15 The Sempster's Tale Page 13
Chapter 13
For Anne, the day’s one mercy was that Mistress Hercy had given order that no neighbor was to be let in until certain word came back from the church; and when Anne returned to say it was Hal, Mistress Hercy gave the order anew without Anne told her more. Then the ill news had to be given to Pernell, and after that there was nothing Anne could do but wrap her arms around her and hold her and weep with her as she sat rocking her body back and forth, wringing her hands, crying out through streaming tears, “Why? He never hurt anyone! Why?”, while Mistress Hercy and Lucie held each other and cried with them.
Only finally did Mistress Hercy force a drugged wine on her daughter, saying, “Drink it. For the baby’s sake, if nothing else,” and after that at last they got her to bed. When the restless twisting of her head on the pillow quieted at last, they left her, and in the parlor Mistress Hercy, with her own and Lucie’s tears worn out for a while, held her granddaughter in a brief, tight embrace, then told her, “Wash your face and afterward fetch my box of herbs from my chamber and some warm water from the kitchen. We’ll put lavender in it and bathe your mother’s face to ease her if she rouses again and help her back to sleep. There’s a good girl.” But, when Lucie was gone, she turned to Anne and said, “Tell me the worst about his death. So I’ll know from what I have to protect them. Because there is worse, isn’t there?”
‘There is,“ Anne said, and told her as briefly as might be—not what Brother Michael had said against Jews and most certainly not how Daved’s arms had tightened around her and his face become a rigid mask in the odd-thrown lantern-shadows—but all the rest, sparing nothing. At the end Mistress Hercy signed herself with the cross and said, ”Thank you. Now I know and will speak to the servants,“ with a grimness that boded ill for anyone who let a word of any of that horror slip to Pernell.
‘Lucie, too,“ Anne said. ”If it can be kept from her…“
‘Lucie, too,“ Mistress Hercy said.
Anne made her escape soon afterward, pausing only to bathe her own face clean of its tears and ashamed of how relieved she was to be away, though she soon lost that relief as she made her way home. Used though she was to London in all its humours, this afternoon there was everywhere a such seethe of loud and angry talk—and even now more against the king and his lords than at Jack Cade and his Kentishmen—that she was thankful beyond measure to reach Kerie Lane and close her own door behind her.
But Bette was brimming over with the same talk if not the anger, exclaiming while Anne was taking off her veil and wimple, baring her head to welcome coolness, “Mistress Upton is just gone. She’s been down at Queenhithe and Vintry wharf with other folk, looking to see what they could across Thames.”
Turning to the waiting basin of water, Anne asked, “Was she?” Ready to welcome anything that would take her mind from everything else.
‘She didn’t see all that much,“ Bette complained. ”Some men staring back from the Southwark side is all, but she made the most of seeing them, swearing they had to be rebels. No sign they’re doing any harm to anybody, though. No rioting or burning or anything. It’s just as folk have been saying. That Jack Cade is keeping everything right because they’re only out to be rid of those around the king as shouldn’t be there.“ Bette dropped her voice. ”She said some are saying we should let them into London, let them get on with things.“
Anne, who had been washing her face and throat, glad of the cool water, straightened and stared at her. “Let them into London? That would be mad.”
‘Still, it would make plain we mean to have changes or else,“ Bette said. ”How did your dinner at Master Grene’s go? How goes it with Mistress Grene?“
So Anne had to tell the half-truths all over again, but Bette’s exclaims were easier to endure than Pernell’s tears, and because there was only so much to be said about the pity and wickedness of the murder, over supper Bette’s talk went back to the rebels, where Anne willingly kept it until her time for going up to bed.
Unhappily, bed proved to be neither comfort nor shelter. In a darkness made darker by her thoughts, she lay awake a long while, aching to have Daved with her, half-hoping he would somehow know her need and come to her, at the same time knowing she did not want him out in London’s streets tonight, able to guess from the number of times the Watch went along the streets warning that all good men should be in their beds that too many men were not. So, no, it was better Daved be safe at Raulyn’s.
But how safe was he even there now? She rolled over, pulled the other pillow to her, and wrapped her arms around it, holding it the way she wanted Daved to be holding her. London had been safest of anywhere for him because no one looked to find Jews here. Now Brother Michael would be looking. Would start with Father Tomas and then…
Anne sat upright in bed, staring into the darkness, remembering her morning errand. Daved had said he and his uncle sometimes brought letters to London. Other Jewish letters? Until now she had thought only herself and Raulyn knew Daved’s secret. But if there were others, he was even less safe.
And how far was Raulyn to be trusted if worse came to worse?
Startled by the question, she reassured herself quickly that of course he could be trusted to the end. Aside from his friendship with them, Daved and Master Bocking brought him profit and he’d not endanger his profit.
Anne lay down slowly, staring at that thought.
Was that where she put Raulyn’s friendship? At no higher worth than his own profit? What of his friendship with her then? Until this commission of the Suffolk vestments, their friendship had been more to her profit than to his, so profit wasn’t his only reason for friendship.
Or was it a different sort of profit he hoped from her? There was the sometimes half-wantonness in things he said or half-said to her in jest. Or that was what she had always told herself. That he was only jesting…
Anne sat up again and threw the pillow across the room, wanting to throw her thought away with it. Raulyn was her friend and there was the end of it. Anything else was only her own wantonness speaking. And angry at herself, angry at Raulyn, angry at Daved, angry because she was awake and wanted to be asleep, she flung herself down again, closed her eyes… and found herself staring at the thought that among the dangers to Daved was herself.
She had said she would go back to the House of Converts, to see if the woman Alis had a letter for her family. Now she must not, because if Brother Michael turned his heed that way and she was found out, she would be a link to Daved.
Blessed St. Anne. If once Brother Michael began to look for Jews, how many ways were there he could be led to Daved?
But she should not be crying out for comfort to St. Anne, faithful wife and holy mother. Her better hope lay with St. Mary Magdalene. But the Magdalene had repented her sins, and Anne repented not at all her desire for Daved. She wanted him now, here, with her.
But he was not here, and he did not come, and sometime after the passing Watch had cried, “One of the clock”— without the usual “and all’s well”—she finally slid into a dream-ridden, restless sleep, to awaken late and unrested in a morning already warm before the sun was fully up. Tired with her thoughts and lack of sleep, she put on her lightest undergown, bound her hair up uncovered, and went downstairs to find Bette and the market basket gone.
Before Anne could begin to worry, Bette shuffled in at the front door, laden market basket over her arm, and Anne hurried to take the basket, chiding, “I’m not that late up that you had to go.”
Readily giving up the basket, Bette sank onto her stool beside the hearth but waved aside Anne’s protest, saying, “I wanted to hear for myself all that’s going on. You never have enough to tell.”
Beginning to empty the basket onto the table, Anne asked, “What did you hear?”
‘Nothing about Hal’s death, for one.“
Anne stopped, a breadloaf in her hands. “Nothing?”
‘Not with bigger things to take folks’ tongues wagging.“ Bette rubbed at her
knees. ”There’s report there’s more rebels coming.“
Taking a second loaf from the basket, Anne said, “We’ve still the bridge between them and us. The king will have to come sometime to deal with them.”
‘Nay, it’s not more Kentishmen. It’s men out of Essex and thereabouts. This side of the river. They’re coming to Mile End it’s being said, and there’s talk there’s more gathering in from the west, and talk that the king is gone from Berkhampstead yesterday because he knew it then, and that now he’s gone…“ She paused, gleaming with her news. ”… for Kenilworth or Coventry!“
‘But they’re…“ Away somewhere. North, but she didn’t know how far except it was far. ”What good can he do us from Kenilworth or Coventry?“
‘None,“ Bette said. ”It’s said the mayor and alderman are to meet at the Guildhall on what we’re to do, since no one else is going to do aught for us, seems.“
Anne realized she was holding a third breadloaf and that there was a large lump of probably cheese wrapped in waxed cloth still in the basket; and holding up the loaf and pointing at the basket, she asked, “What’s this? It’s more than we usually buy in a week.”
Bette straightened, hands resting on her knees and satisfaction on her face. “To see us through if we have to keep inside for a few days. I mean to go out later for more.”
‘You’ll not. You’ll be unable to walk for a week if you do. I’ll go.“ Because Bette was right: if bad enough trouble came, they might have to keep to the house.
‘You’d best go soon, then. I’m not the only one who thinks things may go worse before they go better. We’ll want water, too.“
At least it was something to do besides thinking, and Anne broke her fast with bread and an apple while putting on her outer gown, wimple, and veil. Marketing in her turn, she bought no more bread—it would not keep—but did get another cheese. Kept in a cool crock, it should do. And the last dozen salted herring at the fishmonger’s because they would keep, too. With that and the dried beans and peas they already had, they should do well enough for food, and after giving it all over to Bette, she went back and forth a few times to the nearer Cheapside conduit, fetching water to fill everything they had to spare for it in the house, and hearing while she did more about the rebels out of Essex.
‘A good few thousand of them,“ a man was saying to someone else while she waited for her bucket to fill under one of the fountain mouths. ”At Mile End outside Aldgate, aye.“
‘What do they want?“ a woman asked.
‘Same as Jack Cade’s lot, I hear,“ someone else said; and the woman said happily, ”That’s all right, then.“
From what Anne heard and didn’t hear, there seemed no great trouble happening in Southwark—nothing beyond the expected reveling among the taverns and brothels—with people still saying that gave weight to Cade’s promise the rebels weren’t out to make trouble, only to right wrongs and be rid of the corrupt men around the king. “And that can’t happen any too soon,” a woman filling a pitcher beside Anne called to some nearby talking men, while another woman shouted at them, “Best hie yourselves to the Guildhall and tell the mayor and all!”
One of the men shouted back, “They couldn’t hear us over their own tongue-flailing! Best we just open the gates and let Cade do the talking for us!” And the general laughter at that sounded less at a jest than approving a thought that was gaining ground.
Over their dinner of bean pottage, bread, and apple tart, Anne reported all of it to Bette who muttered about fools and kings and thought she’d go to talk with Mab next door.
Anne, ready to be alone, went upstairs, meaning to work while waiting for Dame Frevisse to come; but the thoughts she had lost in the morning’s busyness came back on her in a dark rush, and not about to imperil the gold lion or costly thread with her distraction, she tried to work on a garnet-dyed linen band she was embroidering with a green fretwork in simple cross stitch, but her stitches proved to be as uneven as her thoughts and she soon gave it up and simply sat. She didn’t want sewing. She wanted Daved.
She had left the top of the streetward door open for air to move through the house, and he must have let himself in, because she had no warning except his quick footfall on the steps before he was there, and she was barely to her feet with a small cry of disbelief, relief, and joy before she was in his arms.
Too soon, though, he drew back a step, not letting her go but telling her without words they would go no further yet. In return, Anne fought herself to steadiness, slipped her hands down to his waist to hold him as he was holding her, and said, smiling, “I hoped and hoped you’d come to me today.”
‘I hoped I’d be here before now.“ He took another quick kiss. ”And I wish I could stay.“
Even expected, her disappointment was sharp. Only barely she kept her voice light as she said, “But you can’t.”
‘I can’t. It would leave too much on my uncle. We’re moving our goods back to the ship…“
‘You’re leaving?“ This time Anne failed to keep raw dismay from her voice.
‘Not yet, no, and we may not. This is only against the chance things go to the bad.“
His other times in London, they had sometimes had a month and more together. This was barely a week, and Anne said, sounding pitiful and pleading even to herself, “You’d leave? Now?”
‘Only if there’s no safe other way.“ Unexpectedly he was pleading back to her. ”There are too many people’s lives depend on our returning with what we’ve gained this journey. We can’t risk losing it, my uncle and I.“
Almost Anne demanded, What of our life? But that was against all the rules she had set herself; she had strangled the words unsaid even before Bette called up the stairs, “Dame Frevisse is here, mistress. Shall she come up?”
Anne gasped, but Daved nodded his head toward the window bench where she’d been sitting and moved away to sit himself in the chair while she called, “Of course. Thank you, Bette,” and sat down at the window, so that when Dame Frevisse appeared up the stairs, they were both able to stand up to greet her as if they had been sitting in simple talk until then, Daved saying as he bowed Dame Frevisse to the chair, “You’re bold to brave the streets today, my lady.”
‘I’m hoping to finish my business with Mistress Blakhall and leave London.“ She made a small smile. ”That was the only way my steward was persuaded to let me leave St. Helen’s at all. Unhappily, I hear there are rebels rumored to the west now. Please,“ she added as Daved remained standing. ”Won’t you sit?“
She gestured toward the long window seat, and with a small bow of thanks Daved sat down a careful distance aside from Anne while saying, “It’s possible. The anger against King Henry is running deeper and wider all the time.”
With the bitter likelihood of soon losing Daved spilling over into bitterness at the king, Anne said, “The only place we haven’t heard of rebels is northward. That must be why he’s run that way.”
‘That report is true, then?“ Dame Frevisse asked.
‘I gather so, yes,“ Daved answered. ”There were some several boatloads of clerks and documents came down from Westminster to the Tower on the last tide. The guess is that they were bringing things to safer keeping.“
‘He won’t even defend his own,“ Anne said. ”What does he expect from us if he won’t do even that?“
‘He probably expects London to look to itself,“ said Daved. ”The way he’s looking to himself. Isn’t it usually the way with great lords to see to themselves first, and if they think of their people at all, it’s only to wonder how hard to tax them?“
‘Then King Henry should most particularly want to defend London,“ said Dame Frevisse dryly. ”Given the wealth here to be taxed, you wouldn’t think he’d want to lose it to rebels.“
‘He probably supposes London will defend itself for that very reason—its own wealth,“ Daved answered. ”Why trouble himself when they will do it for him?“
‘Too fair and likely a supposition,“
Dame Frevisse granted. ”Have you heard anything of what’s toward at the Guildhall?“
‘Master Grene went himself to hear what he could. He came back to say he couldn’t get near. The Guildhall was full to the walls and out the door. The word spread out from there, though, was that the mayor and aldermen are debating the rebels’ demands. There’s strong talk that Cade and his Kentishmen have the right of it, so why not join in with them since the king is doing nothing to make anything better.“
‘St. Paul defend us,“ Anne breathed.
‘Mistress,“ Bette called from the stairfoot. ”I’ve ale ready if someone will fetch it.“
Daved immediately made to rise, but Anne was more quickly to her feet, calling, “I’m coming.”
Behind her as she went down the stairs, Dame Frevisse said, “Daved is not a common name in France or Flanders, is it? Are you part Welsh?”
Taking the tray with cups and pitcher, Anne’s thanks to Bette were short as she listened to Daved answering easily, “My mother was the daughter of a Scottish man-at-arms who made his fortune in the French war.” There was a smile in his voice. “Fighting for the French against the English.”
‘Helping keep the English busy there, rather than in Scotland,“ Dame Frevisse acknowledged, an equal smile in her words.
‘Just so. He married there, and here I am, trading with the English. A different way of raiding them, I suppose, from what my grandfather used to do.“
Dame Frevisse a little laughed at that, and Anne set the tray on the table, smiling with them both, hiding her thought of how easily Daved had given that lie. It was probably one he had given other times before now, and there was no good reason why it should hurt her to hear it, but it did. Not for itself, she thought as she poured ale and handed a cup to Dame Frevisse, but because she was coming to see how so much of his life was a lie, was becoming frightened of how many lies there were.