“To give his personal condolences on yourloss,” Jevan continued, “and to assure you he will not asksettlement in the land dispute until your mourning is less fresh,and to ask you speak well of him to the earl of Suffolk in allmatters they will have to deal in, now that Master Chaucer isdead.”
The impertinence of that brought everyone butAunt Matilda to a complete standstill. But she clutched atSire Philip with renewing panic and cried to Bishop Beaufort, “Ican’t… not this morning… how… how can he ask me… how doeshe think I…”
“Send him away,” Alice demanded, hugging hermother around the shoulders. “You don’t have to deal withthis now. Not ever! Suffolk will see to him!”
“This is nothing you have to endure rightnow,” Frevisse agreed angrily, though not at Jevan, who had plainlywanted nothing to do with what he had had to say.
Bishop Beaufort placed himself between Jevanand Matilda and said, his voice hard with dismissal, “You’ve doneyour duty in bringing your master’s request. Now you maygo. Mistress Chaucer is not free for this matter thismorning, as your master well knows. Tell him from me-“ Bishop Beaufort stopped. His face went smooth as oil onwater, and he turned his attention from Jevan, pale but stillfacing him, to Sire Philip. Almost genially, he said, “SirePhilip, go with this young man, I pray you, and give Sir Clementthis message from me: ‘You are a mannerless knave, and if youcannot at least feign some decency in a house of mourning, you aremore than cordially welcomed by all here to leave at your earliestpossibility.’”
Sire Philip’s usually impassive faceregistered several emotions rapidly. Refusal was perhapsfirst, but if so he buried it as it was born. Frevissethought the last was a residue of wry humor for the unpleasantnessto come, but even that she could not be sure of before his facebecame a smooth match of the bishop’s. He leaned reassuringlynearer to Aunt Matilda, still desperately clutching his arm. “I’ll be gone only a little while, my lady, and be back before youneed to go out. But I must obey the bishop in thismatter.”
With an unsteady sniff, Matilda gatheredherself, nodded, and let him go. When he and Jevan had left,and the maidservant had closed the chamber door, Aunt Matildalooked around at all of them and said with something of her olddignity and urge to manage, “Well, I see no point in our allstanding about when we could sit. There’ll be standing enoughtoday before we’re done, I’m sure. Is it very cold out? But never mind, it doesn’t matter. Dear Thomas never mindedthe cold like the rest of us did.”
Alice burst into tears.
And Frevisse thought that was the most usefulthing any of them could have done, as Aunt Matilda turned from herown grieving to comfort her.
Chapter Seven
“Subvenita, Sancti Dei, occuritte, AngeliDomini: Suscipientes animan ejus: Offerentes eam in conspectuAltissimi.” Come to his aid, Saints of God; hurry to meethim, Angels of the Lord. Take up his souclass="underline" Bring it into thesight of the Most High.
The service was making its dark and eloquentway through the Mass for the Dead. The day's sunlight throughthe bright windows added richness to the elaborate vestments of thepriests and Cardinal Bishop Beaufort, and strewed jewel colors overthe darkly dressed mourners crowded in the nave. Under thegrowing cloud of incense, the church grew warm with the manypeople, a warmth welcome after the slow, cold procession behind thecoffin from the manor house.
“In quo nobis spes beatae resurrectioniseffulsit…” In whom the hope of a blessed resurrectiondawned for us…
Drained by her own grief and the necessitiesof the past days and the suppressed griefs around her, Frevisse letthe service carry her as it would. Elegant, complex, the Masscomforted sorrow with the divinely given hope that death was notthe end. Even weeping seemed irrelevant for the while.
“Vere dignum et justum est, aequum etsalutare, nos tibi semper et ubique gratiasagere…” Truly it is fitting and just, reasonableand good, for us to give thanks to you always and everywhere…
But in some way none of this solemnity seemedanything to do with Thomas Chaucer as she knew him, the man who hadalways challenged her to think, a man full of laughter andsometimes teasing and often kindness.
But then, in essence, the Mass of the Deadhad nothing to do with that part of Chaucer that had been hisearthly self, but with the part of him that would live foreternity. The part of him that was now purged of earthlymatters and emotions. The part of him she did not know andhad not yet learned to love in place of the other who had goneforever.
The pastor of Ewelme began his sermon withthe customary reminder, “Behold this coffin containing its deadburden as you would a mirror, for surely you will come to this inyour turn…”
Frevisse turned her mind to prayers of herown until the Mass continued.
“Et ideo cum Angelis et Archangelis, cumThronis et Dominationibus, comque omni militia caelistis exercitus,hymnum gloria tuae canimus, sine fine dicentes: Sanctus, Sanctus,Sanctus…” And so, with angels and archangels, withthrones and dominions and all the assembly of the heavenly host, wesing hymns to your glory, without end saying: Holy, holy,holy…
Around the altar the priests and deaconsmoved in their ritual patterns, Bishop Beaufort foremost amongthem, perfect in every movement and gesture, as if what he did wasinfinitely precious. As truly it was. But he made itseem as outwardly so as it was inwardly, a rare and beautiful thingto watch and listen to.
Chaucer would have appreciated that, Frevissethought. He had loved beautiful things, from a delicatelyswirled and tinted Venetian glass goblet brought from overseas withinfinite care and cost, to the subtleties of a sunset over his ownhills.
Was there anything like that in Heaven forhim to love?
Or was Heaven all Love, with no need ordesire distinguishing one soul from another? What was itlike, to be pure spirit? And how, without throats, did theangels endlessly sing Holy, holy, holy? And the saints hearthem without ears?
“Circumdabo altare tuun, Domine… enarremuniversa mirabilia tua.” I will go about your altar,Lord… describing all your wonders.
Chaucer's body was blessed and censed andgiven at last to its tomb. The last prayers were said, forall the dead, past and to come. The prayers felt as real as acomforting arm, and Frevisse wrapped the words aroundherself. “Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine. Et luxperpetua luceat eis. Requiescant in pace. Amen.” Eternal rest give to them, Lord. And letperpetual light shine upon them. May they rest inpeace. Amen.
The mourners eased their way out of thechurch, into the bright day and cold wind. The sky that hadbeen clear when they entered the church was now streaked with high,thin clouds, and to Frevisse's mind there was the smell of snow tocome, or very bitter frost. The villagers were crowded aroundthe church porch, waiting for the funeral alms and to bless thewidow and Countess Alice as they came by. Frevisse, behindher aunt, was bemused to find she was expected to walk withSuffolk, an unlikely occurrence under any other circumstances, butat least there was no need to speak to one another, and they didnot. She had no good opinion of him, not much opinion at all,though she remembered Chaucer had once said, on a visit to St.Frideswide's after their betrothal, “They're well-matched in wealthand affection, and he has power and she has sense. Theyshould do well enough.”
She half expected Sir Clement Sharpe mighttake the chance between the church and manor house to approach AuntMatilda. His gall and lack of manners did not apparentlypreclude such rudeness. But she only saw him distantly amongthe crowd as they slowed to cross the bridge from the outeryard. His nephew Guy was to one side and there was a glimpseof Lady Anne's fair hair to his other. Let them keep theirtroubles to themselves today, Frevisse thought, and tomorrow theywould be gone with the rest of the guests.