The Sempster's Tale (35 page)

‘But nothing about himself?“

‘Nothing. I think his learning was all his life.“

‘His faith,“ Dame Frevisse corrected. ”His faith was his life and the reason for his learning.“

Daved gave her an odd, considering look. “Was the reason for his learning his faith or his fear?”

‘His fear?“

‘Of life. Or of death. Or of both. Most of us live by refusing to look at those common fears. He was a brave man, in his way. Having looked, he maybe then refuged in learning, setting other men’s words around him for a wall against his fears, his doubts, and any questionings. Therefore his need to be so certain of everything, and his need to find out and be rid of anyone who doubted the faith that was his hiding place.“

It a little frightened Anne when Daved went so far into thoughts she had never had. She was drying his wrist, taking great care over it so she would not have to look up while waiting for Dame Frevisse’s answer that was slow in coming. And then it did not come at all, the nun asking instead, “Where did you sleep last night, Mistress Blakhall?”

Beginning to spread the poultice on another strip of cloth, Anne still did not look up as she answered, “In Mistress Hercy’s chamber.”

‘Where is that?“

‘Above here.“ She glanced at the ceiling, then met Dame Frevisse’s look. ”So I’m as suspect in Brother Michael’s death as anyone else.“

‘More suspect,“ Dame Frevisse said evenly. ”It being your lover the friar held prisoner.“

‘She could have struck him down,“ Daved said quickly. ”But she could not have moved his body.“

‘She could have struck him down,“ Dame Frevisse returned as quickly, ”then freed you, for you to move his body, and then you both waited here to be found in seeming innocence.“

‘Does that seem likely to you?“ Daved challenged.

‘No. Had that been the way of it, more likely you’d have had her go back to her bed and pretend ignorance of everything, including that you were free. Mistress Blakhall, did you hear aught?“

Beginning to wrap the poultice around Daved’s wrist, Anne said, “Sounds from the streets of course and Brother Michael talking on and on. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, only his voice and sometimes Daved’s.”

‘Did you sleep any of the night?“

‘No.“

‘So you were awake when someone knocked at the door. You heard the knock.“

‘I heard it, but nothing else. Not anyone speak to Brother Michael.“

‘How soon after it did you come downstairs?“

‘I… don’t know. I was pacing. I’d been pacing for hours, I think. In the dark.“

‘You probably looked out the window sometimes. Did you ever see anyone in the yard? Before then or later?“

‘No one. The man at the gate once when he walked out into the yard from the passageway. But he went back into the shadows there again.“

‘Did you come down soon after the knock, or long?“

Anne was now binding the poulticed cloth around Daved’s wrist. Without looking up, she answered, “Long. I didn’t understand Brother Michael was gone away. I knew the talking had stopped, but only after a while, because of the knock, I thought he might have gone away and came down in hope I might see—just see—Daved.”

‘And found Brother Michael gone and Daved free,“ Dame Frevisse said.

‘Yes.“ When was the nun going to give it up and leave them in peace? Anne finished tying the cloth in place but kept her eyes down and hold of Daved’s hand. ”I wish I’d come sooner and saved you this,“ she said.

Daved leaned forward to place a kiss gently on Anne’s brow before he took his hand from her, stood up, and asked of Frevisse, “May I talk aside with you a little while?”

Anne started to say something, but Daved silenced her with a small movement of his hand while Frevisse from her eye’s corner saw Master Naylor stiffen, disapproving; but she said evenly, “Surely,” and let Daved lead her aside to the room’s far corner. There, the better to keep their words to themselves, they stood with their backs to everyone, looking more to the wall than each other as Daved said, keeping his voice low, “You’ve asked near to all the questions there are to ask, haven’t you?”

Frevisse held to tight-lipped silence a moment, then unwillingly admitted, “Yes.”

‘Without yet a set answer to who killed the friar.“

Again Frevisse held silent, weighing whether she wanted this talk with him or not, then said, “No. As it stands now, the only things of which I’m sure are that Brother Michael was struck down somewhere, and that he was stabbed to death. Probably in the street outside the gate. Beyond that, nothing I’ve yet learned lets me sort the lies from the truths in what I’ve been told.”

‘Lies. Truths. They’re sometimes hard to tell apart even at the best of times.“ Daved smiled his warm and sudden smile. ”And both can be unpleasant to live with.“

Frevisse was in no humour for either philosophy or his smile and snapped, “As for lies, you should know more about them than most, given how much you live in one.”

He made a small bow of his head to her, his smile deepening. “But don’t all of us live with lies? Some of us with small lies and few. Others of us with large lies and many. Or few and large. Or many and small. Or—”

“You
don’t live simply with a lie,” Frevisse said. “You live
in
a lie. A lie far larger than the lies most people live with. So far as I’ve learned, your life is almost entirely a lie.”

Daved’s gaze held steady on her but his smile faded to no more than a slight bitterness turning up the corners of his mouth, and very softly he said, “There is presently a German bishop who has decreed ‘his’ Jews are to be expelled from all his lands. Their properties, their businesses, their homes are all to be left behind, and they are to go elsewhere unless they pay him a very great sum of money. He is, in other words, holding them to ransom. He’s one of many who play this ’game,‘ sometimes with only a Jew or two, sometimes with many. A few years ago it was a duke holding a Jew’s wife and daughter hostage, threatening to forcibly baptize the girl if the Jew did not pay what the duke demanded. What I do in my lie of a life is gather money—by such services as this to your cousin— to satisfy such Christians as this bishop and that duke. I live lies to keep my people alive a little longer.” Daved’s bitter smile had lingered until then. Now it altogether disappeared, and he said very quietly but with steel edging his voice and no smile at all, “Which would be better—for me to live in ’truth‘ and watch these people be destroyed, or live in this ’lie‘ and, God willing, save them for a few years more?”

Frevisse held back her answer despite she knew it, but finally gave way and said, knowing how many would have condemned her for it, “It’s better that you save them.”

‘I will,“ Daved assured her, that glint of bitter steel still under his voice.

The silence drew out between them as they looked straight at each other, each of them reading in the other what neither of them would say, until into the silence Frevisse said quietly, “The trouble here is how to sort out the truths and the lies from what I’ve been told.”

And how had she come to this, she wondered: to be seeking out the murderer of a Christian with the help of a Jew whom that Christian would have brought to his death if he had not died instead? But she believed the reasons Daved had given her for staying when he could have fled and believed he wanted the friar’s murderer found; and since Christ had said he was “the way, the truth, and the life,” was Daved in his search for the truth maybe less Christ’s enemy than Brother Michael had been with his readiness to hatred and willingness to destroy?

God help her, but if ever it had come to choice of which of the two men was better, her choice would have been Daved Weir.

Very quietly Daved said, “You know where your questions have brought you.”

She knew. And by the way he said it, Daved knew, too.

‘If not you,“ she said, ”then Father Tomas or Master Grene.“

Daved’s slow nod agreed with her.

‘The trouble,“ Frevisse said, ”is that we have nothing like proof for either one.“

‘We have another murder,“ Daved said quietly.

‘Whoever killed Brother Michael might only have copied what we think was done to the boy.“ First the luring out, the striking down, the moving of the unconscious body, then the killing.

‘Copied it but not been Hal’s murderer, only the friar’s. Possible, yes,“ Daved granted. ”But how many here know that well what was done to Hal? You. I. Anne. Raulyn. Father Tomas.“

Slowly Frevisse said, “All of whom, save me, might have reason for Brother Michael’s death. But for Hal’s?”

‘But if the boy, then surely the friar, too.“

“Almost
surely.” Though she was sure. “Almost surely. So. We have to find out who profited from Hal’s death, because profit is the most likely reason for it.”

‘I don’t see how Father Tomas…“

Frevisse stopped.

Daved finished the thought for her. “… how Father Tomas would profit from the boy’s death. No. Unless you believe his Christian priesthood is only covering a desire to kill Christian boys in Jewish rituals of murder.”

Frevisse gave him the dismissing look that suggestion deserved.

‘But if not Father Tomas, then Raulyn,“ Daved said. ”He is, for the friar’s murder, very likely. Who could move more freely through the house last night than he could? Who could be more certain of the gate when he needed it? Who had to depend less on chance in everything last night?“

No one else. That was so certain Frevisse did not need to say it. “But why…” She stopped, trying to shape the question clearly in her own mind. Daved cocked his head at her, willingly waiting, bright question in his eyes, until she finally said, “But why would he think he could get away with the same kind of murder twice, and so near together?”

Daved gave a smooth shrug. “Why does someone think they can get away with murder at all? Planned murders, anyway, rather than ones done on the instant and in anger. To plan to be a murderer, someone has to think others are too stupid to see through their cleverness. Raulyn has always had great belief in his own cleverness.”

‘I thought he was your friend,“ Frevisse said. ”He’s known what you are and kept your secret for years here in London. If he killed Brother Michael, even that’s to your good. Why be so ready to think him a murderer?“

For answer, Daved turned his head to look over his right shoulder at Anne, still seated on the chest but leaned back against the wall now, her eyes closed. The grey shadowing under her eyes argued she had told the truth about not sleeping at all last night; or if she had, it had been little and lightly; and Daved said, gentle-voiced, “When I leave her this time, I may never be able to come back to her. Therefore I’d leave her as safe as might be. If Raulyn has killed twice, whatever his reasons, there’s nothing to say he won’t kill again if he finds reason to.” He returned his gaze to Frevisse. “He desires her. I don’t think she knows it, but he does. I’ve seen his look at her sometimes, and there have been things he’s said. If I am gone for good and all, then maybe he thinks he has hope of her. He…”

Daved stopped with a sickened look, as if he had bitten down on something foul. Frevisse took only a bare second to see where his thought went next, and with that same sickened feeling that showed on his face, she said, “Then he could have cut those marks on Hal’s body deliberately to…”

‘… to set people thinking about secret Jews in London, not only to confuse who had done the murder but to make me wary about returning any time soon. Thinking that if Anne despaired of me, she might be willing to him.“ Anger, not there before, darkened Daved’s voice. ”If Brother Michael hadn’t been there, Raulyn would have named the cuts as Hebrew himself. What he didn’t know was Father Tomas’ secret. That Father Tomas would say they were false.“