“Father Gelfridus,” said Crispin again. This time the man raised his head and looked at him, yet his eyes remained unfocused and he could have very well been looking past him. Crispin went to the priest and touched his sleeve. “Father,” he said in a softer tone. “What is amiss?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. What may I do for you, Master Crispin?”
“My apprentice would be shriven, sir.”
“Shriven?” he said vaguely, turning his face toward Jack. “Indeed. Everyone seems to wish to be shriven today.”
“Oh?”
The look of the priest’s face grew stricken and his cheek paler. “Yes.”
Crispin glanced up the stairs. “Did Sir Philip make confession, Father?”
“Yes, as I said. Everyone in the inn seems to have done so today.” He wiped the sprinkling of sweat from his upper lip.
“And what exactly did he confess?”
Awakened at last, Gelfridus drew himself up. “Sir! I am not at liberty to divulge such matters. It is the sacramental seal. Sub Rosa. A priest may never reveal what has been confessed to him.”
Dame Marguerite entered the room and stopped when she spied the strange tableau of Jack, Crispin, and Gelfridus. She looked from one to the other, bowed to the priest, and trudged carefully up the stairs. Gelfridus watched her go.
“A murderer’s confession would expedite matters considerably,” urged Crispin, but Gelfridus tried to get away.
“No. Much as I would like to help you … no! I cannot. My vows forbid it.”
“Father-”
“Master Crispin! You, who have suffered greatly from your sins, must surely be aware that others strive to shield themselves from that same mischief.”
He scowled and drew back. “I am reminded daily of my sins, Father. I live with their consequence forevermore.”
“There now. You would not wish the same fate to me, hmm? We will discuss it no more.” He looked at Jack. “You will be shriven, young man?”
Jack glared. “It would seem so. That’s twice today. It’ll be bread and water for me again. I’ll not see meat for a fortnight!”
“But your soul will be the better for it,” said Gelfridus as if by rote. He took Jack’s shoulder and steered him to a quiet corner.
Crispin walked to the staircase and looked up into its shadows. That damnable murderer confessed, and he was helpless to do anything about it! If only this priest were a weaker man-but no. Here he was wishing sin on another. Gelfridus was right. Hadn’t he sinned enough?
He cast a glance at Jack sourly confessing to the priest who shielded his face in the cage of his fingers.
The priest put him in mind of Dame Marguerite and he suddenly remembered the solitary bead of her rosary still couched within his purse. The rosary. Something about it bothered him. He scarce had time to consider that night, what with Geoffrey in peril, the archbishop breathing down his neck, Sir Philip’s treachery, and the evil he knew that the Summoner and Pardoner were getting up to.
All these worrisome thoughts clawed at his mind and they must have played on his face, for when Alyson stepped into the hall his expression seemed to stop her and she hurried toward him. “Crispin,” she said in a quiet tone. “What is amiss? You seem greatly troubled.”
He cast a curt glance at Jack, begrudgingly confessing, and turned away. “We must solve this inquiry as soon as possible and get free of this place, or it will surely destroy us.”
She touched his arm and silently asked again. He moved away from the priest and the boy. “I am at a loss, Alyson. What would make a boy desire a nun, and a nun a boy, especially under such circumstances as these?”
She looked back over her shoulder at Jack. “Young Master Tucker and our Dame Marguerite? By Saint Catherine!”
“I am no prude. Certainly you must know that.” She looked as if she would pull a face but thought better of it. He sighed. “And yet, such a thing turns my stomach. Is Jack such a paramour? Is she so willing to sin?”
“Peace, Crispin. What did you catch them at?” She pulled him back to the hearth and eased him into a chair.
“A kiss. And yet one kiss easily leads to another, and another, and then on to other sin.”
“True. Judas did kiss Christ and from that received his everlasting damnation. But should it be so for young Jack?”
“I cannot abide it, Alyson. What would make so chaste a woman concede to it? Could it be the shock of the murder?”
“Ah me. I do not know. As you might have surmised, I am not a woman to succumb so easily to shock. But a frail thing like Marguerite? I do not know. Her past would seem to have prepared her.”
“Yes. So you said. Her mother was with child when she came to the priory and Marguerite herself is a bastard. Was she treated ill by the Prioress as well?”
“She never said so. No, I would think not. She was glad to become a nun. She has said this repeatedly.”
“Her surname is Bereham? Any relation to Barham? Does her mother hail from these parts?”
“Yes. So she said. But her mother is dead. I expect that became part of her decision to take the veil.”
“A difficult life.”
“Possibly. But look at me.” She planted her hands on her wide hips. “I started out as a simple merchant’s servant and married my master. The more I married the wealthier I became. And now they call me a lady, or near like it. It is a sore world indeed when servants become masters and masters servants.”
“Indeed. How well I know it.”
She blushed. “Bless me. Forgive my wayward tongue. I did not mean to speak ill of you.”
He nodded and stared into the flames. “I know. Do not apologize.”
She took his hand and he squeezed the warmth of her flesh in his. It did comfort him.
“She could seek solace from her family, if she knows them,” he said. “But then again, they cast her mother out, so that is unlikely. She wishes to return to her priory.”
“Oh aye,” she said. “She was emphatic about that. Poor soul. It is the only home she knows.”
He glanced over at Jack who had just finished with Gelfridus. Jack shot him a bitter look and shuffled up the stairs. “Jesu, but I suddenly feel old.”
“Surely you cannot mean dalliance is only for the young?”
“No. But all this.” He gestured loosely, aimlessly. “I am at a loss to understand it.”
“Crispin Guest. Have you never taken a virgin’s flower?”
For some unaccountable reason, he blushed. “Er, no. What has that to do with-”
“Then you cannot know the appeal to the young man. He can scarce be much of a man. Have you sat the boy down to discuss it with him?”
“Discuss it? Discuss what?”
“Blessed Mary and Joseph! Why! The ways of love! The boy has no one else to advise him, no father, brother, or uncle. That leaves you for the task.”
Crispin shrank back. “Me? But I don’t-”
“You cannot tell me you are not experienced enough to discuss such with him, for I will avow otherwise.” She smiled and elbowed him.
His shoulders slumped. God’s blood! He never reckoned on something like this. He’d almost rather face the torturers again. Well, if it’s to be done he might as well get to it. Rubbing his face with a calloused hand, he rose. “Very well, Alyson. You have shamed me to it. God help me.”
“God keep you,” she said, smiling after him.
Crispin opened the door to his chamber slowly. Jack sat by the hearth, sewing a patch on one of Crispin’s stockings. He didn’t look up but scooted on his stool closer to the firelight. Sighing, Crispin closed the door, and sat on his bed. He watched Jack for a long time, saying nothing, letting the crackle of flames do the talking for him, until he knew he must speak. “Jack,” he said gently.
“There’s no need,” Jack said tightly. “I done what you told me, and I shrived m’self. I’ll do me penance and be done with it. Happy?”