by Ann Swinfen
‘So, Master Elyot,’ he said, ‘that was an unusual fighting manoeuvre you performed, there in the priory court. I have never seen it used before.’
‘I had no weapon,’ I said apologetically. ‘I could not think what else to do.’
‘Well, it proved effective. More effective, I confess, than my clumsiness in allowing him to slip out of my hold.’
‘He is known as a skilled criminal in France, it seems. So Alice Walsea has told me. Yet never before have they succeeded in catching him. I suspect he has wriggled out of even more secure holds before now.’
‘Ah, so Mistress Walsea is here.’
‘She was. She left for Westminster yesterday, by boat.’
‘My father will be sorry to have missed the excitement,’ he said, twisting round in order to see my back. ‘I fear you are bleeding rather freely.’
‘I do not think any of the cuts are very deep.’ I tried to sound casual, although my back was beginning to throb painfully. I had barely had time to be aware of it before.
‘How did you come to be there in the courtyard?’ he said. ‘You appeared out of the ground like the devil in a mystery play.’
‘He found his way in through the ale cellar, and I followed him.’
I explained, as briefly as I could, the events of the last few days, and the chance that I had seen Mateaux in the lane, disappearing down the chute for ale barrels.
‘You were escorting the lady home?’
‘Aye. And I told her to fetch the sheriff.’
‘As well she did not, or this fellow might have slain you first and me afterwards.’ He thumped Mateaux on the head, though not particularly hard.
‘What I do not understand,’ he said, ‘is how you knew he was coming for me.’
‘I did not know. It was but instinct. What else could a notorious French killer want in St Frideswide’s Priory but to kill the man most feared in France?’
‘Then I am thankful for your instinct.’
I saw his teeth gleam in the moonlight as he grinned.
‘After such a battle, I feel you have earned a knighthood.’
I laughed. ‘Nay, Your Grace, I think not. I should not be able to maintain a knight’s fee.’
‘Then I must think of some other way to reward you.’
It was my turn to grin. ‘I believe Your Grace is a lover of books. I keep a very fine bookshop here in Oxford. We can produce any book you may desire.’
‘Any book? Indeed, I must give it some thought. But now, I fear, we are about to be interrupted. Or reinforced.’
He was right. A party of men was emerging from the priory’s postern gate, carrying many torches. I thought I could make out the figure of Cedric Walden amongst them. Someone must have sent to the castle after all.
We both stood up, and the prince poked the Frenchman with the toe of his boot, then rolled him over.
‘How did you know my name?’ I asked. ‘I did not think that my fame had reached the king’s court.’
‘The lady told me. “Nicholas Elyot,” she said, “will be killed, trying to save you from that assassin’s knife if you do not go to his aid.” How could I refuse?’
‘Indeed,’ I said, ‘it is difficult to refuse the Lady Emma Thorgold if she makes up her mind to something.’
‘Thorgold?’ he said.
‘Granddaughter to Sir Anthony Thorgold.’
He nodded, as if he knew the name, but there was no time for further talk, for the party from the priory was almost upon us. It had been a strange interlude, there in the dark, as though we were no more than any two young men together, recovering after successfully capturing a villain, and somewhat pleased with ourselves. Should I ever meet the prince again, I was sure it would be on quite other terms.
The next hour or two seemed interminable, for I needed to give a full explanation of the events of the evening to Walden, with interjections from Emma and the prince, as we sat in the parlour of the guest house. Mateaux had been carried off to the castle under guard, and fortunately someone had thought to retrieve our girdles and replace them with rope, tying Mateaux on to a horse to convey him more swiftly out of the sight of the crowds still in the streets after the fair. The prince’s girdle, I saw, was woven with gold thread and studded with semi-precious stones. I doubt any criminal has ever been secured with so costly a bond.
It was while I was knotting my own modest cord about my waist that another fit of giddiness overtook me. Canon Aubery, who was with us, speaking for the priory, caught me before I slumped to the ground, but Emma was beside him at once.
‘You are badly hurt, Nicholas! Why have you kept silent?’
I suppose, in the dark, no one had noticed the state of my back, and here in the lighted parlour I had kept it turned away from the company, for I was conscious of the disreputable state of my garments.
The canon and Emma bore me away to the infirmary, despite my protests, where I was stripped of cotte and shirt – what was left of them – laid on my face, and subjected to the application of some stinging salve. The wounds had almost been preferable.
Canon Aubery returned to the guesthouse, but Emma stayed to oversee the torture.
‘Jesu!’ I said, wincing, as more of the salve was smeared on. ‘That stings like the devil. And I have just remembered. Our families will be beside themselves with worry. They will think we have fallen foul of the cup-shotten youths of Oxford.’
‘They will not,’ she said crisply. ‘Some of us are able to keep our wits about us. I sent one of the lay servants, more than an hour since, to my aunt and your sister. Someone must look to these small matters, while the men perform their heroics.’
But, squinting up sideways from my prone position, I saw that she was smiling.
At last I was permitted by the infirmarian to sit up and to don a loose shirt he had found for me.
‘Best not wear anything to rub that back,’ he said, ‘for the next day or two.’
Most of the inhabitants of the infirmary were asleep, but I caught the gaze of the cellarer, Canon Basing, on me.
‘So it was the French vintner that you asked about,’ he said. ‘Mateaux?’
‘Aye,’ I said. ‘Not simply a vintner. An assassin sent to attack our prince.’
‘Master Elyot saved his life,’ Emma said.
‘More likely he saved mine,’ I said.
She laughed. She might mock me, but I think she had truly been concerned for my life. And although I had shouted at her, afraid that she would be caught up in the Frenchman’s violence, she had shown greater sense than I, seeking the nearest help to hand, rather than sending all the way to the castle. It would, indeed, have come too late.
At long last, we were able to go home, when the bell summoned the canons to Matins. Sheriff Walden insisted upon seeing us both all the way, supported by four of his men. He lifted Emma on to his horse, while he and I walked. I was glad of the dark, which concealed my beggarly appearance. With the state of my back, and the bruises I had acquired both falling in the cellar and rolling on the cobbles gripped to Mateaux, I was beginning to stiffen up, so I was glad when we had delivered Emma safely to her aunt’s house and Walden walked with me the remaining distance down the High Street.
‘You will not forget our meeting with Master Winchingham?’ I said, unable to stifle a yawn. ‘Midday, at the Mitre?’
‘I have not forgotten,’ he said, catching my yawn and laughing wryly. ‘If either of us wakes early enough to leave our beds! I shall ask Master Winchingham to come to the castle beforehand. It will improve our case against the Frenchman if he can be identified as the rogue who was with Hamo Belancer shortly before he was murdered, and who struck down the merchant in the alleyway.’
‘God give you goodnight, then, Cedric.’ I fumbled for my key. Margaret would have locked the door on this rowdy night, but I hoped she had not also barred it. I had worn only my small linen scrip this past evening, buckled to the belt of my hose, but I had a moment of alarm that the key might have dr
opped out of it during my fight with Mateaux. To my relief, it was still there and, bowing to Walden, I let myself into the shop as quietly as I might.
There was a candle lantern burning in the kitchen, but so low that I replaced the candle at once, lest I find myself plunged in darkness. By its light, I saw that Margaret was not abed, but deep asleep in her chair. A dilemma indeed! It seemed cruel to wake her, yet, if I left her here, in the morning she would be as stiff as I was already.
I was saved the trouble of making a decision when Margaret opened her eyes, shaded them with her hand, and complained. ‘Move that lamp aside, Nicholas, you are blinding me.’
Hurriedly, I moved it away, but now her eyes widened in horror at the state of my clothes. Emma had made my shirt and cotte into a bundle, which I had brought with me from the priory, though I feared they were past mending. I stood before Margaret in the priory shirt, which had been made for some canon of ample girth, and what remained of my hose, ripped into holes large enough for a cat to jump through.
‘Nicholas!’ It seemed she was incapable of further speech.
‘Never fret, Meg,’ I said, giving her a hand out of the low chair. ‘I was caught up in a tussle with the Frenchman we have been seeking, but he is safely locked up in the castle, and the sheriff has just seen both Emma and me home. We should be done with alarums at last, and may rest secure in our beds. I know I am ready for mine, and clearly so are you.’
I was determined she should not catch sight of my back tonight, or I should be subjected to more painful ministrations. What we both needed was to sleep for what little was left of the night.
Once in my bedchamber, I kicked off my shoes and stripped off my tattered hose, which fell into even great holes as I did so. The vast shirt would served as well as a night shift, I reckoned, as I blew out my candle and lay down carefully on my front. I would not be able to lie on my back yet awhile.
It was not surprising that I slept late the following morning, nor was it surprising that I was even stiffer than I had been the night before. I crawled about, slow as a slug, finding fresh hose and a loose cotte that was long enough to cover the long shirt. The infirmarian at the priory might advise me to wear nothing but the shirt, yet I could not walk about Oxford looking as though I were in my night shift. Loose as it was, the cotte caused some rubbing to my back, but I would simply need to endure it. The cloth of the shirt caught at the scabs as I lifted my arms to comb my hair and shave.
In the kitchen, Margaret was sorting out such of the leftover goods from the fair as had fallen to her share. She seemed a little tired, but more awake than I felt.
‘How do you find yourself this morning?’ I asked, pulling out a stool and sitting down at the table.
‘I have known worse,’ she said, wryly. ‘I had some sleep before you came home. And you?’
‘Slept like a child.’ I said. ‘And where are the children?’
‘Rafe is over at the Bakers’, and Alysoun has taken her new doll to show to Juliana.’
I smiled and raised my eyebrows. ‘Is our madcap girl become a young lady?’
‘That I doubt. But it is good to see her becoming friends with a girl like Juliana.’
I could not dispute that. Juliana was not a scamp of a boy like Jonathan, but she was still lively, and intelligent – and she loved books.
‘Is there anything for breakfast?’ I said hungrily. ‘You are busy, I can fetch it for myself.’ I half rose from my stool.
‘Stay where you are. I have had Emma here already this morning, asking how you fared, and I have learned what happened last night.’
She smiled mischievously. ‘We cannot have the close companion of our future king making his own breakfast.’
I laughed. ‘Hardly that. But he is a fine man, prince or not.’
So Emma had come early, asking for me.
‘And there is no need for you to smirk,’ Margaret said, with her back to me.
‘Nay, indeed, Meg,’ I said meekly.
She gave me a royal breakfast of two coddled eggs with some of her new bread, then more bread with pats of Mary’s golden butter, topped with blackberry preserve. I even managed a large slab of Mary’s best aged cheese, rich and full of flavour.
‘Now I feel fit to deal with the business of the day,’ I said.
‘Aye, Roger and Walter have been busy in the shop these four hours and more.’
Stupidly, I had quite forgot that we reopened today, the fair being over. We would have a steady stream of students and masters, wanting everything from quills to peciae. Perhaps even a secondhand text or two.
‘I must be at the Mitre before midday,’ I said, and explained the plan to expose the fraudulent seller of the priory’s books. ‘I hope he has not been frightened away by all the troubles at the priory. If he was working for Prior de Hungerford – which is what we suspect – then he may decide that a wise discretion demands that he duck away from anything that might link him to it.’
‘He may not have heard that de Hungerford is being held confined,’ she said, ‘until the bishop decides what is to be done with him.’ She began to clear away my dishes.
‘Aye, he may not. And even if he has, he may hope to bluff his way through the sale to Peter Winchingham, and pocket the price of the books for himself.’
‘You had best be on your way, then. It cannot be more than half an hour till midday. You slept very late. I hope we will have no more of these broken nights.’
‘I am sure this will be the last of it,’ I said.
In the shop I found my two scriveners busy with both masters and students, now that the morning lectures were over. It felt strange to have lost half the day already. Assuring them that I would be back to lend my assistance in the afternoon, and nodding to several of the masters, I let myself out of the shop and walked swiftly up the High Street. It was essential that I should reach the Mitre before the unsuspecting fly entered our spider’s web.
The clouds of the previous evening had been swept away by a brisk autumn wind. Beneath my feet the cobbles, washed clean by the rain, shone in the sun, with here and there a glint like gemstones, where a fragment of quartz caught the light. Despite the aching bruises and the stinging slashes across my back, I felt more light-hearted than I had done for days. The remembrance of sitting with the prince in the meadow would stay with me, long after my injuries had healed.
At the Mitre, the innkeeper showed me into one of the small private parlours. As Master Winchingham had observed, the building was indeed a very coney warren. The merchant was sitting comfortably in a cushioned chair, nursing a cup of wine, and Sheriff Walden was already with him.
‘I have been to the castle this morning,’ Winchingham said, as he gestured me to a chair and poured me a cup of wine. ‘The sheriff asked if I would view the prisoner you captured last night.’
‘I had some royal assistance,’ I said. The wine was excellent.
‘So I am told. The man Mateaux was led past a window while I watched. I am in no doubt. He is the man who attacked me.’
‘Will that be evidence enough?’ I turned to Walden.
‘We also have a number of witnesses who saw him break into the priory, and attack you. His Grace himself will bear witness to that.’
‘I suppose he might claim that I attacked him first,’ I said doubtfully.
He shook his head. ‘He was coming for you with his dagger before you grabbed him. They will all swear to that. And should that not seem enough, I believe we can persuade him to admit to the murder of Belancer and the intent to murder the prince.’
I did not like the sound of that. ‘You would use torture?’ My voice shook.
‘If we must. I like it no more than you, Nicholas, but this was a foreign assassin, bent on killing the Prince of Wales. In any case, the threat of torture is usually enough to persuade men to talk, without ever the need to use it. Indeed, if he confesses readily, we can promise him a slightly easier death, for there is no doubt. He will hang.’
; ‘It is nearly midday,’ Winchingham said. ‘Best if you conceal yourselves.’ He gestured toward a screen which had been set up in front of one wall.
Walden and I stood up, taking our wine cups with us, as Winchingham drew the priory’s Bible and book of hours out of his leather scrip and laid them on the table at his elbow. We found that two stools had been placed behind the screen, so we settled ourselves to wait, Walden on the outside, in case he should need to move swiftly to make an arrest.
We had only been in position a few minutes, when we heard the comfortable tones of the innkeeper approaching the door of the parlour. I realised that he must have been told of the plan, for he was being particularly affable.
‘Aye,’ he said, ‘here is the merchant, Master Winchingham, awaiting you as he promised. You have enough wine, Master Winchingham? And you, sir, can I fetch you something to eat, for ’tis near dinner time? We have some excellent mutton collops, or perhaps a helping of veal pie? With roasted cabbage and parsnips?’
I could not hear the words of the man’s reply, but the tone sounded negative.
We heard the door close at the innkeeper withdrew.
‘Ah, Master Ford,’ Winchingham said, ‘let me pour you a glass of wine, and then – to business! I always feel that business is more happily conducted over a cup of good wine.’ There was the clink of the flagon against the wine cup and the splash of liquid. ‘Your good health, sir, and to our successful conclusion of this business.’
Peter Winchingham sounded relaxed and affable. I thought he was a better player than those we had seen at the fair, but then I considered that dealing as he did in many countries, with so many shrewd strangers, and with considerable amounts of coin, he was probably accustomed to drawing the men with whom he dealt into a state of genial accord.
