The Clerk’s Tale Read online

  Feeling the same about herself, Frevisse offered with a nod toward a stool beside the table, “I can wait here. Or…” She looked toward the room’s third door and the bit of sky seen through the small window set high in the wall beside it, suggesting it must lead outside, and she guessed, “Is there a garden? I could walk there, if it’s allowed.”

  ‘Oh,“ the girl said with relief. ”Yes. You could.“ But they both looked to Domina Elisabeth for final permission and only when she had given it with a nod did the girl add, ”The key is there on that hook just by the door. Mind you leave it there, though. Sister Joane twitches otherwise.“

  Frevisse took the thought of an unknown but twitching Sister Joane into the garden with her, the key left carefully behind. She was careful of the door, too, closing it silently, unsure how troubled by noise the dying Sister Ysobel might be, and only when it was safely latched, turned to take a full look at where she was.

  St. Frideswide’s did not have the pleasure of a separate infirmary garden; this one would have delighted Dame Claire, their infirmarian. Enclosed on three sides by the nunnery buildings, the fourth side a turf bank topped by a high withy-woven fence, it was shut away from any sight of the world and the world from any sight of it, though somewhere nearby a stream was running with pleasant watery murmur. A graveled walk flanked with herb beds with the clipped skeletons of plants showing above their careful bedding-in of leaves ran around the garden’s four sides, with in the middle of each side a short walk running in toward the center, joining a smaller walk around a little grassy square at the garden’s very center where a young ash tree’s winter-bare branches made a dark fretwork against the pale sky. The intersecting paths divided other herb beds equally closed down for the winter but in the frost-weary grass around the tree were a cheerful scattering of bold and very early snowdrops, their shining white a promise that sometime spring would happen.

  Very likely these particular snowdrops would come to grief before long in a seasonable freeze, Frevisse thought, but that only meant they were to be the more enjoyed now, along with the peek of a primrose’s determinedly green leaves at the edge of a bed and the dark swell of buds on the end of the ash tree’s twigs. A January spring might be worth nothing but she could not help preferring it to the bitter cold there might have been and nonetheless did not choose to sit on any of the benches set along the paths but for warmth’s sake and to work out the weariness of riding took her way at much the measured pace she would have used if circling St. Frideswide’s cloister walk, around and through the garden, along one path and into another and back by a different way and around again, making no haste because where was there to haste to?

  She was paused to watch the ash tree’s highest branches moving against the sky in a wind that did not reach the garden, when from the unseen tower of the church a bell began to call bright-toned and clear, surely a summons to Nones’ prayers, and she half turned in answer to it before she caught herself. If she had known her way well enough to slip into the church unnoticed, she would have gone but she wasn’t even sure of how to reach the church from where she was, and with the other upsets to the nunnery’s life today, the nuns did not need a strange Benedictine wandering about when their minds should be turned to prayer. When there was time for Domina Elisabeth and her to be made known properly, they would slip into life here easily enough, the differences none so great between life under St. Benedict’s Rule and that of St. Augustine’s that St. Mary’s followed, but in the meanwhile she was better kept out of the way, and as the bell ceased its clear calling began the Office to herself, softly aloud, “Deus in adjutorium.” God be my helper. A shortened Office was allowed when out of the nunnery and, her head bowed, she began to walk again while she said it, had finished but was still walking with her head down, still enwrapped in the soul-easing pleasure of prayer, when on the path in front of her a woman said, “There was a man murdered here lately, you know.”

  Chapter 2

  Frevisse stopped short and raised her head but kept her surprise to herself as she answered, level-voiced, “No, I didn’t know.” The woman in front of her nodded as if pleased to hear it. Elderly but standing straightly, her age-faded eyes bright amongst the deep-set wrinkles of her long-boned face, she pointed with a short, leaf-carved walking staff of polished oak toward the ash tree.

  ‘Over there. Stabbed to the heart. Four days ago. His clerk found him.“

  ‘Indeed?“ Frevisse ventured.

  ‘Indeed. Though I doubt the clerk did it, if that’s what you’re thinking.“ ”I wasn’t.“

  ‘Ah.“ The woman apparently found that both a surprise and a lack. Though white-wimpled and black-veiled, she was no nun; her gown of dark-dyed green wool with darker-dyed high-standing collar and wide cuffs told that, but while Frevisse had no guess who she might be—not the grieving widow, assuredly—the woman said with complete certainty, ”You’re Sister Ysobel’s cousin. The prioress. Domina Elisabeth.“

  Her certainty made Frevisse pleased to answer, “No. She’s with Sister Ysobel.”

  ‘Ah. Then you are… ?“

  ‘Dame Frevisse. I companied her here. And you?“ Since questions could go both ways.

  ‘Lady Agnes Lengley,“ she answered readily enough, with a pause to see if Frevisse found that significant. Frevisse did not and Lady Agnes went on a little more briskly, ”I come sometimes to sit with Sister Ysobel but she’ll enjoy fresh company and I’ll leave them to it for today.“ She jerked the tip of her walking staff toward the ash tree again. ”So if you didn’t know about him, you weren’t praying for him just now?“

  ‘No.“

  ‘Pity. He was an unpleasant man. He’s probably in need of prayers.“

  She started forward, needing her walking staff a little but not much and clearly expecting Frevisse to join her.

  As much for curiosity as courtesy, Frevisse did, tucking her hands up her opposite sleeves and shortening her steps to match the older woman’s, saying, “His widow rode in a little while ago with a great many people.”

  ‘Ah, yes. I saw that. And probably none of them much caring he’s dead but not about to miss for anything the funeral and the sport of mourning him.“

  Dryly Frevisse asked, “He wasn’t much liked?”

  ‘Liked? Morys Montfort? Not by anyone who knew him as far as I’ve ever heard.“

  ‘Montfort?“ Frevisse stopped, startled and not hiding it. ”The crowner Montfort? Is that who’s dead?“

  Lady Agnes, gone a step onward, stopped and looked back over her shoulder, surprised in her turn. “Yes. That’s him. You knew him?”

  ‘Somewhat.“ And had not liked him. As crowner he was a royal officer, charged with looking into any sudden deaths, to learn if they were accident or if there was blame, and if there was blame, then to call in the sheriff and collect any fines there might be due to the king. The office carried both power to do good or ill and the chance for profits both just and unjust, and the few times, too many, that Frevisse had had dealings with Master Montfort had not been pleasant. That he was violently dead was neither a surprise nor a distress but she asked, ”Who’s thought to have killed him?“

  ‘There’s never even a good guess, so far as I’ve heard. Or maybe I mean there are too many guesses.“ Lady Agnes walked on, prodding her walking staff into the gravel. ”He made enough men angry at him over the years he was crowner. Or it was maybe something he’s done since he became escheator. Much good that’s done him.“

  ‘Escheator?“ Frevisse was again in step at Lady Agnes’s side. ”When did he leave off being crowner?“

  ‘Last Michaelmas. Well, he was serving under Walter Wythill, who’s properly escheator, but Wythill has been none so well, as Montfort well knew when he agreed to serve him, and so Montfort was seeing to much of his duties these few months past. With an eye to succeeding him, I’d warrant, and hope of going on to be sheriff afterwards, surely. That’s the way it goes, often enough. But that’s all it got him.“ She pointed her staff t
oward the tree.

  Escheator was another royal office, its main duty to determine the lawful heir or heirs of inheritances and see to them having their properties—with due fines paid to the king. As with the crowner, there were profits to be had from the work, but as Lady Agnes said, it was also often a man’s last step to becoming sheriff of a shire, with such wide-reaching power that the thought that Montfort might someday have ranged so high made Frevisse slightly ill, and to cut off the half-made thought that it was better he was dead, she asked, “But what was he doing here in this garden at all?” An unlikely place for any man to be, let alone Montfort.

  ‘Now that’s a question that’s been asked,“ Lady Agnes said. ”No one knows. As a place to kill someone, it’s private enough, that’s sure.“ She gave a brief look around the garden, as Frevisse already had. To one side there was only the blank, windowless back wall of what Frevisse guessed was a barn or byre. To the other side a single narrow window looked down from high in the gable-end of some cloister building, while from the infirmary there were only two small windows set well up under the eaves, too high for easy looking out of. As for ways into the garden, there was only the door from the infirmary and another through a tall wooden wall across the gap between the infirmary and what she supposed was barn or byre, which raised a question…

  ‘But who he met here and why he was killed…“ Lady Agnes sniffed disdainfully, as if being killed was an ill-mannered thing to do. ”… no one knows.“

  ‘He likely had enemies enough,“ Frevisse suggested.

  ‘In plenty, I’d guess. Nor had he made any friends lately around here, either.“

  ‘He was in Goring as escheator, then?“

  ‘He was.“

  Lady Agnes’s answer was clipped short enough that Frevisse held back from asking more that way; asked instead, “The inquest is tomorrow, I think I heard. Has the crowner learned anything, do you know?” Whoever was crowner now.

  ‘Ah.“ Lady Agnes brightened. ”That I don’t know, though word is he’s been busy enough these two days past with questions and all. Having his mother here will likely slow him down a bit but that can hardly be helped.“

  ‘His mother?“

  ‘Montfort’s widow. The crowner is Montfort’s son, God help him. Succeeded to the office when Montfort moved up to escheator, worse luck for him now. A grieving mother on one hand—supposing she’s grieving all that much, which I wouldn’t be—and a murdered father on the other. He’ll be wishing himself anywhere but here before this is done, I’ll warrant.“

  They were taking the turn of the path back toward the infirmary from one of the far corners of the garden, in time to see the infirmary door open and a nun stand aside to let Domina Elisabeth go ahead of her into the garden.

  ‘Ah,“ Lady Agnes said with satisfaction. ”Here comes Domina Matilda, and that’s your Domina Elisabeth with her, I take it.“

  Frevisse murmured agreement. The afternoon was waning, with more shadows than sunlight within the garden walls now, but they joined the two prioresses on the path outside the infirmary door where the light still fell most golden and almost warm. Names were given, with much bowing of heads and a curtsy of respect from Frevisse to St. Mary’s prioress, a gaunt, crisp woman in a faultless Augustinian habit and firmly starched and sharply pressed veil, whose deepened lines around eyes and mouth looked more likely to laughter than ill-temper as she said, “I’ve already given apologies to Domina Elisabeth for your poor welcome. Unhappily, I’m not sure I can better it, we’re so suddenly crowded. More folk came with Mistress Montfort than we expected and—”

  ‘Now there’s no trouble,“ Lady Agnes interrupted. ”The both of them are welcome to stay with me.“

  Domina Matilda gave her a considering look before saying, “That’s kindly offered,” adding to Domina Elisabeth with a smile, “Lady Agnes’s house is nearly opposite our east gate. You’d be well seen to there, I promise, as well as be able to come easily to most of the Offices if you choose.” Her smile deepened. “I can also speak well of her character.”

  ‘Hah,“ Lady Agnes said.

  ‘Besides,“ Domina Matilda went on, ”she can show you the back way to and from the infirmary and let you use her key, to visit Sister Ysobel as you choose.“

  ‘Her key?“ Domina Elisabeth said, too surprised to hide it. Back ways into nunneries were simply a common fact; keys to them in lay hands were not.

  ‘That she may see Sister Ysobel as she wishes.“

  ‘It’s what I came for today,“ Lady Agnes put in, ”but you were here already and pleased Sister Ysobel surely was to see you.“

  ‘You’re friend to my cousin, then?“ Domina Elisabeth asked.

  ‘For some years now. She was the infirmarian’s help when I once fell ill enough“—and once had better be the only time it happened to her, her tone said—”to need all the care St. Mary’s could give me.“

  ‘And gave it gladly, fair recompense for all your kindnesses to us,“ Domina Matilda put in.

  Lady Agnes acknowledged that with a slight nod and a smile. “The care included Sister Ysobel keeping watch over me through the worst hours of my ailment and sitting with me for company through the days it took me to recover. Now, in her need, I return the favor as best I may. Though not to so good an outcome, I fear.”

  ‘I fear not,“ Domina Elisabeth agreed quietly, and the four women made the sign of the cross on themselves before she added, ”Dame Frevisse and I would be pleased to stay with you, my lady. Thank you for the courtesy.“

  Domina Matilda smiled with relief—it was no little matter to have strange nuns sleep in a nunnery’s dorter, probably the only place she had left to offer, unavoidably distracting and disturbing the others from their usual ways—and Lady Agnes said briskly, “Best we be off then. You’ll have to keep their men and horses,” she added to Domina Matilda. “I’ve not the room for them, but you’ll give orders to let their people know where they are and where to bring their baggage?”

  ‘Assuredly,“ Domina Matilda agreed.

  They made their farewells and thanks to her then and parted at the infirmary’s door, Lady Agnes promptly turning away along the walk toward the garden’s other door, saying to Domina Elisabeth beside her and Frevisse following after, “She’s a good woman, is Domina Matilda. Keeps a firm hand on everything and takes no nonsense from anyone, including me. Here’s our way.”

  The door in the wooden wall was narrow and latched by a short wooden bar fastened to the door and swung down into a wooden hasp on the frame. It opened into the gap between the buildings, with another wooden wall and door at its other end. “The gardener’s way into the garden,” Lady Agnes said, standing aside to let them go ahead of her, “for when he’s needed here, and if a doctor is wanted in the infirmary, without need to bring him through the nunnery. A moment please.” Having followed them into the alleyway, she paused now to almost but not quite shut the door and then fish a long, broad-teethed key from her sleeve.

  ‘You see how it works,“ she said, crowding aside as best she could to let them both see as she jiggled the key into the lock on this side of the door. ”The key goes in here, and when I turn it, it turns a latch on the garden side that lifts the bar out of its catch, letting me open the door. To lock it from here, I have to turn the key to lift the latch to lift the bar so I can pull the door shut and then turn the key to lower the latch, setting the bar into its catch. Done,“ she added, wiggling the key from the lock and tucking it back into her sleeve.

  ‘Then from inside there’s no need of a key,“ Frevisse said. ”The bar can just be lifted by anyone on that side of the door.“

  ‘Even so.“

  The alleyway, closed in between walls and under the eaves of the barn—a byre would have had a smell of animals, Frevisse decided—was dark and chill but short and at its other end the other door had no lock nor was it as well made as the other, loose on its hinges as Frevisse swung it open and went through into what she guessed was the nunnery’s kit
chen garden, a long stretch of rough earth beds and low wicker fences overlooked by the back of nunnery buildings and separated on one side by a waist-high willow-woven fence from a large, open yard. Not the foreyard by which they had come into the nunnery but one of byres and barns, a haystack, a long woodpile, and men at work at the varied tasks that made possible the nuns’ life of prayers.

  The only idle man in sight was sitting on a bench, leaning against the kitchen garden’s gatepost, but as Lady Agnes led them the shortest way toward him, he stood up, straightened his doublet, and bowed to Lady Agnes, who waved a hand at him and said, “I’m going home, Lucas. Move out.”

  He bowed again but took a good look at Domina Elisabeth and Frevisse before he set off along the yard, the women following. The well-trod mud made easy going except where a cart had lately rutted it raw and Lucas paused while they managed across it with careful feet and lifted skirts. No one paid them any particular heed that Frevisse noticed, though Lady Agnes asked pardon for bringing them such a back way with, “It’s convenient to my purpose when I go to see Sister Ysobel. No getting caught up in talk in the cloister and so forth on days when I don’t have time for it.”