The Bastard's Tale (6 page)

For Master Wilde, however, it was all and everything, and so there was a desperate stitching by anyone with hands to spare who could be trusted with a needle. At least Wisdom and Lady Soul would be fully clothed and surely splendid. Near to Frevisse now, the woman Joane was sitting with her lap draped in fold upon fold of Lady Soul’s white cloth-of-gold gown, stitching gold-threaded trim around its far more yards of hem than Frevisse presently worked at, while a little farther down the hall Mistress Wilde had a little while ago folded Wisdom’s yards upon yards of gown away into a hamper and now sat with small John standing for her to mark the sleeve-length on his black demon’s tunic.

But sewing was not the only work in hand in the hall. Master Wilde was not yet come to start the afternoon’s practice but the six men who would be the Mights and Devils were walking through their dance at the hall’s upper end to the tapping of a small drum by another of Master Wilde’s sons, in front of the tower that in two days’ time would be Heaven but was presently being painted blue by young Giles and the older of the company’s two musicians in grimy tunics and hosen, with charcoal-burning braziers set around to hurry the paint’s drying because Master Wilde meant to run through the whole play this afternoon. “From beginning to end without stopping no matter how rough it goes,” he had said yesterday. “We’ve need to see how the whole thing hangs together, and woe to anyone who doesn’t have his lines down pat by then.”

Joliffe, standing next to small John sitting on the bench beside Frevisse, had leaned over and asked the boy, low-voiced in his ear, “You have your words all learned, haven’t you?”

Swinging his feet happily, John had said back, “I know mine better than you know yours!” An ongoing jest between them because John had no lines. His part, with Giles, was to slither from beneath Lady Soul’s befouled and ugly mantle after she had fallen prey to Lucifer’s lures, dragging black, twisted ropes and dirty ribbons behind them and around her in an ugly little dance to show her vileness. He only had to know when to move and where, while Joliffe, as Lucifer tempting Lady Soul to her foolishness and sin, had a great many lines, and at John’s challenge he had laid a tragical hand to his forehead, said, “Too true, my lord, too true. I’d best go practice,” and after a bow to John and Frevisse, had taken himself away.

Frevisse had noted these past few days how good he was at taking himself away without much said to her. Though he sometimes came aside to talk with John, he had never spoken more to her at any one time than when they had first met here. Not that there was need he should, but neither was there reason why he should so avoid it as he seemed to, and she was therefore surprised, happening to look up, to see Joliffe was just come into the hall in company with a young man she did not know and was crossing toward her.

That they were coming to her was so clear that she laid her sewing in her lap and waited, watching them. Joliffe was tall but the newcomer somewhat taller, with a long-boned, well-featured face, dark gold hair, and an uncertain manner, as if he knew he shouldn’t be there.

Nor should he be. What was in Joliffe’s mind to bring him, and what was Master Wilde going to say?

Reaching her, they both bowed and Joliffe said, “My lady, a favor, if you will.”

As formal as he was, she said back, “If it’s within right and reason.”

Joliffe’s laughter glinted at her though he said evenly, “You know what my lord of Suffolk has been at? Mustering men north of town on Henow Heath against the duke of Gloucester and the supposed army he’s bringing against the king?”

She knew. There had been talk about it all around Lady Alice this morning, though Alice herself had said not much before she went off to wait on the queen. “I’ve heard,” Frevisse answered slowly, “though it seems to me that it would have served Suffolk better to muster his men south of town, between the king and Gloucester, rather than north of it.”

‘A well-taken point that seems to have escaped a great many people,“ Joliffe allowed lightly. ”But however much we may question my lord of Suffolk’s judgment, I thought myself that Arteys here might be better somewhere else than out and about.“ As he said it, Joliffe briefly lifted an edge of the young man’s cloak, giving a glimpse of a white swan badge, and Frevisse said, ”Ah.“

‘So may he keep you company this while?“

Arteys stood so carefully blank-faced, waiting for her answer, that Frevisse slightly smiled at him as she said, “Of course. But will Master Wilde allow it?”

‘I asked him outside,“ Joliffe said. ”He agreed, having more on his mind at the time. Brother Lydgate has him in talk.“

‘Again?“ Frevisse said. Not only did Lydgate write lame verse, he had the unswerving opinion that anything not written by himself was surely in need of mending and it seemed he had been trying to mend this play ever since the players had begun to practice it.

‘He says the end needs something said between Lucifer and Lady Soul,“ Joliffe said cheerfully, ”and a longer speech from Wisdom that he’s kindly penned for us. He’s trying to persuade Master Wilde to do it today.“

‘Two days before the play goes on? Blessed St. Jude have mercy.“ The patron saint of desperate cases, because Brother Lydgate was undeniably a desperate case.

‘Better add a prayer to St. Barbara against sudden death, because that’s what Master Wilde may have for Brother Lydgate if he keeps at this.“

With a grin at Arteys and a bow of his head to Frevisse, he headed away to where Ned Wilde was explaining to his brother Giles and the other painter how he would have done the work faster and, of course, better had he been there, and Giles was explaining back at him how much he was in danger of having his kneecaps painted.

‘Don’t even think of it!“ their mother called from where she was helping John take off his pin-perilous tunic, and Joliffe added helpfully that, anyway, it would be a waste of good paint.

Frevisse gestured at Arteys still standing uncertainly beside the bench that he should sit. He did, somewhat uneasily and on its edge, looking ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Returning to her sewing, she asked, as much for curiosity as to put him at ease, “You’ve known Joliffe long?”

The youth hesitated. “Off and on for a time.” He hesitated again, then added, “Mostly off.”

‘How did he explain you to Master Wilde?“

‘He said I had need lie low for the afternoon and could I do it here? Master Wilde said he knew about lying low, and if I promised to keep my mouth shut, I could stay.“

‘Joliffe didn’t tell him you were one of the duke of Gloucester’s men?“

‘No.“ The hall was cool enough that no one would question why he still wore his cloak but Arteys pulled it closer around him as if to be sure Gloucester’s badge stayed hidden.

‘Come to that,“ Frevisse said, pretending she did not see his uneasy gesture, ”I doubt Master Wilde, lost in the play as he is, even knows there’s anything else happening.“

‘He didn’t seem to.“

‘Is Gloucester bringing an army against the king?“

Arteys looked profoundly startled and answered more forcefully than he had yet said anything to her,
“No.
It’s a flat lie. He’s bringing less than a hundred men. Suffolk is a liar.”

That was boldly said and Frevisse would have questioned him more, to find out what else he would say, but at that moment Master Wilde came into the hall, cap in hand, face furiously flushed, and hair ruffled into an angry crest. Behind him, almost treading on his heels, came Brother Lydgate, holding out papers toward his back and insisting, “Let me read it to you again. You’ll surely hear…”

Master Wilde spun around, took the papers, and said with what sounded like a clenched jaw and the last bit of patience in him, “I’ll read it and see what I can do. Right? Right. Now we have to get on with things. Toller will see you out.
Toller!”

Toller appeared through the doorway at Brother Lydgate’s back and, much like a shepherd’s dog with a thick-headed sheep, ushered Lydgate backward from Master Wilde and out of the hall. No one else moved or spoke until there was the solid thud of the outer door closing. Then with a massive release of breath, Master Wilde spun around, declared, “Enough. Let’s get on with this,” and stalked up the hall, stripping off his cloak as he went and tossing it toward a lidded basket, not caring that he missed, ordering, “All of you to your places. Where you’ll be when you enter at your turn. We’re doing this all the way through, remember. No stopping. No help on lines. If you don’t have them now, there’s no hope anyway.”

Ahead of him the paint and brushes were being hurriedly cleared to the side. The top and front of the stairs had sensibly been done this morning and hopefully were dry. Master Wilde started up them, turned around to give some order, Frevisse supposed, but instead roared toward the hall doorway,
“Now what?”

Everyone looked. Even Joane, who had steadfastly gone on stitching through everything else, jerked up her head to see a man standing there, stopped by Master Wilde’s roar. He was no one Frevisse knew; an older man quietly gowned in what was, although black and ankle-long, assuredly no monk’s robe. Deeply pleated from yoke to belted waist, with full sleeves gathered to the wrists and high-standing collar, it bespoke a man of some position in the world, only its color and his closely fitted, plain black hat suggesting he was a churchman of some kind.

If he was, it presently carried no weight with Master Wilde, who demanded at full voice, “What do you want here?” And louder still, “Toller!”

Toller seemed to be absent but from a near corner of the steps Joliffe said something up to Master Wilde that Frevisse did not hear. It earned him a glare from Master Wilde, who then snapped, “If you say so,” and to the man, only a little more graciously, “Come in if you will, my lord. Sit there, please you.”

He pointed toward the bench where Frevisse and Arteys already were. The man bent his head to him, and while Master Wilde returned to dealing with his players, came up the hall. Frevisse and Arteys both rose to their feet as courtesy required and the man with equal courtesy nodded to them to sit, sat himself on Arteys’ other side, and leaned forward to say past him to Frevisse, “My lady, you are… ?”

There was Oxford in his voice and something else that Frevisse could not immediately place as she answered him with the same graciousness as he had asked, “Dame Frevisse of St. Frideswide’s priory in Oxfordshire, my lord. And you are… ?”

‘Bishop Pecock of St. Asaph’s.“

That gave her pause. If that was what Joliffe had told Master Wilde, then Master Wilde had had small choice in “allowing” the bishop to stay because bishops, even of so small a bishopric as Frevisse knew St. Asaph’s to be, were lords by virtue of their office and members of the royal council, not someone to be yelled at and ordered around by a common playmaster. But Bishop Pecock seemed to have taken no offense. Rather, his attention had shifted to Arteys. “And who are you, young man?”

‘Arteys, my lord.“

‘A Welsh name,“ Bishop Pecock said promptly. ”Often corrupted in English to ’Arthur,‘ a king of many legends and the subject of far more stories than can be true. A noble name nonetheless and better in the Welsh than in English. Are you Welsh?“

‘On my mother’s side.“

Bishop Pecock leaned forward for a nearer look and asked, “What is the rest of your name, young Arteys?”

After a very motionless moment, Arteys answered, “FitzGloucester, my lord.”

Bishop Pecock sat back with a single nod, as if satisfied of something, and veered his questioning back to Frevisse, asking courteously, “What do you here, Dame?”

It was a reasonable question, this being hardly a likely place for a nun, and Frevisse made brief explanation of how she came to accompany young John, leaving out everything about herself and why she was at Bury St. Edmunds at all. Then, deciding such questions could go both ways, she asked, “And you, my lord. Why are you here?”

Bishop Pecock smiled. “I’m avoiding one duty by claiming another. One might even say ‘feigning’ another. I should be with the lords in council at this very moment but found that my wits were at peril of curdling if I listened even another quarter hour to their talk. Therefore I determined to do something else and am here, where I doubt I’ll be easily found even if someone is looking for me, which they are probably not.”

That both a bishop and Arteys were here for the sake of not being somewhere else gave Frevisse an inward smile.

But Bishop Pecock still had questions and now asked, “This play, Dame, how much of it have you seen?”

‘I don’t know.“

He raised his rather notable eyebrows, questioning her answer without need to say a word. Obligingly she added, “The few times I’ve been here, they’ve played it only in bits and pieces. Today is the first time they’re to do it from start to end all at once. That’s why Master Wilde is somewhat on edge.”

She was surprised to hear herself excusing the play-master; was equally surprised at Bishop Pecock’s easy nod accepting that. “Better honest irk than false courtesy,” he said and probably would have said more—he seemed to be a man with always more to say—but Master Wilde had finished with whatever last things he had for the players and at that moment roared out to the hall at large for silence and, when he had it, said, abruptly calm, “Now we begin.”

On the instant there was no movement or sound from anyone in the hall. Even Mistress Wilde and Joane paused their sewing, and because the curtains that would back the playing place were not hung on their long frames yet, all the players were in sight, too, grouped here and there aside from Heaven’s tower, wherever they needed to be for when they would come into the play on their turn. Even John, who was not needed until later, was in his place, waiting solemnly, silently, beside Giles. From partway up the stairs, Master Wilde looked at them all, assessing their readiness, then went up the last steps to the top, swung around, and sat down on the joint stool in a way that made it, on the instant, no longer a joint stool but Wisdom’s throne and Master Wilde by the very way he sat there no longer the harassed master of players but Wisdom himself, all divine dignity and command as he declared, as if to a vast multitude, “If you would know the meaning of my name imperial, I am called, by those that are on earth, Everlasting Wisdom…”