“But there was no need for me to attack him,to murder him. I took care years ago to be sure the needfuldocuments were all in order. There was no question of hishaving any claim over me, no matter how much he prated of it. And I made sure anyone who inquired and needed to know the futilityof his insolence did know of it. He was an annoyance, not athreat.”
Frevisse believed him. It was the kindof thing a man of Sire Philip’s intelligence would have done. “But you’ve never told Bishop Beaufort that?”
“It would have been somewhat presumptuous ofme to offer the information without being asked.”
“But you know he’s interested in you.”
“He suggested to Master Chaucer that I mightbe of service to him, and to me that I could profit by learning theways of an important household. I accepted Master Chaucer’soffer gratefully. For one thing it gave me my brother’scompany for this while.”
“Your brother?” The one Robert had notbeen sure was alive or not.
“Gallard Basing, the household usher. You didn’t know?”
“No one told me your surname was Basing.”
“I suppose there was no reason to. Andwe look nothing alike.” He bounced a very little on the ballsof his feet, and his smile, twisted as it was in the webbing ofscars on his face, was nevertheless charming.
He came to sit on his heels on the other sideof the hearth, rubbing his hands as he held them out to theflames. The gesture reminded Frevisse of something – someone- but the half-memory slipped away behind the realization thatGallard Basing had had free movement through the hall all throughthe feast, and probably access to the food before it wasserved. Was Gallard protected by the same documents thatprotected Sire Philip? Did Gallard even know about thedocuments? How much did the brothers love one another? Trust one another? Use one another?
Her silence had drawn on too long; SirePhilip looked around and up into her face. “You didn’t cometo talk to me. You came to seek refuge among your uncle’sbooks, didn’t you?”
“A comfort remembered from childhood, Ifear.”
He smiled. Again Frevisse was surprisedat how that, and the warm depths of his eyes, negated the ruin ofthe rest of his face. Perhaps it was merely that he did it sorarely. “A comfort I shall be sorry to leave,” he said, “ifmy lord of Suffolk decides he wants a different house-priest thanme.”
“Won’t Aunt Matilda have a say in that?”
Sire Philip shrugged. “I think that asher grief settles into her more deeply, your aunt is going to giveup most of her interest in running this house. Perhaps shewill join you at St. Frideswide’s. It is not unknown for awidow to take the veil.”
Frevisse dropped her gaze to her lap. She feared her aunt would make an unhappy nun, for silence,humility, and obedience were not Aunt Matilda’s strongestvirtues. Anyway, Sire Philip was right, the full center andsingle mainstay of her life had been her husband.
“Of course, Countess Alice may provide herwith grandchildren, and give her new interest in life,” the priestsaid. “We can only wait and see.”
To change to an easier subject, Frevissesaid, “Did my uncle ever say to you what he planned for his booksafter his death?”
“I think the best he’s willed to BishopBeaufort. Most of the rest are for Suffolk, and the remainderwill be sold.” Sire Philip’s gaze traveled across theaumbries. “Your uncle had a taste for the unusual and rare aswell as the precious.”
“He valued every book he had as a candle litagainst the darkness, against the ignorance we all sink into if weknow only our own minds.”
“And we all, by our nature, seek beyond ourearthly limitations for God, so it is necessary that a book begoodly, if it is to give good instruction.” He said this asif it had significance beyond the obvious.
Not knowing what point he was moving toward,Frevisse said, “I agree that mere individual reason cannot find Godalone except by the greatest difficulty. Unless God himselfcomes to enlighten it.”
“He comes to whom he chooses. God who‘cannot be comprehended by any man’s intellect or by any angel’s,since we and they are all created beings.’“
Frevisse smiled. “The Cloud ofUnknowing. Uncle loved that book. He said he had nohope or inclination toward the contemplative life, but the idea ofit gave him pleasure. He also said the Unknowingreminded him that ‘It will be asked of you how you have spent thetime you have been given.’”
“And we often forget that we have but onegoal on earth: To earn Heaven. ‘Him I desire, Him Iseek-’”
“‘Nothing but Him.’” Frevisse said thelast of the quotation with him. It was an idea to which shehad given over her heart when she was young. She and SirePhilip smiled with shared understanding of something more thanmerely precious.
Then he said, “Since you’ve admitted tothinking I might be a murderer, may I ask about something I’vesuspected of you?”
“If you like.”
“Your uncle had a copy of a psalter thatisn’t here anymore. I’ve looked, Master Lionel haslooked. It’s nowhere in this room, and he was always verycareful to keep it here.”
Nearly Frevisse smiled, but she only raisedher eyebrows and said nothing. Sire Philip went on, “I ratherthink you know the psalter I am speaking of. You came awayfrom your first meeting with the bishop carrying a closely-wrappedbundle about the size of the missing book. I think he gave itto you, perhaps on the instructions of your uncle.” Helowered his voice and leaned forward. “It is a copy of thevernacular translation by John Wycliffe.”
Over fifty years ago, John Wycliffe hadpresumed to translate the Bible into English, that all men mightread and ponder freely on its words without the interpretation orcontrol of the church. Except that he had had powerfulfriends among the nobility, Wycliffe would have been condemned bythe church and burned as a heretic. As it was, he had diedfree and in his bed. Not until 1417 had his bones been dugup, burned, and the ashes thrown into a river. But from thevery first, his Englished Bible had been a forbidden thing. License to own a copy could be had from bishops – for a price andonly to people the Church deemed acceptable – but unlicensed copiesnonetheless existed, even sometimes in nunneries. Chaucer hadhad a copy, presumably with a license, and also a psalter,containing only the psalms, and kept both buried in an obscurecorner among other, unoffending books of theology, and thereFrevisse had found them as a girl. She had delighted in beingable to read freely what was so slow and difficult for her tofollow in Latin. Chaucer had not forbidden her, and her faithhad never been hurt by it, only her dependence on what any ignorantpriest might choose to say the Bible said.
“Do you have it?” Sire Philip asked.
“I haven’t seen it,” she said with perfecttruth. Then honesty compelled her to add, “But I haven’topened the package Bishop Beaufort gave to me.”
Master Lionel straightened from a sheaf ofdocuments he held and stared down the room at her. His suddenfocus on something beyond his arm’s reach drew both of them to lookback at him. Not seeming to notice he had become the focus oftheir attention, he muttered, “Not to be trusted to know wheretheir shoe is, when it’s right on their foot. Women.”
Sire Philip nodded with relief. “That’slikely where it is, then. I was afraid it had gone astray,that someone had it who shouldn’t. But your uncle saw to itssafety.” He looked at her and said, “I will tell no one thatI know where it is. Because, in plain fact, I do not.”