Without a Trace

by Mel Starr

  “You go to the church for mass,” Kate said. “I wish to remain with my father.”

  Caxton heard, and had enough strength to reply. “Nay. You must pray for my soul.”

  We left Caxton to rest upon his bed and with Bessie and John walked Church View Street to St. Beornwald’s. Kate was silent until we came to the lych gate. The structure reminded her of its purpose. “Shall we send for Father Thomas soon?” she said.

  “Aye. Soon.”

  “Today?”

  “When the mass is finished we will see how your father fares.”

  He did not fare well. Each breath seemed it might be his last. Kate had prepared to make a leach lombard for our dinner but her mind was upon other matters. Adela did not attend her work on Sunday, to assist with our dinner, so I told Kate we would make our dinner of maslin loaves and ale, and there was a small portion of honeyed butter which pleased Bessie. And me.

  After the brief meal I went again to my father-in-law’s chamber. I found him asleep, his breathing shallow. More so than an hour past. It was time to send for Father Thomas.

  I told Kate I was off to the priest’s house. I found the priest at his dinner, licking the grease of a roasted capon from his fingers. When I told him of my mission he stood, called for his clerk, then went to a closet where he withdrew surplice and stole, and a small box containing the blessed sacrament.

  The clerk led the way when we departed the priest’s house, ringing a small bell. All who heard it peered from open doors along our path, and knew what the procession portended.

  Father Thomas attempted to ask the seven interrogations but Caxton was insensible. The priest drew a small vial from a pouch fixed to his belt and from it took a drop of oil with which he anointed the dying man. He next took a wafer, placed it upon Caxton’s tongue, and spoke the paternoster.

  There was no more to be done, but to wait.

  “I will send Odo to ring the passing bell,” Father Thomas said.

  The clerk bowed, acknowledging his obligation, and the priest and clerk departed. Minutes later I heard the bell of St. Beornwald’s Church toll three times. Then a pause. Then the bell sounded three times again.

  Chapter 16

  There would be no journey to Oxford on Monday. If I traveled there, ’twas in my mind to remain as many days as would be needed to find and follow Martyn de Wenlock as he went about his business. I felt certain that if Lady Philippa was in or near to Oxford, and the scholar knew of it, seeing her would be part of that business.

  But I could not leave my Kate to deal alone with her dying father. I told her that I must visit the castle but would return anon.

  I did not return so swiftly as I might have. I found Arthur and Uctred and told them our journey to Oxford would be delayed, and why. Ribs and ear would have a few more days to mend. Then, upon my return to Galen House I stopped on the bridge over Shill Brook to study the flowing stream.

  A leaf passed under my gaze, drifting south with the current. How many hours or days would pass, I wondered, ’til the leaf joined the Thames? And how many more days ’til it passed under London Bridge? If it did not sink first.

  What would happen while the leaf continued its journey? Would my father-in-law die? Likely. Would I find Lady Philippa? If the past points the way to the future that seemed unlikely. I had wasted many days prowling about Coscote and Didcot. How many more days would I squander in a quest for a lady who could not be found?

  When I returned to Galen House I found Kate tending her largest iron pot upon the hearth. She was stirring the contents with a stick long enough that she could stand away from the heat, but her face was beaded with perspiration. I came close and did not need to ask her work. The pot was two-thirds filled with a black liquid and a bundle of cloth. Linen, I thought. Kate had pounded the oak galls fine and was now boiling a shroud in the black solution produced when galls are soaked in water. Here was Robert Caxton’s funeral shroud.

  Kate glanced toward me as I entered and I saw that the moisture upon her face was not all due to the heat of her work. Tears had left tracks upon her reddened cheeks. As I watched she used the stick to wind the black-stained cloth to a bundle, then lifted it from the pot. She allowed it to drain, then with Adela, who had learned from the passing bell that her aid might be needed, quickly took the bundle out through the kitchen door to the toft. There she and the maid stretched the cloth upon a bush to dry.

  Adela busied herself in the kitchen, emptying the pot of oak gall solution, while Kate washed as much of the black stain from her fingers as she could, then gathered up John and went to sit by her father’s bedside. I had drawn a bench to the chamber and ’twas large enough for two. Or three. Bessie had watched this day’s activities with wide eyes. Now she crawled between us and sat silently. Her usual exuberance had vanished.

  Adela prepared a dish of pease pottage for our supper, and as Kate and I had consumed only a loaf for our dinner, and not much of that, we ate with more enthusiasm than was reflected in our faces. Kate was eager to return to her father, so gobbled her bowl of pottage and returned to his chamber. She would be there, she said, if he awoke. He must not find himself alone upon his deathbed.

  Adela took Bessie and John to their beds, then bade us “Good night” and departed for her parents’ house in the Weald while there was yet enough light for her to see her way.

  When darkness came to Galen House I lit a cresset and placed it upon a stand in Caxton’s chamber. Kate and I sat silently in the dim room, listening to her father’s breathing. In the silence of the night there was no other sound. It seemed to me that the breaths were becoming farther apart. I was about to mention this to Kate when the sound stopped and although I waited for Caxton’s breathing to resume, it did not.

  Kate’s head fell upon my shoulder and I felt and heard her sobs.

  “He is with the Lord Christ now,” I said.

  “What of purgatory?” she said through her tears.

  I had been reluctant to share my views of purgatory with Kate, or anyone else for that matter, for fear of outraging priests and archdeacons and bishops, as I once did. If no such place awaits those who die in faith then there is no reason for those who survive the dead to pay clerics to pray for their souls and release the dead sooner from such a terrible place. I did not believe Kate would speak intentionally to others of my views, but a word spoken carelessly could create much trouble. A man who questions purgatory might reduce a bishop’s income. So far as the bishop would be concerned, such a man would be a heretic. Although nowhere in Holy Writ is such a place as purgatory mentioned.

  Perhaps I should not write such words. Well, no matter. I do not put thoughts to parchment for the entertainment of others. When I complete the tale of Lady Philippa Molyns – if I ever do – I will lock the parchment away in my chest. Mayhap Bessie or John will someday read of my views. I pray that, if they agree with their father, they will also be silent.

  I left my Kate and walked the short distance to Father Thomas’s vicarage. The house was dark, but after a few minutes of pounding upon the door the clerk opened to me. I told him my father-in-law was dead and he should ring the passing bell again. Shortly after I returned to Galen House I heard the bell of St. Beornwald’s Church ring out over Bampton’s sleeping rooftops.

  Kate had dried her tears and composed herself when I returned. I led her from the corpse and chamber, and told her she must seek our bed.

  “Tomorrow and the next day will be busy,” I said. “You must rest.”

  She said nothing, but did not resist when I took her arm and led her to the stairs. We went to our bed but sleep did not come soon to Kate. I know this because I lay awake and knew she was likewise unable to find Morpheus. ’Twas near dawn, a faint light at the windows, before Kate’s breathing became steady and told me she slept. I must then also have fallen to sleep, for the next thing I remember was John wailing to break his fast, the windows glowing softly with the light of a new day.

  Adela helped Kate wash Ca
xton’s corpse and stitch it into the shroud, which was now dry. Adela prepared a roasted capon for our dinner. I was pleased to see Kate consume a reasonable portion, along with half a barley loaf.

  Robert Grosseteste has said that drunkenness and merriment at a wake are disrespectful of the dead. I agree, as does Kate. So from Matilda Hugill, one of Bampton’s alewives, I purchased but four ewers of ale, and from the baker I collected five of his best wheaten loaves. We had at Galen House a fair supply of parsley butter.

  Perhaps some who gathered that evening at Galen House for Robert Caxton’s wake thought me parsimonious. They received slices of wheaten loaf with parsley butter and ale. Most, when they saw there would be no foolishness attending the death, stayed only long enough to commiserate with Kate, then made their way home through darkening streets. John Fothergill was the only participant to overindulge with Matilda’s ale, but made no complaint when I gently steered him through Galen House’s front door and set him reeling off toward his home on Bushy Row.

  The funeral was Tuesday morning. I had hired Arthur, Uctred, and two other of Lord Gilbert’s grooms to carry the pallet upon which the earthly remains of Robert Caxton would be conveyed to St. Beornwald’s Church. Bampton’s three priests, Fathers Thomas, Simon, and Ralph, arrived to lead the brief procession from Galen House to the church, and many of Kate’s friends were milling about before the door.

  A moment later I saw Lord Gilbert stride from the corner of Bridge Street. He had chosen to honor Kate by being present at her father’s funeral. Even though she is now Lady Katherine, old habits remain and she curtsied as he drew near.

  Father Simon motioned to the bearers, they lifted the pallet, and as we set off up Church View Street Kate’s friends set up a terrible wail. Some folk hire mourners for such a display, but so well regarded in the village is my Kate that we had not needed to pay any to bawl out in sorrow. Nevertheless, when the funeral was done, I gave a ha’penny to each of the women.

  The priests stopped at the lych gate, where the corpse was set down while Father Simon spoke a prayer for Caxton’s departed soul. When this was done the priests led the way to the porch and into the church. From the corner of my eye I saw three men leaning upon shovels, ready to dig a grave when the funeral mass was done.

  The day had dawned cloudy, but when we emerged from the church the sun was breaking through, illuminating the south side of the church, where Robert Caxton would await the Lord Christ’s return. Father Ralph led the way to the site chosen for my father-in-law’s grave and sprinkled holy water upon the grass. The gravediggers moved to the place and bent to their work. These were men who knew what they were about, and soon a grave was opened to a depth of four feet. The grave could go no deeper, for the gravediggers came upon a set of bones from a previous burial. My father-in-law would have a companion as he awaited the return of the Lord Christ.

  The priests scratched their heads and muttered amongst themselves as to whose grave had been disturbed, but none could remember a burial at that location. Men and women have been put into the ground in Bampton’s churchyard for five hundred years. As someday I will be. ’Tis no wonder the place is filled with those waiting. How much longer, I wondered, would their wait be?

  The grave was soon filled and the mourners, with last words of condolence to Kate, bade us farewell and departed the churchyard. Lord Gilbert waited until most were away, then approached me.

  “You are off for Oxford tomorrow, with Arthur and Uctred? Or will you delay?”

  “I think Thursday will be soon enough,” I replied. “I dislike leaving Kate alone so soon after her father’s death. If I would be away but for a day or two I might think differently.”

  “You believe many days will be required?”

  “Aye. To find and follow de Wenlock, perhaps a week.”

  “I do not begrudge your service to Sir Aymer,” Lord Gilbert said, but then continued. “But I employ you to attend me, not him.”

  So he did grudge the time I had spent seeking – unsuccessfully – for Lady Philippa. He added, “If after a week in Oxford you have not found the lady, you must inform Sir Aymer that your labor on his behalf is at an end.”

  I agreed I would do so, then walked with Kate, Bessie, and Adela to Galen House. Our dinner was a simple meal of stockfish in bruit with maslin loaves and what little remained of our parsley butter and ale. The noon Angelus rang from St. Beornwald’s Church as I crossed Shill Brook. At the castle I told Arthur and Uctred to be ready upon Thursday morning to journey to Oxford. They were.

  Our palfreys were well rested. We departed Bampton before the second hour and crossed Bookbinders’ Bridge before the noon Angelus pealed forth from Oxford’s many churches. We made our dinner at The Fox and Hounds, a meal of battered eggs and maslin loaves, then sought Master Wycliffe at his lodgings at Queen’s College. For what I intended, I would need his aid.

  Wycliffe had just concluded his own dinner when I rapped upon his chamber door. His repast was not so grand as mine. His meal was a loaf and ale, but he seemed content – and pleased to see me again.

  “The missing lady… have you found her?” he began.

  “Nay. I am yet searching. I have been given one more week to find her.”

  “So you have come to me at Queen’s. You must believe I may assist.”

  “Aye. I need lodging in a vacant chamber, and also for my men. I need also a scholar’s gown so that I may go about the town unremarked.”

  “I can accommodate you on both scores. There is an empty chamber off the hall, and above the refectory is an unused storage room. A bit dusty, I’d think, but I’ll have my man put it right. You may lodge together there. A week, you say?”

  “Aye. If I have not found the lady or discovered some hint as to her whereabouts, I am to quit the search. We will take our beasts to the stables upon Catte Street and return. Can you have the gown ready?”

  “Oh, aye, ’tis in my chest. There’ll be a moth hole or two, mayhap.”

  “All the better. ’Twill lend me credence as a poor scholar. But I think I must visit a barber and shave my beard. The grey whiskers which have appeared will cause folk to doubt my vocation.”

  “Why so? Claim to be a graduate Master of Arts, now seeking the awarding of a Bachelor of Theology, as I am. I am older than you, and my beard greyer. No man will think twice at such a tale. There are men of forty years seeking a degree as Bachelor of Theology.”

  This was true, I knew, and so decided to cast away the thought of shaving my beard. When I returned to Master Wycliffe from the stables, he had the gown ready. Moths had indeed feasted upon the cloth, but it would suit my purpose. Many students wear similar attire.

  I left Arthur and Uctred at Queen’s College and prowled Oxford’s streets. I went first to Little Bailey Street and the Red Dragon, where Martyn de Wenlock had taken a room.

  I spent the afternoon walking past the inn, first one way, then the other, and watched as many scholars entered and departed the place. De Wenlock was not among them.

  I hesitated to ask the proprietor if the scholar yet resided there for fear that, if he did, his landlord would tell de Wenlock that some other scholar sought him. I did not want the fellow to have even a hint that another man was asking of him.

  ’Twas near dark when I gave up prowling Little Bailey Street and returned to Queen’s College. Arthur and Uctred were pleased to see me, as ’twas many hours since our dinner. A few steps from the entrance to Queen’s was an inn, the White Boar, where we found pease pottage and barley loaves for our supper.

  Next day, shortly after I rose from my bed, Master Wycliffe found me and enquired if I had met with any success the day before, seeking Martyn de Wenlock. When I told him the search had proved so far a failure he suggested I ask Eustace le Scrope of the fellow’s whereabouts.

  “He knows Martyn well, I think, and may know if he has changed his lodgings.”

  He had.

  Wycliffe accompanied me to Balliol College where he inquired o
f le Scrope. The scholar was soon found, and readily explained de Wenlock’s absence from Little Bailey Street.

  “He has taken a chamber here, at Balliol, and studies here now. Meanwhile he is laboring as a copyist for a stationer on High Street.”

  I seemed to remember several stationers’ shops along the High Street. “Which one?” I asked.

  “Adam Huckett,” le Scrope replied. “Shall I show you? Martyn will be there by this hour.”

  “Nay, I’ll find the place. And please do not mention to de Wenlock, if you meet him, that I asked for him.”

  I received a puzzled expression in reply.

  “Sir Hugh yet seeks the missing lady we first spoke of some two weeks past,” Wycliffe explained.

  “She was not taken by the scoundrels from Didcot?” Le Scrope looked surprised.

  “Nay. Scoundrels they are, but they did not seize her.”

  “You think Martyn might have done so?”

  “Mayhap, but if so, ’twas possibly with the lady’s connivance. And he will know where she now is, and visit her when he may.”

  “If the lady is not near to Oxford, and Martyn does not seek her, what then?”

  “Then I am absolved of further obligation in this business and Sir Aymer may seek his wife without my help.”

  “Do you suppose those who took her might have slain her?”

  “Possibly. Her husband believes it may be so, and is prepared to seek another wife.”

  Master John and I returned to Queen’s and found Arthur and Uctred, who were roaming about, raising their eyebrows, wondering where I had gone. We sought a loaf and ale at the White Boar, and they walked with me to High Street and Adam Huckett’s shop.

  “Here, or somewhere near on the street, is where I may be found,” I said. “Unless de Wenlock has left the place and I am following.”

  “We’ve nothing to do,” Arthur said. “Whilst you follow the fellow, we’ll follow you.”