The Illuminator by Brenda Rickman Vantrease Read Free Book Online

of the sacraments pending a contribution to his cause. She thought bitterly of her ruby brooch and her mother’s pearls. But verity aside, this was a dangerous document to have in one’s possession. Proof of heresy. The priest’s sly smile slid into her mind.
    She’d heard talk before. She knew that Wycliffe had followers not only within the lower classes but among some nobles as well—the presence of this tract among Roderick’s possessions was proof—but for different reasons. It wasn’t moral outrage that wooed John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster, and his conniving courtiers to Wycliffe’s call for reformation. As regent to the young King Richard, the duke would be jealous of the pope’s authority over civil matters, would want such authority for the crown. Power and wealth: the Church embraced these twin whores. And the crown lusted for them. John of Gaunt saw Wycliffe and his following as a means of plundering the Church’s bulging treasury. But that wasn’t her concern. Her concern was more personal. The duke of Lancaster had allied himself withWycliffe and Roderick had tied himself to the duke, leaving her and her sons on a ship floundering in the shallows, drifting toward a rocky shore.
    She set a torch to the parchment and watched it curl and blacken in the cold grate. Roderick had been a fool to embroil himself in royal intrigue. Who knew which way the political winds would blow? Best to keep her own council in matters of religion and politics—a beast with two heads. If only her husband had been wise enough to do the same.
    As she closed the lid on the heavy clothing chest, she took comfort in remembering the two gold sovereigns the abbot had given her as surety for her new lodger. More than the Holy Scriptures was being enriched by the illuminator’s art. This new alliance would give her much-needed revenue and make good her claim of powerful friends.
    Anything to keep that hateful money-grubbing priest at bay.

    By late afternoon, the room was cleared of her late husband’s belongings. Kathryn surveyed the space with a calculating eye. The great four-poster with its velvet hangings might give the humble colorist illusions of grandeur. But all in all, it was a room well suited for his purpose—well lighted with that singular light born in the North Sea, sometimes golden, riding in the sun’s chariot, and sometimes silver, spilling watery luminance over everything it touched. The pellucid light even penetrated into the adjacent sitting room, where she had placed a daybed for the daughter.
    She closed the chest and looked up as Glynis entered the room, bobbing her perfunctory curtsy.
    â€œDid you send for me, milady?”
    â€œI need you to help me move the writing desk under the window. The illuminator will need the light. And did you change the ticking in the mattress?”
    â€œYes, milady. Just like you said. I put fresh goose-down in milord’s mattress and Agnes is stitching a new straw mattress for the daybed.”
    â€œGood.” But Lady Kathryn was rethinking the straw mattress. Suppose the girl was spoiled and put on airs? She leaned her tall frame against the edge of the oversize desk and strained, nodding curtly at Glynis to do the same.
    Again the half-curtsy. “Beggin’ milady’s pardon, but shouldn’t we get some help to move this?” the girl asked in her thick North Country brogue.“I’ll fetch Master Alfred. It would be naught to the likes of him. He has his father’s manly build,” she said eagerly.
    The ghost of yesterday’s pain stirred in Kathryn’s head as she watched the girl skip away a little too merrily, obviously more on her mind than her mistress’s poor back. Glynis was a good worker. Kathryn would hate to let her go because of a swollen belly. God knew she’d lost enough maids to Roderick’s whoring. Alfred was only fifteen, but already she’d