The Sempster's Tale (34 page)

‘With his wife, my lady.“

‘Someone has been sent for the constable or crowner or sheriff or someone?“

‘Rafe went, my lady. He was to see what there was to buy at the market, too, and find out what he can about what’s happening with the rebels. He’s not come back yet, nor anybody he went to fetch.“

‘They’re likely over-busy with the living,“ Daved said.

That was true, and it was not a comfort-laden thought. Frevisse did not suppose she was the only one here to think the troubles in London had yet to reach their worst.

As she made to go toward the solar with Master Naylor, Dickon, and Daved, Anne came into the hall carrying a deep, apparently heavy bowl covered by a linen towel in both hands, with an open-topped pottery pot clamped against her under one arm. Daved immediately turned back to take the bowl from her.

‘Have you eaten?“ he asked.

‘In the kitchen. While I made this.“ She had the pot safely in her hands now. ”For a poultice for your wrists.“

They went on to the solar, but as they went in, following Master Naylor, Frevisse paused to look back the hall’s length, trying in her mind to see how it had been here in the night. Dark save for whatever light came through the two tall, narrow windows, and that would have only barely thinned the darkness. Dark and empty. If Brother Michael had not been struck down in the solar itself, then it was here someone had felled him with that blow to the back of his head. With what was only too easily answered: the wooden clubs kept beside the outer door were all too readily at hand. Nor had he been a large man. Carrying his body rather than dragging it would have been possible for another man, who “only” needed then to cross the yard into the darkness of the gateway passage and go out the gate unseen. It needed great daring to have chanced that.

Unless Master Grene was the murderer.

Or Pers. Maybe he was secretly a Lollard and had seen Brother Michael a foe to be rid of. But would Brother Michael have left the solar for him, with him?

If it was choice between Pers and Master Grene, she had to favor Master Grene. He, after all, had a sure, clear way to the gate once he sent Pers to sleep. And he had reason to want Brother Michael dead. But if he had done it, had he done it alone? There could have been Daved. Or Father Tomas. Or both of them, both with reason to want the friar dead.

And still chance could not be ruled out altogether. Maybe Brother Michael
had
chosen to try leaving secretly and been killed in the street by someone. Master Bocking? Or Master Bocking had come into the house secretly and… But Brother Michael would have exclaimed at seeing him at the door. But she had only Daved’s word that he had not. But why leave Daved still tied once Brother Michael was down?

And how did the boy Hal’s death tie to it all, if it did?

The circle of possibilities and likelihoods were small, but they tangled back and forth and in and out on one another, and it was with a flare of impatience that Frevisse went into the solar, glad she did not have to face Master Grene at that moment and wishing Daved Weir
had
escaped in the night. It would have made all this so much the simpler.

Chapter 23

Anne pointed Daved toward a flat-topped chest near the window, where the light was best and they could sit with the bowl between them while she tended to his hurt wrists and Dame Frevisse went on with all these questions of hers. Anne had expected prayers from her, or that she would see to helping Mistress Hercy soothe Pernell. What was she doing with all these questions? Did she think she was going to find out the friar’s murderer?

At least she was better toward Daved than Anne would have thought she would be. But the quick working of her mind and Daved’s together was unquieting, and Anne took the chance as Daved set down the bowl and her back and his were to the room to say to him, low-voiced, “You should have gone on letting it seem I’d freed you.”

As quietly, Daved said, “We won’t come to find out the friar’s murderer by lies.”

‘Do we care who killed him?“

‘We have to care. Else we may become as careless of others’ lives as he was. Besides, with all the lies I live in, I like to dare the truth sometimes.“

He had begun to take off his doublet, but the scraped-raw wounds on his wrists had crusted and stiffened by now. He winced with the pain of them, and Anne put his hands aside and moved behind him to slip his doublet off him herself, then set it aside before they sat down on either side of the bowl, with Daved holding out first one arm and then the other for her to loosen his somewhat bloodied sleeves and fold them up his arms.

In the middle of the room, Master Naylor was answering Dame Frevisse’s crisp questions about what he had found in the street with, “Very little. There was only a slight smearing of blood on the paving there, probably from when Pers rolled him over. That’s how it would be if he was lying face down, with his thick friar’s robe to soak up most of what flowed.”

‘He was maybe bleeding inside more than outwardly, too,“ Dame Frevisse said. ”Do you think he was stabbed there? Or is it more likely he was stabbed elsewhere and carried there?“

Anne took the towel from the bowl, uncovering the barely steaming water; laid the towel across her lap; took one of Daved’s hands and eased it into the water that was deep enough to mostly cover his wrist. He drew in his breath with a teeth-gritted hiss of pain.

Slowly, as if grudging to give his mind, Master Naylor was saying, “Anyone who carried him after he was stabbed would almost surely have blood on them afterward. Blood is hard to be rid of. If whoever killed him had any sense, they killed him there.”

‘It would help to know with whom he left this room,“ Dame Frevisse said. ”Do you know—or you, Dickon—if anyone among the servants came here during the night?“

‘Not that I know of,“ Master Naylor said. And, ”No,“ from Dickon, before Master Naylor added, ”Given the friar is dead, you’ll not likely
get
anyone to admit they were here, whether they killed him or not.“

‘Has anyone said they saw anyone where they shouldn’t have been last night? Or did you see anyone?“

‘Nothing and no one,“ Master Naylor answered.

‘Nor me,“ said Dickon.

Anne went on gently cleaning the crusted blood from Daved’s wrist, aware he was listening as Master Naylor went on, “I’d say, though, they’re not looking uneasily among themselves. Not even at Pers. No one has said anything about anyone not being where they were expected to be in the night—all asleep or else standing guard.”

‘I’d swear the cook slept all night,“ Dickon said with feeling. ”I could hear his snores even while on watch in the rearyard.“

‘When was that?“

‘From midnight until as near to three of the clock as I could guess.“

‘Who took your place?“

‘Wyett.“

‘You heard and saw nothing and no one in your while?“

‘I heard men shouting and laughter and suchlike from a street or so away a few times early on, less later. All I saw were a couple of cats passing by along the fence tops.“

‘Nothing from inside the house here?“

‘Just the cook’s snoring sometimes.“

Finished washing Daved’s right wrist, Anne lifted it to her lap to dry it, nodding he should put the other one to soak.

“Master Naylor?” Dame Frevisse asked.

‘My night went the same as Dickon’s, except I had the early watch on the front gate and heard far more shouts, laughter, all the rest. Only a few clots of idiots came right past, though.“

‘On their way between Lombard Street and Candlewick,“ Daved said. ”There being no tavern on St. Swithin’s to keep them here.“

Anne spread the herb poultice on a strip of clean cloth and wrapped it firmly over the rope-cuts. Dame Frevisse went on asking the Naylors more about the night and what they had since heard and seen among the household, and Anne began to clean Daved’s other wrist. The wound there was deeper; he winced and made a small, unwilling sound of pain. She couldn’t spare him pain, though, and went on; and he leaned forward and kissed the top of her bowed head, then whispered in her ear, laughter in his voice, “You see? I’m being Christian. Returning good for evil.”

Anne lifted her head enough to smile at him, heart-warmed as always by the laughter in his voice. But the warmth was small this time, crushed in the cold grip of her great fear, and she ducked her head down again lest he see the too quickly starting tears.

Still leaning close, still low-voiced, Daved asked, “This penance of yours. Do you truly think of our love as sin?”

Busy being gentle with his wound, Anne could do nothing to stop the tear that brimmed over and fell, its splash small in the basin; but her voice held steady as she answered, eyes still down, “Love is never a sin.”

‘Yet you do penance.“

‘What we do…“ Anne faltered over a way to say what she had always felt more clearly than thought. ”What we
do
together is where the sin is, unmarried to each other as we are. It’s for that I do penance.
Not
for our love.“ Then she straightened, lifted her dripping hands to take hold of his face on either side, and not caring who was there to see it, not caring if he saw her tears, drew him to her and kissed him, fierce with both her passion and her fear. And when she had done, she drew back from him and said, looking straight into his eyes, ”Rather our sin and my penance than the worse sin of denying our love or our need for each other.“ Then she returned to cleansing his wound, aware that across the room all talk had stopped and that they were being stared at. She refused to care and did not look up as Dame Frevisse came toward them.

But Daved said, “My lady,” and Dame Frevisse, beside them now, said back, “Your hurts are worse than they seemed in the cellar. You didn’t win free easily.”

‘No,“ Daved agreed evenly. ”I did not.“

‘Nor quickly.“

‘No, nor quickly.“

‘Had you succeeded just before we found you?“

‘Yes.“

‘Do you think it had taken you a whole watch, or had Brother Michael been gone less than that?“

‘I’d say less than that.“

‘Why wasn’t there anyone else here?“

‘Once I was bound, there was no need. Master Grene asked Master Naylor to take the early watch and said your other man would do better sleeping, to be ready for his turn on watch.“

‘But Brother Michael stayed with you the whole time.“

‘The whole time, and a great weariness he was. A very learned man too willing to share his learning at length and long.“

‘Was it all theology he talked?“ Dame Frevisse asked. ”Or other things? Such as any enemies he might have.“

‘All theology. I had little liking for your Bernard of Clairvaux before this. Now I like him even less. But your Thomas of Aquinas—would that he had run out of pens and ink before he ever started, that one.“