The Service of the Dead

Kate sat before the kitchen fire wrapped in Berend’s blanket, sipping watered wine and watching him knead bread. Just being in his presence comforted her. His strength was not only in his powerful body, but also his quiet clarity.

She had come out to the kitchen after a panoply of nightmares involving hangings and unmarked graves – Jennet’s presence had not been enough to calm her. She had stoked the fire, hoping not to wake Berend, wanting simply to be here and know he was just beyond the carved wooden screen; but he had sensed her presence, and her need, and asked what was on her mind.

“That man, whoever he was, unshriven, buried without prayers–”

“Your cousin may have said a prayer over him.” Berend had risen, taken her damp cloak, and put it near the fire to dry, wrapping her in a blanket warmed by his body.

“His praying over the dead man is not the same as a priest’s doing so. And someone surely waits for him. They will wait and wait.”

Berend had added a few logs to the fire and warmed some wine, spiced it, poured them each a cup. After kneading the rising bread dough he’d begun before retiring, he settled down beside her. Wearily she leaned against him. Though he wore only his linen tunic and leggings, he radiated warmth.

“This trouble between King Richard and his cousin Henry, how did it become our trouble?” she asked into the silence.

A log shifted, giving off a shower of sparks as it settled.

“Our king’s quicksilver moods worry both the nobles and the merchants, eh? He is unpredictable. No one feels safe.”

“If Duke Henry returns to claim the throne, will the nobles side with him?”

“I pray he has the wisdom to return to help his cousin, not overthrow him. Such an act would unsettle the kingdom for generations.”

“I fear you waste your prayers,” said Kate. “Duke Henry knows his cousin will take advice as treason. He will not make that mistake twice.”

“Apparently Lord Kirkby hopes that he will. But I fear you are right.” Berend stroked Kate’s hair. “And I fear I’ve been small comfort. Forgive me.”

“I prefer truth, Berend. That is why I trust you over all men.”

So this was how it would be, factions circling each other, everyone suspect. For generations. As it had been up on the border. Well, she had been trained for it. That was a blessing. Kate rose now and opened the shutters on the window that overlooked the yard. “It is almost dawn.”

Berend glanced up, nodded. “And a busy day for you. Will you invite Margery Kirkby to dine with you while she is in York?”

“Are you asking whether you will have the opportunity to prepare a feast? I hope so.”

Berend grinned, and as he rose and returned to kneading the dough, he began to hum.

The draft from the window awakened Lille and Ghent, who had been sleeping beneath the table where Berend was working. Strange how the thump of the dough in the bowl did not wake them, but the draft did, despite all their fur. They stretched and padded over to the door in expectation. Kate stepped into Geoff’s boots, picked up her cloak, and opened the door. “Bless you, Berend. Thank you.” She stepped out onto the snow, her booted feet breaking the top layer of ice. Gingerly she made her way across the garden in Geoff’s too-large boots.

“You’re right, you know, just like on the border. Be vigilant, Kate.”

“I am, Geoff.”

In the hall, Jennet glanced up from the hearth, where she was stoking the fire.

“Bad dreams?”

Kate nodded. “I’ve left Lille and Ghent outside. Fetch some ale for both of us before you come to dress me. And let them back into the kitchen to break their fast.”

Back up in her bedchamber Kate threw open the shutters. The soft light of dawn spread across the sky, silver tinged with rose, gradually reddening. She stood there long enough to witness the sun rising over the snowy rooftops and the bulk of York Castle to the east, setting the wintry city aglow. Even the bare branches wore sparkling coats of white.

“Do you think the snowfall will delay Lady Margery?” Jennet asked from the doorway.

“I doubt it. If her mission is important enough to bring her north in winter, she will be impatient with anyone or anything that threatens to delay her.” Kate smiled to think of Margery Kirkby. She had been so preoccupied with her immediate troubles she had forgotten how much she had enjoyed the woman’s company on her previous visit. “I should wear something bright today.”

Jennet grinned. “Your red wool gown with the dark gold surcoat.”

While they fussed over Kate’s dress, Marie woke and stomped through the room to close the shutters. “I’m freezing. Is that what you want? What is wrong with you? Come dress me, Jennet.”

Kate glanced over her shoulder at the petulant girl. “Perhaps I should sprinkle angelica on my threshold to protect myself from demons.”

Marie made a face.

“Jennet will assist you when she is finished here, and not a moment sooner.”

“Witch.” Marie stomped her foot, then crawled into Kate’s bed, burrowing down beneath the bedclothes.

“You let her speak to you in that way, she will be a shrew all her life.”

“So be it.” Kate had no time to dance the dance with Marie. She let her lie there and stew until Jennet had teased out the last tangle in Kate’s hair and gathered it into a gold and silver crispinette. “Come out now,” Kate called to Marie. “Time to dress.” She lifted the covers to discover the girl softly snoring.

“I will see them to school and then join you at the guesthouse.”

“Bless you, Jennet.”

Despite the crisp beauty of the morning, Kate moved through the city preoccupied with questions and uneasy with secrets and worry, grateful that Lille and Ghent tugged on their leads now and then, reminding her to glance up and smile at passersby. It would not do to start rumors with her dour expression. No one must guess that her thoughts were out beyond Bootham Bar with the corpse of a man unshriven, wondering what had happened and what trouble was yet to come. And whether her neighbor’s warning had anything to do with the death in the guesthouse.

As she crossed Castlegate with Lille and Ghent for their morning run, Kate was hailed by her neighbor and partner, Thomas Holme.

“We had trespassers in the night, Dame Katherine. One of my servants saw a pair trying the doors of my outbuildings. He said they came down the alleyway. I mean to keep a lit lantern there for a while, to discourage them.”

“Lille and Ghent have been edgy several mornings. I thought it nothing, but now I wonder. Did your servant see them well enough to recognize them again?”

“No. He’d gone out to the midden without a light, the daft one. He guesses that one was a man and the other either a small woman or a child.”

That description suggested poor wayfarers seeking a warm place in which to sleep, nothing to do with her trouble. But Kate thanked Thomas for the warning, and for thinking of the lantern in the alley.

At the guesthouse on High Petergate she found Griselde anxiously discussing with her husband a fresh discovery: outside damage to one of the shutters in the window of the main bedchamber, and a piece of cloth caught in the splintered wood that she believed to be from the dress Alice had been wearing. Had Alice managed to escape out the window onto the landing? Or had there been a struggle out there?

“I slept through it all, Mistress Clifford. I cannot be trusted.”

“Beating your breast is of no help to me, Griselde. Now you understand why I have such clear rules. And I know that you require a manservant under your roof at night at all times.”