by Mel Starr
"You need to borrow a ladder?" he finally asked. "Thatcher won't mind, I'm thinkin', so long as it's back 'ere when he begins work."
"When will that be?"
"Soon, I 'ope. Thought he was to begin last week."
"How long has the ladder been here?"
"Dropped it off with a cart-load of reeds near a fortnight past. Reeds is out front. 'Ope 'e gets round to me roof soon, 'fore November rains set in."
"Does the ladder lay now just as it did when the thatcher left it?"
"Dunno… paid no heed."
"Would you come and have a look?"
"Aye. What's all this about?" The yarn-spinner peered at Master John. "You be of Canterbury Hall?"
"I am," Wyclif replied.
"Thought I seen you there. Does the Hall need a ladder, the thatcher won't mind yer usin" is… won't know of it anyway, so long as you bring it back."
The four of us passed the corner of the house and gazed upon the ladder. "Is it as it was when the thatcher left it?" I asked.
"Can't say. Paid no mind." The puzzled expression returned to the fellow's face as he realized we intended to borrow no ladder. An explanation was in order.
"Property has gone missing from Canterbury Hall. 'Tis possible some felon used a ladder to get over the wall, just there." I pointed to the wall, some twenty paces away.
Understanding, then apprehension washed across the yarn-spinner's countenance.
"I'm an honest man, an' no thief," he protested.
"We do not accuse you," I assured him, "but it's possible the stolen goods were taken by one who gained entrance to the Hall over the wall."
"An' so you want to know has the ladder been moved?" The yarn-spinner grasped my intent. "I been busy with work. Gave no thought to the thatcher's business… 'E hasn't begun yet, so…"
The man's voice trailed off with his thoughts.
"Have you seen, in the past fortnight, any man walking along the wall?"
"Nay. None pass there. Where would a man go did e walk behind me toft along that wall? His journey would lead 'im no place."
"No place an honest man need go," Arthur added.
We stood between the yarn-spinner's house and that of the cobbler as we discussed ladders and walls. While we spoke my gaze drifted over the town wall to the water meadow to the south and the willows lining the banks of the Cherwell. Two figures walked there; a woman dressed in a long cotehardie of blue, and a man wearing particolored chauces, a red cotehardie, and a cap ending in a long yellow liripipe. The couple were two hundred paces from me, and walking away, so I could not see their faces. I did not need to.
The sight of Kate and Sir Simon caused me to lose the thread of our conversation. The others noted this and followed my eyes to the south. We four stared at the strolling pair, and Arthur began to sing in a cracked voice, "It was a lover an' his lass, with a hey, with a ho, with a hey nonnny, nonny, no."
The yarn-spinner and Master John chuckled at this wit. Then Wyclif noticed my face and fell silent.
I turned my face from Kate Caxton to the riddle before me: Master John's missing books. Any man who had seen Mistress Kate might wonder that I was able to do so. Truth is, the resolve did not last long.
I have found it helpful when faced with a puzzle to write of events and possible solutions, placing my thoughts on parchment. Doing so keeps my mind ordered, and some minor incident, when inked on parchment, can take on new significance.
So as Master Wyclif, Arthur, and I trudged along the wall and back to the porter and the gatehouse, I asked Master John for parchment, quill, and ink. Also for a table and bench. These were brought to the guest chamber. I set Arthur free for the afternoon, told Master John of my intent, and until the tenth hour sat scratching my thoughts on parchment. I wondered if I was wasting parchment. And yes, more than once my thoughts strayed to Kate Caxton.
Master John's books were gone, likely taken by more than one man. The porter, did he speak truthfully, saw no one enter the hall. The scholars, both monks and seculars, were at supper when the thieves struck. But these felons knew where to go, so some knowledge of the Hall might have been passed to them. Or perhaps the thieves were formerly attached to Canterbury Hall. Or perhaps they were simply in luck when they entered Master John's chamber.
Arthur's guess that a ladder was used to gain entrance had seemed worth pursuing, but when the wall and grounds about it were examined no sign of a ladder's use was found. Nevertheless, a ladder was readily available. But would a thief, intent on stealing Master John's books — a thing which must have been contemplated for many days — know that the thatcher's ladder would be conveniently propped against the yarn-spinner's house? Perhaps, if a ladder was used, the thieves brought their own, and the presence of the thatcher's ladder was but coincidence.
To what man would the books be most valuable? A scholar, surely. Or who would most like to see Master John bereft of his volumes? Oxford is a den of scholarly vipers, each seeking eminence above others. Did some master take this way to avenge himself against a slight from Wyclif?
"Too many folk here in a hurry," Arthur announced, breaking upon my thoughts as he entered the guest chamber. "Even on the Lord's Day, scurryin' 'ere an' there. Bampton be more to my likin'."
His remarks concluded, Arthur sat heavily upon the other bench and stared at me, then at the parchment before me. What I had written there was meaningless to him, but he peered at the writing with a confident expression, as if the mystery of stolen books could be explained through the mystery of writing.
I laid the quill aside, picked up the parchment, and told Arthur, "Here are no answers, only questions."
"An' when you find answers to the questions, you find books, eh?"
"Aye. And not all of the questions need answers. Only the proper questions must be explained."
"Trouble is," Arthur observed, "you don't know yet of the questions you writ which ones 'tis need answers. That right?"
"Aye. I must choose what I will search for first — books, or the thief who plundered them. If I find the thief, I will then find the books. But the act of thievery is past, so how I am to trace the felon I do not know. If I find the books, I might then learn who it was who took them, and how, for the books are surely not destroyed, and are searchable."
"Seems to me," Arthur replied, "what Master Wyclif wants most is his books. Did he never know the thief he'll be satisfied, long as 'e has 'is books. T'other hand, 'e'd not be pleased to know who 'twas took 'em did 'e never see em again."
Arthur made sense. Find the books. See justice for the thief after. If the books were ever offered for sale, my work would be easier. If they had become part of some scholar's library, I must fail. How could I inspect every library in every house and hall and college in Oxford?
The first thing to do was to visit the stationers of Oxford and leave with each a list of the stolen volumes. I sought Master John and procured another sheet of parchment upon which I made seven lists of the stolen works. This business I did not conclude until the sun was below Oxford's rooftops and the bell rang for supper. I include the list:
Rhetoric: Aristotle
Perspective: Witelo
Institutes: Priscian
Categories: Aristotle
Ethics: Aristotle
Metaphysics: Aristotle
Sentences: Lombard
Topics, Books 1, 2, and 3: Boethius
Topics, Book 4: Boethius
Elements: Euclid
Almagest: Ptolemy
Historia Scholastica: Comestar
Commentary on Aristotle's "Physics": Grosseteste
Commentary on Posterior Analytics: Grosseteste
De causa dei: Bradwardine
Holy Bible
De Actibus Animae: Wyclif
De Logica, three volumes: Wyclif
Borrowed:
Moralia on Job: Gregory the Great
Historia Ecclesiastica: Bede
Arthur and I set off Monday morning to visit the stat
ioners and booksellers of Oxford. Of such establishments there had been six when I was a lad at Balliol College. I assumed Caxton's shop would make seven. I was wrong.
I determined to visit the other stationers first, as I hoped there might be other business to detain me at Caxton's. I left the sixth list at a shop on the Northgate Street, and passed two other stationers new to me before Arthur and I arrived at Holywell Street before Caxton's open shutters. I must copy two more lists.
We entered the shadowed shop and blinked in the dim interior. Caxton, behind his desk, looked up, saw me, and spoke a greeting. I thought I saw something of pleasure and relief in his eyes, but perhaps my vision was but obscured by the shadows.
"Master Hugh," Caxton greeted me as he rose from his bench. "I am pleased to see you again. I feared, with winter near upon us, you might not call again 'til May."
"I have business in Oxford," I replied.
"Always business, Master Hugh? Never pleasure?"
"Ah, well, I had hoped to combine the two."
"Perhaps hope is not enough, Master Hugh. Perhaps you should be more businesslike in seeking pleasure."
I was well rebuked.
"Business before pleasure. I have a list of books stolen from Master John Wyclif near a fortnight past." I handed the summary to Caxton and he held it close before his nose to read. "Twenty-two books missing. Has any man wished to sell a volume from the list?"
Caxton read the list carefully before he answered. "A sergeant asked the same ten days ago, but he had no list. A penniless scholar wished to sell a copy of Ovid's Metamorphoses last week, but that is not on your list, and he has not returned. I think another stationer made better offer. But no… none of these have been offered. If so any are, I am to seek you straightaway, is this not so?"
"Aye. Master John has asked my assistance, and Lord Gilbert has commissioned me to seek books and felons."
Arthur stood behind me, cap in hand, in the door of the shop, during this conversation. So it was that when Kate slipped past him she could not see into the dim interior of the building to see who it was who spoke to her father. Arthur is so constructed as to block a view quite well.
Arthur's place also obstructed my sight, so when Kate put her hand to mouth and blurted, "Master Hugh!" I was as startled as she. And she was but a dark shape in the door, the bright street and city wall behind her. But a pleasing shape.
An awkward silence followed, finally broken when Caxton announced that he had business to attend to in the workroom. Arthur may not read words on a page, but he can read the times. He advised that he was off to the Stag and Hounds to see to the horses and disappeared through the shop door as Caxton vanished into his workroom.
I managed to stammer a greeting and express pleasure that I should find Kate well. Perhaps that was an assumption, but she certainly appeared well.
"I thought, after last week, you might not return," she replied. "I am pleased to be wrong."
My wits were scrambled. This was not a new experience when in the presence of a comely maid. I managed to speak the wrong words. "I… uh, have business in Oxford… for Master John Wyclif."
Her countenance fell. "Oh. I thought, perhaps…"
I saw my error and hurried to undo it. "I was pleased when this duty brought me to Oxford, for there is another matter here which calls for my attention."
"What are these two matters, Master Hugh?"
"I seek a thief, and have designs to become one myself."
Kate had moved to stand beside the open shutter. My words puzzled her. Her eyebrows rose and forehead furrowed.
"I will explain. Master John Wyclif, newly appointed warden of Canterbury Hall, has suffered a grievous loss. Twenty-two books of his were stolen from his chamber a fortnight ago while he was at supper."
"You think the thief may try to sell the stolen books?" she mused.
"Aye. I have brought your father a record of the missing volumes. But none have been offered him for sale."
"And what of the other business which brings you to Oxford? You seek to become a thief? I am at a loss, Master Hugh."
"Aye, a thief. A thing may be stolen yet violate no law."
"You speak in riddles," she pouted.
"I will make me plain. I seek to steal a heart."
"Ah… you speak aright, Master Hugh. Against such a theft there is no law, although mayhap a lifetime of penalty result."
"Penalty?"
"Indeed. Dare a man steal a maid's heart, he will own an obligation his life long… although some husbands there may be who do not see it so."
"Perhaps some husbands see such an obligation as onerous, rather than a delight."
"So you seek such an obligation and think gaining it a joy?"
"I do, and I would."
"Then the maid is to be congratulated, I think, should you succeed in this theft."
"I trust she may always think so."
"But perhaps theft is unnecessary. Perhaps a heart may be given, and need not be stolen."
"'Twould surely be best, I think."
"And what progress have you made in these matters?"
"Little, I fear. I have left a register of the stolen volumes with most of Oxford's stationers. But there are two more since I was in attendance at Balliol College… and your father. So I must prepare two more lists."
"If the thief took the books for his own library, what then?" Kate asked.
"This is a worry. Should none of the missing works appear at an Oxford stationer for sale, then I am at a loss. I will vex myself no more at present, and allow concern for the future to care for itself. Our Lord Christ said, `Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof."'
"And the heart you would steal… has this been chosen?" She could not hide a smile as she spoke.
"Aye, it has. But I am not a practiced thief, and know little of how such robbery may be accomplished. I thought to walk the water meadow on the banks of the Cherwell to think on it. There is a path there, I have heard. Would you accompany me?"
"I will, Master Hugh, does my father not need me.
Robert Caxton did not need his daughter for any pressing business, and I caught a glimpse of him peering out from his workroom door as Kate and I left the shop.
We strolled east on Holywell Street to Longwall Street, past the Trinitarian Friars and St John's Hospital, thence to the Cherwell and its fringe of willows at the East Bridge. The grass of the water meadow was short, cut for winter fodder and now but brown stubble. Across the meadow I could see, past the town wall, the wall of Canterbury Hall and the houses which stood before it. These structures lay upon rising ground, and so overlooked the town wall. To the west of Canterbury Hall the spires of St Frideswide's Priory Church rose toward the heavens.
My attention was drawn to the three houses abutting Canterbury Hall. Three men crawled about the roof of the center dwelling. The yarn-spinner would soon have a new roof.
Kate followed my eyes and noted also the activity two hundred paces to the north. I had turned my gaze back to the sluggish stream. Moving water has always held attraction for me, whether the muddy Wyre, near my childhood home at Little Singleton, or Shill Brook, at Bampton. But Kate was yet observing the thatchers and so saw as one lost his grip near the peak of the roof, slid down the slope, and dropped from the eave to the ground. I heard her catch her breath as this mishap, unknown to me, unfolded before her eyes. I turned and saw her hand rise to her lips.
"What has happened?"
"A thatcher has fallen from that rooftop just now. I saw him drop. Come… your skills may be needed."
Kate grasped my arm and drew me in haste from the path and across the brown stubble of the meadow to the Southgate and thence up to St Frideswide's Lane, leading east around the priory.
The fallen thatcher had been lifted to a sitting posture when Kate and I reached him. His companions were attempting to discover the extent of his injury, but this was obvious. He clutched his left shoulder with his right hand and cried imprecations when
ever his companions touched the offended spot. The thatcher, I guessed, had fallen upon his shoulder and broken his collarbone, or perhaps dislocated the shoulder, or maybe both.
I had some experience with dislocated shoulders, having restored Bampton's miller from such an injury, but had never treated a broken collarbone. Indeed, little treatment is possible for such a hurt.
As we came upon the fallen thatcher he was loudly berating the friend who had unwisely sought to examine the injury. His cries included utterances unsuited for a maid's ears, but Kate did not blush. Rather, she pushed me toward the thatchers and spoke:
"We saw your friend fall. This is Master Hugh de Singleton, a surgeon. Perhaps he may serve…"
"A surgeon?" one repeated. "Aye, that we do need. Aymer, do you hear? The lad's a surgeon. Fix you up in no time."
Aymer seemed unimpressed with this announcement and continued to groan and voice anathema against the roof which had tossed him to the ground.
Aymer's companions stood away from him and I knelt before him in their place. He quieted and peered at me, propped up now by his right hand upon the earth behind him.
The fall had dropped the thatcher nearly before the cottage door. As I went to my knees to inspect the injury, I saw the yarn-spinner and his wife, attracted from the distaff by the commotion, observing the scene from the open door.
"You struck the ground upon your shoulder?" I asked.
"Aye," he grimaced. "'Eard somethin' pop, like, when I hit. Don't remember nothin' else 'til the lads sat me up."
"Can you move the fingers of your left hand?"
Aymer looked to his hand, wiggled the fingers, and seemed astonished that they functioned well.
"What did I do to meself?"
"I believe you have broken your collarbone, and perhaps suffered a dislocated shoulder as well. I must conduct an examination to be certain."
"Can you do aught for me?"
"Aye… when I have learned the nature of your injury."
"Best have at it then."
I took the thatcher's left wrist in my hands and squeezed. He made no response. I moved the pressure up his arm to the elbow. Still he made no complaint.
"You have broken no bone below the elbow," I told him.
