The Bishop's Tale

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The room was in darkness except for thecandles burning at the head of the bed and a gray line of thindaylight along the edge of the closely shuttered windows. Thecoals in the brazier in the corner had burned too low even to glow,though the room was still thickly warm with their heat and thecrowding of people who had been there.

Now there were only two men, and one of themwas dying.

Thomas Chaucer lay motionless in the widebed, raised a little on his pillows. It was a rich bed, withthe glint of gold threads in the embroidered coverlet and hung withpattern-woven curtains. And what could be seen of the room inthe small reach of the candlelight was equally rich, thefurnishings deeply carved, the ceiling beams painted in twinedvines and singing birds. Now, for this occasion, one of thechests along the wall was covered with a white cloth and set outfor priestly matters. Between two stately burning beeswaxcandles were a small vessel of sacred oil, another of holy water,and a golden box for the consecrated wafers. Cardinal BishopBeaufort of Winchester, tall beyond the ordinary and seeming moreso in his furred, scarlet gown and in the low light, moved from thechest to stand beside the bed again. His voice moved richly,surely, through the Latin words.

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