Dame Perpetua made the introductions. “This is Sire Philip. He’s been priest here-” Shelooked at him questioningly. “Three years now?”
“Come Advent,” he agreed.
Frevisse bowed her head slightly inreturn. “Sire Philip.”
“Dame Frevisse.”
His voice was pleasant, even and wellmodulated, matching the good bones of his face that would have beenhandsome except for the deep pitting and white webbing of smallpoxfrom chin to cheeks to temples. His black hair was a smoothcap clipped fashionably short above the ears, and his blackpriest’s gown, like the bishop’s, was of rich wool despite itsconservative cut. Unlike Bishop Beaufort, he wore no jewelsexcept a single, deeply etched gold ring, but it was plain he wasno poor priest eking out a living on the margins of the Church; hismanners were as smooth as any courtier’s. The three of themmade polite talk concerning the weather and the discomforts oftravel until they were called to the table.
Conversation at the meal was strange in itsnormalcy, as if they had come together for the pleasure of eachother’s company. It began predictably with Aunt Matilda’scomments on the bad weather. She was kind to include DamePerpetua in her questions and comments; and Dame Perpetua wascareful never to presume too much familiarity in her answers. She had been brought up in a home much like this, had learned to beboth gentle and detailed in her manners. That was one of thereasons Domina Edith had chosen her for Dame Frevisse’scompanion. “She will not add to your troubles, nor disgracethe nunnery with forward ways,” the prioress had said.
Indeed, Dame Perpetua replied quietly andgracefully to anything said to her, and when the conversation wentaway from her, she let it go. She might have been totallyunaware of the importance of Bishop Beaufort seated imposingly toher right at one end of the table, so perfect was her demeanor.
For Frevisse it was less easy to be sogracious. Her aunt’s bright, familiar chatter was strainedover a real and lacerating grief. And beyond that, Frevissewas uncomfortably aware that Bishop Beaufort was still watching herbeyond the social needs of the moment. Frevisse did not wanthis interest. She wanted the evening to be over and to bealone in bed with her thoughts and grieving until tomorrow had tobe faced. But first there was this super to be endured, andnow, amid the talk of the poor harvest, he asked her directly, “Howare matters at your nunnery? Were you able to save any of theharvest?”
Careful to keep her voice neutral, revealingnothing but information and politeness, Frevisse answered, “Perhapsenough to see us through until next year if we’re very spare withit.” She should have stopped there, but honesty made her add,“And perhaps not if we need to give to the villagers, as we didlast year.” Then, betrayed by the need to know, she asked,“Will there be any wheat brought in from abroad? How were theFrench harvests?”
“France went much the way we did, except inthe extreme south, which is no use to us,” Bishop Beaufort answeredreadily. Below the Loire was French-held territory, whereEnglish rule did not run. “There is some dealing with theHanse at present to bring wheat in from the Baltic east where theharvests have been good, we hear.”
In the urgency of the matter – life or deathfor those who lacked money to buy wheat at inflated prices inflatedby scarcity – Frevisse forgot her resolve to speak sparingly. If anyone present knew these things, it would be BishopBeaufort. Leaning toward him, she asked, “And in the meantimewill there be efforts to hold prices down here in England?”
The bishop paused in spooning up his nextmouthful. “Word has gone out from the Council to every townto do as much as they can to that end.”
That was a politician’s answer. Frevisse’s politeness slipped a little. She demanded ratherthan asked, “How much to that end do you think they’ll do?”
“Frevisse dear, have you tried one of thesecakes?” Aunt Matilda gestured for a servant to hold out toher a plate with small white cakes studded with raisins.
Frevisse began to shake her head, recognizinga tactic her aunt had employed frequently when Frevisse and Chaucerwould fall into one of their cheerful, complex arguments over somematter that Aunt Matilda had thought unseemly for theoccasion. With abrupt meekness, and anger at herself forbeing more bold than she should have, Frevisse said, “Thank you,aunt,” and turned her attention to one of the cakes. Theconversation shifted to the question of how many and who would cometo the funeral, set for the day after tomorrow.
But when she glanced up toward BishopBeaufort a while later, he was gazing at her with even more of anassessing look than he had had before.
Chapter Four
Aunt Matilda rose the next morning still graywith grief, and Alice, who had shared her mother’s bed, showed herown weariness around her eyes. Frevisse and Dame Perpetua,with their hurried journey’s ache and weariness still in them, hadslept on the servants’ truckle beds, while the servants and Alice’slady-in-waiting slept on straw-filled mattresses, all now pushedout of the way and out of sight under the tall bed.
For the two nuns, the morning preparationswere simple: They were washed and dressed and their wimples andveils neatly pinned in place while Alice’s lady-in-waiting wasstill combing out and braiding her lady’s hair before dressingher. With hardly three words said between them, they drewaside to stand out of the way.
Frevisse, watching the bustle and chatteraround her cousin and unnaturally silent aunt, remembered Chauceronce saying that men who are tired grow quiet, while women growtalkative. Aunt Matilda had clearly passed weariness to theedge of exhaustion. While laying out her lady’s black gownfor the day, Aunt Matilda’s woman, Joan, in a tone only a servantof long standing would dare to use, said abruptly, “You’ve nobusiness being out and about today, my lady. No one expectsit of you. There’s people enough to see to what needsdoing.”
“But the guests. Thomas wouldwant-”
Alice cut in with, “Father would want you notto make yourself more ill than you already are.”
She looked to Frevisse over Matilda’s head,and Frevisse immediately said, “Truly, Aunt, you’ve been throughweeks of enduring. Today will be full of people arriving forthe funeral, and everyone wanting things from you if they see you,when what you need just now is to gather your strength fortomorrow. There’s nothing today that Alice and I can’toversee or come to you when we need direction. Please, Aunt,listen to us on this.”
Matilda shook her head refusingly through allof Frevisse’s words. But at the end of them, Alice kneltbefore her, took her hands, and pleaded very sweetly, “Please,Mother. Let us do this for you.”
Matilda closed her eyes over suddentears. Her body slackened its rigid determination to go on,and in a faltering voice she said, “Perhaps, perhaps you’reright. It’s tomorrow I should be thinking of, when we… whenwe…” She could not say, “bury Thomas,” but when, withvisible effort, she had regained control, she opened her eyes andbegan to tell them everything that needed doing today.
Check the linen closet for blankets and setthe stable hands to filling pallets with straw, she told them, thenmake sure the preparations for the funeral feast are under way andnothing is lacking in the kitchen, find sweet herbs to strew on thechurch floor, note every guest’s rank on arrival – be thereyourself to greet them, of course, and make sure they are incorrect order for the procession to the church tomorrow and at thefeast, see to it there is plenty of clean water so guests can washup on arrival, don’t let anyone mistake a washup bucket for achamber pot, ensure families who are feuding with one another sleepfar apart tonight and are not seated next to one another tomorrow,keep a fire burning in the great hall all day so arriving guestsmay warm themselves…
Alice and Frevisse shared a small grimace ofmutual sympathy over Matilda’s head as Joan encouraged her backinto bed and the endless list faded to a weary murmur.