Belle's Song

by K. M. Grant

  My relief was very short-lived. The Master was following the rolling of the paperweight as though mesmerized. I scrutinised the weight more carefully. It was obviously hollow, for as the summoner rolled it the dice rattled, changing numbers: 3, 6, 2. The sequence seemed random to me. That, presumably, was the point. Code has to seem random to those not party to its key. My heart sank again. Yet another betrayal. What more secrets did the Master have? The summoner threw the paperweight up and caught it, but all the while he was as glued to the Master as the Master was to the dice. “I’ll take this as a gift,” the summoner said.

  “I’d much rather you didn’t.” Master Chaucer’s cheeks were twitching.

  “I expect you would, but I like gifts.” The summoner rolled the weight a little more and when he pretended to drop it, the Master’s gasp was audible.

  “Perhaps I could give you something else?” Master Chaucer knotted his hands. He seemed to have forgotten all about the ring.

  “No, I’ll take this.” The summoner stopped rolling the weight and slipped it into his pouch. Other people began to appear. Grinning, the summoner picked up a stray goose feather. “What a productive morning,” he said, and ran the feather over the back of my neck before sauntering toward his breakfast.

  The Master collapsed heavily on the bench.

  “What’s he going to discover now?” I dreaded the answer.

  “Discover?”

  “The dice,” I said with sharp impatience. “The dice! I saw it. Don’t pretend I didn’t.”

  “Oh, that. It means nothing. It’s a time waster.”

  “A time waster?”

  “Yes. When writers get stuck, they like to waste time. I roll the weight and guess what number’ll come up. Sometimes I note the numbers down to see if there’s a pattern.”

  “You mean,” I said slowly, “that it contains no secret.”

  “If it does, it’s beyond me.”

  “But you were so frightened. I could see! And so could the summoner—” I stopped. “Oh!”

  “Oh, indeed, Belle.” The Master managed a ghostly grin. “I certainly was frightened but my wits didn’t entirely desert me. We’ve set the summoner nicely on the wrong track. Now he’ll waste some time.”

  I nearly whooped. But very quickly my insides began to shrivel. It seemed so typical of me, somehow, to endanger my father when I was supposed to be helping him. The summoner would be back. I also had squarely to recognize something else: I was helping Master Chaucer not because his cause was worthy—I’d really no idea if it was worthy or not—but simply because I liked him. We walked slowly together. Before we got to the inn door, the Master set the box down and slid the secret drawer back into its place. “I’m so sorry,” he said, clearly feeling the need to apologize.

  “I’m frightened for my father,” I said miserably. “Do you think the summoner would really hurt him?”

  The Master gave a vague shake of the head. “It would be dishonest to give you false reassurance. He’ll hurt him if he has to.”

  “Why does he hate you so much?” I asked. “It can’t just be because the king likes your poetry and laughed at his singing.”

  “Ambition,” the Master said, closing the box’s lid with a snap. “If the summoner can help the king’s enemies bring the king down, then money, castles, and a title will certainly follow. Nobody will dare laugh then.” He picked up the box. “He believes that exposing me as a spy will increase his chances of becoming a great man because destroying my reputation will immeasurably enhance his own. And so indeed it may. He’s the future, Belle. We’d better get used to it.”

  “I’ll never get used to it,” I said vehemently.

  The Master put the box down again and looked at me very straight. “Listen to me, my dear girl. Despite what you’ve just done for me and despite what you know, you’re not yet committed to the king’s cause. Not at all. You’re still a pilgrim and it’s to your father, not to me or the king or anybody else, that you owe your primary loyalty. Think hard about what you want to do, Belle, and after you’ve thought you must act as you think best.”

  “That’s not fair!” It was hard keeping my voice low. “I don’t know what’s best anymore. I think what you’re doing’s wrong, but I don’t know what’s right.”

  “Few of us really know what’s right,” the Master said. “We just know what we feel is right. What do you feel is right?”

  “It’s easier to say what I feel is wrong. It’s wrong to put my father in jeopardy. It’s wrong to keep secrets from Luke. It’s wrong to betray you.”

  “Indeed. It’s a hard choice you have to make.” He watched me with sorrowful care.

  “But I didn’t choose any of this!” I cried, half angry at myself, half angry with him.

  Now he looked at me more candidly. “If you could choose again, would you choose not to be here?”

  I should have been able to say yes. With my father in the summoner’s sights, that’s what I should have said. But I couldn’t, not honestly. I couldn’t wish I’d never met Luke or Walter. King’s spy or not, I couldn’t wish I hadn’t met the Master himself. A movement caught my eye. The summoner was watching us from an upper window. He was fully dressed and had the paperweight in one hand and something else in the other. I squinted. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but I was pretty sure he was also holding a baby’s rattle, almost certainly the one the mother had lost at the start of our journey. In an odd flash, I saw England under the authority of a man who rejoices in stealing something of no value just because he can. I could see what my father would think of such a man. I shuddered. “I’m with you,” I said to the Master.

  I hadn’t been aware he had been holding his breath before he let it out. “God bless you, child,” he said.

  “He’d better bless Luke,” I said tartly. “I’ve made my own decision but Luke’s had his made for him.” The Master winced. “And no more secrets,” I added. “Do you promise that I’m not going to discover something else you haven’t told me?”

  The Master became very still. A battle was going on inside him. “I can’t promise that,” he said.

  “We need to trust each other!”

  “Do you have secrets, Belle?”

  I thought of my legs. “Yes.”

  “And is it necessary for me to know them?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Nor you mine,” he said.

  “Isn’t that what trust’s all about?”

  Only when he was sure that I wasn’t going to disagree did he pick up his box again and follow me inside.

  At breakfast, I noticed that the king’s ring had gone from his finger. I didn’t think that wise but now I had another problem. With shy confidence generated by the previous day’s happiness, Luke gestured for me to take the empty seat next to him at the table. I had to pretend I hadn’t seen. I couldn’t sit next to him and smile away knowing that the Master was using him as a dupe. If he ever found out, and discovered that I had known all along, he’d hate me, and I found I didn’t like the thought of that. So I perched far away and watched his face fall as Walter, last night’s ache apparently banished, took my place.

  Half an hour later, Walter found me with Dulcie. He’d not forgotten about rebandaging my legs. We found a private corner at the back of the stables. He hummed as he worked and, as he tied the last bandage in place, I tried not to resent the fact that it was so easy being him and so difficult being me. To add to my woes, there was a fatal inevitability in Luke seeing Walter and me coming out of the stables together. When Walter asked Luke if he’d seen his little jeweled knife, Luke shook his head and quickly moved away, as though if we came too close, we might scald him.

  7

  Few, very few indeed, I would enlist

  With those who share the secrets of my science.

  But you shall watch me …

  We set off in bad order. The summoner was lurking. The franklin was bossy. Luke rode alone out in front. The mother traveling in the wagon, whose nam
e nobody seemed to know, was unwell. Sir Knight began some long dirge about the heroism of illness. The mother was not comforted and both her children screamed throughout.

  I rode by myself, one hand on the reins and the other pushing Poppet into my chin. I was upset about Luke and I was worried. If Master Chaucer chose to serve the king, that was one thing. He cared for the king and the king for him. But what did Richard care for me? If my father was in danger, would he help? I doubted it. I put Poppet away and scratched my legs through the bandages. How I missed my pumice stone.

  By late afternoon, unable to stand either my own company or the chitter-chatter of Mistress Midwife and Dame Alison and the constant yapping of Madam Prioress’s wretched dogs, I inevitably gravitated to the solace of Walter. It seemed unfair that everybody else should be happy, so I began to relieve my own ill temper at their expense. “Do you know what’s in that fat friar’s purse, Walter?”

  “Not a clue.” Walter smiled.

  “Pins and bells for curls and girls.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. He makes out he’s so holy but he’ll give any man absolution for a silver penny. Mind you, he’s not as bad as Pardoner Bernard. He tells people that old bit of cloth he carries around is a piece of Our Lady’s veil, and he gets them to pay to touch it when actually it’s a piece of linen cut from a lady’s undergarment, and not a very clean one at that.”

  “I see,” Walter said, his smile a little fixed.

  “As for high-and-mighty know-it-all Merchant Beaverhat, he’s just as bad as the friar and the pardoner, perhaps worse, because he’s clever with it.”

  “Clever?” asked Walter, clearly unhappy at my spitefulness. Perhaps his sister was never spiteful. I didn’t care and, to his great discomfort, spoke more loudly. “He’s shortchanging all the innkeepers on the way to Canterbury because he reckons that if he compounds his sin on the journey, he’ll get more salvation for his money when we arrive.”

  Walter’s face begged me to stop. I didn’t. “As for Dame Alison of the five wedding rings: I think her husbands must have all drowned themselves to get away from her; and cranky Mistress Medic,” my voice was louder still, “keeps her fees low because behind those three teeth, her tongue’s sharp enough to slice off even the biggest wart.”

  There was a snort from behind. I bristled. If anybody was going to criticize me, my tongue could match Mistress Medic’s. The snort came from the Master and it wasn’t altogether disapproving. Nevertheless, I did feel a tinge of shame because both Dame Alison and Mistress Medic were within hearing, something that I’d really known all along, and neither was smiling. Dame Alison was steadfastly turning her rings and Mistress Medic’s faraway look was even more pronounced than usual.

  Without a word to me, Walter dropped behind to speak to her. I should have done so too. I didn’t.

  Master Chaucer took Walter’s place. “You’ve a proper gift for anecdote,” he said, curling and uncurling a strand of Dobs’s mane. “A little raw and self-conscious, but a gift nonetheless. Let me give you a tip, though.” He blinked at me. “Only a fool makes enemies unnecessarily.” It was the mildest of reprimands. It was enough. I hated myself. We rode in silence until we heard Sir Knight cry out, “Take care! It’s not safe to ride alone!”

  Luke had disappeared around a bend in the road. The Master followed my eyes. “Go to him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” said the Master gently. “My business with Luke isn’t yours. Look. In three days we’ll be at Canterbury and after that he’ll be in the cloister. Do you think it makes it better to ignore him?” He raised an eyebrow and the side of his lip kinked. “Tell him a tale or two. A monk needs something to amuse himself during the interminable chanting.”

  “He doesn’t want me near.”

  “Nonsense. He’s unhappy because you unsettle him. You’ve read enough stories to recognize the signs. Don’t make him lonely as well.”

  After a second’s pause, I spurred Dulcie on. Sir Knight shouted a warning when I cantered past. I waved.

  Luke stiffened when Dulcie’s nose appeared beside Picardy’s. I thought he might not speak, but he spoke at once. “Shouldn’t you obey your future father-in-law?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I lied.

  “Do you think I’m stupid as well as blind?”

  “I don’t think you’re either blind or stupid.”

  “Well, you’re wrong.” He crashed his knuckles against his glasses. “I’m both blind and stupid.” He forced himself to be calm. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve no business to judge, and anyway, I knew Walter was in our party when I encouraged you to come on this pilgrimage. Once he’d met you, it was inevitable that you’d fall in love.”

  “The stables—the river,” I said quickly. “It’s not what you think.”

  “No? What is it, then?” The gray eyes waited.

  But I felt shy with Luke in a way I never felt with Walter. I couldn’t tell him about my legs. “Something else,” I said lamely.

  “Yes,” Luke said bitterly. “Something a squire can give you but a celibate monk can’t.”

  “No. I’ve told you. Not that.”

  “A lovers’ secret all the same.”

  I didn’t want to talk about secrets. Picardy began to jog. Luke was going to leave me. I had a sudden inspiration. “You’ve got something to give me, something that nobody else could, something that’s yours entirely.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “Your memory. I mean, anybody can fight and pay compliments, but almost nobody can remember anything worthwhile. How do you do it? I want to learn.”

  “It’s a trick,” he said, after a small pause.

  “Everything’s a trick, Luke.”

  He slowed Picardy to a walk. Our knees touched. “What do you want to remember?” he asked.

  “Words,” I said at once. “Words in books. Can you remember those?”

  “That’s beginner’s stuff.” He polished his glasses. “You make a pattern in your head, perhaps of the first letter of every line. Setting key words to a tune can help, or making up a silly rhyme, or just allowing the shapes to press themselves into your brain.”

  He waited. I think he wanted to see if I was serious or not.

  “Show me,” I said.

  He scrutinized me quite hard before drawing a thin roll of parchment from his belt. “This is what the Master was dictating earlier,” he said. “We could try, I suppose.”

  I smiled straight into his eyes, and the smile he eventually returned was like a gift.

  “In Brittany, or as it then was called, Armorica,” he recited,

  Here was a knight enthralled

  To love, who served his lady with his best

  In many a toilsome enterprise and quest,

  Suffering much for her ere she was won.

  “What happens to him?” I prompted.

  “That’s not the question a memorizer asks,” Luke said, and he was still smiling. “I say ‘iatis’ to myself.”

  I looked at the parchment and nodded. “The first letters.”

  “I look at the page as a picture and hear it as a song. That way, it seems to paint patterns in my head.”

  I concentrated very hard. “In Brittany, something something Armorica.” I stopped. “I can’t do it.”

  “Look again. Forget the words. Hear it as a painted tune: called, enthralled, best, quest, won—”

  I started, then faltered, then started again. He encouraged and guided and in a few minutes, I could recite the whole thing.

  “You won’t recite it in front of the Master.” Luke was suddenly concerned. “It’s just a fragment of something and he doesn’t like his work to be seen before it’s finished.” He put the parchment away.

  “I won’t. It’s our secret.”

  He flushed. “Secrets again.”

  “In the great panoply of secrets, I don’t think this is a big one.” I had an overwhelming desire to tell
him everything about the Master. I couldn’t bear to be deliberately keeping him in the dark. To stifle the temptation, I went back to his text. “The end of the next line will be ‘son’ because that rhymes with ‘won.’ Then either the knight or his lovely lady will be tested by another, and their love will be stretched and almost broken, but then somebody will do something great and everything will turn out well.”

  “Stories are like breathing to you,” Luke said, disconsolate again. “Even Walter with his horsely horse has more natural talent than I have. I’m the Master’s temporary scribe and soon I’ll be a monk. I’m nothing and nobody.” He stopped. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to whine.”

  “You’re not whining,” I told him. The wind had dropped completely and beneath the cloudy sky, the day was hovering above a gauzy twilight. It gave me an idea. “Take off your eyeglasses.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to try something.”

  Nervously, Luke did as I asked. He didn’t entirely trust me and who could blame him? “Will you do exactly as I say?”

  “That depends.”

  “First, forget everything and everybody,” I ordered. “Have you done that?”

  “As far as I can.”

  “Now, what can you see?”

  He gazed ahead intently. “Nothing except the road, and it’s empty.”

  “Yes,” I said patiently, “it’s empty in real life, but look again and ask yourself what you might see.”

  He thought hard. “I might see somebody coming along, I suppose.”

  “In my imagination I already see somebody,” I said.

  “Tell me.”

  “I see a figure on a dark horse, and the horse’s skin shimmers like water at midnight and its eyes are silver. There’s a smell too, of oil and leather and a battle lately fought. Can you see it? Can you smell it?”

  Luke gazed ahead even more intently. “Perhaps. Go on.”

  “The figure is a man, fully armed and helmeted. He has a purpose. I’m not sure yet what it is. Can you hear the hoofbeats?”