The Prioress’ Tale (12 page)

“I suspect I probably shouldn’t even before you do. Now, what about him?”

They looked down at the madman, crouched on his heels with his arms wrapped around his legs and his face buried against his knees, rocking a little and making no sound. He wore a dirt-thickened shirt, filthy leggings, and rough-wrapped cloth for shoes, and smelled most particularly of pig manure.

“Fellow,” said Joliffe and touched his shoulder.

The man flinched violently, lost balance, and sprawled sideways onto the cobbles, then scrambled back into his huddled heap, but now an eye gleamed out from the tangle of hair, shifting uneasily from Joliffe to Frevisse to Joliffe to Frevisse again.

Partly because of the smell of him and partly not to frighten him, Frevisse made no move to come closer but asked, because food seemed the most likely way to reach him, “Are you hungry?” She patted her stomach to help the thought go through to him. “Are you hungry? Food?”

The man made no answer except to shift his eye to Joliffe again. Joliffe knelt down and said very gently, “We’re not going to hurt you. Are you hungry? Do you want food?”

The man’s eye was wary but not wildly afraid now, and Joliffe said without changing his voice or position, “I think two of us are too many for him. Maybe you should leave him to me.”

Frevisse drew back a willing step. “Take him around to the kitchen. Not inside but to the kitchen yard. I’ll go through the cloister and tell someone to bring out food for him and a cloak or doublet, whatever is to hand in the alms clothing.”

“Better that than anywhere around the guest halls,” Joliffe agreed. “I’ll see him fed, then put him out the back gate, maybe find someone to take him to the village. Away from here for certain.”

“It would probably be better for you if you were away, too,” Frevisse said.

“And leave behind what I’m likely to make here? No thank you. But when I’ve seen him on his way, I think I’ll spend my time until supper trying my luck with your masons, safely on the other side of that wall.” He jerked his head toward the wall that closed off the far end of the yard and the priory buildings from the orchard beyond the church, where the masons had set up their lodge for stoneworking and now were mostly living, since the crowding of the guest halls by Sir Reynold’s men. It crossed Frevisse’s mind that Joliffe had learned a great deal of how things were in the few hours he had been here; but the quick movement of his head had made the madman cringe and begin to shiver. “You’d best go,” Joliffe said. “It will make this simpler for me, and she went.”

Chapter 9

Alys leaned her head against the high, carved back of her chair, her eyes closed, her fingertips pressed to the sides of her forehead where the pain seemed trying to break through her skull. “Are they finished yet?”

Reynold answered without turning from the window, “Your nun is coming back toward the cloister. The minstrel is leading the madman off somewhere.”

“Good.” Everything hurt the worse when she moved in one of these headaches; she had been afraid she would be needed in the yard. “Why does everything have to be trouble? Why can’t it all be simple?”

“Because no one lets it be.” Reynold turned from the window and crossed to the table. “So there’s no use your worrying on everything the way you do.”

Her head gave a throb of greater pain. “I have to worry on everything. Nothing is done if I don’t worry on it.” He was pouring some of the wine he had brought; she could hear him and said without opening her eyes, “I don’t need wine. My head hurts enough as it is.”

“I’m not giving you the bottle, only a gobletful. You try too hard, my girl. That’s what makes your head to ache. This will ease you.”

Alys opened her eyes to find him standing beside her, smiling down and holding out the goblet.

“Drink,” he urged. “It’ll help.”

She took the goblet blindly, shutting her eyes against the unexpected bite of tears, not wanting Reynold to see how near she was to crying because of his kindness. When was the last time anyone had bothered to be kind to her simply for kindness’ sake? She could not remember. All they ever seemed to want was for her to give and give and give so they could take and take and take. And she gave! God knew she gave. She was all but giving her sanity, come to that. Today, for the nunnery’s need, she had worked over those crab-handed accounts until she was sick with this headache as well as sick with being unable to make the foul things give her the answers she wanted.

“They fight me on everything,” she whispered, more to herself than Reynold. “They all fight me.” Her nuns, her erstwhile steward, the master Mason, even those miserable accounts that went on lying, went on saying there was not enough money when there
had
to be. That was why she had sent Katerin to fetch Reynold to her. He was the only hope and help she had, and her nuns grudged her even him. She knew they did and talked about her behind her back. They grudged her everything. So she had sent Katerin for him while they were at dinner so they would not know he was here. And she had only Katerin companioning them so there would be no tattletales of what they said; and she meant to have him leave while they were closed away at Vespers. That would serve them as they deserved.

She pressed her eyes desperately tighter. Tears were no good. They were a weakness and she could not afford weakness, not with everything she wanted to do, hoped to do, for St. Frideswide’s. She had no time for weakness, her own or anyone else’s. Reynold was the same. He understood demands, not tears, and to show she was not weak, she said fiercely, eyes still closed, “I want my tower done. That will do more for me and my headaches than wine will.”

Reynold had gone back to the table to pour wine for himself. Not looking full around, he answered over his shoulder, laughing a little, “Wine is just to help see you through. Don’t worry over your tower, girl. You’ll have it.”

“Not according to Master Porter.” She had the urge to cry under control now, out of her way, and she took a deep draught of the wine, savored it before swallowing, then said resentfully, “I had to fight with him again today.”

“As if all the priory didn’t hear you.” Reynold sat opposite her in the other chair with his own wine and leaned forward to nudge her hand. “Drink. It won’t do you any good in the goblet.”

She drank. Ale was what they mostly had in St. Frideswide’s, wine only with Communion or when someone thought to give it as a gift. That was another of the things she meant to change when she had made St. Frideswide’s into what it ought to be. There would be wine every feast day then. Good wine. Bordeaux wine. Wine like this.

But that solved no present problems, and she reached her free hand out to grasp Reynold’s wrist to make him hear her. “You have to make Master Porter finish my tower. He’ll listen to you where he won’t listen to me.”

“He’ll finish it or he won’t leave here,” Reynold said simply. “I’ve told you that.”

“Have you told
him
?” Alys demanded.

Reynold turned his hand over in her hold to grasp hers in return, warmly smiling while he did and lightly laughing at her. “He’ll hear reason better if he’s not in a foaming fury. I keep waiting for a day when you haven’t driven him into a rage before I try to talk to him. So far you haven’t given me one.”

There was no one else but Reynold she would let laugh at her, but she pulled free her hand and slapped at his arm anyway. “You just tell him, that’s all. You make promises, but so far I’ve seen small return on them.”

Reynold leaned back in his chair, unoffended. “Little? Isn’t there food and wine here that wasn’t here two days ago?”

“And a girl who wasn’t here two days ago either.” Reynold snorted dismissively. “That will all come right. Benet says it went well this morning. She’s coming around. Prickly but persuadable. Drink. It’s not a sin.”

Alys drank. It was easeful to be able to obey sometimes, instead of always having to be the one who thought things through and gave the orders. Reynold was in the right of it; she gave herself these headaches by trying too hard. Her elbow propped on the chair’s arm, she rested her chin on her free hand and stared down into the goblet, thinking about the possibility that the pain was a little less. She prayed it was and prayed to St. Pancras to take it from her completely. A throb between her eyes was the only answer. She cringed, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against the chair again.

“Hasn’t your infirmarian anything to kill that for you?” Reynold asked.

Her eyes still shut, hardly moving her mouth for fear of jarring the pain to worse, she answered, “Dame Claire is one of the ones who thought to be prioress instead of me. I’m not giving her the satisfaction of knowing I’m in pain.” No weakness in front of any of her nuns: that was how to keep control.

“Then I’d find me a different infirmarian.”

“It keeps her out of my way and that’s what I want.”

“Find a different way to keep her out of your way.” As if she had not thought of that. “The only other office that would do for that is hosteler, and that’s keeping Dame Frevisse out of my way.”

Reynold made a disgusted sound. “That one. She sours the whole hall when she comes in. Never a friendly look, never a smile. Long-faced as a dying dog. Don’t you have a kennel you could put her in?”

“I wish I did,” Alys said bitterly. Then, despite the pain, she smiled. “But I’ve finally caught her out at something.”

There had been one other good thing today, besides Reynold.

“Have you?” Reynold roused to a mild interest. “What?”

“She was seen talking with Benet in the cloister this morning…”

“Oh, a great offense,” Reynold mocked.

Alys barked a laugh back at him, ignoring the pain it cost her. “After I’d forbidden anyone to notice him when he was here.” But leave it to Sister Amicia to be watching out to see him and then tell what she saw. “So tomorrow in chapter meeting Dame Frevisse is in my hand, to punish as I choose.”

“And you’ll surely choose to give her something she’ll remember,” Reynold said.

“Oh yes.” Alys nodded with grim satisfaction. “Now she’s given me the chance, I mean to give her something to remember.”

Chapter 10

Frevisse had a brief thought that she might escape into the church for the while before Vespers to pray, to gather her thoughts, simply to be quiet once she had left the necessary orders for the madman’s food and alms clothing with someone in the kitchen; but in the cloister walk as she turned kitchenward, Lady Adela, limping down the steps from Lady Eleanor’s room, waved to her and whispered loudly, “Dame Frevisse!” Unhappily certain this was the end of any hope of escaping to the church, Frevisse went to meet her.

“Joice needs to see you,” Lady Adela said eagerly. “That was a lunatic in the yard, wasn’t it? That you and Benet and the other man were saving from Sir Reynold’s men? We saw you from the window. Is he horribly mad?”

“Only quietly mad. And, no, you may not go see him.” Frevisse answered what she knew Lady Adela was going to ask next. For someone so quiet with Dame Perpetua, Lady Adela had words enough otherwise. “I’m going to see to having him fed now and then he’ll be sent on his way. Tell Mistress Joice I’ll be with her shortly.”

Lady Adela started to go, then paused and looked back at her, frowning. “I wouldn’t hate Latin if it wasn’t all church things,” she said reproachfully, turned away with offended dignity, and limped away up the stairs, dragging her lame leg more than necessary.

Knowing she had been rebuked but not certain how, Frevisse went on to the kitchen, where there was no trouble about giving the first kitchen servant she happened on the needful orders. That done, she turned reluctantly back toward Lady Eleanor’s chamber and, as she went up the stairs, looked at her reluctance, trying to find the reason for it. Much of it had to come because of her worry over what would happen in tomorrow’s chapter meeting. Knowing what she had to do was not the same as actually facing whatever humiliation Domina Alys would delight in giving her. The rest of her reluctance…

Joice met her at the open door in a swirl of scarlet skirts, grabbing her desperately by the hands and exclaiming without other greeting, “I can’t go on seeing him! How long do I have to do this? I can’t!”

… was because she had nothing to tell Joice that Joice wanted to hear, nothing that would be of any comfort to her.

“Joice.” Lady Eleanor spoke mildly from across the room, where she stood with Margrete by the window. “There’s no need for this.”

“And no use either,” Frevisse said. She pushed the girl back into the room. This was not something the whole nunnery needed to hear. “Lady Adela, close the door.”

Lady Adela, hovering bright-eyed near the bed with one of Lady Eleanor’s dogs in her arms—the other was curled where Lady Eleanor’s skirts spread on the floor around her feet—limped eagerly to obey.

“Hasn’t anyone come yet?” Joice begged, still clinging to Frevisse’s hands. “No word from anyone at all?”

“There hasn’t been time. It’s too soon.”

“Joice, child,” Lady Eleanor said, still patiently, “this isn’t going to help.”

“Nothing’s going to help!” Joice cried.

Frevisse pulled free of Joice’s hand, seized her by the shoulders, and forced her down onto a stool, then leaned over her, still gripping her by the shoulders, and ordered, “Tell me what’s happened.”

Joice tried to leap back to her feet. Frevisse forced her back down. “Tell me! I can’t help if I don’t know!”

“Your prioress!” Joice all but spat the word. Fragile with fear an instant before, she was suddenly fiercely angry. “Your miserable, treacherous prioress!”

Better pleased to have her angry rather than wild with fear, Frevisse drew a steadying breath and said evenly, “What’s she done?”

Her hands in fists, beating at her skirts with rage, Joice exclaimed, “She’s ordered me to spend the evening with her! With her and Benet and Sir Reynold!”

Frevisse looked around to Lady Eleanor who answered calmly, “Katerin came a while ago to tell us. I’ll be there, too. And Hugh.”

And Joliffe. Frevisse remembered he had said he was summoned to play for Domina Alys this evening. She took hold of Joice’s hands, forcing them still and Joice to look at her. “It’s nothing,” she said, matching Lady Eleanor’s calm. “There’s a minstrel come today. That’s what’s put it in Domina Alys’ head. You only have to go and play out the game you’re already playing. Surely you can do that through one evening.”