Did you visit at Fen Harcourt on your way from the Queen at Hertford?”

  It was another well-chosen diversion. Lady Ermentrude smiled with straight-lipped disapproval. “I paused there and meant to stay longer but I’m not so old I need to wait on their favors. They could not find it convenient to give me due respect and I’ve come away sooner than I planned. They’ll not be happy when they find how much they’ve offended me.”

  “Harvest time can be a heavy matter,” Chaucer remarked.

  “So can my displeasure be.” Lady Ermentrude eyed Frevisse as closely as she had eyed the cake. “My own house at Bancroft will be ready in two weeks so I’m thinking to spend a week here and then another week with Isobel. I’m minded to see the girl she had this summer. A girl child may be all right, and is no problem since they have two sons already and they’re thriving, so I hear. Then I’ll go on to my own manor, and my relations will see how welcome they are in their turn.”

  “Concerning sons,” said Chaucer, “how do your own at present?”

  “My Walter has been with Lord Fenner these two months past. Lord Fenner is dying now, it seems, and since the title comes by right of blood to Sir Walter, he’s there to be sure not too much is lost when Lord Fenner makes his will, not all the property being entailed, you know. The title and its lands will be a great boon to our family, and it will be best if the wealth comes with them.”

  “And Herbrand?”

  “In France, in my lord of Bedford’s household still. He fights occasionally, I believe, and should have the captaining of one castle or another soon.”

  “Mayhap I’ll see him while I’m there.”

  “Mayhap,” Lady Ermentrude agreed with no particular interest. “If so, tell him I mean to see how his manors are doing come the spring. He’s left them to others for too long, if you ask me, and I’ve no mind to let Fenner property go to the bad by his neglect.”

  “How fortunate that travel agrees with you,” Domina Edith said.

  “It would if it weren’t for servants.” Lady Ermentrude took up this theme as if on cue, as Frevisse suspected Domina Edith had meant her to, and set off on a long, well-practiced dissertation concerning the inadequacies of everyone so fortunate as to be allowed into her service. It went its appointed course while Domina Edith fumbled crumbs off the single cake her conscience would allow her and Frevisse poured wine for everyone. Chaucer was finishing his third cake when Lady Ermentrude ended with “But it’s a common tale, and surely we’ve all suffered from such lowborn folk. Pray, what will you be doing for the King while you’re in France?”

  “Very little, likely. Mostly my own necessities draw me there, with some few other matters friends have asked of me.”

  “I suppose there’ll be his French coronation soon so he’ll be able to come back to England and be done with it? Is it the coronation you’re going for?”

  “There’s no date set for it yet and a great deal of France still to recover. The Witch and her rebellion cost us men and money as well as territory, and even though she’s burned, Bedford reports he can hardly be sure of passage to Paris yet, let alone to Rheims.”

  “A French coronation.” Lady Ermentrude shook her head. “You’d think his English crown would be enough.”

  “Not for the French,” Chaucer said dryly. “But among other things I’m bound for collecting Lord Moleyns’s heiress. I’ve bought her wardship and marriage rights from the crown and her mother has asked I fetch her myself if possible.”

  Lady Ermentrude looked well impressed. “That’s a wealthy wardship to lay hold of! You’ve a choice for her husband? I’ve possibilities if you’d be interested. How old is she now? She was born in France, I think?”

  “Six years or nearly. Yes.”

  Frevisse turned to set the wine pitcher on the table and hide her face from Lady Ermentrude. It was not like her uncle to stay long after he had said he must be going. But now he settled back and went on easily. “And that reminds me that there’s word, too, of someone you might remember. A youth named William Vaughan. He squired in your household, I think.”

  Lady Ermentrude frowned with thought before nodding. “I remember him, though his family was no one in particular. He went to France to make his fortune and died years back.”

  “Not so many years. Just two. At Orléans, during the siege.”

  Domina Edith made a sound of regret. The loss of Orléans to the witch-girl Joan of Arc and the English disasters in battles afterward had brought much tears and praying at St. Frideswide’s. Chaucer turned to include her as he talked. “Lady Moleyns is very taken with his story. He was part of her husband’s meinie, one of his household men, I gather. In the fighting at Orléans, when Moleyns went down wounded, young Vaughan fought his way to his side before any of his other men and stood above him fighting off the French
like a champion from Froissart. He was on his knees and bloodied in a dozen places before help came.”

  “A blessing on his courage,” Frevisse said admiringly.

  Lady Ermentrude, apparently unmoved by a tale of courage without a Fenner name attached to it, picked a fragment off the edge of her cake.

  Domina Edith murmured, “But he did not save his lord?”

  “No, alas. It would be a better tale if he had, but they both died of their wounds. Lady Moleyns, as the only reward she could make to him, took Vaughan’s son into her household and has been raising him.”

  “A blessing on his courage and her piety,” Domina Edith said. “Vaughan married over there then? Surely not a French woman?”

  Chaucer shrugged. “The boy bears his name. That’s all I know. Nor has Lady Moleyns been able to find any English relatives of his father, but she remembers Vaughan talking of your household, Lady Ermentrude, and asked if I would make inquiries. Do you know if he has any family who might want the boy?”

  Lady Ermentrude shrugged carelessly. She thought, then mused, “There was a sister, a nun at Godstow, but she died long ago.” She frowned, running her large list of names and connections through her mind. “No, I’m sure there’s no one to be telling he’s dead.” The cake continued to crumble between her fingers. “God give him good rest,” she added perfunctorily. “At Orléans, you say.” She dusted crumbs from her fingers and turned the talk to a subject more to her liking. “One of my sumpter horses has gone lame, Domina. I want your groom of the stable to look at him.”

  “As you wish.” Domina Edith nodded.

  Chaucer rose, gathering up his hood and beginning to fold it into a coxcomb hat, using the long liripipe to bind it in place. “Ah then, I suppose Lady Moleyns will have to go on keeping the boy.”

  “Hm?” said Lady Ermentrude. “Oh, yes, I suppose so.”

  “And I, to judge by the slant of sunlight through this window, had best take my leave. I’ve some few miles to go yet today.” He turned to Domina Edith. “Thank you for your hospitality, as always good and gracious.”