“I doubt his worship the bishop would haverecommended me to Master Chaucer if I were not.”
Frevisse looked suitably impressed. “Myuncle mentioned he had a new priest for the manor, but said nothingin particular about you. Have you been here long?”
“Three years. Your uncle was a pleasantman to serve.”
“But challenging upon occasion.” Casually, Frevisse moved away from the shelves. “He enjoyedideas, and discussing them with other knowledgeable people.”
Sire Philip moved with her. “That'strue enough. I had to make good use of his library here tokeep even near to pace with him.” He smiled at the memory; itwas the warmest expression Frevisse had yet seen on him. “Hewas not given to quiet acceptance of anything.”
“He had questions about most things, andwanted answers,” Frevisse agreed.
“‘To know wisdom and discipline, tounderstand the words of prudence, and to undertake the formation ofdoctrine, righteousness, fate and…’” Sire Philip hesitatedover what came next.
“‘…equity,’” Frevisse supplied, “‘thatsubtlety be given to little children and to those waxing in years,cunning and understanding.’ From the first chapter ofProverbs.” Caught up again in the game she had so oftenplayed with Chaucer, one of them citing an authority, to see if theother could identify the source and, even better, complete thequotation. Without considering the propriety of saying so insuch company, she said, “So the wise collect proverbs, saithSolomon. But my uncle and I – and you, I think? – wouldcollect whole books instead.”
Sire Philip nodded his appreciation. “You're quite right, and widely read, I gather. All the booksin Master Chaucer's library?”
“As many as I could of the ones that he hadwhen I lived here. But so many of these I've neverseen. No one seems to feel books would be a benefit to thenunnery, though ‘Saint Paul says that all that is written iswritten to our learning…’” Deliberately she stopped shortof the quotation's end.
“‘So take the grain and let the chaff bestill’,” Sire Philip said, gravely carrying it through. “Thatis from Geoffrey Chaucer's tales and ‘Now, good God, if it be yourwill as says my lord, so make us all good men, and bring us to hishigh bliss, amen.’”
“Amen.” Frevisse picked up a book lyingon the window seat beside them and idly opened it. It was inLatin verse, and scanning a few lines, she recognized it forOvid. Her uncle and – he had said – his father had both lovedOvid's work. She had occasionally regretted her own Latin wastoo weak to share their pleasure in it. She closed the bookand laid it down again, wondering who had had it out. SirePhilip? Carefully, beginning to want to know more about him,she said, “My uncle was forever asking his priest to find out atlength about one thing or another. Had he asked you forsomething in particular in the while you've been here?”
“Lately he had me copying various books hewanted for his own. I finished a new work of Boccacio's atMichaelmas.”
“New?” Frevisse asked ironically. TheItalian writer had died well back in the last century.
“Newly in English at any rate.” Thecorners of his mouth twitched. If Frevisse had thought himgiven to amusement, she would have suspected he was suppressing asmile. He said, “It's a very traditional tirade againstwomen. Quite passionate actually.”
Aware that he was watching for her reactionwhile he spoke, Frevisse asked with unfeigned amusement, “Did he doa matching treatise equally fair to men?”
Sire Philip laughed aloud, deep and full andso surprising that Dame Perpetua looked up from the book she held,and Master Lionel broke his concentration on a handful of paperslong enough to stare offended at them before returning to hiswork.
“The translator assures us,” Sire Philipsaid, “that the work is put into English for its literary form, notits sentiments.”
“How very comforting,” Frevisse respondeddrily. “How did my uncle come by it?”
“He borrowed it from his grace the duke ofGloucester with permission to make copy of it.”
“The duke of Gloucester? The duke ofGloucester loaned one of his precious books to a relative of BishopBeaufort?”
Besides creating scandals and upheaval in theroyal government, principally against Bishop Beaufort, the king'suncle Gloucester's great passion was a devoted – and expensive -pursuit of books not readily had in England.
“A precious book of which I daresay theduke's and your uncle's may be presently the only copies. Hisgrace of Gloucester commissioned the translation. It seemsthe love of books is stronger than the hatreds of politics.”
“It must be.” But then her uncle hadnever been particularly good at hatreds. He had said, “Theytake too much energy and concentration. I have better thingsto do.”
Sire Philip looked across the room toward thedesks beside the window. He hesitated, then said, “LatelyMaster Chaucer had set me to copying out a book of the deeds ofArthur that I'd never seen before. Or to be more precise, thedeeds of Sir Gawain. Would you care to see it?”
“Yes! Assuredly!”
“It's here.” Sire Philip crossed to thesmaller desk, behind Chaucer's but placed the same way, left end tothe window for better light for the writer's work. Frevissefollowed him as he folded back the cloth covering the desk'sslanted top to reveal a sheet written half-over in fine, blackitalic script next to a thin book held open by a copyist's usualsmall lead bars laid across the top of its pages. With carethat told how much he valued the book, Sire Philip put aside thebars and inserted a paper scrap in his place before picking it upand handing it to her.
It was bound in green leather, soft to hertouch. Frevisse stroked it, delaying the pleasure of openinga work she did not know. But only briefly; her eagerness wastoo much.
“It's in English,” she said insurprise. Most stories of King Arthur that she hadencountered were in French. Not all, but most.
“And verse, for good measure,” Sire Philipsaid.
“‘Since the siege and the assault was ceasedat Troy,
The burgh broken and burned to brands andashes,
The man that the trammels of treason therewrought…’” Frevisse read. “Oh, this has a goodly way toit!”
Forgetful of any other purpose, she sank downon the window seat, intent on the wonder of having somethingentirely new to read. “‘If you'll listen this lay but alittle while…’”
“Here's where you've all gone to!”
Startled, Frevisse looked up, along with DamePerpetua. Sire Philip turned sharply. Only MasterLionel kept on with his business; no one ever came looking forhim. One of Aunt Matilda's maidservants followed her wordsinto the room. “Can you come?” she asked with a quick curtsydirected at both Frevisse and Sire Philip. “My lady thecountess prays it. My lady her mother has taken to cryingagain and can't stop. My lady the countess feels one or theother or both of you might be able to help her.”
Frevisse was already rising and putting thebook back on the desk as Sire Philip said, “Assuredly.”
“Dame Perpetua, will you stay here?” Frevisseasked, wanting her to. There would be no fear of improprietyin Master Lionel's presence, and this was the chance theyneeded.
“If I may,” Dame Perpetua said. She hadmade no move to relinquish the book she was holding. “I doubtI'd serve more than small purpose in going.”
Frevisse nodded briskly and followed SirePhilip and the maid servant out of the room.
Chapter Thirteen
When Frevisse came into her aunt's bedchamber she found Matilda lying in bed desperately clinging toAlice's hands and Alice saying soothing things in a voice that toldshe had been saying them for a long awhile. Matilda's facewas ravaged with tears and hopeless crying. Frevisse went toher and laid a hand on her shaking shoulder under the covers. Still holding with one hand to Alice, Aunt Matilda reached theother to grasp Frevisse's wrist, sobbing brokenly, “I miss him somuch! I miss him so much!”