Frevisse moderated her tone to humbleinquiry. “It was so terrible to see. I couldn'twatch. He didn't choke on a bite of food, or the wine hedrank go down the wrong way? It's so terrible to think of Godstriking him down that manner. I just keep hoping it wassomething else, and if it was, you would be the one who knew.”
Her double appeal to his learning and hismanhood flattered the physician enough to consider her question. “I of course checked him immediately for some cause of hisdistress,” he replied with suitable gravity, “but there was no signof what it might be. It was as if all his humours had turnedviolently against him all at once.”
“There seemed to be something in histhroat.”
“I looked there first, of course, but it wasnot something in his throat, it was his throat itself. A severe and prolonged spasm of all the flesh in there, that causedan effusion of fluid and brought on a swelling that inhibited hisbreathing.”
Inhibited his breathing to the point ofdeath, Frevisse thought drily, but she kept her tone mild andwondering as she said, “What about those terrible welts all overhis face, and that redness, and the itching that seemed to tormenthim almost as much as his breathing? They had nothing to dowith his throat constricting, did they?”
Master Broun shifted uneasily, then said,“They were no part of his throat's affliction. They weresomething else altogether, brought on, I believe, by his generaldistress and the imminence of death.”
“His death agonies brought on welts anditching?” In all the deaths she had seen or ever heard of,there had been nothing like that.
Master Broun held silent a moment, uneasyrather than offended, and then said in a much lower voice, “Theywere no direct part of his throat's affliction. Of that I'msure. But did you see the pattern of welts on his face, as ifhe had been struck by an open hand? A hand of more than humansize, one that struck and made those marks on him.”
Frevisse hesitated. She could notremember any pattern to the marks on Sir Clement's face, but shehad been farther away than Master Broun. Had anyone else seenit? Letting that go for now, she asked, “Why do you supposehis breathing eased the way it did? His breathing was mucheasier when I came in.”
The physician was clearly on more comfortableground with that issue. “There you have further proof ofGod's work in this. There was no reason for theabatement of Sir Clement's agony for that little while except God'smercy, that he have time to repent. When he did not, his lifeand soul were wrenched from him as you saw.”
Master Broun crossed himself, and so didFrevisse, but as she did, she said, “He drank something just beforethat final attack.”
“Wine. A little wine.”
“He didn't choke on it? His throatwasn't still too constricted for it?”
“I would not have allowed him to drink if ithad been.” Master Broun grew haughty again. “No, SirClement did not choke on wine or anything else. It was simplyGod's will and beyond our comprehension.” He spread hishands, indicating even he was helpless before such power. “God's ways are strange to man.”
Chapter Twelve
Wrung out, Frevisse had thought her sleepthat night would be heavy, but it was shallow and broken, rarelydeep enough for dreams or long enough for any rest. DamePerpetua slept through her uneasy stirring, but they had promisedeach other that if either woke near the time, she would awake theother for the prayers of Matins. Among all the otherwakenings there was no way to tell when one was midnight, but atlast, wakening yet again, she guessed the time was nearly right andgently roused Dame Perpetua. Together, in whispers, they saidthe office's many psalms, the soft sound of their praying almostlost in the general murmur of other people's breathing and Joan'ssnoring.
When they finished, Dame Perpetua lay down,rolled on her side, and was shortly asleep again. Frevisse,still uneasy with her own thoughts, took longer, and in the morningwas no nearer to satisfaction or answers – and felt less rested -than when she had gone to bed.
And Aunt Matilda had finally given way to hergrief. She awoke and, as was always her way, rose and went tokneel at her prie dieu for first prayer. But there, wherecomfort should have been greatest, she bent forward over her prayerbook, shaken by sobs. At first the other women left her tocry; she was past due and surely needed the tears. But itwent on, and worsened, until she was clinging to the prie dieu,helplessly wracked and unable to stop.
As Frevisse hovered uncertainly, Alice leftthe gown her maid held ready to put on her and went to hermother. Taking her gently by the shoulders, she helpedMatilda to her feet and, not bothering with words, led her backtoward the bed. Aunt Matilda, her face collapsed andsplotched, clung sideways to her daughter and went on sobbinghelplessly.
It took so long to calm her that it was awhile before Frevisse was free to leave the bedchamber. Therehad been some thought that she would accompany her aunt and Alicein standing in the hall to bid farewell to the departing guests,but word had been sent to Suffolk that he must take that duty,which was acceptable, he now being lord of Ewelme, and since Alicemeant to remain with her mother, there was no seemly reason forFrevisse to join him.
No one questioned when she and Dame Perpetuawithdrew as they had done yesterday, to say Prime in theparlor. And when they had finished, she asked Dame Perpetua,“Will you help me with something?”
Dame Perpetua looked up from shaking straightthe folds of her skirts. “If I can,” she said. “What isit?”
“About Sir Clement's death.”
Dame Perpetua's expression showed herdiscomfort with the doubts which Bishop Beaufort had expressed, andshe said with less confidence, “What do you want me to do?”
“If it wasn't God who killed Sir Clement,then it had to have been poison. I need to know what kind itcould have been.”
“But Sir Clement shared every dish, just aswe all did. And his goblet, too.” Dame Perpetua movedimmediately to the same objections Frevisse had to theproblem. “How could he have been poisoned and no oneelse?”
“If we can learn what poison it was, perhapswe'll know. There may be something among my uncle's very manybooks that would help. Would you help me look?”
The frown drawn between Dame Perpetua's eyesdisappeared. Books were her worldly passion and there werevery few of them at St. Frideswide's priory; but she subdued herobvious eagerness and despite a sudden shine in her eyes said withquiet agreement, “Yes, surely, I'll help you all I can.”
Chaucer had found he could deal with hisbusiness better the farther he was from his wife's domesticconcerns, and so the room from which he had run his merchantventures and other dealings was at the far end of Ewelme's range ofbuildings. While they went, Frevisse explained what shewanted. “I talked with the physician who was with Sir Clementat the end. He says Sir Clement died of a cramping of histhroat and an effusion of fluids. His throat constricted andstrangled him.”
Dame Perpetua made a small, distressedsound. It was expected she would be upset by the very thoughtof such a death, but she was also a clearheaded woman; she would beof more help the more she knew, rather than cosseted inignorance.
Frevisse went on, “But he didn't just simplydie. You saw him choking in the hall, but when I saw him awhile later, in Sire Philip's room, he was so much better I thoughthe was going to live.”
“What?” Dame Perpetua askedincredulously.
“The strangling had subsided to the pointwhere he was sitting up, able to talk a little, even drink somewine.”
“He was that much improved?”
“Except that he had broken out in red weltsover his face and neck and arms, and their itching was tormentinghim.” Frevisse deliberately did not mention Dr. Broun'sassertion that the welts were patterned like an open hand. She wanted someone else's observation on that and did not want todistract Dame Perpetua with something she was not sure of. “Then, soon after he drank the wine, the choking came back and hedied, with barely time for the last sacrament.”