A Trail of Ink hds-3

by Mel Starr

"Aye."

  She was silent for a moment. "Perhaps there was a sign at the wall which you did not see, because you sought another."

  "How so?"

  "You sought two cavities in the grass where a man might have stood a ladder."

  "I did, and found nothing."

  "Perhaps there may be, in the grass at the base of the wall, a bit of leather thong, snapped from the thatcher's ladder. You did not seek such a thing, so might have overlooked it, even was it before your eyes."

  "'Tis near time for dinner at Canterbury Hall. So soon as my meal is done I will go again to search the wall."

  The pottage at Canterbury Hall this day was not up to the usual standard. The lack of achievement startled me, as the usual standard was easily met. Perhaps it was bland because of the day. Saturday is, of course, a fast day, so no bits of pork hid in the bowl.

  Master John peered at me from above his spoon throughout the meal. He is an impatient sort. Am I away from the Hall on his business, he will know what I may discover so soon as I pass the porter's gate. There was no reason to leave him in suspense, so I told him of the carters' work, Brother Michael of Eynsham, and the injured thatcher and his disjointed ladder.

  "Brother Michael of Eynsham, you say?"

  "Aye, so the carter's wife did say. You know this monk?"

  "We were students together at Balliol College." Wyclif grimaced as he spoke.

  "Your face," I commented, "says more than your words."

  "We were not friends."

  "How so?"

  "I had no reason to dislike the fellow when we first met, nor he me, as I know. But we were flint against steel from the first. Did I take one point in a disputation, Michael of Longridge took the contrary."

  "Did he do so with other scholars?"

  `I cannot recall. It was twenty years and more past. Then, in our second year at Balliol another scholar noticed coins missing from his purse. There was reason to suspect Michael, 'though I don't now remember why. It was my idea to notch a penny, then see did it go missing. It did, and a few days later, when we were at an inn, Michael paid for his wine with the notched coin."

  "He was dismissed from Balliol?"

  "Nay. He pleaded poverty, which was true enough. Promised to repay all. When he learned 'twas my thought to notch the coin, he had more reason to dislike me, I think. 'Twas Nicholas Map he stole from. Nicholas said he would make no trouble was he repaid, but the theft became known. The tale has followed Brother Michael, I think. He sought preferment, but is at Eynsham — a poor house, I am told."

  "Have you had discourse with him of late?"

  "Nay. I've not seen the man for… ten years, perhaps."

  "I am about to search at the wall again," I announced. "Will you come?"

  "Nay. The scholars of Canterbury Hall await my wisdom. What do you seek at the wall?"

  "Kate thought, did the thief use the thatcher's ladder and damage it, some part of the broken thong used to fix the rungs to the poles might have fallen in the grass. This would be a confirmation, I think, of what we suspect, if such a bit of leather strapping be found."

  "Aye. I wish you success."

  We parted, I to the porter's gate, Master John to the hall, where tables had been cleared and benches moved to turn the space into a place of learning.

  I stepped into Schidyard Street and was surprised to see Kate awaiting me there. She smiled when I appeared. I wish it may always be, that her fair face will reflect joy when her eyes fall upon me. It will be my duty as husband, I think, to make it so.

  "You are about to search the wall for a broken cord of leather?" she asked.

  "Aye."

  "I was hopeful I might search with you. Four eyes are better than two, and seeking the solution to a mystery appeals more than stitching gatherings."

  "Your father can spare you from the work?"

  "He must do so soon. He is seeking an apprentice to replace me."

  "Come. I will show you the place where the thieves, be that how they entered Canterbury Hall, must have come over the wall."

  Two thatchers were busy at the yarn-spinner's cottage, their work protracted due to the loss of one of their number. They looked up from their work as we skirted the wall. As I think back on the moment, it was probably not "we" they observed so intently. Being in Kate's company brings a man more attention than he might otherwise receive. And perhaps, more than he might want. I considered this and made note to myself that, was there a time I wished to be incognito, I must not be in Kate's company. Or would she be a successful distraction? What man, beholding Kate, would remember her unremarkable companion?

  While I considered this we reached the place where, if a ladder was used to scale the enclosure, it would have been placed.

  The thatchers got little work done for the next half-hour. Each time I looked from the grass to the yarnspinner's roof, I found them studying me. Or studying Kate, which was more likely. I found occasion to study her myself. Had I been more alert to my business I might have found the leather thong. But it was Kate who did so.

  The leather strip was far back from the wall, five paces or so, well away from where any ladder might have stood. As if, in a fury, whoso had broken the thong then flung it away in anger.

  Kate held the slender strip of leather above her head and laughed in satisfaction. It is not often a woman is allowed triumph over a man. I smiled at her sport, and thought as how a bailiff might be well served to have an observant wife.

  Kate held the thong out to me. There was but one more thing to do with it. I carried it to the yarn-spinner's home, where the ladder stood propped against the north wall. The thatchers watched me approach, then one recognized me as the surgeon who had treated their companion. He shouted a greeting from the roof, loosened his rope harness, and slid to the top of the ladder. Kate and I met him as his feet struck the ground.

  "You be the leech what set Aymer's shoulder to rights," he declared.

  "Aye. I saw him this day. The injury troubles him."

  "It does. He'll be more careful, like, on a roof, next job."

  "He is to come to Canterbury Hall this afternoon for some herbs which will dull the ache and perhaps grant sleep."

  "'E'll be grateful, can you do that."

  "He told me also that he was pitched from this ladder when you first set to work here."

  "'E was," the thatcher laughed. "On 'is arse in the mud. Splutterin' curses, 'e was."

  "A thong was missing, he said, and the rung fastened with but a length of yarn, dirtied so it would appear to be a strip of leather."

  "'At's right."

  My eyes traveled to the ladder. A new thong, lighter in color than the others, marked the repair. I held out the broken thong found in the grass. The thatcher peered at it, then at his ladder.

  "The lass found this in the grass between here and the wall about Canterbury Hall. A match for the others, would you agree… but for the new repair."

  "Aye, 'tis. But why was it there?"

  "Someone may have used your ladder to go over the wall and commit theft."

  "Must've torn the thong on the way down," the thatcher mused.

  Aymer Thatcher appeared around the corner where Canterbury Hall meets St John's Street. I turned to greet him, showed him the broken thong, and bid him follow Kate and me to the porter's gate. I have had good result in treating the pain of injuries with a potion of wild lettuce and hemp seeds and root. Mixed with ale, these herbs bring sleep and allay much affliction. I might have included seeds of columbine, but I mistrust the use, for too much is poison. A man in great pain might be tempted to take more than he was advised. Then all pain, and his life, would be ended.

  I left Kate and the thatcher at the gate, found my pouch in the guest chamber, and poured generous portions of the herbs into a bottle, which I sealed with a wooden plug. In my pouch was also a small vial of flax-seed oil mixed with the oil of monk's hood. The concoction is potent in relieving aches when rubbed on the afflicted joint, but deadly if
consumed.

  I found the thatcher leaning against the wall, and Kate also, pressed close to the stones. Her brow was furrowed, her face pale. My first thought was that this thatcher had made free with his tongue while I was seeing to his relief. I was about to speak sharply to the fellow when, following Kate's gaze, I saw two men sauntering down St John's Street toward Canterbury Hall: Sir Simon Trillowe and a youth I took to be his squire.

  I handed the bottle of herbs and vial of oil to Aymer and was about to instruct him in their use when Sir Simon's path brought him before us. He stopped, stared at me, then Kate, then back to me. He smiled. No, he smirked, and finally spoke.

  "We meet again… Hugh, is it?"

  "Master Hugh," Kate replied.

  "Do maids speak for you?" he jibed.

  "Perhaps those who would not speak to you would willingly speak for Master Hugh," Kate rejoined. Her cheeks were flushed red.

  "Ah, but Mistress Kate, you have just spoken to me.

  "'Twas of need, not pleasure, be sure." Kate turned from Sir Simon and found something engrossing beyond the Canterbury Hall gate which demanded her attention.

  "Perhaps we will meet again, Master Hugh." He emphasized "Master". "Indeed, I am certain of it." He walked on. The youth turned to me and laughed.

  What was I to do? Seek Lord Gilbert and complain? Of what? Had I been threatened? Probably. Could I prove it? No. Did I want Lord Gilbert to think me incapable of winning my own battles? I resolved that, for so long as I remained in Oxford, I would wear my dagger under my cotehardie. I was sure Sir Simon spoke true. We would meet again. He would see to it. His injured pride demanded balm.

  I instructed the thatcher to mix a portion of the lettuce and hemp into a pint of ale an hour before he wished to sleep, and told him of the caution he must take in applying the oil to his skin; that no trace of the liquid must touch his lips. He tugged his forelock in gratitude and respect and asked what was owed for this relief. I collected a ha'penny and the thatcher set off clutching the flask and vial to his chest with his good hand. Kate and I followed.

  We were walking on Catte Street when Kate finally spoke. "Sir Simon is angry with me, I think."

  "At us. Had I hoped to win you, and lost, I would be as cross as he."

  "But you would not threaten another."

  "Would I not?"

  "Nay. I would not wed such a man, and you are not."

  "Aye," I agreed. "I would endure my loss in silence."

  I had not thought of the Lady Joan Talbot, now the Lady de Burgh, for many months. As I spoke her comely face came to mind. But only briefly. Kate is quite capable of banishing thoughts of other females from my mind.

  I left Kate at her father's shop with the promise that we would meet on the morrow for troth plight and hear the banns first read. I do not remember what the Canterbury Hall cook served that evening for supper. It was surely another pottage with maslin loaves, else I would remember. Stolen books and a comely maid possessed my thoughts.

  Master Wyclif accompanied me to St Peter's Church next morning. With Master John and her father as witnesses, Kate vowed before a priest to become my wife, and I pledged to make her so.

  Before the mass a curate stood and announced to the congregation our intention to wed. He asked was there any who knew of reason we might not. I half expected Sir Simon to appear from behind a pillar and denounce our purpose. But he did not, nor did any other, and so the banns were announced. Twice more the priest would do so, then Kate might become my wife.

  I thought as we left the church that day that I detected envious glances from other young men directed to me. Perhaps it was my imagination.

  Arthur arrived next day in time for dinner. I was not surprised. Arthur dislikes missing a meal. He was rewarded for his alacrity. Dinner this day at Canterbury Hall was a pease pottage with coney and onions.

  When the meal was done I drew Arthur to the guest chamber to question him regarding Bampton and how the reading of the banns was received. He sat upon a bench, belched with contentment, and conveyed the congratulations of Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla.

  "The lady sent servants to Galen House this morning, early, as I was settin' out for Oxford. Told Lord Gilbert it must be made fit for a bride. Knowin' Lady Petronilla, 'twill be so, any soon."

  "I hope it will be soon needed. But I cannot take a bride to Bampton and leave her there while I return to Oxford to seek stolen books. Come, we'll seek the carters' house and see have they returned from London yet."

  They had not. No horse peered out from the tiny barn, and there was no cart in the toft. I left Arthur on Kybald Street and told him to loiter about the place. Should the carters return he would find me at Canterbury Hall, but not before supper. I told him I intended to retrieve Bruce from the stable behind the Stag and Hounds and visit the Abbey of St Mary at Eynsham.

  From Oxford to Eynsham is near five miles. Bruce is not a beast to be hurried, so I heard the abbey bells ring for nones as we splashed across the Thames at Swinford.

  The abbey hosteller was pleased, I think, to learn that I did not require the abbey's hospitality for the evening. I told the fellow that I wished to see the abbot, on Lord Gilbert Talbot's business. This was not so much a falsehood. Lord Gilbert had set me to find Master John's books, so the commission made the work Lord Gilbert's business, would you not agree?

  The hosteller turned Bruce over to a servant and instructed him to see the old horse to the abbey stables. This servant was the largest man I had ever seen. I am taller than most men, but this fellow was a head taller than me. He could look Bruce in the eyes as he led the old horse away. The arms which took the reins were as thick through as my neck.

  The hosteller led me to the western range of the cloister, where it is common among Benedictines for the abbot to enjoy private quarters. I am sure I could not have entered this chamber had I announced my presence as an obligation to Master Wyclif. The service of a powerful lord will open many doors barred to those whose service is to lesser folk.

  The abbot answered the hosteller's knock upon his door with a rasping invitation to enter. Abbot Thurstan was a small man. His wizened body was shrunken in a habit which once might have fit, but he was now lost in its folds. His head no longer needed a razor. The fringe of white hair circling his skull was nature's work. My father, no monk, wore such a tonsure, as will I, no doubt, some years hence.

  The sun, now low in the western sky, illuminated the abbot's lodging with a brassy glow. He was a dark outline in the light pouring through the windows behind him. Dust floated and flickered, golden motes in the air. The abbot's head was rimmed in a gilded fringe as the sun tinted his silver locks.

  Abbot Thurstan had been seated at a large table upon which an open book indicated his interrupted pursuit. As he stood he plucked spectacles from his nose. To think that in the last century there were some who thought these small bits of brass and glass were the devil's work. How could this be so, when they are such a boon to those whose eyes are weary with years?

  The hosteller announced me as Master Hugh de Singleton, about Lord Gilbert Talbot's interests. Abbot Thurstan bid me be seated in one of three chairs which occupied a corner of his chamber, and set himself in another.

  "How does Lord Gilbert?" he asked in a thin, cracking voice.

  "Very well, as does the Lady Petronilla."

  "Good." A distant look came to the old man's eyes and he stared as if drawn to some image beyond my shoulder. "I knew his father, Lord Richard. An estimable knight… but I forget myself."

  The abbot reached for a small bell upon his table and rang it. A lay brother appeared at the door nearly as soon as he placed the bell back upon the table.

  "Wine for our guest, Jerome, please."

  Jerome scurried off about this task and Abbot Thurstan turned again his attention to me. "How may I serve Lord Gilbert?"

  I was about to tell him when Jerome reappeared with an ewer of Rhenish wine and two silver goblets. Lord Gilbert's name did indeed com
mand respect.

  Jerome filled the goblets and silently left the chamber. Abbot Thurstan motioned for me to take one of the goblets and lifted the other with a trembling hand. The wine was excellent, sweet and clear. We sipped in silence for some time, until the old monk seemed to remember himself, and put the question to me again.

  "Ah, how may we serve Lord Gilbert?"

  "A friend of m'lord has been robbed."

  The abbot's brow furrowed and he drew his lips thin across yellowing teeth. "I am sorry to learn of any theft, but what has this to do with the abbey? And what has been stolen?"

  "The stolen items are such as an abbey might wish to purchase," I replied.

  "Hah," the abbot chuckled. "Not this abbey. We are forty monks and seventy lay brothers and can but feed ourselves and do no other. Our debts," he waved a feeble, veined hand, "mount each year. Since the great death our tenants are few and income much reduced. No, we will not purchase stolen goods, be they ever so desirable, for we can purchase few goods at all."

  "Would the abbey be asked to serve another in such a matter… that is, to act as broker for another purchaser?"

  The old man stroked his chin, much as Lord Gilbert might do. "I might answer that more honestly did I know what has been stolen."

  "You have been asked to act as agent?"

  "Did I say that? I have not. But did I know what is taken, I could tell you if it be likely I, or Prior Warin, would even be asked."

  "Books."

  "Lord Gilbert sent you to find stolen books? Whose books?"

  "A friend."

  "Never mind." The old monk took another swallow of his wine. "I think I know. 'Tis Master Wyclif's books you seek, is this not so?"

  "Aye. Has this news come to Eynsham already?"

  "We learned of it some days past. What has Lord Gilbert to do with this theft?"

  "I am Lord Gilbert's bailiff at Bampton. Master Wyclif is a friend. When I told Lord Gilbert that Master John asked my help in recovering his stolen books, Lord Gilbert released me from my duties at Bampton to do so. Master Wyclif is a favorite of Duke John, as you may know."

  "So 'tis said. I wonder," the old monk mused, "if the thief knew his act might set two great lords against him?"