A Play of Piety Read Free Page B

anything about how much he now knew about the reading and writing of ciphers and of a powerful bishop’s net of spies and “privy friends” spread across England and beyond. Instead, groping quickly among all the lessons he had been put through these past months, he came up with, “My skill at lute and recorder are somewhat more than they were, anyway.”
    In-held laughter creased the corners of Basset’s eyes. “The lute and recorder? That’s what you were away to learn?”
    “Among other things,” Joliffe said, weighting the words a little.
    “Ah. Other things,” Basset echoed and let them go, as if understanding Joliffe was not going to tell him and that probably he would be better not knowing. “Well, I’ll leave it to Piers and Ellis to make rude comment about your supposedly bettered skills that way. We can make use of them anyway when we’re back . . .” He fumbled, then recovered control of his thoughts and voice. “When we’re back on the road again.” His voice fell lower again. “Someone knew where we were, to tell you.”
    Joliffe nodded agreement.
    “Are we wanted for anything?” The company’s skills had been called to the bishop’s use last year, and there was nothing to say they would not be again.
    “No,” Joliffe said, glad that he could, but he in fairness had to add, “Not yet.” Then he asked, “What reason do we have for my being gone from the company and now coming here? Or am I to be a full surprise to these folk?”
    “They know one of our company had gone off on some private matter of his own, to do with family, we think. Now you’ve found us again. That’s all.”
    Joliffe nodded approval of that. Tell enough but not too much and never more than need be—that had been one of the lessons in his just-past “schooling,” but also one that the players had long since learned for themselves. Ever on the move from place to place, landless and for many years lordless, they were usually welcomed for their skills wherever they went, but were always suspect as folk who did not belong anywhere. That had changed for the better when Lord Lovell had made them his company, with the right to wear his colors and carry his letters of protection, but the old habits of wariness—of keeping themselves to themselves—were still with them and likely always would be, because they would go on being strangers, not belonging to anywhere through which they passed. Which raised questions about this place they could not leave until Basset was healed, and Joliffe asked, “How is it here? Any trouble?”
    Basset, more than anyone, understood the levels of questioning behind those plain ones and answered, “This is a good place. We’ve been treated well.” He shifted, stretching himself out on the bed again, a small groan betraying the effort’s pain as he settled against the pillows before going on. “There’s some better than others, just like anywhere, but on the whole, it’s a good place.”
    A flicker of laughter behind Basset’s words made Joliffe wonder with light wariness what was not being said, but only said himself, jibing a little, “So here you are, Basset, sitting proud and prettily. What of the others?”
    Basset settled himself more comfortably on the pillows and folded hands on his stomach in a way that Joliffe could only call self-satisfied. “Happily, it’s harvest time. There’s always need for more hands at harvest time. Ellis and Gil are doing fieldwork . . .”
    “Ellis must be hating that,” Joliffe said with a grin.
    “Don’t grin, my lad. You’ll likely find yourself there tomorrow,” Basset warned. “And don’t think Piers will let you take over from him. He has Tisbe in charge. We’ve hired her out to pull one of the harvest wains, with him to lead her to make sure too much isn’t asked of her.”
    Seeing that he indeed was unlikely to wrest that fairly easy work from Piers, Joliffe resigned himself to the likelihood he would be bent-backed under