“Here.” Sire Philip took the filled cupfrom Guy and made to offer it to Sir Clement.
But Clement made an inarticulate noise andbegan to fumble franticly at the wide cuff of his houppelande'slong sleeve, loosening it and then pushing it as far up as it wouldgo, to let him come at the red rash covering his arm. “Hell'sfire! I'm being spared none of it!” He began clawinghis fingernails at the rash. The physician put out his handto stay him. Sir Clement left off scratching longenough to shove him in the chest, forcing him back a pace,growling, “Leave me be!” Then he seized the cup from SirePhilip, snapping, “Give me that!”
He drank all the wine down in clumsy gulps,flung the cup at the table, and began to dig at his arm again.
From a safer distance the physician said,“You should try to lie down now, my lord. To rest. I…”
“Ass! I can't… breathe… lyingdown.” Sir Clement's breath caught and fought among thewords. He struggled and it broke loose with a snoring sound.He wheezed a few deep breaths to catch up his air and sat with hishead cast back, eyes shut. A thin rivulet of drool ranunheeded out of the corner of his mouth. Around him, everyonestood motionless, eyes fixed on him.
After a few moments, when nothing changed,the physician said in a whisper, as if that would keep Sir Clementfrom hearing him, “He's better than when he came from thehall. There's that for hope.”
“But you don't know what it is?” Sire Philipasked.
The physician cast him a dark glance. “It's not like anything I've seen, no.” In a lower whisper,almost between his teeth, he added, “It wouldn't be, wouldit?” Because who among them had seen God strike down asinning man before?
Sir Clement reared his whole body back in hischair in a sudden terrible struggle for air again. His upperlip had shaded to blue; his eyes were staring with panic at nothing- or at nothing anyone else in the room could see in front ofhim. Then, with his fists clenched and his forearms pressedagainst his ribs as if to force air out, he lurched forward to leanacross the table in much the same way he had in the hall when thefirst attack came on him.
The physician and Sire Philip and the servantclosed on him as if there were something they could do. Jevan, grabbing the wine bottle from Guy's hand, came to snatch thecup from the table and fill it. Belatedly Guy followed butonly a few steps, keeping his distance from his uncle. LadyAnne stayed where she was, her hands pressed over her mouth,looking more a child than ever in her wide-eyed fear.
Sire Philip drew back a step now and made thesign of the cross over Sir Clement, large enough to include hisservant and Jevan and the physician all together. Thephysician gestured Jevan's cup away. He was trying uselesslyto straighten Sir Clement to see him better. Sire Philipcrossed himself and began to pray in Latin.
Frevisse and everyone else there crossedthemselves in response.
How long Sir Clement's struggle to breathewent on Frevisse could not have said. Forever. And notlong. The tortured gasping turned to a high wheezing and thengutteral choking. Frevisse, raising her head bowed as sheprayed aloud for mercy, for pity, saw Sire Philip turn from thetable to the aumbry. He was still praying, too, his lipsmoving silently now while his hands did something out of hersight. Then he turned back to the table with a glass vial anda piece of bread in his hands, and Frevisse realized what he heldand what he was going to do and sank to her knees.
Pushing Jevan and the physician aside, hebent over Sir Clement and said loudly at him, “Do you repent? Do you ask for the body of your Savior and repent of all yoursins?”
Belatedly everyone else in the room saw andknelt, even the physician though he was last, resisting the endthat had to come.
Sir Clement's body shuddered with thestruggle for breath, but Frevisse was able to see his now-desperatenod to the question that could mean his soul'ssalvation. Sire Philip forced the small bit of breadinto his mouth, poured oil – the blessed chrism – from the vialonto his own fingers and drew a cross on Sir Clement's reddened,swollen, shuddering forehead. His eyes staring and mouthagape with the uneaten bread in it, Sir Clement fixed his gaze onSire Philip who stayed bent over him, face close to face, prayingat him until Sir Clement's head fell back, his mouth now workingsoundlessly, his eyes suddenly fixed on the ceiling for an ugly,drawn-out moment before they went sightless and he slumped in thechair, still staring upward but his eyes empty now of anythingalive.
Then Sire Philip said, “In manus tuas,Domine, commendo spiritum eum.” Into your hands, O Lord,I commend his spirit. The hoped-for last words of everyChristian that Sir Clement had not been able to say forhimself.
Chapter Nine
The day had been longer and worse – inseveral ways – than Beaufort had anticipated. Seated at thetable spread with work in his chamber, daylight fading to grayhalf-light but no lamp lighted because he had not yet given orderfor it, he rubbed his forehead in what he knew was a habitualgesture. He was tired, but there were matters to see to somessages could go at first light tomorrow morning, matters thatcould not be delayed because they concerned both the government andhis bishopric, and neither of those could be left to themselves forlong.
On the whole, his bishopric was the lesserproblem – and the more profitable – since he had appointed men thathe could – not trust; trust left one too vulnerable – but men hecould depend on to see that things were done the way he wanted themdone, and to let him know if for any reason they could not.
England's government, being less under hispersonal control, was far less well-ordered. The reasons forthat were almost as numerous as the men who felt they had a claimto the right to advise young King Henry VI, men who could never bebrought to see that “claim” and “ability” were not necessarily thesame thing. His deservedly detested, much deplored nephewHumphrey, duke of Gloucester came first to mind. For thepresent the duke was as circumvented as could be managed, thoughthe complete cessation of his interference in the government wasnot even to be hoped for.
Blast Thomas! He had been one ofthe few men Gloucester respected enough to listen to. Notnecessarily heed but at least be slowed on whatever half-brainedscheme he might have at the time.
But Thomas, except for brief occasions, hadrefused to be dragged into the coil around the King. And nowhe was beyond any part in it at all.
Beaufort made a prayer for Thomas'ssoul. He had kept as emotionally distant from thinking aboutThomas as he could today; it was easier to deal with matterscompetently if emotions were kept out of them. He would payfor that restraint later, he knew, with probably a week's illtemper; but it had seen him through the day's necessity. Andnow he put Gloucester firmly out of his mind, too. Evenmerely thinking about Gloucester was a profitless, aggravatingwaste of time. What needed to be dealt with here and now wasa far lesser matter than the king's royal uncle, but at least itwas one about which something could be done, Beaufort hoped.
One of his secretaries knocked once at theopen door across the chamber. Beaufort nodded for him to comein and, seeing Dame Frevisse and the nun who had traveled with herbehind him, rose to his feet. “Dame Frevisse. Thank youfor coming so promptly.”
He held out his hand. The two womencrossed to him, curtsied, and kissed his ring. Then thesecond nun withdrew to stand near the door, head down, hands foldedinto her opposite sleeves. It would be unseemly for any nunto be alone with a man, but she was politely removing herself asmuch as might be. Beaufort glanced around at the two clerksworking at tables along the far wall; they were out of earshot ifhe and Dame Frevisse kept their voices low.