The Murderer's Tale Read Online Free PDF

young—there was the possibility of a shapely body under that crow-black gown yet—but Giles judged the taller one had always been too sharp-featured to be worth a man’s bothering with her. Probably they had done nothing worse than talk back to their prioress once too often or maybe slapped another nun when they were quarreling.
    What a waste of women nunhood was.
    And now Lionel was sending Martyn forward to ask them to join them in the shade. Oh, yes, just what was lacking to make the day more dull—pointless talk with useless women and more delay in being on their way.
    Frevisse and Dame Claire stopped where they were and waited while young John Naylor went forward to talk to the man come out from among the travelers under the tree. They looked a prosperous, leisurely group, probably no other than travelers like themselves, but it was always better to be sure and she had come to trust young John’s judgment these past few days. He was nephew to the priory’s steward and only lately come into service at St. Frideswide’s. Frevisse suspected that Domina Alys had chosen him as one of their companions because he was young and likely to be too inexperienced to be much use on the way, but Domina Alys had been wrong in that. Young John was as longheaded and steady as his uncle despite his youth.
    Not that Domina Alys probably much cared one way or other, now that she had them actually out of her way. She had agreed readily to the idea of Dame Claire’s penance, just as Thomasine had said she would, and added to it confession in front of the whole house and a few nights spent in penitential prayer in the church before they actually set out. She had accepted the idea of Frevisse going with her with equal ease, and made extra advantage for herself by appointing Father Henry, the priory’s priest, as their other companion, giving her the chance to bring in, even if only temporarily, one of her nephews as priory priest in his place.
    She had probably thought that Father Henry would be as little use as young John Naylor along the way, since he was not among the quick of wit, and in that she had been more right than about young John; but Father Henry was a good-humored traveler and that counted for much when traveling together so long and slowly as they were going.
    And it was slowly. Frevisse had spent much of her girlhood on the roads with her parents through England, France, the Low Countries, and even once to St. James in Spain. The troubles, habits, and joys of journeying were almost as much a part of her as praying was, and the ways of it came back to her readily whenever there was chance, few and far between as chances had been since she had entered St. Frideswide’s. She expected this small jaunt to give her no particular trouble of mind or body, but it was different with Dame Claire. Her upbringing had been more gentle than Frevisse’s, and she had begun to suffer toward the end of their first day on the road, and suffered worse the next morning when her muscles had had time to stiffen and her feet to swell. But she had her resources, too. The Benedictine Rule required the priory to give shelter and care to travelers, and she had come to know something of the needs of folk afoot and had thought to bring along an ointment that eased soreness when deeply rubbed in on legs and feet. That had helped yesterday, and today had gone fairly well once Dame Claire’s early morning’s stiffness had worn off, though their pace was still slower than Frevisse would have set for herself or in greater need.
    But there was no need for hurry. Dame Claire’s penance was as much in the journey as in anything and there was no set day for their return, though that could be trouble as well as benefit. As Dame Claire had pointed out in their first morning on the road, “If we make haste and come back in too short a while, I’ll be told I scanted my penance. But if we take too long at it, I’ll be held to have been dawdling, frivolous