The Merchant's Tale

by Ann Swinfen

  I joined in his laughter. ‘I have not the taste for it, I fear, but in this affair I think we must proceed by cunning, do you agree?’

  ‘I do. I shall play the fish as you suggest. And tell him to return . . . not after the fair, that would not suit him, for if I refuse to purchase he will want to try his hand with others who have come to the fair from elsewhere. Too risky to try to sell to someone local who, like you, might recognise the books.’

  I did not believe that would be a great risk, except with the other two booksellers, but I agreed with his reasoning. ‘Perhaps he should come to you – what? – five days from tomorrow? There will still be two days left of the fair by then, but that will also give me time to make enquiries. Canon Aubery may be able to learn what is afoot.’

  ‘That is agreed then.’ He returned the Bible and the book of hours to his scrip and buckled it. ‘For the moment it is probably best if I am not seen too much about your shop, despite my interest in purchasing books. I will come again in a few days’ time, to hear whether you have managed to discover anything.’

  ‘Aye, that would be best. Come in the evening on the second day of the fair, after Vespers. Come to sup with us, and we will put together what else we have both learned.’

  I escorted him back through the shop and out the door on to the street. Walter and Roger looked at me curiously, but said nothing.

  ‘A matter of business,’ I explained, as I came back into the shop.

  It might be necessary to take them into my confidence later, but at the moment there was little enough to tell, although Walter would probably remember that book of hours – I had been proud of the profit I had made on my first sale, and boasted of it. I had been, after all, but a boy of nineteen, even though I was newly a father.

  The rest of that day and most of the next were taken up with much business in the shop and – when I could spare the time – helping to convey the cheeses and preserves to the booth at the fair which Mary had hired.

  Traders could sell their wares in one of three ways. A few poorer folk, or country women coming into town with farm goods to sell – a basket of eggs or some jars of honey or a couple of laying hens – would pay a penny or two for the right to spread a cloth on the ground and lay out their wares. For them the fair meant little more than Oxford’s weekly market. Next came the folding stalls. These were hired from the priory and consisted of a broad counter mounted on legs, with a canvas awning, somewhat like a boatman’s tilt cloth. The whole thing could be folded up and stacked away at the end of the fair, to be stowed in one of the priory’s barns. During the fair, the stallholder could fold it up and remove his goods for the night, or he could roll himself in a blanket and sleep under the stall to keep a watch over them. If the weather was fine, this was what most chose to do.

  The booths were another matter entirely. Almost as substantial as the poorest houses in Oxford, like those in the derelict area just north of the church of St-Peter-in-the-East, they were small buildings with wooden walls and roofs, a shutter which could be lowered in front like the counter of a permanent shop, and a solid door with a lock. The lay servants of the priory had been busy erecting them from their separate parts for the last week. These were rented by the wealthier merchants, or those whose goods were either valuable or fragile. Master Winchingham would have hired one of these – probably one of the largest – and Mary Coomber had secured one for our partnership of preserve makers.

  Success at the fair also depended upon where the booth or stall was placed, and the priory charged a higher rent for those in the most favoured positions, mostly those nearest the entrance to the fairground, which lay just beyond the South Gate of the town. There were also a few popular spots close to the largest booths selling food and drink. Some of these rivalled the town’s hostelries. Indeed, some were even set up by the better ones like the Cross and the Mitre. Since they must lose their regular trade, except for those guests staying in their inns, they would make up for their losses as best they could.

  Mary, it seemed, was a friend of the senior lay steward’s wife, a connection which had stood her in good stead. The booth she had rented stood just half a dozen places in from the entrance, and faced north, so the direct sun would not spoil the goods. It also meant less work for us in transporting everything there and setting all out on the shelves inside. Although the booth could be securely locked, and there was little likelihood of a thief breaking in to steal a cheese or a pot of jam, the women had planned at first to take it turnabout to sleep in the booth. For once, I overruled my sister.

  ‘This is mere folly,’ I said firmly. ‘You shall not, any of you, run the risk of staying in your booth overnight. There has been a great deal of talk in the town about possible trouble at the fair, and it is likely to happen at night. I am going to hire a watchman to guard your goods for you.’

  Margaret protested, as I knew she would, but I think she was secretly relieved. It would not have been a pleasant experience for a woman alone, or even if two stayed together. As it turned out, I had no need to hire some stranger, for Roger offered to serve as watchman, although I insisted that he should be paid.

  As Master Winchingham had told me, the merchants attending this year’s fair were more varied than we had seen since before the Pestilence. Indeed, I believe I had never seen a greater gathering. The decline in some of the famous fairs of Europe was proving of benefit to our smaller English ones, even those like Oxford’s, with its uncomfortable history of disputes between the town and the priory. It seemed the great merchants were untroubled by this reputation, or at any rate merely took the precaution of bringing more servants with them. The crowds milling about the fairground on the day before the opening of the fair included not only substantial numbers of wealthy men, but an unusually large number of their servants, all of whom were wearing daggers and taking no risks.

  Not merely the cut of the strangers’ clothes, but the Babel of tongues revealed their nationalities. Englishmen from every shire, with every dialect, were to be expected, as were the Welsh and a few Scots and Irish. The increase in numbers from other countries, however, was what most caught my attention. There were Flemings. Some, like Master Winchingham, were clearly Englishmen who had been drawn there by the Wool Staple, speaking English amongst their fellows, and Flemish to their servants, but others were themselves Flemish, mostly square built and shorter than Englishmen, with broad cheekbones and round, well fleshed faces. There were plenty of Germans, big men with dark hair and loud voices. Others, whose language I could not place, were perhaps Poles. Winchingham had said he had traded in Poland, but I had certainly never seen Polish men in Oxford, although I knew scholars who had travelled to their distant land.

  The particular group of merchants which I eyed carefully, and listened to covertly, were the Frenchmen. Although there had been a nominal peace with France since the battles the previous year – small encounters, but bloody – everyone knew that it was no more than a temporary truce. King Edward would not so readily give up his claim to the French throne which, by English law, should have come to him. According to some obscure law, the French asserted that the crown could not descend through a woman. As a result, they had made a mere count’s son their king, whereas our king, not only son of the king of England, but grandson through his mother of a king of France, was the rightful heir.

  The wars in France had drained England of money in taxes, and even worse, the Pestilence had denuded the country of men of fighting age. Although – God willing! – the plague seemed to have died out these last four years, it would take longer than that to rebuild our fighting strength. We seemed always to be victorious in France, when it came to battles, but it is difficult to hold your victories secure in a foreign land, unless you have men enough to man your garrisons there. So our garrisons were weak and vulnerable, like those in Guyenne, where the French king had been nibbling away at English possessions, like those of the Oxford vintner, Hamo Belancer.

  As though he had been conjured u
p by my own thoughts, there he was, the half French vintner, as I emerged from the booth, ready to push Mary’s hand cart back up into the town. I saw that he was sauntering away from a group of those same Frenchmen, with a curious expression on his face, part complacency, part excitement. On catching sight of me, he assumed his usual discontented frown.

  ‘So-ho, Nicholas!’ His lips curled in a sneer. ‘You are driven by these damnable canons to taking a booth at their fair! I would not sully my hands, nor give them the satisfaction of charging me rent and tolls.’

  ‘Nay,’ I said mildly. ‘I do not plan to trade here. I have been helping friends to move their wares.’

  Resolutely turning my shoulder to him, I lifted the handles of the cart and began to manoeuvre it round the stacks of goods and the busy traders who blocked the way through to the street, but Balancer took up his position beside me. Like a leech, he would cling to me until we regained the High Street. Inwardly I sighed, determined to shut my ears to yet one more recitation of his woes over his lost French properties.

  Yet he kept his silence until we were free of the worst of the crowds and passing through the South Gate into Fish Street.

  ‘Even the French merchants have come to the fair this year,’ he said. ‘Now that there is peace.’

  ‘Aye.’ I waited for the usual tirade, but it did not come.

  ‘Aye,’ he echoed. ‘With peace between our countries, perhaps justice will be done at last. I hope for restoration of what is mine.’

  ‘You do?’ My surprise made me incautious of speech.

  He gave an unpleasant smirk.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘You think the king will negotiate the return of those parts of Guyenne seized by the French?’ I shook my head. ‘He is more likely to seize them again by force. That is the only way to deal with the French. They break every treaty.’

  ‘So it is your belief, Nicholas, that he will send his son with armed force into France again? I think not.’ He grinned again, as if he were hugging some private joke to his chest.

  I had no answer to his arrogantly provocative remarks, and continued to trundle the cart over the cobbles. It was easier now it was empty, but one of the wheels was out of true, and tended to set the cart heading off determinedly to the right. Constantly hauling it back to a straight path, I had little breath to waste on Balancer.

  ‘And speaking of Edward of Woodstock,’ he said, as though we had indeed been discussing the king’s eldest son, ‘it seems he arrives in Oxford this very day, on his way from the palace at Woodstock to his castle at Wallingford. He is to spend some nights at the priory. I understand that de Hungerford has his ear and is always ready to make the most of it.’

  This was indeed news. If Prince Edward, the king’s heir and greatest commander in the field, was coming to Oxford, it was surprising it had not thrown the town into an excited frenzy. Ever since his victories in battle as a mere boy barely sixteen, he had been venerated as a hero by every Englishman. He was a year or two younger than I, yet he held so many offices and had so much experience in the wider world, I felt like a child by comparison.

  ‘You had not heard?’ Balancer said, reading my expression correctly. ‘One of those French merchants is a vintner like myself. He is to supply some of his finest wines to the priory while the prince is their guest.’

  ‘I am surprised,’ I said dryly, ‘that you would wish to speak to the French merchants, particularly vintners. May they not be stealing the vintage from your very lands?’

  He flushed at the provocation, but answered steadily. ‘We must make allies where we may. I have had dealing with this man in the past. He has heard that the prince does not want to make a great show of his visit. He comes quietly, with a few attendants, like a simple nobleman. Nevertheless, the priory will wish to serve him wine of the very best quality.’

  We had reached the High Street. Balancer gave me a curt nod and headed off in the direction of his own shop, having had the satisfaction of displaying to me his greater knowledge of affairs. As I proceeded more slowly, I wondered what he had been doing at the fairground, if he was not planning to trade there. Certainly there were always a few curious individuals wandering about, getting in the way of those trying to set up their stalls, but Balancer would not so demean himself. I had also noticed a few well known troublemakers from amongst the youth of the town. They had stayed quiet enough, but that might only mean that they were spying out where best to launch an attack once the fair was under way. I hoped the priory had made ample provision in the way of stewards and guards, to protect both merchants and buyers against danger.

  Had Balancer taken that trouble to tell me about Prince Edward for some other purpose than lording it over my ignorance? Did he hope that I would spread the word in the town? That I would not do, though I would probably tell Margaret, who had a great admiration for the prince. The presence of royalty might make the town louts all the more eager to stir up trouble.

  And that was the second time that I had heard Prior de Hungerford mentioned in connection with the prince. I hoped Edward of Woodstock was a better judge of men than to be taken in by him. From all I knew of the two of them, they seemed to have nothing in common.

  I need not have been concerned about whether or not I should keep my lips sealed about the prince’s visit to Oxford. An hour or two before Vespers he rode into town, with very little show, but his arrival was like a stone dropped into a pond. Word of it rippled outward from Northgate Street as he rode down toward the priory, and I swear it took no more than a quarter of an hour to pass along the High to the East Gate. Margaret and Mary arrived back from the fairground with Alysoun and Rafe, all of them glowing with excitement.

  ‘I have seen Prince Edward!’ Alysoun exclaimed. ‘The king’s son! The hero of Crécy!’

  Her tone was so excited that it set the puppy Rowan into an ecstatic dance, for she had been left behind all day, with only Roger and Walter for company.

  I laughed, fending off the dog before she ripped my cotte. ‘The prince is as great a warrior as Julius Caesar, do you think, my pet?’

  ‘Much, much greater! Julius Caesar had a bigger army than the people of Gaul. Or at least he had a proper army, and they didn’t. Prince Edward defeated the French with a much smaller army than theirs.’

  Rafe tugged at my hand. He looked worried.

  ‘He wasn’t wearing armour.’

  ‘Nay, he would not need armour in Oxford, my little man,’ I said, hoisting him up on to my shoulders. ‘No one here would hurt him, would they? And armour is very hot, even in the autumn. He is not going into battle now. Princes, like other men, may enjoy their leisure.’

  I soon left the family to rest after the hard work of the day and made my way to the Priory of St Frideswide. There would be a special service at Vespers in the priory church to bless the opening of the fair the next morning. Canon Aubery would be there and I might be able to speak to him about the books which had been offered to Master Winchingham. The sale could be quite legitimate, approved by the canons in Chapter, although that did not explain the unrealistically low prices being asked. If the sale was not legitimate, then he should be warned of it. In the past, Canon Aubery had held the position of librarius in the Priory, but Prior de Hungerford believed in moving the canons about, so that no single man remained long in the same occupation. Even the most senior of the obedientiaries were moved, a practice which did not augur well for the already shaky finances of the Priory. But perhaps that was what de Hungerford wanted. If no one but himself knew the true state of finance, church repair, provisions, properties – aye, and the holdings of books and other treasures – then he had complete control of them in his own hands.

  All who were trading at the fair were invited to join in the service of blessing, gathering below the rood screen, in the portion of the nave open to the secular congregation, and it was clear that many of them were making their way to the church. Perhaps, like me, they might also have the thought that the prince himself wo
uld be present. I admit I was curious. Strictly speaking, I was not one of the traders, but after the assistance I had provided for the last two days, I felt I had a right to be present. As I had closed the shop before leaving, I had felt the same twinge of annoyance as every other shopkeeper in the town, at the thought of the lost business during the following days. There were, I observed, a number of grim-faced townsmen also making their way toward the priory. I hoped that they did not intend to disrupt the service, and shame the town before the royal visitor.

  Before leaving home, I had taken Walter aside. ‘Tomorrow morning,’ I said, ‘I will meet you in front of the Guildhall, and we will go together to search for the merchant of spectacles.’

  He frowned. ‘You should not waste your money.’

  ‘Well, we shall see whether they are of any use to you. If they are not, then we shall forget the matter.’

  The church of St Frideswide was magnificent. Larger even than the university church of St Mary the Virgin, its splendid nave stretched away between pillared side aisles, with a soaring roof that would not shame a cathedral. Even the side chapels were as large as some parish churches, and all of them exquisitely furnished with gilded statues, rich hangings, and silver vessels. Yet, when I looked more closely, I thought that there was a slightly neglected air about the place. And surely there were fewer rich lamps and candlesticks than I remembered from previous visits. I wondered whether Canon Aubery was right, that some of the Priory’s treasures were being spirited away, and turned into coin. I noticed also that a crack had opened up in the east wall of the south transept, close to the corner where it intersected the nave. It was made more visible by a long streak of damp. There had been no rain for more than a week, so this must have accumulated over time.

  I managed to find a place near the front, close to the rood screen, where I had a good view of the canons’ stalls, and the separate thrones for the prior and sub-prior. St Frideswide’s had not taken up the new fashion of pews for the common folk like me, so we must stand, while the canons took their places in the stalls of carved oak, comfortably provided, I saw, with velvet cushions.