His arrogance was easy to respond to in kind. Her own voice sharp with apparent impatience and almost as loud as his, Frevisse answered, “If you don’t like what we offer, you’re welcome to be on your way.”
“You don’t offer much at all, leave by whether I like it or not!”
“The Rule requires us to give. Your liking it or not is never mentioned. And if you mean to go on speaking to me, you will do it in a lesser voice!” He might be able to keep this up, but she could not.
He dropped back a pace from her, one hand flying to his breast as if he had taken a blow. Then he bowed. “At your behest, my lady.”
“And courteously,” Frevisse added for good measure.
As if a little curbed, he stood with slightly bent head and said low-voiced, for only her to hear, “How long have all these men, horses, servants been here?”
“Two weeks and looking to be longer,” Frevisse answered. “Why?”
“Not for choice, surely?”
“Our prioress likes their company,” she said bitterly. “The rest of us aren’t asked.”
“And they’re all Godfreys?”
“Godfreys or their followers.”
“Can the priory afford them?”
“We can hardly afford ourselves, the way this year has gone.”
“So how do you manage them?” Joliffe asked.
“Sir Reynold has brought in something toward their keep and I gamer he’s promised more, but we’ve not seen it yet. Why so great an interest?”
“An idle brain invites the devil.”
“And curiosity has killed more than cats.”
Joliffe smiled warmly and leaned toward her. “I’m trying to convey the impression that I’m charming you. Could you look slightly more charmed?”
“This is as charmed as I become.”
“I feared as much. What about this girl?”
“Why are we feigning an argument?”
“Because anyone friendly with you is unlikely to be friended by the Godfreys and it’s the Godfreys who are likely to pay me something, not you. What about the girl? She’s not here willingly, I take it?”
“No.” It was difficult to force questions on him when he was shoving them at her, and now mention of Joice diverted her to a sudden hope. Holding out an eager hand toward him, she asked, “Joliffe, could you take word to her people in Banbury that she’s here? And to our abbot in Northampton of what Domina Alys is letting happen with us? If you could…”
He seized her hand in an apparently ardent grip, as if she had bestowed a favor on him. “Gladly but not soon.”
Frevisse pulled her hand free. “Stop that!”
Joliffe bent his head with a tremulous sigh but went on evenly, “I’ve already said to people I’d stay two nights and maybe more.” He lifted his head enough to look at her with what she supposed he meant to be a melting gaze. The laughter behind it spoiled the effect. “It’s not often a minstrel can find so great an audience in a country priory. All the Godfreys, a herd of masons, and I’m bid tonight to play for your prioress.” He came a step nearer to her, playing his part out for anyone who was watching. “If I go too soon, there might be suspicions I don’t want to risk rousing.”
Frevisse had opened her mouth to ask, “What suspicions?” when a rabble of noise from the gateway distracted them both to look around to where a clot of Sir Reynold’s servants were shoving at what Frevisse first took to be a heap of dirty clothing on the cobbles, until it scrambled onto hands and feet and tried to scuttle away from them, almost succeeding but only because they let him before someone kicked his legs from under him and he went heavily down again.
“Ah,” Joliffe said. “One of the few things we’ve been lacking. A scabrous beggar or a madman.”
Frevisse supposed it was the latter; even beggars were in better condition than that poor creature looked to be. Mostly the mad were poor, harmless creatures, kept and cared for, if not by their relatives, then by the church out of charity. But there were always those who were not kept, either deliberately turned out or else wandering off, making their way-usually a brief way for the most witless ones-by chance and happenstance through a world that could be cruel or kind as fortune and people’s humors took them. Some of them were hardly worse than vague, like strayed dogs in need of feeding and an occasional friendly pat to keep them going. Others lived with their bodies in this world but their minds in places strange and often horrible. Frevisse had encountered enough of both kinds in her childhood on the road with her parents to want nothing to do with any of them, ever. They frightened her, all of them, the greatly mad and the lesser, because madness was a black reft in the reason of God’s world, an all-too-clear reminder of how near hell was to mankind’s soul.
Unfortunately, what she wanted had nothing to do with her duty in the matter, and she and Joliffe moved in the same moment toward the men and their sport. Whomever they had, madman or not, he was in St. Frideswide’s now, and if they thought they had some right to be tormenting him, she knew she had a greater one to stop them.
How she would do it was the problem. The half dozen or so men were well into it now. The open-handed blows at his head, so poorly shielded by his tangled arms, and the kicks at his undefended backside as they tried to make him run again so they could pull him down, would shortly turn more vicious. He was a new game to be played and they were bored enough not to give him up easily, to her or anyone.
Joliffe, laughing, shoved in among them, some of their blows and kicks finding him instead of the madman as he fended them off, exclaiming, “Here now! What are you doing to my servant?”
The men fell back. “Your servant?” one of them protested. Another pointed disbelievingly at the dirty, crouching thing at their feet. “That?”
“My servant,” Joliffe insisted, and laid a proprietary hand on the madman’s filthy head. “I pay him good wages for the privilege of beating him. Why should you do it for free?”
“That’s not your servant,” someone scoffed.
“It is!” Joliffe sounded immensely offended anyone could doubt it. “I sent him on ahead of me to ready my lodgings.”
“But you were here first!”
“Ah.” Joliffe held up an admonitory hand. “Do you expect things to make sense between a madman and a fool?”
“Not when it’s so hard to tell one from the other,” Frevisse said, cold-voiced with apparently offended authority. “Are you all quite finished cluttering up this gateway?”
Her fear just then was not for the madman but for Joliffe. He had come between the men and their game and they could as easily turn on him as not. Some of them looked already near to doing it, preferring their own kind of jest to his, and what she would do then she did not know.
Behind her, curious, Benet asked, “So why are they cluttering your gateway?”
“For this!” Joliffe made a dramatic gesture toward the huddled madman.
“For that?” Benet came nearer to take a closer look, first at the madman, then, apparently deeply puzzled, around at the men. “No, I don’t think they’d be cluttering a gateway for that. I think they were just going by and it was in their way.”
“Oh!” Joliffe swept off his cap and bowed while spinning around on one foot, making apology to them all. “I’m sorry. I mistook your purposes. I’m sorry she mistook your purposes.” He pointed at Frevisse as if the whole thing, if they really thought about it, were probably her fault.
“Then since that’s straightened out, we’ll be going and leave that”-Benet nodded dismissively at the madman- “to you.” He dropped an arm across the shoulders of the man nearest him and strolled away, taking the man with him, the others following, some a little confusedly as if not sure what had happened to their sport, others sauntering to show they’d finished there anyway and did not care, others grumbling below their breath and with an unfriendly glance or two, until Joliffe called after them, “How, if for more apology, I sing you a song at supper tonight? About the madman and the nun!”