15 The Sempster's Tale Page 18

  Enough people agreed with that, that there was a general withdrawing behind all the other doors and gates while Master Grene ordered, “Close it,” at Pers, who readily slammed the gate shut, with Wyett swinging the bar into place across it at the same moment Master Grene turned on Daved and raged, “What in hell’s teeth were you thinking of, throwing yourself into that fight like that? You near as damn-all got us killed!”

  Of the two of them, Daved Weir looked the worse. Though he was without apparent wound save for a red mark on his jaw that would probably be a bruise before it was done, his doublet was torn open and his shirt ripped to almost his waist as if he had grappled close with someone; but still high-blooded with the joy of battle, he laughed and said, “There are worse ways to die than suddenly, Raulyn.”

  ‘Maybe for you!“ Master Grene stormed back at him. ”But I’d rather not!“

  Somewhat aside, Dickon and Father Tomas were helping Brother Michael to his feet from the cobbles. The friar was the worst battered of anyone—with no blood on him but short of breath and partly bent over in pain, one hand pressed to his ribs as if he hurt there. Past Master Grene, Daved asked, “How is he?”

  Brother Michael answered for himself, leaning on the priest but straightening a little as he said, “Beaten. But otherwise unmarred. They were using feet and fists, not weapons.”

  ‘I was coming from the church,“ Father Tomas said. ”To see Mistress Grene. I saw him ahead of me. They came from the other way, those men, and attacked him. Went for him for no reason.“

  ‘They didn’t say anything?“ Master Naylor asked.

  Brother Michael straightened a little more, still holding his ribs but his breathing more steady. “Asked if I was the friar that was preaching at St. Paul’s, I said I was, and they—” He stopped—not from a stab of pain, as Frevisse first thought, but staring at Daved before then jerking fully straight and snatching at the front of Daved’s doublet, crying out, “You! This!” in both oath and accusation; and Frevisse saw he had hold not on Daved’s doublet or shirt but the end of a narrow length of pale cloth showing through the shirt’s tear. In the yard’s shadows Frevisse thought there was a fringed knot at one corner but that was all she clearly saw before Daved clamped a hand around the friar’s wrist and ordered, cold and low-voiced, “Let it go.”

  Brother Michael pulled, both at the cloth and to be free, and Daved must have done something because the next moment the friar let go the cloth with a gasp of pain and snatched back his hand. But with unabated fierceness, glaring at Daved, he started again, “You—”

  Master Grene stepped between them, saying in loud interruption as he gripped the friar by the arm and turned him toward the hall, “Better we take this inside, Brother Michael. Wyett, keep guard here with Pers for a time. Nicol, shouldn’t you be gone to the kitchen? The rest of you go on, too. You did well, all of you. My thanks. Anne, Dame, go tell Pernell all’s well.”

  He was drawing the friar hallward with more force than courtesy while scattering his household men with orders; but Brother Michael broke free, spun around to point fiercely at Master Naylor and Dickon, nearest to Daved, and ordered, “You two! Take hold on him.” He swung his pointing finger to Master Bocking. “On both of them. On your souls’ peril, seize them both!”

  Master Bocking said something in a language Frevisse did not understand, and together he and Daved moved for the gate. Master Grene’s two men were there but not ready for trouble. Daved shoved one of them one way, his uncle shoved the other the other way, and Daved had his daggers drawn again to hold them at bay, while Master Bocking swung the bar clear and began to pull open one side of the gate.

  “Stop them!” roared Brother Michael, and the man Wyett had wit enough to swing his club not at Daved who was beyond his reach but at the opening side of the gate, driving it shut just as Master Bocking slipped through the gap, not catching him in it but leaving Daved shut in and without time to open it again before Wyett, Pers, Master Naylor, and Dickon closed on him. For an indrawn, frightened breath Frevisse thought he would fight them. But the intent went out of him and instead he dropped his daggers, yelled something upward over his shoulder—again in a language she did not know; meant for his uncle, surely—then stood with his empty hands held out to either side of him.

  Chapter 18

  Uncertain what came next, no one moved except Brother Michael, drawing himself up as straightly as Daved was standing, to say with assured authority, “By right of my place in the Church’s holy Inquisition I order you to seize this enemy of Christ!” Anne’s small sound in her throat cut off as Dame Frevisse took harder hold on her arm, warning her silent as Pers and Wyett, still not understanding what was happening, moved toward Daved uncertainly.

  ‘Seize him!“ Brother Michael ordered again. ”On your souls’ peril! He has to be brought to the bishop! Open the gate—“

  Quickly Raulyn said, “You can’t trust yourself to the streets again, Brother Michael! Not now and with dark coming on. You’ve seen yourself the Kentishmen have slipped Cade’s leash. By now I wouldn’t dare the streets outside even my own gate, let be between here and any where else.”

  Brother Michael had stopped, was listening to him. With Dame Frevisse’s fingers digging into her arm, Anne kept silent the sobs trying to rise in her throat as Raulyn urged, “Keep here for now anyway. You risk losing him otherwise. His uncle is out there, remember, and who knows who else, ready to help him.”

  Brother Michael looked toward the gate. With his hurts still fresh on him, he couldn’t doubt Raulyn’s warning, but he hesitated half a moment longer before finally granting harshly, “Here then, yes. We’ll stay here with him under guard while we wait it out.” He suddenly pointed at Father Tomas. “And you’ll wait with us. What your part in this has been we’ve still to learn. The abomination didn’t happen in your church by chance. And you,” he added at Raulyn. “You’ll have to prove you knew nothing of what they are, or you’ll have both the bishop and the king’s officers to answer to.” He started toward the hall, ordering at Raulyn’s men, “Bring him.”

  ‘I need my men on gate-guard here,“ Raulyn said.

  Brother Michael pointed at Dame Frevisse’s men. “You two, then.”

  Both men looked to Dame Frevisse, who nodded for them to obey, and with no eagerness, they closed on Daved from either side. Anne willed him to fight them off—or run—or do whatever he needed to win clear and away. But rather than that, he suddenly threw up his head and laughed in a way Anne had never heard from him—laughter bitter and bright and barren of joy unless it was the joy of a man refusing to fear a fight he knew he could not win; and like a man flinging himself open to a dagger-blow, he let the Naylors take hold on his arms and start him toward the hall.

  Anne began to twist against Dame Frevisse’s grip, meaning to go to him; but Daved caught her eyes and gave the slightest refusing twitch of his head, telling her no. Then he was past her, and Brother Michael was herding Father Tomas toward the hall, and Raulyn, having stopped to pick up Daved’s daggers—where had the second one come from?—came aside to say, “Anne, go back to Pernell now, please.”

  His words came from some hollow distance beyond having any meaning. Anne gave them no heed, not taking her gaze from Daved’s back going away from her between his guards. She had to be at least near him, and she forced her legs to steady, gathering herself to follow them. Raulyn, seeing her intent, said, “No, Anne.” Laying a quick hand on her shoulder. “Don’t. I’ll do all I can. Anything you do will only make it go the worse for him.”

  Worse than burned at the stake? Anne thought; but Raulyn had not waited for her answer, was gone after the men now going up the steps into the hall. Anne would have followed him, not caring what he had said, but Dame Frevisse still held her arm, still held her where she was, and said, “We’ll follow in a moment. But one thing. What was it set the friar off against him? That cloth. What was it?”

  Started to pull against her hold, Anne paused, repeated blankly,
“What?” Among her fear-scattered thoughts, her only clear one was that she had to go to Daved, and instead of the denial she should have made she blurted out, “It’s something he wears. It’s for prayer or… it’s because he’s Jewish. I don’t know…”

  The nun’s grip on her arm became suddenly painful, pulling Anne around to face her. “He’s Jewish? He’s Jewish and you knew it? You took a Jewish paramour?”

  That the nun had known Daved was her lover jarred as much as the depth of accusation in the words, and Anne said sharply back, “I didn’t know he was Jewish when I fell in love with him.”

  ‘But you had to know afterwards. If nothing else, he must be circumcised!“

  ‘He told me. Before ever we became lovers, he told me. So I knew, yes!“

  ‘And you…“

  ‘I love him.“ What else could she say? She knew what was said of coupling between Christian and Jew—that it was a bestiality that only the harshest penance could cleanse, that the soul was supposed to be as polluted by it as the body was. But she had been in love with Daved before she knew he was Jewish, and her love had burned past all else. Including caring what anyone thought of her love. And now the Inquisition had him, and every nightmare she had ever had about him might be going to come true, and with a twist that hurt her arm she wrenched free of Dame Frevisse, gathered up her skirts, and ran after the men, leaving the nun to think what she would and follow as she might.

  Inside, Mistress Hercy had met the men in the screens passage, but the Naylors were standing behind Daved, not holding onto him, and she seemed not to know there was trouble that way but was demanding at Raulyn, “What do you mean, he was attacked? By whom? Why?”

  ‘We don’t know who. Just some louts. Someone who’s against friars, that’s all. He’s safe and staying here a time. What of Pernell?“

  ‘The noise wakened her, but it was over before she knew what it was, thank blessed St. Mary. Father Tomas, come up and give her some comfort about Hal.“

  ‘I will.“ Father Thomas answered unsteadily, drawing away toward Brother Michael waiting impatiently just inside the hall. ”I’ll be there—“

  ‘Later,“ Raulyn interrupted. ”We must needs talk first. By your leave.“ He started forward, past Mistress Hercy, with the Naylors crowding Daved to go ahead, too.

  ‘Anne,“ Mistress Hercy said. ”Come help me tell Pernell all’s well.“

  Anne brushed past Mistress Hercy, following the men into the hall, saying in echo of Raulyn, “Later. I’ll be up later.”

  Behind her, she heard Mistress Hercy say to Dame Frevisse with quiet-voiced worry, “There’s something more, isn’t there?,” and Dame Frevisse answer, “Yes.” At the far end of the hall’s near side, the men were going through the doorway to the old solar, save for Raulyn stopped in the middle of the hall, saying to a maidservant there, “No. What I want just now is no one in the hall at all until I say differently.”

  The maid curtseyed and left as Raulyn put out a hand to stop Anne going past him, saying, “Anne, no.”

  Avoiding his hand, Anne said only, “Yes,” and went on, into the solar.

  Until the new wing of rooms had been built along the yard, this had been where the family withdrew from the household’s general life to the privacy they now had in the parlor upstairs. It was become Raulyn’s office, used for such business as might not be done in the shop and to keep his records and “For somewhere he gets away from an over-womaned household,” Pernell had once said, smiling. With twilight deepening outside the single window, the men were only shapes in the room’s gathering shadows, with Brother Michael nearest the door, his back to her, making certain no one left. Daved, still flanked by the Naylors, was across the room, facing his foe, while Father Tomas stood alone to one side, looking shrunken and huddled.

  Anne eased sideways from the doorway, keeping behind the friar, letting Raulyn go past her. He did, going to lay Daved’s daggers on his desk beside several account rolls, some pens, and a silver inkpot. Brother Michael started to say something to him but broke off as Dame Frevisse entered with a lighted candle, throwing sudden brightness across the room, and saying as she came, “I took the candle from the servant bringing it. I thought you’d want no one else here.”

  ‘Nor do we want you,“ Brother Michael snapped.

  But Dame Frevisse was already going to light the fat candles waiting on a wrought-iron stand beside the desk. The growing golden light shone on the polished wood of the desk, the chair there, the several heavily locked chests against the walls. Underfoot, the carpet’s crimson, green, and yellow pattern was mostly left to shadows, but the woven tapestry of St. Nicholas, patron saint of merchants, sailors, and children, on one wall was caught into brightness and so were the men’s faces: Daved’s set and hard, all look of a merchant gone from him but something of harsh laughter still glinting there; Father Tomas’ with fear as openly on him as his priest’s gown; the Naylors’ wary, watchful, uncertain yet about what any of this was.

  ‘You.“ Brother Michael pointed at the younger of Dame Frevisse’s two men. ”Get between him and the window. And you,“ at Master Naylor. ”Have your dagger out. If he tries anything sudden, kill him.“

  Anne pressed her hands over her mouth to stop an outcry, her gaze desperately on Daved, willing him to find escape from this as Raulyn protested angrily, “Sir!”

  Done with the candles, Dame Frevisse blew out and laid down the one she had carried and drew aside, against the wall and, like Anne, mostly behind Brother Michael in undoubted hope he would forget she was there, which he well might, his gaze fixed on Daved like a hawk on its prey. But Daved looked less like prey than a hawk in his own right head raised, the candlelight catching deep on the scorn and anger in his dark eyes. He had hidden the fringed cloth under his shirt again, but that was all he had hidden. The courage that had let him dare his game against Christians all these years was bared and shining, and with it the deep-set certainty and pride of who he was. Whatever Christians thought of him, he had no shame that he was Jewish. He had not hidden the cloth again because of shame. He had hidden it to keep it from profane eyes.

  From Christian eyes, Anne thought with a pain under her heart almost worse than her aching fear for him.

  In the desolation of knowing more clearly than ever how much there was about him she did not know and had no hope of understanding, she pressed back against the wall, arms wrapped around herself, as Brother Michael said, first at Raulyn, “What we need is rope. Or, better, chains.” And at Father Tomas, “Stand over there with him.”

  Father Tomas, his voice fear-thinned and shaking, said back, “I am not Jewish. I will not be tried by you as a Jew.”

  ‘This is no trial,“ Daved said, laughter harsh under the words. ”This is an ass of friar pretending to rights he doesn’t have.“

  ‘I’ve have rights over you, heretic,“ Brother Michael said back at him. ”I have the right to hold and question you, to find out the depth of your treachery and heresy, your—“

  ‘To be a heretic,“ Daved said, ”I would have to have been a Christian first. I have never been baptized, never been Christian. Therefore you have no claim on me as heretic.“

  ‘What you are,“ Brother Michael said with cold anger, ”you and all your kind, is a disease in the body of Christendom, to be cleansed by baptism or cut away by force if you refuse to change from your diseased ways.“

  “That is straight against what your own popes have said, one after another, for generations,” Daved returned. And Anne realized he was fighting in the only way left to him. With words. If not with hope. “By your popes’ orders, that you claim to obey, Jews should be left to live in peace. But the dog Dominicans and you Franciscans have decided otherwise, have set to hunting us to the death against the word of your own popes.”

  ‘You were allowed to live among us out of pity for you, blindly clinging to the Old Law, unable to see the light of Christ, yet owed some debt of gratitude because it was from your ways the way of Christ c
ame.“

  “That is not answer to what I said,” Daved shot back at him with scorching cold. “We’re allowed to live among you because we make money for Christian princes.”

  ‘By usury,“ Brother Michael said with cold scorn back at him. ”Bleeding Christians of their wealth to your own foul ends.“

  ‘By loaning money,“ Daved agreed with matching scorn. ”A thing unallowed to Christians, but a thing that Christians need. For how many hundreds of years were we invited—even paid with privileges—to move into kingdoms, princedoms, cities, towns by kings, bishops, and lords? Not out of ’Christian charity‘ or anything like it, no, but so we could make money in ways forbidden to Christians. Money that those kings, bishops, and lords then taxed from us without stint, leaving us hated by those around us and struggling to survive ourselves.“

  ‘You had but to turn Christian to live as cleanly as anyone else,“ Brother Michael said coldly.

  ‘Yes,“ Daved agreed again. ”Save for the small point that by Christian law there are no free Jews. Every Jew is some Christian lord’s property, to be used or even ’given‘ away as a lord’s gift to someone, the way a hound or a field might be handed over for their use and profit. A Jew who turns Christian deprives his lord of a piece of property, and so a Jew who turns Christian forfeits to his lord everything he owns in recompense, to begin his Christian life with nothing. Such is Christian ’mercy‘ and ’charity.‘ He loses all and gains nothing.“

  ‘He gains his soul’s salvation!“ Brother Michael returned sharply.

  ‘He gains poverty, desolation, and the unending suspicion of any Christian who knows his past.“ Daved jerked a nod at Father Tomas. ”Look how readily you want to believe the worst of him for no better reason than that he had a Jewish grandfather.“

  ‘The Jewish taint remains in the blood, generation unto generation. That is proved and known.“