The Hunter’s Tale Read online

  They found Lady Anneys and Ursula waiting in the cloister walk, Ursula bouncing a little on her toes with impatient delight. Frevisse had expected a solemn little girl to return from her father’s funeral but she had not; nor had Lady Anneys shown any signs of deep grief, only a grave willingness to keep to her own and Ursula’s company. Today, though, they plainly both knew something of what Domina Elisabeth purposed because they were dressed for some kind of work, their gowns plain, Lady Anneys with simply a veil pinned over her hair, and Ursula’s long hair fastened up around her head instead of hanging down her back. But whatever Domina Elisabeth had in mind for them she did not yet say, merely nodded to Lady Anneys to walk beside her and, taking Ursula’s hand, led the rest of them along the cloister walk and through the slype, the narrow passage leading out of the cloister toward the nuns’ high-walled garden. Coming out at its far end, she turned not toward the garden’s gate but leftward along the garden wall to the usually locked back-gate into the orchard. Enclosed by a steep earthen bank, the orchard was nearly as shut away from the world as the cloister, and sometimes the nuns were allowed to have their recreation among the apple, pear, and cherry trees and the peaceful unmarked graves of former nuns under the long grass; but today Domina Elisabeth led them through the fruit-burdened trees to the always-locked gate in the short length of board-made fence closing the gap between the church’s north wall and the orchard’s earthen bank. There, as Domina Elisabeth brought out a key, even Dame Emma’s chatter stopped. Whatever else of nunnery life had eased under Domina Elisabeth’s rule, she still held her nuns to strict enclosure. To go outside the cloister walls was a rare adventure for most of them, and in silence they watched her unlock the gate. Only when she started to open it did Dame Perpetua say, faint-voiced, “We’re going out, my lady?”

  ‘We’re going out,“ Domina Elisabeth said and set the gate wide open.

  Sister Thomasine started to drift backward and away. The times Sister Thomasine had been outside the nunnery since she had taken her vows could probably be counted on less than one hand, and given her own choice, she would never go at all; but Domina Elisabeth pointed at her and said firmly, “This includes you, Sister Thomasine.”

  Ursula slipped away from her mother and around Dame Juliana to take hold of Sister Thomasine’s sleeve, looking up at her and saying with earnest assurance, “You can walk with me.”

  One way and another, Frevisse had learned that Sister Thomasine did not lack courage to go out, merely inclination, but to Ursula it must have seemed like fear and her offer was a kindness that Sister Thomasine solemnly accepted by taking hold of her hand and following with the rest, the more eager nuns crowding to follow Domina Elisabeth and Lady Anneys through the gate into the board-fenced alley, the back way for the going and coming of carts and workers between the priory’s foreyard, with its byres and barns and all the business needed to sustain the nunnery’s life of prayer, and the nearer fields outside the nunnery’s walls. Domina Elisabeth went right, away from the foreyard and toward altogether outside, and the other nuns’ laughter and talk began to rise with excitation. Even Thomasine, drawn on by Ursula, was not last out the gate. Frevisse and Dame Claire were.

  But they caught up to the others at the alley’s outer end where almost everyone’s eagerness faltered and they slowed and bunched together, some of them even stopping, discomfited after months of the closeness of cloister walls by the sudden distance of low-grown green fields of beans and peas stretching away to far-off hedgerows, with more sky all at once than could ever be seen above cloister roof or garden walls. But their uncertainty was only momentary. As Domina Elisabeth and Lady Anneys went on unbothered and Ursula pulled Sister Thomasine forward, everyone else’s pause turned to a rush to follow them along the cart-track running there, Sister Margrett asking delightedly where they were going, Dame Emma and Sister Amicia making guesses, and Domina Elisabeth smilingly refusing any answer.

  It was Ursula who could not bear her own excitement. “Fishing!” she exclaimed. “We’re going fishing!”

  ‘Fishing?“ Sister Johane exclaimed with almost disbelief, and Domina Elisabeth said, laughing, ”Yes. Fishing.“

  To meet the nunnery’s constant need for fish for fast days, feast days, and every day, two square ponds had been made beyond near fields, with a stream diverted to feed them and alder planted around their banks for shade. Because their upkeep and expenses were matters discussed and dealt with in chapter meetings, all the nuns knew of them in detail, whether they had ever seen them or not, and because fishponds were part of almost every manor and therefore part of most of the nuns’ lives before they entered St. Frideswide’s, they knew about fishing, too. More, perhaps, than Domina Elisabeth did, Frevisse thought, because early afternoon under a high summer sun was hardly the best time for catching fish.

  But actually catching fish was hardly the point, she soon decided. Village boys were waiting with rods, lines, hooks, and bait in the shade among the alder trees along the first pond, and the first squealing and protests over worms on hooks from some of the nuns and laughter from most of the others led on to elbowing and nudging each other toward the water, until finally shoes and short hosen came off and skirts were hitched above ankles and soon thereafter the inevitable happened and Sister Amicia was standing in the water, grimacing at the mud between her toes and laughing at the water’s coolness. Ursula, Sister Johane, Sister Margrett, and finally Dame Emma followed her, while those determined to fish went farther along the bank where their chances were hardly bettered by their flailing rods and jerking lines.

  Faced with all of that, the village boys’ first stiff respect crumbled, and when Sister Johane and Sister Margrett began a splashing battle against each other and anyone else in reach, Colyn, the reeve’s younger son, gave up to laughter, rolling on the grass and holding his sides. So they splashed him, too.

  Then Lady Anneys drew her skirts up through her belt and waded in, too, only barely avoiding her daughter’s fate when Ursula, leaning to splash water at Sister Johane, overbalanced and sat down with a great splash. Lady Anneys, backing away from her, stumbled and grabbed hold of one of the boys to keep from falling, both of them laughing as Ursula rose dripping and muddied to the waist, laughing, too.

  Not long after that, Sister Thomasine, finally persuaded to cast a line since she would not wade, somehow and against all likelihood hooked a fish and even—with help from the boys—landed it, a large carp. Domina Elisabeth, paying one of the boys a farthing to run it to the nunnery kitchen, said, “It‘ not our Lord’s miracle of the loaves and fishes but assuredly a miracle nonetheless.” Which brought on more laughter.

  The alders’ afternoon shadows were stretching long across the water and weariness was overtaking merriment when Domina Elisabeth called an end. While the boys set to gathering the fishing gear for going home, the nuns sat on the grassy bank to put on stockings and shoes again before beginning a slow walk back toward the nunnery, a very bedraggled Ursula holding to her mother’s hand and no one’s tired legs able to make haste despite the time for Vespers was nearing. The church’s gray-lead roof showed dully above the orchard’s trees, reminder that the cloister was waiting to close them in again, and as they reached the outer gateway, Frevisse saw Sister Margrett look back across the green fields toward the deeper green of distant trees under the richly blue, high-arching sky, her young face showing a mixture of longing and puzzlement that Frevisse understood. They had taken pleasure in that world today but now were going to shut themselves away from it again, away from all its possibilities—away from the places they would never have chance to go and people they would never have chance to meet.

  That was a thing a girl or woman understood when she chose to become a nun, and by the time she came to take her final vows, she understood it even better; but no one ever fully understood it until she had lived in it, year around into year after year, knowing it was for all the rest of her life. For a very few, like Sister Thomasine with her desire for noth
ing except God, the life absorbed them utterly. Others were content enough, accepting where they were and willing to be satisfied with it. Most, alas, were never so easily one way or the other and sometimes old longings would return, whether wanted or not. Frevisse was, mostly, past them herself, but she understood Sister Margrett’s momentary longing. And then Lady Anneys, probably to help Ursula’s dragging feet along, began to sing, swinging her daughter’s hand, “Hand and hand we shall us take, And joy and bliss we shall us make…” And in ones and twos the nuns joined in until they were all singing, some more tunefully than others but with no one’s feet quite so heavy as they had been and Sister Margrett as happily as everyone else, all sign of other longing gone.

  They were to the orchard gate when a boy came running along the alleyway from the priory’s foreyard and Dame Juliana said, “It’s Sim from the guesthall. Sim, is there trouble?”

  Flushed with hurry and the importance of bearing a message, he said, “There’s a man been waiting this while at the guesthall, my lady. My lady,” he added with a bow to Domina Elisabeth. “Ela said to tell you he’s someone come to see Lady Anneys. Ela said…”

  Lady Anneys took a quick step forward, anxiously asking, “One of my sons?”

  ‘Mistress Ela said to say he’s John Selenger?“ the boy said questioningly.

  The mingled hope and worry in Lady Anneys’ face changed to something less easily read. “Yes,” she agreed. “John Selenger. He’s our neighbor’s steward.”

  ‘You’ll see him?“ Domina Elisabeth asked.

  ‘I’d best.“ Though by her look she would rather not. Then she added with deliberately lightness, ”He’s probably brought some word from home. That’s all.“

  ‘Bid Ela see him to the guest parlor,“ Domina Elisabeth told Sim, adding as he made to dart away, ”There’s no need for haste. We’ll be making none.“

  Nor did they. Indeed, Domina Elisabeth, having seen everyone through the gate and on their way across the orchard, followed only slowly, somewhat behind them all when Lady Anneys gave Ursula’s hand to Dame Perpetua and fell back to her side to say, “By your leave, my lady?” in a quick, low voice that Frevisse heard only because she was side by side with Dame Claire a little ahead of them.

  ‘Yes?“ Domina Elisabeth said.

  ‘May one of your nuns be with me in the parlor while I talk with Master Selenger?“

  Domina Elisabeth was quiet a moment, then began, “If you’re afraid of this man…”

  ‘No,“ Lady Anneys said quickly. ”Not that. I’m not afraid of him. Only I’d rather not… see him alone.“

  Frevisse had only time to begin to wonder why not when Domina Elisabeth said, “Dame Frevisse, come here, please you.”

  Thus, simply because she had been near when Domina Elisabeth had need of someone, Frevisse went with Lady Anneys—once they were inside again and had washed hands and faces and straightened veils—around the cloister walk with Lady Anneys to the small, bare room near the outer door where nuns met any visitors they might have; and while they went, Lady Anneys said, “This man. This Master Selenger. I’ve nothing against him. But… since my husband’s death he’s… shown interest in me. I don’t want his interest. That’s… why I want someone with me.”

  ‘Of course,“ Frevisse murmured, readily able to suppose that in all likelihood this Master Selenger was too old or too young or too ill-favored or too obviously intent on Lady Anneys’ dower properties, and that Lady Anneys had yet to find a way to turn him away without giving offense; but when she followed Lady Anneys into the parlor, the man standing there in the middle of the room was neither aged nor ill-favored and his deep bow to them was both graceful and gracious.

  That left only the likelihood that he was ambitious rather than amorous, Frevisse thought dryly, as Lady Anneys answered his questioning look with, “It’s hardly suitable I talk alone with a man inside the cloister, Master Selenger.”

  Since Lady Anneys was under no vows, that was not true, nor had there been any reason except her own choice for not seeing him in the guesthall, and by his slight frown Frevisse guessed Master Selenger knew as much. But then, very likely, Lady Anneys had known he knew it and this was simply her quiet way of saying she did not want to see him alone while leaving him no choice but to accept that or else to argue with her. He chose to accept it, slightly bowing his head to Frevisse, who bowed hers in return while Lady Anneys asked, “Is everyone well at home? You’ve brought no ill news?”

  ‘Everyone’s well. There’s no ill news, my lady. Will you sit?“

  The room had only a small square table, a bench, and three stools. Master Selenger gestured toward the bench. Lady Anneys refused with a curt shake of her head and insisted, “Everything’s well?”

  Her curtness was just barely short of unmannerly but Master Selenger kept his smile and assured her, “Very well, save that Lady Elyn and Lucy don’t go on as well together as they might.”

  Lady Anneys gave a tight laugh. “They haven’t gone on well together since Lucy was born. I only insisted she stay with Elyn because she’d trouble her brothers even worse. Has there been any word from the crowner?”

  Her change from Elyn and Lucy left Master Selenger behind her. “The crowner?” he repeated blankly, then caught up with, “No, no word. Nothing has been found out.”

  ‘Nor anyone?“ Lady Anneys said.

  ‘Nor anyone.“

  ‘Nor any word when the escheater will come?“

  ‘No word of that either. There won’t be any trouble over it, whenever it’s held, though.“

  ‘I’m not supposing there will be. Haven’t you brought me any messages from anyone?“

  Master Selenger paused at his answer before finally saying, “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here.”

  Lady Anneys stared at him in surprise and coldly, and said nothing.

  Master Selenger ended the uncomfortable silence with, “You could ask me how I come to be here.”

  ‘I could,“ Lady Anneys answered, cold as her look. ”I presumed you had business this way.“

  Master Selenger hesitated, his eyes flickering toward Frevisse still standing in the doorway. She had deliberately taken her “I’m not here” stand beside the doorway, her hands tucked out of sight into her opposite sleeves and her head bowed—though not so far that she could not see, with a little upward look through her lashes, everything happening there. She saw Master Selenger make up his mind and return his gaze to Lady Anneys to say, “My only business this way was with you.”

  His directness gave Lady Anneys pause. She might even have wavered, between one heartbeat and another, in her sharpness at him; but if she did, it was for no longer than that and she said, still sharply, “My thanks for letting me know that all’s well and may you fare well on your ride home. Dame Frevisse and I have to ready for Vespers now. God go with you.”

  She was drawing back from him, turning toward the door as she spoke. Master Selenger put out a hand to stop her, protesting, “My lady…”

  Lady Anneys kept going, repeating more firmly, without looking back, “God go with you, Master Selenger.”

  As taken aback by the suddenness as Master Selenger was, Frevisse stepped aside, out of her way. Master Selenger moved as if to follow her out the door but with a quick gathering of her wits Frevisse stepped back into his way and said, “I’ll see you out, sir, if you will.”

  He stopped, looking past her with confusion and an edge of understandable anger, but Lady Anneys was already out of sight, heading along the cloister walk toward the room she shared with Ursula; and he gathered himself and answered Frevisse with at least outward good grace over whatever else he was thinking, “If you would be so good, my lady, yes, I’ll go now.”

  Frevisse led him in silence to the door to the guesthall yard. Only as she opened it for him did she ask, very mildly, “You’ll stay the night and leave in the morning?”

  Gone somewhere in his own thoughts, her question seemed to take him by surprise and he answer
ed with something of Lady Anneys’ sharpness. “What? Yes.” He recovered and said more evenly, “Yes. I suppose so. In the morning. Thank you, my lady,” and went out.

  And yet the next morning at Tierce, when he might have been supposed to be well on his way homeward, he was still there.

  Frevisse, intent on readying her mind for the Office as the nuns settled into their choir stalls, half to either side, facing each other across the choir, would not have known it except Sister Johane whispered rather too loudly to Sister Amicia, “He’s there again. I told you he would be. Look. He’s watching her.”

  A slight clearing of Domina Elisabeth’s throat stopped anything Sister Amicia might have answered, but Frevisse slightly turned her already bowed head and slid her eyes sideways to look past the edge of her veil down the length of the church. The nuns had mentioned among themselves at chapter meeting that neither Lady Anneys nor Ursula had been at Prime or Mass this morning. Frevisse, after supposing to herself that Lady Anneys had probably chosen not to chance meeting Master Selenger again before he left, had forgotten it. Now her careful look told her both Lady Anneys and Ursula were there in the nave, standing not far beyond the choir with the few of the nunnery servants that came now and again to Offices. And that Master Selenger was standing not far behind them.