“God have mercy on him. You think therewas poison in the wine?”
“I don't know. That's thetrouble. I don't know anything that would kill the way SirClement died. That's what I hope to find in my uncle'slibrary – something about poisons that cause those symptoms. The strangling and welts and unbearable itching.”
After a moment of considering that, DamePerpetua said very quietly, “Oh my.” And after another momentof thought: “Then you think his worship may be right and SirePhilip did murder Sir Clement?”
“I don't know clearly yet what tothink. But I've begun to wonder why God would kill a man inso elaborate a way, instead of more directly, simply, there in thehall as example to all.”
“Dame Frevisse! You're trulyquestioning God's will? Even at the orders of a cardinalbishop that's so perilous! How can you-” Dame Perpetuagestured in wordless distress at the plight of being caught betweenGod and the order of a prince of the Church.
“I know. But what if it wasn'tGod's will? What if Bishop Beaufort is right and it was aman's will in this? Or if God did indeed strike at SirClement, there in the hall, not to kill him but only to warn, andsomeone took advantage of it to poison him?”
“Surely God would strike down in his turnanyone who dared do such a thing! It would be blasphemy!”
Frevisse refrained from saying God neverseemed overly prompt in striking down blasphemers in thesedays. Like other sinners they seemed to flourish far longerthan their deserving. Instead she said, “I'd be more thanglad to leave the matter to him. But Bishop Beaufort hasdirected otherwise. Dame Perpetua, this is my burden, notyours. If you would rather be left clear of it, it's yourchoice and I'll understand.”
Dame Perpetua straightened, her face firm,her hands tucked purposefully up her sleeves. “No. Youasked for my help and I'll gladly give it, along with my prayers tokeep us safe. And I don't suppose there's actual blasphemy inwhat we're doing, since we only seek to understand God's will moreclearly, to his greater glory and our salvation. Besides, Iwant to see your uncle's books.”
Frevisse had feared the chamber might belocked, but the door handle gave to her touch and the door swungeasily open. With a mixture of emotions she did not try tosort out, she faced the place that, for her, had been Ewelme'sheart.
The room was narrow but long, and despite theyears since she had last been there all its furnishings werefamiliar – she remembered Chaucer saying with amusement at hiswife's everlasting desire for change, “I bought what I wanted andneeded at the start. Why should I change when they are stillsufficient to me? Let my room be.”
His desk was set where the light would bebest over his shoulder from the windows with their wide seats,where Frevisse had sat reading for many an hour, lost to her properduties and deeply happy. Chaucer had gathered books allthrough his life, beyond the considerable number he had inheritedfrom his father. They had long since passed the bounds ofbeing neatly closed away in a chest. He had given over onewall of his room to aumbrys for them, where they were safe behindclosed doors but easily reached. Even then, they had alwaysoverflowed through the room, and Frevisse had been free to readwhat she chose, and Chaucer had gladly discussed or explained orargued at length anything that had puzzled her or caught herinterest.
In this room, in her uncle's company, she hadhad a freedom she had had nowhere else in all her life, except inher love of God.
A remembered figure straightened from hisbent posture over an open chest across the room. MasterLionel, her uncle's clerk. Frevisse was glad she had seen himseveral times in the past few days so there was no surprise at hiswhite hair, stooped shoulders, and wrinkled face. He had beenonly in late middle age when she lived here; now he was old. He peered at her across the room through magnifying lenses held onhis nose by leather thongs looped around his ears before saying,“Frevisse. Come again,” as if it had been only hours sinceshe had last been in his way and he was no more pleased now than hehad been then. He had never approved of the time Chaucer hadspent on her, to the neglect of business that was the heart and allof Master Lionel's existence.
“Dame Frevisse,” he correctedhimself. And added, “He's gone, you know. He isn'there.”
“I know.” Startled, Frevisse respondedwith instinctive gentleness. Her uncle had not particularlymentioned Master Lionel during his last few visits to her. She wished now that he had, because more than Master Lionel'sappearance was changed. “But may I come in? He alwayswelcomed me here.”
Master Lionel looked around the room as ifsearching for a reason to refuse her, as if certain there was onethere. “What do you want? He's gone.”
“My friend has never seen his books. Iwanted to show them to her.”
“It's all right, Master Lionel. I'msure she's welcome here.”
Intent on the elderly clerk, Frevisse had notnoticed Sire Philip standing in the contrast of shadow at theroom's farther end and partly obscured by an open aumbrydoor. He came away from the bookshelves now, still speakingto the old clerk. “You can go on with your work. I'llsee to them. Master Chaucer would welcome her, youknow. So shouldn't we, also, in his name?”
Master Lionel swung his head from Frevisse tothe priest, then to Frevisse again and back to Sire Philip. The effort seemed to confuse him. He shrugged. “As youthink best.” He turned back to the chest, and Sire Philipmotioned for Frevisse and Dame Perpetua to come in.
He faced the shelves and pointed at variousvolumes as if they were what he spoke of, as he said, low andbrisk, “He's outlived his wits.” It started about two yearsago, but Master Chaucer wished him happy and found things for himto do, since he's happy here.”
“He still works?” Frevisse asked.
“No, but he thinks he does. He'ssupposed to be putting the papers in that chest in order andlisting all the ventures they pertain to. They're all onlydraft copies, so it doesn't matter if he shifts and shuffles allday, everyday, and scribbles nonsense on that great roll behind himand never gets any forwarder. Can I help you?”
“It's only as I said. Dame Perpetuawould be glad of a chance to see my uncle's books, to spend timehere if she could.”
“And you would not mind seeing them againeither.”
“This was my best place to be, before Ientered St. Frideswide's,” she answered, for the first timewondering what he knew of her from her uncle and, more to theimmediate point, how they would look for what they needed with himat hand. There were far more books here than she remembered;of course Chaucer had gone on adding to his collection after sheleft. Nor did she have any idea where any particular booksmight be. Chaucer had loved to rearrange and reclassify histreasures; she had helped him do it often enough to know that, sothere was no telling where anything might be now. A greatmany of them were spread and stacked in no order at all around theroom, used at some time and not put back. That had also beenher uncle's way, and one of her chosen tasks had been to sort andput volumes away when the chamber finally became toodisordered. There was no guessing where to find what shewanted, and she dared not ask Sire Philip.
Dame Perpetua had already drifted away,opening aumbry doors and drawing volumes from the shelves,murmuring like a mother to beloved children as she went. Thiswas a feast for her after the nine books that were all the prioryhad to offer. Given enough time, Dame Perpetua would gladlygo through every book in the room. Somewhere among them werebooks of health, medicine, physic, surgery even, that might havewhat they sought. The problem was Sire Philip. He wouldhave to be diverted, so they, or at least Dame Perpetua, couldsearch unbothered.
Taking a book at random from the shelf besidethem, she asked him, “You're a lover of books, too?”