“Yes,” Lady Eleanor said again and left it at that, for Joice to think on. Joice did, staring at the wall in front of her in full-eyed shock.
Frevisse finished her wine and handed the goblet aside to Margrete. Very regrettably, this was not a matter that would be sorted out in a day. For now it would have to be enough that Joice was under the nunnery’s protection-and perhaps more importantly, in Lady Eleanor’s. “I have to go,” she said. “It’s nearly time for Vespers.”
Lady Eleanor nodded, understanding, and began a polite reply, but Joice rose quickly to her feet, recovered enough to hold out a hand that Frevisse, in surprise, took as the girl said in a rush, “Thank you for helping me there in the yard. I’m sorry for what I said about my never being a nun. It was rude of me. But,” she added firmly, “I never will be, come what may.”
For which they could all very likely be much grateful, Frevisse did not say, and left.
Chapter 4
Vespers was a welter of inattention and whispering, betraying how many of the nuns knew at least something about what had happened this afternoon. With more on her own mind than prayers, Alys made no attempt to hold them. Arguing had given an edge to her appetite and the sooner they were to supper and done with it the better, not least because she was supposed to see Reynold afterward. The matter of this girl was not settled between them, not by a long way, but they had both judged it best to finish their arguing somewhere besides in the yard for everyone to hear. Her nuns seemed to have heard enough about it as it was. Their minds were no more on the office than hers was, and the final “amen” was as much a relief as a conclusion. Released by it, Alys surged to her feet and out of the choir, headed for the refectory with the others crowding at her heels, but she turned at the door into the cloister to glare over her shoulder, warning them back and to less talk. She did not mean to listen to their chatter all through supper, either. Magpies and crows, the lot of them. Sister Thomasine was the only holy one in the lot. And if Dame Frevisse and Dame Claire thought she had not noticed them back there behind the others, their heads together, talking her down, they were wrong.
She knew what they were saying, too, and ill thanks to Reynold for it. What had he been thinking of, snatching mat girl and then bringing her here?
For that matter, what had the girl been thinking of, to let herself be carried off like that?
Nor was there any use in pretending that it would be enough, when her people came for her, to show, even on Aunt Eleanor’s witness, that no harm had come to her. They would want more recompense than words, and if they wanted it from both Reynold and St. Frideswide’s, then she would have the priory’s share out of Reynold’s hide.
More problems. More expenses.
She took her place at the head of the long refectory table and bleakly watched her nuns, still jay-jabbering among themselves, ease into their places along benches down both sides. The dull ache that seemed to be always at the back of her skull of late had a noticeable throb to it now, and not wanting their voices keeping it company through supper, she impatiently whacked her spoon on the tabletop, startling them to silence.
According to the Rule, they were supposed to be read aloud to at meals, something holy, to better their souls when they might otherwise be too concentrated on their bodies, with each of them taking a week’s turn at it, turn and turn around. No one much listed anymore. They had all heard the priory’s few books too many times already, could have recited them without looking if they put their minds to it, probably, but tonight, for a change, they could actually pay heed and keep their mouths for chewing instead of talking.
“Dame Perpetua,” she said. “Read.” Making it both an order to Dame Perpetua and a warning to the rest.
Sister Cecely, already leaning toward Sister Emma, mouth open to speak, jerked upright in her place, startled. The others cast warning glances at each other and held silent, even Dame Perpetua, until Alys jerked a hand at her to get on with it. Nervously, with an uneasy glance at the silent faces turned her way, Dame Perpetua did, taking up the Life of St. Katherine where she had left off at dinner’s end, with yet another of the emperor’s threats against her life if she did not marry him. Alys, satisfied, rang the small bell at her place to tell the serving women to bring in the meal.
The first of them to come, apparently disconcerted by the sound of only Dame Perpetua’s voice, hesitated uncertainly on the threshold. Alys gestured sharply to set her in motion again and the rest followed quickly enough, some setting the bowls of white pottage and the last third of each nun’s daily bread loaf at their places, others pouring warmed ale into the waiting goblets.
As they began to eat, Dame Perpetua reached the saint’s defiance of the emperor’s last offer to let her live. “ ‘No! Do not delay my dying further, king, but command it speedily! It is not appalling to see a thing fall that will rise a thousand times fairer, ascend from sorrow to everlasting laughter, from grief to every joy, from death to undying life!”“
Mopping a piece of bread into the pottage, Alys nodded in full agreement. St. Katherine had been a woman able to show men up for the fools they were and refuse their stupidities to their faces. The end had been what could be expected-they had killed her to stop her because nothing else would. But that was how martyrs were made, and by St. Katherine’s blessed bones, it was a better way to go than giving in to them and all their kind-the folly-ridden cousins and pushing abbots and bullying master masons.
Alys’ head gave a deeper throb. In her rage at Reynold she had managed to forget that Master Porter, the master mason, had been at her again this afternoon about when his men would have their money, but he would not stay forgot, unfortunately.
Or stay unpaid. Unfortunately.
She had set his ears back flat against his head right enough this time, demanding back at him what use had he and his men for money out here at the priory, away from everywhere, anyway? Pay them now and they would likely be off to Banbury and into trouble. Let them finish what they had started and then they would have their money in hand and be off to wherever they wanted and welcome riddance to them, but she’d have the work done first, by blessed St. Frideswide she would! And if he did not think so, let him remember she had her cousin and his men to change his mind for him.
He had backed off right enough then, and well for him that he had, but she doubted he would stay backed off, and most certainly he would not if she lost Reynold.
For that reason and several more she could not afford to lose Reynold, but he was making it difficult, with his half-kept promises and now this girl. What she truly needed was more money. With money enough, every problem would give way, from Master Porter right down to her silly women. The trouble was that there was not more money.
And even if there had been, she had no true wish to be rid of Reynold.
Grimly she chewed her way through the rest of the meal. While St. Katherine went to her joyful martyrdom, a bowl of apples, still crisp from the harvest, was passed down the table; and while a soldier was severing her holy neck, Alys watched Sister Cecely take open pleasure in peeling her apple in one long strip. Since waste was unallowed, she always ate the peel afterward, so why did she bother? But at least she ate it, unlike Sister Thomasine, who, when she bothered to come to meals at all, left half of whatever she was given to be handed off as alms to whoever showed up at the priory gate for it. That was piety but one that Alys understood no better than she did Sister Cecely’s apple peeling. Food was for eating, and how did it help if two went hungry when one of them had no need to? But that was how it was with saints. Pious but impractical, every one of them, and where were they then?