A Trail of Ink

by Mel Starr

  “Is he a monk or secular?”

  “A secular. But why… ah, I see. If a Benedictine from Eynsham has to do with this, it might be best to exclude other Benedictines from the duty.”

  I heard the Angelus Bell ring from St Frideswide’s Priory Church. Darkness was upon the town. Arthur soon stalked through the gatehouse and reported no success. Robert Salley had not returned to the tavern.

  Master John and Arthur and I plotted the next day while we consumed a supper of pottage and maslin loaf. When the meal was done Wyclif called Roger Gaddesden to his chamber and I explained what was needed of him on the morrow. The man was near my own age, but seemed as exuberant as a child when told what was required of him. He was as much in awe of Master John as I had been when a student at Balliol College.

  Next day at dawn Arthur and I set out for the Red Dragon while Roger Gaddesden prepared to visit stationers in search of Master John’s stolen book. Clothed in Lord Gilbert’s livery of blue and black, Arthur was a memorable sight. I bid him discard this uniform temporarily and don a laborer’s garb. He was not pleased at the reduction in station, but agreed with the necessity when I explained what was needed of him.

  I thought it best that Arthur and I not be seen together near the Red Dragon, so bid him wait in Pennyfarthing Lane while I went first to the tavern to see had Robert Salley returned in the night. The proprietor had not yet opened his door for customers. I thumped upon it until my knuckles grew tender before the fellow opened to me.

  No, Salley had not returned. Yes, I might inspect his lodging myself did I desire. I did. The bare room was as I left it the day before. I departed the tavern, found Arthur wandering Pennyfarthing Lane, and told him to spend the morning watching Little Bailey Street and Littlegate Street for Salley’s return.

  The poor scholar did not return to his lodging that day, nor any other so far as I know. His trail was cold. Roger Gaddesden found no copy of Sentences offered, nor did any stationer know where such a volume might be had. One was willing to take an order, advising Gaddesden that a scribe in his employ could produce a copy in three months. Master John’s book, like Robert Salley, had disappeared.

  I sent Arthur to prowl Little Bailey Street next day also, knowing not that the ragged scholar would never again be seen near the Red Dragon. But another was seen there, and this appearance served to deepen my confusion.

  On the days when I assigned Arthur the boring task of pacing up and down the lanes near the Red Dragon, the fellow had only a maslin loaf for his dinner, washed down with a cup of ale from the tavern. So he was eager and punctual when the bell at St Fridewide’s rang for vespers and thereby warned that supper was about to be served at Canterbury Hall.

  Between spoonfuls of pottage Arthur told me of a visitor this day to the Red Dragon. Shortly after the sixth hour, while he was within the tavern concluding his sparse dinner with a cup of ale, Sir Simon Trillowe entered the place. At first Arthur thought it was me entering the shadowy tavern.

  “You an’ Sir Simon be much alike, since you began growin’ a beard. An’ he was wearin’ a fur coat much like yours.”

  Sir Simon bought no wine or ale, but strode directly to the stairway. His entry, Arthur reported, seemed not to interest the proprietor, who but glanced at Sir Simon as he entered, then showed no further interest in his presence.

  Sir Simon mounted the stairs to the upper floor of the tavern, spent but a few moments there, then clattered hurriedly back down to the ground floor. He walked straight to the tavern-keeper and addressed the fellow in whispered conversation. Arthur had seated himself by a far wall so as to be inconspicuous did Robert Salley return. He was too far distant from the parley to hear, but he saw the proprietor shake his head to answer several questions from Sir Simon.

  Sir Simon, Arthur added, left the tavern in a black mood. His brow was furrowed, his chin thrust forward, his visage foul.

  This information was near as hard to digest as the Canterbury Hall pottage. Who, or what, had Sir Simon sought at the Red Dragon? And why did failure cause the man such discontent? Did he seek Robert Salley also? If so, why? I had accepted Master John’s commission to seek a thief and stolen books, but rather than solve the riddle, my efforts had only found new mysteries. There was nothing to do but scratch my head in bewilderment, so I did.

  If I found Robert Salley I might press the youth about Master Wyclif’s book: how he came by it, and where may be the others. But I could hold no threat over Sir Simon Trillowe, to demand why he visited the Red Dragon and what he sought there. Perhaps it was not Salley Sir Simon pursued, but from Arthur’s description of the event Sir Simon did not find what he wished, and Salley was gone from the place.

  I walked alone – I did not wish any who frequented the Red Dragon to see Arthur in my presence – next morning to the tavern. The place was newly opened for business but had not yet attracted custom. I ordered a cup of wine and settled myself at a bench. The wine was well watered and I wondered that the mayor and sheriff did not fine the fellow. Just such practice caused the terrible St Scholastica Day riots that took so many lives when I was new come to Oxford.

  Perhaps the sheriff or the mayor had taken note of the business and sent Sir Simon to collect a fee which would turn the law from the Red Dragon’s door? But Arthur had seen no coin change hands, else he would have said, and had seen the tavern-keeper shake his head, “No.” I dismissed the thought.

  The low morning sun did little to illuminate the interior of the tavern. The proprietor gave no sign that he recognized me as the man who sought Robert Salley three days past. He was bored, drumming fingers upon his wine-stained table, and eventually began a conversation about the weather. November in England. Is there no other thing in November to complain of, the weather will always suit.

  I wore my fur coat this day, for the morning was chill. So it was clear to the fellow that I was no college scholar, and of some means; a man whose custom he would like to keep. It would have been easier for him to do so had he been less liberal with water in his wine.

  When he saw that my cup was near empty the tavern-keeper rose, ewer in hand, and approached my bench. I waved him away and as I did so I saw recognition flash across his face.

  “Ah… you was seekin’ Robert Salley yesterday,” he said in his gravelly voice.

  “Nay. ’Twas three days past I sought him. Has he returned?”

  I thought I knew the answer to that question, but thought it could do no harm to ask.

  “Pardon… a gentleman lookin’ much like you was ’ere seekin’ the lad yesterday. He’s not been back. Never seen ’im before, but ’e knew what ’e was about. Went straight up to Salley’s lodgin’s, an’ when ’e saw ’e wasn’t there come straight down an’ asked when ’e was like to return. Told ’im I hadn’t seen the fellow since Wednesday.”

  “Did you tell him how it was when Salley disappeared? How another sought him, and he went through the window to escape?”

  “Aye.”

  “How did the gentleman take the news?”

  “Right black about it, ’e was.”

  “Did he ask to be told when Salley returns, if he returns?”

  “Nay.”

  I wondered why that could be. I was about to offer the man tuppence would he promise to send word to the porter at Canterbury Hall did Robert Salley appear. Why would Sir Simon not do likewise? Perhaps he knew where the poor scholar might be was he not at the tavern.

  I opened my purse and gave the tavern-keeper tuppence; for the wine and for his eyes, which I asked he keep open for either Robert Salley or Sir Simon. Did the poor scholar return, he agreed to send his wife to Canterbury Hall with the news. Did Sir Simon, whose name I did not let fall, call again, he would report the event and conversation to me when I next called. I did not tell the fellow that Arthur would also be watching for Salley and Sir Simon. Perhaps I did not fully trust the tavern-keeper. He was willing to take silver from me. Might he accept coin from another to ignore or mislead me? Perhaps I am b
ecome too suspicious of other men.

  I found Arthur where I left him, on Fish Street, before St Frideswide’s Priory, and told him of Sir Simon’s search for Robert Salley.

  “Why would ’e be seekin’ the likes of a poor scholar?”

  “Could be coincidence,” I replied, “or it could be that Salley has something which Sir Simon wants.”

  “Or knows somethin’ Sir Simon wants to know,” Arthur added. “An’ if ’e wants somethin’, might be the same thing we want of ’im.”

  “Aye. Perhaps both, for the scholar has little else another man might want, but for Master John’s book.”

  “Why would Sir Simon want that?”

  “’Tis worth twenty shillings. Even a young knight would not despise such a sum.”

  “But ’ow would ’e know Salley had it, an’ ’ow did the lad come by it anyway?”

  This conversation occupied us as we walked through a misting rain to Canterbury Hall and our dinner. I was much pleased with my fur coat and felt some guilt that Arthur, striding beside me, was not so warm or dry. The difference in our situations did not seem to trouble him. Perhaps he had lived cold and wet so long that the conditions were of no consequence to him.

  Being chilled and damp did not spoil Arthur’s appetite. He plunged into his bowl of pottage with his usual enthusiasm. And, in truth, the meal was some better than common. This was a fast day, so no pork flavored the peas and beans, but there were lentils and scraps of capon to season the mix. The cook, however, seemed to enjoy a balance. The ale was stale.

  The sun was beginning to appear through breaks in the clouds when dinner was done. Arthur was surely pleased with this development, for I sent him to watch over the Red Dragon again. He would stay dry for the afternoon.

  As for myself, I thought to get my feet wet, walking the path by the Cherwell with Kate. The banns had been read twice now from St Peter’s Church. Once more, two days hence, and we might wed. I was eager for that day, and might have thought to hasten it by continuing a search for books and thieves. But Kate’s company was a strong lure. I yielded to her attraction and set out for Holywell Street. It was well I did so, else finding Master John’s books might have taken longer. Indeed, I might not have found them yet. Was it Kate who drew me to Holywell Street and the path along the Cherwell, or was it a push from the Lord Christ?

  Robert Caxton smiled as I entered his shop and called to Kate, who was employed again in the workroom. I wonder that he could smile at a man who was about to take daughter and assistant from him, and cost him the income from a house as well. Mayhap he remembered days past, when he courted Kate’s mother. A man must find it difficult to view his daughter so, as from another, younger man’s eyes. Perhaps the same sentiment will comfort me twenty years hence.

  I was correct about damp feet, although Kate seemed not to mind. The grass was wet with the morning’s mist and soaked our shoes, already muddy from Oxford’s streets. I was engrossed in Kate and our conversation so did not notice the clot of black gowns before us on the river bank until we were nearly upon them. Four youths gazed at something in the river, taking no heed of our approach. It was a normal reaction to peer also into the river, to learn what held their attention. It was a corpse.

  A body floated face down but a short way from the river bank. It was prevented from following the current downstream by a leg entangled in a branch broken from some upstream tree which had lodged against the bank. Water weeds waved in the gentle current ’round the dead man’s head, like unshorn green locks.

  The four who stood studying the corpse were young scholars. They babbled excitedly among themselves but took no measures to draw the unfortunate fellow from the water. My feet were already wet, and the corpse lay in water barely knee deep. I gave my coat to Kate, drew off my shoes, pushed my way past the students, and waded into the Cherwell. In a few moments I freed the lifeless form from the broken bough and hauled the corpse upon the river bank.

  I do not recommend wading in the Cherwell in November. Although I had only gone into the water to my knees, I was chilled and shivering when I dragged my burden to the path. While I resumed my coat two of the young scholars turned the drowned man to his back. There was silence for a moment, then one exclaimed, “’Tis Robert.”

  Robert is a common name. My future father-in-law bears it. So I did not consider that the drowned man I had pulled from the Cherwell might be Robert Salley even though the youth had gone missing.

  I turned while donning my coat to view the pale, bloated face which now gazed whitely at the sky. It was indeed Robert Salley. I recognized his tattered gown, now soaked and clinging to his spare frame, and the sparse whiskers which ornamented his chin.

  I saw another thing as well. I knelt beside the corpse for a closer look at the dead scholar. A faint purple bruise, nearly invisible, circled his neck.

  Kate and the four who had discovered Salley in the river followed my gaze. Kate saw where my eyes fell and spoke first. “What has caused such a mark?” she whispered.

  “Thick fingers, pressed tight, would make such a bruise.”

  “Fingers?” one of the scholars exclaimed. “But surely Robert has drowned… he was in the river.”

  “He may be drowned,” I agreed. “There is a way to tell.”

  “How so?” the youth asked.

  “If his lungs are filled with water, he drowned. But if his lungs are not full of water, he died before he went into the river.”

  “How can this be known?”

  “We will lift him by his feet. If water pours from his lips, he died in the river. If no water, or very little comes forth, he died upon land.”

  I motioned to a scholar to take one sodden leg, and I grasped the other. Together we lifted Robert Salley until his corpse was near vertical. Kate held her hand to her lips as we all watched the dead man’s mouth. Little water came from the waxen lips; perhaps a drop or two.

  “What does this mean?” another of the students asked when we had dropped poor Salley to the river bank.

  “It means,” I replied, “that he was murdered. Strangled, then placed in the Cherwell so that, was he found dead, all would assume he was drowned.”

  “We must send for the sheriff,” another said.

  I agreed. Two of the scholars set off for the castle while Kate, I, and the other two kept watch over the mortal remains of Robert Salley. I wondered if, in the depths of the Cherwell, ink might be soaking from Master John’s Sentences.

  Our place on the banks of the Cherwell was across the town from the castle. It was half an hour and more before I saw the scholars return, followed by two sergeants. These officers had surely been chosen for brawn, not wit. They studied the corpse, debated calling the hue and cry, poked poor Robert in the ribs with a toe as if he might be roused from slumber, then cast about for evidence that a crime might have been committed.

  It was with some difficulty that I convinced them that this was so. Their lives would be simplified was Salley’s death but mischance. Scholars have perished in Oxford rivers before, usually when drunk, falling from bridges or river banks. The sergeants, after much persuading, reluctantly agreed that the indistinct purple bruise about Salley’s neck suggested strangulation.

  One sergeant left us to seek castle servants and a litter, the other remained to watch the corpse. He made no effort to question me or the four students. So far as he was concerned Salley was but another penniless youth, come to Oxford, far from home, who had the misfortune to die unknown and unmourned. He would be buried on the morrow in a pauper’s grave in his parish churchyard.

  I was not satisfied with this conclusion to Salley’s brief life. There was much coincidence in the matter. A youth who possessed and wished to sell a stolen book is found strangled in the river. This same scholar was sought by Sir Simon Trillowe for reasons I knew not. Might these events be tied? If so, it was no neat bundle.

  The sheriff’s man showed no curiosity about the corpse at his feet. He chewed upon a fingernail and star
ed impassively across the water meadow toward the spire of St Frideswide’s Priory Church.

  The four young scholars began to drift away in a knot toward the East Bridge. I drew Kate after me and caught up with them.

  “You recognized the dead man,” I reminded them. “Did he make enemies readily?”

  “Nay,” one replied. “Was a quiet fellow, was Robert.”

  “How did you know of him?”

  “He was of Balliol College, like us. But not this term.”

  “Not this term?”

  “Robert had little coin. No patron, and his parents both dead of plague when he was but a babe.”

  “An orphan? Who took him in? Did he speak of this?”

  “Aye, a lay brother at the abbey was cousin to his mother.”

  “The abbey? What abbey is that?”

  “Salley, in the West Riding of Yorkshire.”

  I knew of this abbey. It is but a few miles from Clitheroe. Salley Abbey is a Cistercian House, and by repute is not wealthy, being found on poor, undrained land beside the river Ribble. A lay brother there would have few resources to spare for an orphan lad. But the abbey would provide an education for a boy who showed a quick wit. So Robert Salley had gained enough education to admit him to Balliol College, but had not the means to keep him there.

  “You are of Balliol College also?” I asked.

  “Aye, like I said.”

  “As was I,” I told them. “Some years past, now.”

  The four youthful scholars peered at me, at my warm fur coat, and at my comely companion, then exchanged glances which seemed to say, “Perhaps much study is of value.”

  “Robert had made no enemies?”

  “He was not one to best another in dispute,” one remarked. “Quiet, like.”

  “Not likely some felon killed him for his purse,” another added. “No reason to murder someone like Robert.”

  “Did you see him frequently? Was he much about in the past few days?”

  The four scholars were silent for a moment, then one spoke. “Haven’t seen ’im for three, four days. Doesn’t live with us now. Did, once, but took cheaper lodgings at some tavern over near St Ebbe’s Church.”