The Murderer's Tale by Murderer's Tale The

itself as her mind had been. But it never was. It tediously clung to its necessities, day in, day out, and insisted that she heed them, too. She had long since learned to make the adjustment from the delight of reaching out toward God’s love, forgetful of the world, to bothering over her body’s demands and boring needs, but she would still rather have not been bothered.
    Just now, she found, her stomach in particular wanted to be heeded. Possibly in the same straits, Dame Claire, smiling, made the sign for breakfast. The habit of silence was strong in both of them, and Frevisse nodded for answer, smiling back.
    They were in time to take bread and ale from the single table set up in the great hall before it was cleared. No benches had been set; no one troubled to sit down over so short a meal. Frevisse and Dame Claire ate standing to one side while the table was taken away and the last lingering folk left. The sun was not yet far enough around to reach the hall’s windows but the light of a bright dawn filled it, and from the sounds in the yard outside there was going to be a riding out to somewhere.
    Curious and with nothing else they should be doing, Frevisse and Dame Claire went that way, finishing their breakfast as they went and giving their drinking bowls to a servant they met in the screens passage on their way to the outer door. Coming out onto the doorstep, they found perhaps a score of horsemen milling in the center of the yard, mounted and ready to leave. Their clothing and the horses’ harnesses were serviceable rather than rich, showing they were bound for hunting, not a casual ride. Frevisse saw John Naylor was with them, and Giles Knyvet, but if Lionel was, she missed him.
    The dawn’s light clouds, underbellies gold from the rising sun, carried eastward on a gentle breeze, were clearing to a pale sky. The morning air was bright and cool, fresh from a small rain in the night. Lady Lovell was standing among her ladies at the yard’s edge on the cobbled walk just beyond the door, watching the riders but apparently aware of all else around her because as Dame Claire and Frevisse came out, she turned to raise her hand to them in welcome. She wore a gown of young green today, the color suited to the spring morning and her rich, dark eyes and pale skin. She looked as if she meant to go riding, too, her veil and wimple more practical and covering than yesterday’s had been, but the horsemen were gathering now behind the huntsman, whatever they had been waiting for finally accomplished, and in a clatter of hooves and eagerness they all rode out through the cobbled gateway, gone in moments, leaving the yard silent and seeming larger.
    “There!” said Lady Lovell. “That’s seen to.” She smiled at Dame Claire and Frevisse. “They’re away to hunt roebuck now it’s come into season again and we’d best wish them luck; the larder is low.” She nodded toward the unfinished west range of buildings where the workmen were already moving among the beginnings of walls and piles of stone. “Feeding them alone is challenging enough, let be the rest of the household.”
    She was cheerful over it; and judging by what Frevisse had seen so far of Minster Lovell and its lady, whatever was needful was probably handled well and in good time. But Dame Claire, having been cellarer at St. Frideswide’s, in charge of its stores and kitchen and aware of the complications of providing for a great many people for a long while, asked, “What did you do through Lent? Do you have to buy the while or are you able to have stores enough?”
    “Two hundred barrels of salt fish in as many different sorts as can be had, bought and brought by Martinmas,” Lady Lovell said. “And hope we’ve laid in spices and have herbs enough to change their taste from one day to the next from Shrovetide on.” When hunting and the eating of flesh had to stop until Easter day. “And bread to balance them. Thank God the harvests have been good