Free The Bishop’s Tale by Margaret Frazer Page A

“Don’t look so horrified, Dame Frevisse. Almost anyone who’s been around Sir Clement more than half a day has heard him say that.”
     
    “But it’s blasphemy, daring God that way! And to do it so casually—”
     
    “But it’s dangerous only if he’s wrong, and Sir Clement never believes he’s wrong.”
     
    “What of the poor girl, caught in the middle of all that? How long until she comes of age and is rid of him?”
     
    “Lady Anne is as vulnerable as a hedgehog,” Robert said without malice. “All soft eyes and gentle ways and a thousand spines. Whichever of them marries her, he won’t have as lovely a time of it as he thinks he will.”
     
    He was moving away as he said it, and gone too far for Frevisse to ask who besides Guy wanted to marry the lady. But it was hardly a difficult guess. The angry moments outside the chapel had revealed Lady Anne’s relationship with Guy; and by his fury it would be no surprise if Sir Clement were interested in marriage with her, as well. Of course he had the upper hand in the matter because while she was his ward he controlled her marriage. He could not, by law, force her to marry against her will, but the law also provided severe penalties for her if she refused a reasonable match. And there were subtler ways than the law to make her life a hell and bring her to his will, if he chose to take it that far.
     
    Frevisse took a deep draught of the wine. Her head was surely tightening itself into a headache, and there was at least another hour left to this feast. She regarded her illusion pear and the dish of peas with distaste; she was used to far simpler food at St. Frideswide’s and had already eaten more meat than would usually come her way in a week. Later her stomach would certainly have something to say about the rich assault she had made on it.
     
    There was another commotion from where Sir Clement sat, and people were again drawing rapidly away from him, this time Guy and Lady Anne among them, so that very suddenly Sir Clement was alone, still seated but bent forward toward the table with both hands clutching at its edge as, red-faced with effort, he strangled for breath.
     
    “Well!” said the abbot. “Perhaps God’s grown as tired of him as the rest of us have and decided to judge him after all.”
     
    Chapter 8
     
    After the first moment of shock, the hall seethed into chaos, with some shouting, a few screams, and much exclaiming. People rose to their feet, some trying to pull farther away from Sir Clement, others crowding toward him. A few climbed onto benches, craning for a chance to see, and fragments of prayers rose among the exclamations, inquiries, and frenzied chatter. Sir Clement was blocked from Frevisse’s view, but like the abbot, she kept her seat, knowing futility when she saw it; even with the added height the dais gave to the high table, she would see nothing if she stood. There was nothing she could do at this distance, no way to get through the turmoil to Sir Clement. But she crossed herself and began a fervent prayer for him, because he was clearly in God’s hands now and for him especially that must be a terrifying place. Very rarely was God’s judgment seen so clearly, swift and sure, in this world. With that fear on her, she added a prayer of acceptance of his will, because God forbid she contradict him in his judgment, lest in another way she be as guilty as Sir Clement.
     
    Beside her, she noticed, the abbot was deep into passionate prayer of his own.
     
    Down the hall some sort of order was being forced. People shifted back so that a few men—mostly servants, but Sir Philip among them—could help Sir Clement to his feet and away from the table. He was bent far over, still strangling for breath, his fists pressed hard against his chest. Crying, “Make way!” the men holding him up half led, half carried him from the hall. A momentary silence followed them, but when they were gone the babble of wonder and alarm began