The Merchant's Tale

by Ann Swinfen

  Alysoun chattered all the way up the High Street, and at the turn by the Mitre she slipped her hand from mine and ran ahead to the Farringdons’ house.

  ‘May Alysoun stay with Juliana this morning?’ I asked Maud, when I had caught up. ‘It seems Juliana made an unwise offer to help her with her sewing.’

  Maud laughed. ‘They will enjoy themselves. Will you step in, Nicholas?’

  ‘Nay, not now, but I shall be coming back later. I wonder whether I might draw you into a small conspiracy with me?’

  She looked surprised, but listened while I explained what I wanted her to do.

  ‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘That will not be difficult. We shall see you later, then.’

  I went on my way, pleased that I had managed to speak to her alone.

  Before I reached Carfax, I met Walden riding toward me. He reined in his horse.

  ‘I was coming to see you, Nicholas. You have saved me the length of the street.’

  He leapt from his horse, to speak to me more easily.

  ‘The Frenchman, Claude Mateaux, has made a clean confession of everything. You will be glad that the application of torture was unnecessary.’

  ‘I am indeed glad. I have no very kindly feelings toward the fellow, after the way he etched my back with his dagger, but I do not feel torture is a Christian practice.’

  ‘Neither are murder or assassination,’ he said grimly.

  I bowed my acquiescence.

  ‘However, the mere suggestion that we would resort to torture unless he made a clean breast of his crimes was enough to loosen his tongue.’

  ‘He admitted to killing Hamo Belancer?’ I said.

  ‘He did. And your guess was correct. Their meeting here was not accidental. It seems they have been in correspondence for some months. They were acquainted in France and it was someone’s idea that the bribe of restoring Belancer’s estates would be enough to secure his alliance.’

  ‘His treason, rather,’ I said.

  ‘Mateaux said “someone” had the idea?’

  ‘Aye,’ Walden said. ‘He claimed not to know who, and I believe him. The French king will have his own intelligencers just as our king does. However it was, Belancer was offered the restoration of his French property if he agreed to help Mateaux to reach Prince Edward.’

  ‘He was an unpleasant man, but I would never have expected him to be a traitor.’

  ‘He was obsessed with the loss of his lands, but more than that, it seems he bore a grudge against the prince himself, blaming his campaigns in France for the French reprisals which brought about the loss of his vineyards. According to Mateaux, Belancer had come to regard the prince as personally responsible.’

  ‘Not the belief of a rational man,’ I said, ‘but I suppose we had come to see his obsession as irrational, though none could have believed it would go so far.’ I paused. ‘I remember now that the last time I spoke to him, he seemed to be clutching to himself some exciting and vengeful secret, but I would never have guessed what it was. Yet even so, he did not deserve to die like that.’

  ‘From what Mateaux has said, there was never any intention of restoring his land. Once he had served his purpose, he was disposed of, being of no further use.’

  ‘What I do not understand,’ I said, ‘is how they could have known in France – weeks ago, I suppose – that the prince would be staying at the priory now. I doubt whether the prince himself would have known it then.’

  ‘That was not the original plan,’ Walden said. ‘It was believed Prince Edward would be in residence at the Palace of Woodstock. Belancer had a regular order to deliver ale to the palace once a month. Mateaux was to meet him in Oxford, then travel with him to deliver the ale, posing as his servant. Once inside the palace, it would be up to him to find and kill the prince.’

  ‘Only when he arrived in Oxford,’ I said, ‘under the guise of the fair, he discovered that the prince was at the priory.’

  ‘Exactly. It became necessary to devise a new plan. That was what they were about when Master Winchingham stumbled upon their meeting at Belancer’s house. And once Mateaux learned there was a secret way into the priory, which he could use without drawing attention to himself, he decided quite coldly to rid himself of the man who could point the finger at him. His intention was to kill the prince, slip away from the priory, and then resume his role as a merchant attending the fair. Afterwards, he could return to France undiscovered. It seems he really is a merchant vintner. It is an excellent role for a man who needs an unexceptionable reason for frequent travel. Ironically, he was awarded a part of Belancer’s vineyards as payment for some previous task he had undertaken for the French crown.’

  ‘It seems,’ I said soberly, ‘that Peter Winchingham was mighty lucky to escape with his life.’

  ‘Indeed. Mateaux thought he had killed him, although he could not be sure in the dark. Winchingham must have a particularly thick skull.’

  ‘So he says himself.’

  ‘As it happens,’ Walden said, ‘it seems that you and Jordain Brinkylsworth are also lucky to have escaped with your lives.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘After Mateaux had dealt – so he thought – with the merchant, he went back into the house to finish the wine they were drinking and to lull Belancer into a state of slightly muzzy confidence. He had just killed him when you and Brinkylsworth came blundering up the alleyway and fell over Winchingham. Mateaux could have gone for you, two innocents, unarmed, caught up in rescuing the merchant. Instead, he decided to lie low, put out the candle, and waited until you were gone.’

  ‘I thought I saw a light go out. So he was still there when we picked up Peter Winchingham! That makes it all clear, what happened to Hamo Belancer, and also why. What of Prince Edward?’

  ‘Mateaux was quite calm and unrepentant about that. To him it was merely another task, for which he would be paid. He does not even seem to have the normal Frenchman’s hatred of our prince. He would have cut him down as indifferently as he killed Belancer, or as he would slaughter a pig at Michaelmas.’

  I shuddered. I was sure the sheriff was speaking no more than the truth, but the thought of such a human creature, without human feelings, sickened me.

  ‘So there you have it all,’ Walden said, drawing his horse near and straightening his stirrup leather.

  ‘He will hang?’

  ‘Oh, aye, he will hang. But I gave him a promise. Since he made a clean confession of all, he will not suffer all the other penalties such an act of treason should entail.’

  I knew quite well what he meant. As children we were told the grim story of Roger Mortimer’s death, traitor to the present king’s father. Though whether Mateaux’s acts could count as treason in law, I was not sure. He was a subject not of the English king, but of the French king. He had not succeeded in his intention of killing the prince. On French soil, when the temporary truce expired, it might have counted as just one more act of war. Well, it was not for me to make such fine distinctions. He had, undoubtedly, murdered Hamo Belancer.

  Walden and I parted at Carfax, in sombre mood, but as I made my way to John Shippan’s workshop, I put all thoughts of Mateaux and Belancer behind me, feeling suddenly cheered by the scent of new cut wood and wax polish which wafted out from the courtyard.

  Saving up the pleasure of seeing the desk until last, I found Shippan’s senior journeyman first, and arranged for him to include my request for firewood with the workshop’s next order for timber from the forester. This was my usual method of buying logs, for it saved me paying a carrier, even if it meant waiting until Shippan required more green timber.

  ‘Aye,’ the journeyman said. ‘I’ll be sending an order in two-three weeks, not more. You should have your logs by the end of November, before the worst of the weather sets in, never fear.’

  Satisfied with this, I asked him to included a sack of charcoal in my order, for the forester worked with a group of charcoal burners in the Shotover woods.

  Th
en, at last, I went to seek out John Shippan, and Emma’s desk.

  He was in the main workshop, overseeing one of the apprentices who was turning a bedpost on a lathe – somewhat nervously, I thought, working under the master’s eye. I stayed quiet until he finished, not wanting to cause his chisel to slip by interrupting.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Shippan said, as he examined the work, ‘though there is too much thickness here.’ He pointed to one spot, which, to my own untrained eye, seemed the same as the rest. ‘Rest your eyes for now, lad. When you come back to it, you will see.’

  He turned and caught sight of me.

  ‘Master Elyot, you have come for your desk.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Two of the lads will bring it down for you, and load it on a handcart. You are sure you do not want me to deliver it? I can do so tomorrow.’

  Tomorrow would be far too long to wait.

  ‘Nay, I shall take it today.’

  While the apprentice who had been working on the lathe and another lad climbed the steps to fetch down the desk, I paid Master Shippan, one eye nervously on those treacherous steps. However, the boys reached the ground safely, then wrapped the desk in sacking for protection and laid it in a handcart.

  ‘I’ll send Will with you,’ Shippan said. ‘He can save you bringing the cart back. And he can help you carry in the desk.’

  I was grateful for this. Having seen that two strong lads had some difficulty bringing the desk down Shippan’s steps, I thought I would be unable to manhandle it up the stairs in the Farringdons’ house. I doubted whether Juliana would have been strong enough to help me.

  Will was the apprentice who had been turning the bedpost, and I suspected he was glad to escape from under his master’s scrutiny for a time. Shippan was the finest carpenter in Oxford, and to be trained by him was a privilege, but I expected that his standards of craftsmanship were demanding.

  ‘How far are we to go, Master Elyot?’ the boy asked, as we pushed the handcart over the cobbles outside the Guildhall. Here they were kept in good repair, better than in some other streets.

  ‘Not far. Just along St Mildred Street.’

  ‘No distance then,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘How long are you into your apprenticeship?’

  ‘Two years. A little more. I have learned to know all the woods, and I can make most joints, though nothing like so well as the master. Master Godwin says that will come with practice.’

  Master Godwin was the journeyman with whom I had placed my order for firewood.

  ‘I am sure it will. Was that your first bedpost?’

  ‘Aye, and we are not allowed to use callipers. We must judge it all by eye.’

  ‘I am sure that will come with practice, too. If you used callipers, I suppose you would not develop the eye.’

  ‘Probably not.’ He grinned. ‘Still, I’m glad of a change.’

  When we reached St Mildred Street, I asked him to wait for a moment, past the first few houses, and went on ahead to the Farringdons’ home. Juliana answered my knock. She smiled and looked over my shoulder.

  ‘Mother has taken Emma to the bottom of the garden, to collect the apples from that old tree. There are quite a few, so you are safe yet a while. Where is this mysterious object?’

  I turned and waved to Will to bring the cart the rest of the way.

  ‘It is a scrivener’s desk,’ I said, ‘to replace that wobbly table. Can you move the table, before we carry the desk upstairs?’

  ‘Aye, there will not be room for both.’

  She pushed the door as wide as it would go, and ran through to the stairs leading up from the kitchen.

  I was mighty relieved to have Will’s help. Solid oak, the desk was, and it seemed somehow much larger here in this small cottage than it had looked in Shippan’s workshop. And it was heavy! We were both panting by the time we had manoeuvred it, with some difficulty, up the narrow stairs and into the girls’ bedchamber. For one bad moment I feared it would not pass through the door, but Will removed the swivelling shelf, and then we were through. As he fixed it in place again, he glanced about with interest.

  ‘I thought you would want this in your shop, Master Elyot.’

  ‘Nay,’ I said, ‘this scrivener works from home.’

  Once we had the desk in place where the light from the window would flow over from Emma’s left, illuminating her work without interruption, I saw that it would fit neatly into the room. It was larger than the table, but mainly in height.

  ‘My thanks to you, Will,’ I said, pressing a groat into his hand. ‘Have a cup of ale on your way back. It was thirsty work.’

  He grinned. ‘Thought we’d never have it up those stairs, Master Elyot.’

  And he went off, whistling.

  Alysoun had come to peer through the door. She seemed amazed at the sight of the desk, and wanted, at once, to play with all its devices.

  ‘Not now,’ Juliana said. ‘We will go and fetch Emma. Mind, you are not to spoil the surprise! We will simply tell her we want to show her something in the bedchamber. We might pretend to be somewhat worried. Do you think you could do that?’

  ‘Aye.’ Alysoun’s eyes shone at being part of a conspiracy, and they ran off down the stairs together.

  I went to the window to watch, but kept to one side, lest Emma look up and catch sight of me.

  Juliana and Alysoun walked down the unkempt garden together, along the path which had been cleared through the long grass and nettles. Come the winter, we must clear the rest. Juliana was strolling casually, holding back Alysoun, who was skipping excitedly. I saw Juliana lean down and say something to her. Alysoun nodded and stopped her skipping. They disappeared behind a row of rampant gooseberry bushes.

  It seemed a long time before they reappeared with Emma and Maud, but I suppose Juliana had been careful not to seem in a hurry, which might have alerted Emma that something was afoot. As it was, she was strolling slowly, carrying a large basket of apples. The four of them came back to the house – though I saw that Alysoun could not refrain from the occasional skip – then they disappeared from my sight as they entered the kitchen.

  ‘Can you come up to our bedchamber, Emma?’ Juliana’s voice floated up the stairs. ‘There has been a rather odd delivery.’

  ‘For me?’ Emma sounded puzzled. ‘Is it something from my grandfather?’

  ‘You had best come and see.’

  I could hear their feet on the stairs. It sounded as though all four were coming, and Maysant as well. This was not quite what I had planned. I drew back into the corner, but kept the sight of the open door in my view. I wanted to see her face.

  Then she was there, shading her eyes with her hand from the sunlight flowing in from the window. She stood quite still. I had a moment of panic. Would she be offended? Perhaps she had liked the little table. What had possessed me to make such an extravagant gesture? Well, if she did not like it, I could always take it away for my own use. I thought wryly of trying to get it through the door and down the stairs again.

  For a moment she went quite white, and then colour began to rise from her neck and flood her face. She took one step into the room, and then two.

  I heard Maud say, ‘Come away girls.’

  They must have retreated back down the stairs, but I was not listening.

  Emma took two more steps into the room. Then she saw me.

  To my astonishment and alarm, I saw that there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘Oh, I beg you, Emma,’ I blurted out, ‘do not cry. I can take it away. I should not have interfered.’

  She shook her head. She ran her fingers over the carved vines along the frame, and caressed the silken smoothness of the writing slope. I began to hope again.

  ‘Nicholas,’ she said softly, ‘oh, Nicholas, you read me as surely as any book.’

  I came towards her and laid my hand beside hers on the desk.

  And she put her arms around me.

  Historical Note

  The gre
at town fairs of the Middle Ages were the centres of commerce for centuries, attracting both those who came to sell and those who came to buy. Merchants would travel from country to country with their wares, under conditions which would seem daunting to us today. They used strings of pack-ponies or mules, sea-going ships, and river barges. There were dangers along the way, not only from poor roads, precipitous mountain passes, storm-tossed sea crossings, and dirty inns, but also from gangs of robbers, out to steal both goods and money, who would not hesitate to kill. In many cases this meant employing an armed guard to protect the safety of both goods and men. Yet somehow the merchants managed it, carrying along with their goods news of far flung parts of Europe and the Mediterranean.

  There could be danger, too, from wars between the countries of Europe. In 1353 there was a brief truce between England and France in the long conflict which has come to be known as the Hundred Years War. Given the characters of the two kings and the importance to England of the crown’s French possessions, the resumption of the war was only a matter of time.

  The most famous medieval fairs were the great fairs of Champagne, but by Nicholas’s time, these were beginning to decline, to the benefit of lesser fairs, like St Frideswide’s Fair in Oxford. The charter to hold a fair and benefit from all the tolls and rents was granted to the Priory of St Frideswide by Henry I in the early twelfth century. Initially it was held in the summer, but in 1228 the date was shifted to six days (some accounts say a week) starting on the Feast of St Frideswide on 19 October. During the days of the fair, all the shops in Oxford must remain closed, although the inns could provide for their guests.

  The loss of their own income and the substantial monies accruing to the priory were long resented by the townspeople of Oxford, particularly the traders. Matters would perhaps not have been quite so acrimonious had the priory had a better reputation, but the canons repeatedly attracted criticism for their behaviour from the bishop (at that time the Bishop of Lincoln). A number of conflicts appear in the record, including that of 1336 mentioned in the story, when the prior and canons were kidnapped and intimidated by a group of townsmen.