The Merchant's Tale

by Ann Swinfen

  ‘Very well indeed. Better than we had hoped. But it is a wearisome business. I am glad I need not carry on beyond this week of the fair.’

  ‘It has been worth all the labour, then?’

  ‘Aye, I think so. And not just for the chinks earned.’

  I nodded. Like me, Margaret had seen how the companionship had been a benefit to both Maud Farringdon and Beatrice Metford. Even Mary Coomber, for all her sturdy independence, was glad of it.

  ‘And now,’ Margaret said, getting a little stiffly to her feet, ‘as soon as I have put tomorrow’s dough to prove, I am going to bed. Off with you, children. Perhaps Papa will see to you.’

  ‘By the time I have counted to a hundred,’ I said, ‘you must be undressed and in bed. After that, I’m for bed myself.’

  I had not had such a tiring day as Margaret, but the disruption to my normal work and the noise of the fair had wearied even me.

  As it turned out, it was not a peaceful night. I had fallen asleep as soon as I stretched out in bed, but I think I cannot have slept long when something woke me. I lay awake, my eyes staring into the dark, my ears stretched for the sound that had disturbed my sleep. At first I could hear nothing, then it came again, very distant, a muddled sound I could not place.

  I sat up and groped for my strike-a-light and tinder box on the candle table beside my bed. Feeling about in the dark, I knocked the box on the floor. By the time I had retrieved it and managed to light my candle, the noise had grown louder. It seemed to be coming from the southern part of the town, but as my bed chamber faced the back of the house, I could not be sure.

  Perhaps I should investigate, and make sure the shop was safely barred. Every night I barred the street door and the shutters, but I had been tired – could I have forgotten? I dressed clumsily and in haste. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, Meg was already there, also carrying a candle, but still in her night shift, though with a blanket round her shoulders.

  ‘Trouble,’ she said grimly.

  ‘Is there anything to be seen from your room?’

  ‘Plenty to hear.’

  She led me into her bedchamber, which was over the shop. I opened the shutters and leaned out, looking up and down the High Street. Here and there a few lights glimmered, as our neighbours, also woken, looked out.

  ‘It is coming from the fair, I think,’ I said, struggling to make out anything in the dark. The sky was overcast, with nothing but a sliver of moon showing occasionally as the clouds moved overhead with the high winds of heaven.

  ‘If they destroy our booth,’ Margaret said, ‘and Roger sleeping there alone–’

  We were both thinking of the rumours that there would be trouble from the town at this year’s fair.

  ‘They are more likely to attack the priory servants left there on guard,’ I said. ‘Their quarrel is with the priory, not the merchants.’ I was trying to convince myself. ‘I am going out to find out what is afoot.’

  ‘There is no need for that. Do not be foolish, Nicholas!’ She grabbed my arm.

  ‘I will stay away from trouble, but if no one has alerted the castle, then someone must do so.’

  ‘It need not be you.’

  ‘I will be careful.’

  I patted her arm gently and extricated myself. In the kitchen I took down a lantern from the shelf where we always kept a few ready, and lit the candle from the one I had brought from my bed chamber.

  ‘Bolt the shop door after me,’ I said, ‘but stay in the shop so you can open it for me in a hurry if need be.’

  ‘I wish you would not go.’

  She followed me through into the shop. We could hear running footsteps in the street.

  ‘I will be careful,’ I said again, as I slid back the bolts, took up the lantern, and stepped outside. I waited just long enough to be sure she had bolted the door behind me.

  There were already a few others about – one of the junior fellows from St Edmund Hall, William Rushington, came running up behind me. The night porter from Queen’s College was hurrying ahead of us toward Carfax.

  ‘The constables are out,’ Rushington said.

  ‘Aye.’ I could see that Edric Crowmer had been joined by half a dozen constables from other parishes. They were also heading for Carfax.

  ‘It must be fighting down at the fair.’ Rushington quickened his pace. ‘Everyone has been saying there would be trouble.’

  ‘Have you any idea who is behind it?’

  He shook his head. ‘The usual mischief-makers, probably. I suppose we should be glad they aren’t attacking students for once.’ He broke off and gave a nervous laugh. ‘I forget that you are no longer of the university, Nicholas. You are a townsman now.’

  ‘I take no side in these endless, stupid quarrels,’ I said, somewhat breathless from the speed we were making, ‘but one of my scriveners is keeping night watch for my sister and her friends. I hope he is not in danger.’

  By now we were in Fish Street and more people were hurrying down toward the South Gate and beyond it to the fairground.

  Suddenly the crenellations of the city gate sprang more clearly into view as light flared up behind it.

  ‘Mother of God!’ I said. ‘Fire!’

  We began to run faster, but before we could reach the gate we were thrust aside by a body of horsemen. Soldiers, riding from the castle, under the command of Cedric Walden.

  ‘Fire!’ The cry went up all about us. Although it was outside the city wall, there was a wind blowing, stronger than it had been earlier in the day. It would take no more than a gust of spark-laden wind, carried over the wall, to set alight the wooden houses at the lower end of Fish Street. By the time we were level with St Aldate’s church the crowd was almost too dense to allow us through, but at last the soldiers were herding people into some kind of order.

  Frightened householders poured out of the nearby houses, bringing buckets, bowls, anything that could hold water, and there were willing hands to dip them in Trill Mill stream, beyond the gate, and pass them, man to man, back to soak the thatched roofs, the most vulnerable part of the houses.

  Rushington joined the line to help, but I shook my head. ‘I am going to see whether my man is in danger. There are enough people here.’

  As soon as I reached the entrance to the fair, it was clear where the fire had been started. The wooden entrance gate, set up for the duration of the fair, was ablaze, though the soldiers were dousing it and already the flames were dying down. It was a blessing that the stream ran so close. If the fire had once spread to the town, half the houses in Oxford would have been destroyed, and many of the college buildings too.

  Cedric Walden was directing his men, his face smeared with smuts from the fire, and as he turned around he collided with me.

  ‘Nicholas Elyot! What are you doing here?’

  ‘My younger scrivener is acting as night watchman at one of the booths, just within. Has the fire spread beyond the gatehouse?’

  ‘Scorched the two nearest booths, but no great damage done. Luckily someone in Fish Street spotted it quickly and sent word to us.’

  ‘May I go through?’

  The worst of the fire was out now, but the timbers still smouldered, and here and there a spark would flare up, until a bucket of water was thrown over it. Further along the street a man was lying stretched out on the ground.

  ‘Someone hurt?’ It was not Roger. Too burly.

  ‘The priory’s watchman. They hauled him out and struck him over the head. He will survive, but turns groggy when he stands up. We’ve left him to lie until his wits are less shaken. He may be able to tell us who did this. At least they pulled him out before they started the fire. Otherwise he would have had no chance.’

  Walden was starting away, so I caught him by the sleeve and repeated my question. ‘May I go through? I want to see whether my man is unhurt.’

  In the light from the soldiers’ torches we could all see anxious faces peering out at us from beyond the charred gateway – the night-w
atchmen and the stallholders who had slept here.

  The deputy sheriff shrugged. ‘It’s risky. Take care your clothes do not touch the timbers. They are still hot enough to set you alight.’

  I nodded. ‘I shall take care. I’ve no wish to be a human torch.’

  I drew my cotte close around my body and plunged through the burnt remains of the gate. The stench of half charred wood caught in my throat, but I was through. Almost at once, I caught sight of Roger in the cluster of worried and frightened men. His face, like Walden’s, was blotched with the black smears of soot, and wore an expression of fear mixed with excitement. I drew him aside.

  ‘Are you hurt, Roger?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nay, they came storming in, shouting that the priory had no right to the rents and tolls of the fair, and they punched a few of us, and got some punches back. I gave one of them a bloody nose, he’s journeyman to that butcher in St Mildred Street. Saw him clear as day. They were carrying torches.’

  His words came tumbling out in a rush. He was still in a high fever of excitement.

  ‘You should have stayed well clear. Someone might have drawn steel on you.’

  ‘Nay, they were not interested in us, just wanted to affright us, keep us clear of their real business, which was with the priory, but it only had one man here, fellow in the gatehouse. I thought they usually had lay servants here at night. Why should we pay the priory rent, if they leave us unguarded?’

  I could see that he was half in sympathy with the townsmen.

  He drew a long breath. ‘Fellow in the gatehouse, is he hurt?’

  ‘A blow to the head, I’m told, and somewhat addled in his wits, but he will recover.’

  ‘That’s a relief. We tried to go to his aid, but they were too many for us.’ He glanced across at the group still gathered on the near side of the burnt out gatehouse. ‘Most of the servants of the rich merchants, they’re armed, but they stayed guarding their own booths and did not join us.’

  I could see that the other men, like Roger, were peaceable local citizens, probably mostly with small stalls and their own modest goods.

  ‘Margaret’s booth was not attacked?’

  He shook his head. ‘I think they were after any money that might be in the gatehouse, but those canons are no fools. It will have been taken away to the priory when the fair closed last night. Then they set fire to the gatehouse. Dry timber, it flared up at once. Either because they were angry they hadn’t found any money, or they’d intended to do that all along, make trouble for running the fair.’

  ‘I do not suppose it will make a difference. They will contrive something, and still demand a ha’penny to enter. Now, let me see you back to the booth. We both need what sleep we can get in what is left of the night.’

  Before I left Roger, I asked whether he had recognised any of the other attackers, but he had only been able to see the one man clearly.

  Back in the street, I sought out Cedric Walden.

  ‘My man recognised one of the villains,’ I said. ‘He’s journeyman to the butcher in St Mildred Street.’

  Walden grimaced. ‘I know the fellow. He’s been in trouble before. I have one other name, from someone in Fish Street who saw them running back into town, and I hope that fellow over there may be able to tell me more.’ He jerked his head toward the gatekeeper, who was now sitting up, being given a cup of ale. ‘Your man unhurt?’

  ‘Aye. No harm done. It seems a group of them tried to fight back, but they were outnumbered.’

  ‘You’d best get back to your bed. I can see that we’ll have a night of it here, but I’ll leave men on guard from now on, till the end of the fair.’ He made a face. ‘We do not want this kind of trouble when we have a royal visitor in Oxford.’

  I laughed. ‘I suspect Prince Edward has seen far worse than this. God give you good night, sheriff, what is left of it.’

  Back at the shop, I knocked loudly and heard Margaret draw back the bolts to let me in.

  ‘It was trouble at the fair, wasn’t it? Are you all right, Nicholas? Why are you so dirty? And is Roger safe?’

  As we walked through to the kitchen, I gave her a brief account of what had happened, and reassured her that both Roger and her booth had come to no harm.

  ‘What fools!’ she said. ‘More than fools. Wicked. That fire could have spread right through the town. People would have been killed. All for a grudge against the priory.’

  ‘Fortunately the castle was alerted in time, and no serious damage was done. But you are right. It is time an end was put to this quarrel, but it seems impossible, like the hostility between the town and the university. That is quiet for now, but I fear it will break out again.’

  ‘Let us hope not yet. One war at a time is enough for a small town. Best we try to get what rest we can for what is left of the night.’

  ‘Aye. God give you good night, Meg.’

  I kissed the top of her head and trudged wearily up the stairs. I carried with me the smell of the fire on my clothes and in my hair.

  The next morning it was the turn of Beatrice and Maud to open the booth, for which Margaret was grateful, after our broken night, but Emma, Juliana, and Maysant were soon on our doorstep, even before we had finished breaking our fast.

  ‘Such a to-do early this morning!’ Juliana said, flushed and excited. ‘Soldiers came marching into our street and knocked up the butcher, demanding his journeyman, but his journeyman never came home last night. They say he was one of those who tried to set fire to Oxford!’

  ‘Not quite to Oxford,’ I said. ‘They burned down the gatehouse to the fairground. But if the fire had not been put out quickly, it could easily have spread to the town.’

  ‘You were there?’ Emma said.

  ‘Only after the fire was reported to the castle. The deputy sheriff and his men had nearly put it out by the time I reached the fairground. I went to see whether Roger was unhurt.’

  ‘And he is?’

  ‘Nothing but bruised knuckles from punching your butcher’s journeyman on the nose. The fair will carry on today. Sheriff Walden will see to it that there is no more trouble.’

  Roger arrived on the heels of the girls, having stopped hastily at his lodgings to clean himself of the detritus of the fire. I left him to the cosseting of the women and joined Walter in the shop, where I put Emma’s suggestion to him, about the collection of his mother’s stories. He was experimenting with the tapes attached to the sides of the spectacles, unhooking the loops from his ears and tying the tapes instead behind his head. Raising his face, he looked at me owlishly through the disks of glass.

  ‘Very odd, this,’ He said, lifting the spectacles above his eyes, then letting them drop back on to the bridge of his nose. ‘They make my writing larger and clearer, but when I look at you, everything is blurred, a sort of fog.’

  I shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me to explain it. Ask the Venetians. What do you say to Emma’s suggestion?’

  He smiled shyly. ‘If the lady wants to make a book of my stories, then I say aye. She will make a fine job of it. I should like to see how she will draw Hob-by-the-Fire and some of the other creatures. I haven’t finished it, mind, but she could make a start on what I have written.’ He looked suddenly anxious. ‘Do you think it good enough to make a book?’

  We had had this conversation before, and as before I reassured him, for he had the true storyteller’s gift. All he lacked was the confidence to put himself forward amongst the writers of books whose work he had spent all his life copying. One benefit if Emma were to have the scribing of it: she could take the stories away from him firmly, and he could no longer tinker with them, as he was wont to do.

  Walter settled to the repetitive but essential tasks of copying out more peciae, referring to our inventory to check which were most needed, and exclaiming from time to time about the improvement the spectacles made to his sight. I told him he might take a holiday, as I had suggested, but he shook his head, saying that he would rather be busy. I found a sm
all, clean piece of parchment, and began my letter to Canon Aubery.

  To the reverend Canon Aubery of the Priory of St Frideswide, from Nicholas Elyot, Master of Arts, greetings in God.

  It has been brought to my notice by a merchant visiting the present fair that a person of name unknown has offered to sell him two books, with further to be shown. These books I have seen and examined. One is a Bible of fine quality, in a jewelled and clasped binding, clearly used in church services. The other is the book of hours you purchased from me some six years since.

  In view of our recent conversation and your fears for the priory’s treasures, I write to warn you and the other canons that the library may also be at risk of similar plundering. I suggest, therefore, that you take measures to protect the priory’s collection of books as well as your other treasures. As this is a matter for Church discipline, I fear there can be no intervention by the secular authority. However, you might consider an approach to the bishop.

  If I may assist you in any way, please do not hesitate to call upon me.

  I am your friend and servant in Christ, Nicholas Elyot.

  By the time I had finished the letter, folded, sealed, and addressed it, Roger had joined us in the shop. There were crumbs of pastry on the front of his cotte.

  ‘Ah, Roger,’ I said, ‘before you make a start on your work – if, like Walter, you are here to work – I would like you to take this to Canon Aubery at St Frideswide’s. It must be put into his own hands. Do not leave it with anyone else. If you cannot find him, or if he is occupied about church services, wait, however long it takes. This must be delivered into no other hands but his. Is that clear?’

  Roger looked at me in some surprise at the tone of my instructions to him. ‘Quite clear. And if I do not find him before dinner?’

  ‘Stay until you find him. If it comes to Compline and he still cannot be found, then you may return here, bringing the letter back with you.’

  He took the letter and went out, looking baffled. Walter looked across from his desk, peering, this time, over the top of his spectacles.