A Trail of Ink

by Mel Starr

  I found Arthur and released him to go to Cicily, his wife, and a warm bed, then felt my way along the dark wall of the hall until I reached the door to my chamber. Enough pale moonlight penetrated my window that I was able to find my bed without lighting a cresset. The bed was cold, but the hope that it would not long be so warmed me. This agreeable meditation I thought would bring sleep upon me, but not so.

  Who was Sir Walter Benyt, was that his true name, and why did he call me from Oxford? Had his false account to do with the brigands who attacked near Swinford? Was it my purse they sought, or a thing more valuable to me? Did they seek my life? If so, there could be but two reasons for their mission: to prevent me finding stolen books, or to prevent my marriage to Kate Caxton. I knew of no other reason men might wish to do me harm.

  Such thoughts pursued each other through my mind. I found little rest that night. I was yet awake when the Angelus Bell rang from the tower of St Beornwald’s Church and roused a rooster to his duty in the poulterer’s yard.

  No one in Bampton Castle knew of my presence but for Wilfred the porter and John Chamberlain. So there was no ewer of warm water with which to fill my basin and wash hands and face, and no ale nor maslin loaf with which to break my fast. I sought John’s chamber but found it vacant. As I turned from his door he appeared at the foot of the stairs which led to the solar and Lord Gilbert’s and Lady Petronilla’s chambers.

  “Ah,” he exclaimed. “You are well met. I have told m’lord of your return, and the circumstance. He would see you in the solar straightaway.”

  A blaze in the fireplace warmed the solar against the chill November morning. Lord Gilbert was licking his fingers after devouring a morning loaf as John ushered me into the room. Lady Petronilla was not present. I thought she might be in attendance upon her injured child, and that John Chamberlain was somehow mistaken in his declaration that there was nothing amiss with Richard. But not so.

  “Master Hugh,” Lord Gilbert roared as he stood to greet me. Most lords would remain seated to address their bailiff. I recognized the honor. “John has told me of your presence, and that some fellow has passed himself as a knight, requesting your return to Bampton on my command. What did the scoundrel say his name was?”

  “Sir Walter Benyt, m’lord.”

  “Bah… never heard of such a knight. And he told you Richard had broken a leg falling from the parapet?”

  “Aye, he did.”

  “The child may do so yet, for all the screeching from Lady Petronilla and his nurse when he steals away from their notice. But to my knowledge the lad was yet unmarred when the nurse put him to bed last night.”

  “Arthur and I were attacked while on the road yesterday, near Swinford.”

  “Attacked, you say?” Lord Gilbert’s face blackened and his brows drew together in a great scowl. “There is treachery here! Some knight lies when he says he comes from me. His tale puts you on the road, where knaves waylay you. How did you escape them?”

  I told Lord Gilbert of the floating log and Arthur’s use of it. He laughed heartily when I described the horse toppling over into the river, its rider pinned beneath it.

  “God’s eyes,” he roared, “I’d like to have seen that. His fellows did not pursue you then to Eynsham?”

  “Nay. Or if so, we reached the abbey before them.”

  Lord Gilbert’s laughter subsided and he went to pulling at his beard, a sure sign that his thoughts grew serious. “Whoever this Sir Walter Benyt may be, he and those who sent him to you with this tale will know that when you arrived here you would know the truth of the matter. They will expect you to return to Oxford. We must be certain they can do you no harm when you do. You do intend to return, do you not?”

  “Aye. I have learned some things which may lead to recovering Master Wyclif’s books, but that is uncertain. They are not recovered yet.”

  “Why,” he puzzled, “would someone invent a tale to put you on the road where you could be assailed?”

  “I thought at first, when the rogues were charging down upon us, that they sought my purse. But now, I think not.”

  “’Twas not your purse they wanted,” Lord Gilbert agreed. “It was you, I think. How have you angered men so that they seek to do you harm?”

  “I have thought on this. I seek stolen books. There are surely men who wish me no success. If they guess I may be close to a discovery, perhaps closer even than I know, they might wish to do me ill.”

  “And you are to wed a lass who had once a proud suitor who wished to do you mischief. I am told the banns were read in St Beornwald’s Church upon Sunday. I congratulate you, Hugh. We must keep you alive and whole until you are wed. After that, the lass… Kate, is it? Aye, Kate… she may take responsibility then.

  “You must be more cautious, Hugh,” Lord Gilbert continued. “After dinner I will accompany you back to Oxford myself. We will travel with half a dozen grooms. I think three men lurking in a wood near Swinford will allow us to pass.”

  My appetite was better this day than when I last dined at Bampton Castle. For the first remove there was pork in pepper sauce, roasted partridge, and parsley bread with herbed butter. For the second remove there was a fruit-and-salmon pie and dates in syrup. For the third remove the cook presented roasted capon, an egg leach, spiced apples, and pear-and-herb fritters.

  Returning to the pottages at Canterbury Hall would be a trial. But in Oxford I would be near to Kate. For her presence I will gladly bear the dietary afflictions of Canterbury Hall.

  As the subtlety was brought to Lord Gilbert after the third remove, he gave order that horses be readied for the journey to Oxford. Bruce, and Arthur’s old palfrey were weary from travel the day before, so Lord Gilbert did not press the beasts to much speed. I worried that the day would be far gone before he and the grooms attending us could return to Bampton. Even a powerful lord and his retainers might not wish to be on the road after dark. A noble’s ransom will fetch more shillings than his purse will carry.

  My concern was answered at Eynsham. Lord Gilbert drew our party to a halt before the abbey and asked – no, demanded – the porter to fetch Brother Giles, for so the hosteller was named. When he appeared he was told that Lord Gilbert and six grooms would require shelter that evening. The hosteller bowed and promised all would be ready when Lord Gilbert returned.

  At Swinford Lord Gilbert raised a hand to halt our party and asked to be again told of Arthur’s feat with the floating log. He chuckled anew at the tale and when Arthur urged the palfrey up to his side Lord Gilbert playfully swatted his groom upon the shoulder.

  “I told you when I sent Arthur to accompany you to Oxford he was a useful fellow, did I not?”

  “You did, and I have found him so more than once this past fortnight.”

  Lord Gilbert urged his courser into the river and our party splashed across the ford. When we had crossed he raised a hand again and asked whereabouts it was that the three horsemen had set out after Arthur and me the day before. I told him that observing the landscape had been low on my priorities when I saw men wielding swords emerge from the forest, but he charged me to take the lead and see could I not discover the place where the knaves lay in wait. We might, he asserted, learn something of the fellows did we find where they set their ambush. I thought this unlikely. I was wrong.

  I prodded Bruce forward while attempting to recognize landmarks I had seen earlier going in the opposite direction on a galloping horse. This was not a successful endeavor until, some five hundred paces from the river, I saw an opening in the wood. A narrow path led to the north, which was the direction from which the three horsemen had appeared. This trail was near to overgrown with brambles, but it seemed possible that horses in single file might traverse it. I pulled Bruce to a halt and examined the forest through the aperture. Lord Gilbert reined his mount to a stop beside Bruce and studied the narrow opening.

  “Was it here they lay in wait?” he asked.

  “I am unsure. Does the path pierce the forest deeply e
nough that three horses may be hid from whoso may pass on the road? Fallen leaves obscure the ground. I see no hoofprints.”

  “We shall soon know,” Lord Gilbert announced, and swung down from his saddle. I dismounted also, as did Arthur. Lord Gilbert instructed the others to wait with the horses, then plunged into the narrow, thorn-bordered path. Arthur and I followed.

  Where this trail verged upon the road there was grass, but a few paces into the forest the track turned to mud. Too little sunlight penetrated the canopy for any but the hardiest brambles to prosper. The earth here was covered with a yellow overlay of fallen leaves, so that the bare ground was concealed until Lord Gilbert swept leaves from the track with the toe of a boot.

  “Hah,” he shouted triumphantly. “See here, Hugh.”

  He pointed to the damp earth at his feet. The prints of several horses were clearly impressed into the mud.

  “Here is where the scoundrels lay in wait for you, Hugh.”

  I agreed that this was likely, as there was no other reason for horses to be upon this hidden forest track. This was the wrong season to seek blackberries, and the path was too shaded, and no man would do so from horseback even was it midsummer.

  The low afternoon sun penetrated to the path in mottled patches of golden light. In June this might be so only at mid-day, but now, in November, many leaves had fallen so that even a slanting sun could partially illuminate the thorns and nettles which lined the trail.

  Lord Gilbert, Arthur, and I gazed about this dent in the forest, seeking nothing in particular and finding just that.

  “There were horsemen here,” Lord Gilbert scoffed, “but the hoofprints of their beasts will not lead us to them.”

  Several times as we entered the forest thorns had fixed themselves to my chauces and coat. Another did so when I turned to follow Arthur to the road. I bent to release my coat from the bramble and against the dark twigs a tendril of green, illuminated in a tiny pool of sunlight, caught my eye. Lord Gilbert, now behind me, saw me pluck the object from a thorn and hold it to my eye.

  “What have you there?”

  I turned and held a wisp of green wool out to his inspection.

  “Ah,” he exclaimed. “The knaves did not leave this track whole after all.”

  “No. It seems they have abandoned a clue.”

  Some months earlier I had discovered a tuft of black wool in a bramble patch in a grove north of Bampton. The find led to a blackmailer and a murderer. I wondered if the green threads in my hand would lead to stolen books or a disappointed suitor.

  Lord Gilbert and his six grooms halted at the Castle Mill Stream and bade Arthur and me farewell. The streets of Oxford were crowded with folk completing the day’s business. No man was likely to accost me in such a public place, and Lord Gilbert was eager to return to Eynsham.

  Arthur and I again left our horses at the Stag and Hounds. Bruce seemed pleased to enter the yard behind the inn. Perhaps he considered the place a second home. We entered Canterbury Hall in time for supper, a pease pottage with maslin loaf and cheese. I was not much hungry.

  Master John was surprised at my early return. After supper he called me to his chamber to learn of the journey and the treatment he supposed I had given to Lord Gilbert’s son. Master John seems always ready to hear of surgeries I have done.

  I explained that Sir Walter Benyt, was that his true name, had misled me, and told of my brush with felons on the road. Master John was of the same opinion as Lord Gilbert.

  “There is villainy in this,” he spluttered. “’Twas not only your purse they sought!”

  “I have angered some who now wish to do me harm,” I agreed.

  “On my account, perhaps. I will be a wretched man should evil befall you as you seek my books. See to your safety, Hugh.”

  “Perhaps I was attacked by men in league with Sir Simon Trillowe?”

  “Hmm. The sheriff’s son who would have pursued Kate Caxton.”

  “Aye. We met a few days past outside the gate to Canterbury Hall. He is not content, I think, to let the matter rest.”

  “Young knights are a vain and vexatious lot. Well, he must be content, like it or not, in a month, will he not?”

  “Aye. Kate will be my wife, we will dwell in Bampton, and I need see the fellow no more. If I find your books.”

  The Angelus Bell rang from the Priory Church of St Frideswide and I could not stifle a yawn. Master John grinned. “I thought ’twas only we aged who must go to our beds with the Angelus Bell,” he jested.

  “You? Aged?”

  “A figure of speech. Older than you, Master Hugh. Although there be mornings my bones seem to creak more when I rise from my bed than they once did. In holy writ a man’s years are three score and ten… but few there be who see that many seasons. So wed your Kate and make the most of the years God will grant you.”

  “I will do so. I did not sleep well last night for weighing who might have misled me and sent me to Bampton, and why they did so.”

  “Then be off to your bed, and leave the matter with God for the night. Thinking on it when you might be sleeping will bring no solution, and on the morrow, when you might be rested and have your wits about you, you will be doltish for loss of rest.”

  I did as Master John advised. But it was not so easy to fall to sleep as he suggested. Arthur had gone to the guest chamber before me and was snoring contentedly upon his pallet when I opened the door. Worry did not keep me awake, but Arthur’s spluttering did. I know not how long I lay wakeful in my bed, but must have fallen to sleep before midnight, for I do not remember hearing the sacrist ring the priory bell for vigils.

  I was awake, considering whether or not to rise from my bed, when a knock upon the guest chamber door announced the arrival of a kitchen servant with an ewer of warm water. Arthur peered up at me from his pallet as I poured the water into a basin and washed my hands and face. He considers such activity unnecessary. It is quite enough, in Arthur’s view, to wash one’s hands before eating.

  I had no plan for this new day to seek enlightenment about Master John’s stolen books. I thought rather to seek Kate and walk with her again along the Cherwell, did the gray clouds which obscured the sun this morning not produce a cold rain.

  I told Arthur what I intended, set him free to his own devices for the day, and was about to walk through the gate to St John’s Street when the porter stepped from the gatehouse. He made to set off toward the guest chamber, then saw me approach and halted.

  “Master Hugh,” he greeted as I approached. “There is a fellow here who seeks you.” The porter turned and nodded toward the gatehouse.

  The man who awaited me was no Oxford scholar. He wore no gown, but was dressed fashionably in parti-colored chauces and a deep-brown cotehardie of fine wool. Over this he wore a surcoat also of brown wool. He was of middle age, with a paunch the result of prosperous business. I had seen the fellow before, but could not remember where or when.

  “Master Hugh?” the man bowed slightly in greeting. “Good day to you, sir.”

  “And good day to you. How may I serve you?”

  “Nay. ’Tis I who will serve you. I am John Colyn, stationer of Northgate Street. You visited my shop some days past with a list of stolen books.”

  “I did. Have you news?”

  “I do. A ragged young scholar visited me late yesterday. He wished to sell a volume, one of those on your list: Sentences.”

  Peter Lombard’s work is well known and much used in the colleges. There are surely many copies of the book in Oxford. I was convinced that Master Wyclif’s books had traveled by cart to Westminster, so was not prepared to think the stationer’s announcement of any importance. A hungry student might well wish to sell a book if its price would keep him fed for another term.

  “Did you purchase the book?”

  “Nay. The lad was not pleased with my offer. Said he would seek another who might pay more.”

  “What did you offer?”

  “Fourteen shillings. He h
ad not the volume with him. I told the lad I would promise no more unless I saw the book and might judge its condition.”

  “Think you another will offer more?”

  “May be. If the book has not been ill used it might fetch twenty shillings.”

  Over the stationer’s reply I heard excited voices from the gatehouse. The sound did not at first register with me. The porter was in feverish conversation with a female. Or rather, a lass was in feverish conversation with the porter, for it was a feminine voice which eventually seized my attention. Kate’s voice.

  I turned from the well-fed stationer and hastened to the gatehouse as the porter left his post and came toward me.

  “Ah, Master Hugh, there is a maid here seeks you. I told her you were in discourse with another, but she will not be quieted ’til you see her. ’Twill be no hardship for you, sir. She be a pert lass.”

  I hastened through the gate, John Colyn striding behind, and found Kate waiting impatiently on Schidyard Street.

  “Hugh… we must hurry,” she exclaimed as she took my arm and drew me toward the High Street. “A young scholar wishes to sell a book from the list you gave to father. I am sent to fetch you. Father is bargaining with the lad to detain him ’til you arrive.”

  I suspected Robert Caxton’s customer must be the same youth who offered Sentences to John Colyn. I needed no further urging to haste, although I was yet convinced that Master Wyclif’s books were in the abbey at Westminster and my task now was to see how they might be recovered from that place.

  John Colyn’s description of the young scholar as “ragged” was accurate. The youth who stood before Robert Caxton was pale and haggard. He was too young to grow a proper beard, and evidently too poor to afford a visit to a barber. A few feathery whiskers curled unmolested from his chin. His gown was near to threadbare. Had he no sturdy cloak he would endure a cold winter in the months to come.

  The youth had brought the book with him on his visit to Caxton’s shop, perhaps learning from John Colyn that its presence, was it not ill used, might generate a more liberal offer. Caxton was peering at the volume open upon his table as Kate and I breathlessly entered the shop.