Sext was a brief service. Frevisserefuged in it as deeply as she could for its little while, and atits end prayed with especial longing, “Domine, exaudi orationemmeum, et clamor meus ad te veniat.” Lord, hear my prayer,and let my cry come to you.
The prayer faded to the church’ssilence. For a moment there was no stir or whisper, only asilence heavy with the holy weight of the many prayers offered inthis place. Then Domina Edith leaned forward, and DamePerpetua and Sister Lucy came quickly to help her to herfeet. The others rose respectfully, holding their placesuntil she was gone before going their own ways, brisk now to beabout their other duties. As they left, Frevisse slid forwardonto her kneeler again, returning to the words of Sext’s openinghymn. Rector potens, verax Deus… Confer salutem corporumveramque pacem cordium… Lord of might, God of truth… Givethe body health and true peace to the heart…
The health she asked for Domina Edith. Let her live, if it be your will. But for herself, peace tothe heart, pacem cordium, peace…
A touch on her shoulder brought herback. A little dazed, Frevisse raised her head to find DamePerpetua leaning over the choir stall in front of her to reachher.
It was difficult to judge each other’s agesin St. Frideswide’s, enveloped as they all were in the loose-fittedlayers of the black Benedictine habit, only their faces showing inthe surround of white wimples and black veils, with even then verylittle of their foreheads and nothing below the chin. ButFrevisse guessed that Dame Perpetua was perhaps ten years olderthan herself, and so somewhere in her forties. She was acompactly built woman with a kind face and firm manner. Now,bound by the rule of silence, she smiled at Frevisse and made thehand gesture that meant the prioress, and another that askedFrevisse to come with her.
The prioress’ parlor overlooked the inneryard and the guesthalls that flanked its gateway through three tallwindows above a window seat made comfortable with brightlyembroidered cushions. Because the prioress’ duties includedreceiving the occasional important visitors and conducting businessthat could not be dealt with in the general chapter meetings, herquarters offered more comfort than the rest of the nunnery. There was a large, carved table covered by a woven Spanishtapestry, two chairs, and a fireplace, its flames crackling along alog to ward off the chill of this gray morning.
Domina Edith’s own high-backed chair had beenmoved close to the hearth, and she sat there, wrapped in thefur-lined cloak she wore only upon the insistence of theinfirmarian. It was drawn up to her chin and she was sunkdown into it, smaller, it seemed to Frevisse, with each passingmonth. Just now, she might have been dozing, her chin deepinto the folds of her wimple; but if she was, it was the lightsleep of the aged. She lifted her head at Frevisse’sentering, her faded eyes alert under the wrinkled lids.
“Dame Frevisse,” she said, and Frevissecurtsied to her. “Sit.” She gestured to the stoolacross the hearth from her.
Frevisse sat and was immediately aware of thefire’s warmth on her cheeks. Her urge was to hold her handsout to it, too, but they were tucked decently up her sleeves, outof sight; it would be a luxury to bring them out.
“There is a letter come for you.” Domina Edith nodded at Dame Perpetua, who had waited beside thetable and now came forward with a folded, sealed piece of parchmentin her hand.
Frevisse had supposed Domina Edith wished tosee her about some failure in her duties or to warn her against somuch time spent alone in the church. Changing her attentionto the letter, she took it, not recognizing the handwriting on itsoutside that directed it to Dame Frevisse Barrett, St. Frideswide’sPriory, near Banbury, Oxfordshire.
“I fear it is bad news,” Domina Edith saidsoftly.
As she said it, Frevisse turned the letterover and recognized her uncle Thomas Chaucer’s seal imprint in thewax. But if it was his letter, then why had someone elsewritten the address? That had never been his waybefore. Her hands beginning to tremble, because she knew hehad been ill, Frevisse freed the seal and unfolded the letter, tofind it was indeed written in her uncle’s familiar hand.
“To my well-beloved niece, may this find youin health, I greet you well, with God’s blessing and mine. Iam dying-”
Frevisse drew her breath in sharply. All of her tightened with pain, and she fought to keep herselfsteady. The letter was brief and completely to the point,without any trace of his usual dry wit.
“The disease that we hoped would draw off hasindeed proved fatal after all. I would see you one more time,if God grants it and your good prioress allows yourjourney…” Frevisse’s tears fell down on the parchment,blotting the ink. With a harsh hand, she drove others fromher eyes and read on. “If not, know I hold you dear and willremember you in heaven. Your uncle, Thomas Chaucer.”
Already blind again with tears, Frevisse heldthe letter out to Domina Edith, it being the prioress’ right andduty – and in this case, necessity – to read whatever came to hernuns. She waited, hands pressed to her face to control hercrying, until Domina Edith said with kindness, “You will leavewithin the hour. May God bring you to him in time.”
Chapter Three
The cold day was drawn down to a thin line ofsullen red in the west, lowering in the west below the roiling,darkening clouds. It was as much brightness as the day hadseen, but the rain had held off and the wind with its cutting edgewas at their backs now as the four riders covered the last stretchof road, down into the valley with its village and the cluster ofwalls and buildings that was Ewelme Manor and the end of theirjourney.
They were already too late. They hadlearned in the last village before this that Chaucer haddied. “Yesterday,” a man had said. “Aye,yesterday. We heard the bell tolling. Carried on thewind, it was. And then today we heard for certain sure thatit was over for him. God keep him.”
So all their haste now was to escape thebitter cold and harsh wind. After two days of winter riding thosewere reasons enough. The small lake between the village andthe manor had a froth of whitecaps, and the tall elms around itsoughed and bent their bare limbs in black, tossing patternsagainst the moving sky.
Ewelme’s outer gates still stood open, withtorches burning in the brackets to either side. As the riderscame into the courtyard, grooms ran out from the stables, and therewere many hands to hold the horses and help the riders down.
Frevisse, dismounting stiff and clumsy withcold, looked among the grooms for a face she recognized. Ewelme was where she thought of when she thought of home; she hadbeen part of her uncle’s household for the eight final years of hergirlhood.
But she had been gone too many years, itseemed. No one was familiar, including the short gentlemanwho, as the horses were led away, bobbed up under the travelers’noses, looking in each of their faces to determine who led theirparty. Even allowing for the layers of clothing and the cloakhe was bundled in, he was a round-bodied man, and he bounced andjounced on the balls of his feet like a water-filled pig’s bladderto show how eager he was to serve.