A Trail of Ink

by Mel Starr

  “A red-bearded gentleman wearing a green surcoat accompanied Sir Simon yesterday. A fellow much like that was pitched into the Thames when Arthur tossed the log a fortnight past.”

  “I remember you speaking of the man and his swim,” Caxton frowned. “He carries a grudge, I think.”

  “So do I. Arthur and I are exploring the town this day to see can we find the fellow. He is in some service to Sir Simon, I think, but now that Sir John is dismissed he may wish to trim his sails to the new breeze.”

  “You sought the gentleman this morning?” Kate asked.

  “Aye. Few gentlemen wearing any color were about.”

  Caxton grimaced. “True enough; nor scholars. We saw little trade.”

  “Custom seems unlikely to improve, father, so I will find my cloak and accompany Hugh. Four eyes will serve better than two.” Where had I heard this before?

  That may be so, but if a thing is invisible to two eyes it will also be to four. The afternoon was not a total loss. No time spent in Kate’s company could be so. Indeed, I found myself gazing upon her more than upon those we met on the streets. But I think I had yet enough wit about me that a green surcoat or red beard trimmed short would have arrested my attention.

  I delivered Kate to her father’s shop as the grey day darkened to night. Snow no longer drifted from the sky, but the snow had brought cold with it. Or had the cold brought the snow? I decided to ignore the question. I had enough on my mind.

  Arthur was at the guest chamber before me. “Lots of folk about the castle forecourt this day,” he said by way of greeting. “None of ’em with red beard or green surcoat.”

  “If the fellow we seek is a companion of Sir Simon, as seems so, he’ll not venture where he no longer has friends.”

  “So I should pay no heed to doin’s at the castle tomorrow?”

  “Do not ignore the place, but spend your time in the town and across the Castle Mill Stream. I think we must do more than watch. Visit some taverns. Give the landlord a ha’penny and ask has he a customer who resembles this wayward knight.”

  I did not linger over a supper of warmed pottage but sought my bed. I fell to sleep with thoughts of Kate. I was become accustomed to Arthur’s snores, and visions of Kate can drive other cares far from me.

  Kate had bid me call for her next day so she might seek our green-clad prey with me. I crawled from my bed as a bell rang for matins from the tower of St Frideswide’s Priory. This was not a thing I was eager to do. This day was colder than the day before. But no snowflakes appeared to remind me of the chill.

  Kate was not pleased when I told her she might not accompany me this morning. I intended to visit taverns and did not want Kate either to stand on the street before such places or to enter and suffer the ogling and comments her appearance was sure to produce.

  So I circled Oxford from Northgate and Fish Streets east to Longwall Street, and spent three pence at five taverns and an inn. All for naught. Perhaps the fellow wore another cloak when he sought wine. I was eager for dinner, to learn if Arthur had been more successful than me. He had.

  I saw Arthur striding around the corner of St Fridewide’s Lane as I approached Canterbury Hall. I knew from forty paces he had found success. There was joy in his step and in the grin which split his face when he saw me.

  “What news?” I asked when he drew near.

  “Our friend frequents an inn across the Castle Mill Stream, on a lane just off the road to Oseney Abbey. We have passed it by often. ’Tis called the Fox’s Lair.”

  I knew the place; I had spent some nights there in years past. Its guests ranked above those who frequented the Stag and Hounds. When I became bailiff for Lord Gilbert I thought my new station entitled me to a softer bed and better wine when duties called me to Oxford. But the inn was not so conveniently located as the Stag and Hounds.

  “Did you learn a name?”

  “Aye; Sir Jocelin Hawkwode.”

  I had not before heard of this knight. “Did you discover where he lives?”

  “Nay. Innkeeper knew not. Thought the man new to Oxford. Only been a customer since Lammas Day or thereabouts.”

  Sir John Trillowe had taken office in July. Sir Simon might have gathered friends about him soon after. I wondered if Sir Jocelin might soon leave Oxford if Sir Simon’s position – now dissolved – was the reason he had come. If so, it was important to find the fellow soon.

  We ate our pottage and maslin loaf hastily and set out for the Castle Mill Stream Bridge. It was my plan that Arthur and I would alternate visiting the Fox’s Lair and circling about the place. I was some worried that Sir Jocelin might recognize us, so told Arthur that when he entered the inn he should take his wine to some dark corner of the place where a new patron, his eyes accustomed to daylight, would not see him.

  The precaution was unnecessary. Hawkwode did not appear at the inn. I was annoyed at the failure, but Arthur seemed pleased that we might perform the same duty on the morrow. He spoke several times of the quality of the claret while we made our return to Canterbury Hall.

  I was surprised to see Robert Caxton standing before the gatehouse. When he saw us appear he immediately hurried to meet us.

  “Good evening,” I greeted my future father-in-law. “What news?” It was clear from his pace and expression that he had tidings to relate.

  “The man you seek… Kate has found him.”

  “Kate?”

  “Aye. You did not return after dinner, so Kate thought to venture out and watch for the fellow you seek.”

  “She found him? The red-bearded knight wearing a green surcoat?”

  “Aye, she did.”

  “Where?”

  “You sought the man in taverns and inns. Kate thought of another place a young gentleman might frequent.”

  My wit was slow. Caxton saw and when I made no reply he continued. “She went off to the Church of St Mary the Virgin, an’ sat where she might see those who pass up an’ down Grope Lane.”

  Then I understood. Kate had risked her reputation to aid my search. Most of the whores of Oxford reside in and work their trade on Grope Lane.

  “The man I seek is Sir Jocelin Hawkwode,” I replied. “Arthur learned his name this day, and we watched for him this afternoon at an inn he is known to frequent.”

  “He sought his pleasures elsewhere this day,” Caxton chuckled. “Kate saw the man you seek leave a house on Grope Lane just before the ninth hour. She followed him.”

  “To a house? Was she seen?”

  “Yes… and no, she thinks not.”

  “She can take me to the house where Hawkwode resides?”

  “Aye. You are to call in the morning and she will take you there. ’Tis a grand house on Great Bailey Street.”

  I ate my pottage that evening in silence, pondering how best to approach a man who had tried twice to do me harm. Would he seek a third opportunity did he know I pursued him? Master John noted my pensive demeanor and when the meal was done invited me to his chamber.

  “Have you sought Sir Roger yet?” he asked.

  “Not yet. I have been seeking a man who has some part in the matter.”

  “The knight of the green surcoat?”

  “Aye. His name is Sir Jocelin Hawkwode. He lives, I am told, in a house on Great Bailey Street.”

  “Hawkwode?”

  “Aye. You know the name?”

  “There was a youth by that name some years past at Queen’s College. I think it was Jocelin. I have told students that when I see them some years in the future, if I remember them well, they may assume ’tis because they were excellent scholars, or poor ones. I will allow them to decide which they might have been. The mediocrities I am unlikely to remember many years hence.”

  When I called upon him two years past Master John remembered me well, or said he did. I did not wish to pursue the matter further.

  “You have little memory of a Jocelin Hawkwode?”

  “The name is familiar, but nothing more.”

 
“I wonder what interest the fellow can have in your books?”

  “Perhaps none,” Wyclif mused. “He is a companion of Sir Simon. You saw them together on the road. ’Tis Sir Simon’s interest in books and your search which must be the key to this mystery.”

  “I think time has come to seek Sir Roger’s mind on this business,” I said. “It was Kate who found where Hawkwode resides. She has promised to show me the place on the morrow. I will leave Arthur to watch the house while I seek the sheriff. I would like to know more of Sir Jocelin Hawkwode. Perhaps Sir Roger knows him well enough to know how he might respond when pressed.”

  Next morning was not so cold, for which small blessing I remembered to thank the Lord Christ before Arthur and I set out for Holywell Street. I was eager to learn of Sir Jocelin Hawkwode and his residence. Robert Caxton had not opened his shop for business when we arrived, but Kate was prompt at the door when I knocked upon it.

  “Father told you of the house on Great Bailey Street where… what is his name?”

  “Hawkwode… Sir Jocelin Hawkwode. Arthur learned his name yesterday and you found his abode.”

  “Shall I take you there?”

  “Aye. ’Tis early, but we may catch the fellow before he goes about for the day.”

  Terce had not yet rung and the streets were near empty, so nothing impeded our progress to Great Bailey Street. The house Kate pointed out was a substantial dwelling, typical of an Oxford town house of a prosperous gentleman. It was two stories tall, and four chimneys indicated plenty of warmth available for cold winter days. A few tendrils of smoke rose from one chimney. Perhaps the cook was out of bed and at the day’s business, but few others were, it seemed.

  I wished to confront Sir Jocelin on the street, where he might be alone, rather than in his lair. The house was large enough to accommodate a dozen knights and squires. It would be folly to impeach the man where he might call companions for aid.

  I required of Arthur that he escort Kate back to her father. She was not pleased. The banns were read and we might soon be wed, if I did not raise her choler too often. I was uneasy, for it seemed in the past days I had chosen to displease Kate more than once.

  Across Great Bailey Street from Sir Jocelin’s residence was the ancient moat and the castle. Shops around the corner on Pennyfarthing Lane were yet closed, so no customers walked the muddy streets. A man may lose himself in a crowd. Alone he cannot. I did not see a face peer from a window, but someone surely did. They saw me saunter up and down the road and plotted, while I awaited Arthur’s return.

  Perhaps the third time I traveled the street the door burst open as I passed the place and three young men charged silently from the house. They stumbled over each other briefly, then came running straight for me. One wore a green surcoat and a short red beard sprouted from his chin.

  This was not the plan I had envisioned when I considered a confrontation with Sir Jocelin. Some day, when I greet the Lord Christ in heaven, I must ask why my schemes so seldom unfold as contrived.

  My fur coat is warm, but not suited to flight. The heavy garment caught at my legs as I turned from my pursuers and ran. I am not sturdily made. In a fight with one of these knights I would be hard pressed. Against three I would find myself pummeled into the mud of the street, or worse. But an advantage of a slender form is a good turn of speed when I take to my heels. And most men find unknown reserves when pursued by those who intend them harm. My flapping coat slowed me but little.

  The castle gate stood open little more than two hundred paces from me. Was Sir John Trillowe yet sheriff I would have passed the castle and fled toward Canterbury Hall. Was Sir Simon yet in residence the castle would have provided no refuge.

  A few men about business in the castle walked to and fro through the gatehouse. Some heard my feet pounding through the mud and glanced up from their passage to see what provoked such haste. I threaded my way past these fellows and glanced over my shoulder to see what distance I had put between myself and my pursuers. I was pleased to see them skidding to a halt in the castle forecourt, unwilling to continue the chase and surely startled that I would seek refuge in the castle. I slowed my pace, turned to Hawkwode, bowed, and swept my arm in invitation to follow. He glared, shook his fist, and turned away.

  I had intended to call upon the new sheriff, mention my employer, and learn could Lord Gilbert’s name bring me Sir Roger’s aid. Sir Jocelin Hawkwode and his companions hastened this visit. Perhaps God chose to contrive my call upon Sir Roger this day, and devised this method to get me to the castle. If so be, it succeeded remarkably well.

  This was my third visit to the castle. I was learning my way about the place. I knew well where to find the sheriff’s chamber and set off for the hall with resolute steps. None challenged my passage. I gave appearance of knowing where I was going and seemed to have reason for going there. And a man wearing a fur coat on a cold day is thought to be of some means and therefore worthy of a warder’s deference.

  The anteroom before Sir Roger’s chamber was already crowded with supplicants. I heard the hum of conversation while I was yet in the passage leading to the chamber. A dozen or more men and two women crowded the room. Many held documents in hand or rolled under an arm. A clerk, unknown to me, looked up from a table which guarded the door to the sheriff’s chamber. His visage spoke; words were unnecessary: “Another who seeks a post or favor from Sir Roger.”

  The place before the clerk’s table was empty. Those in the hall had presented their petitions and now awaited Sir Roger’s will. The wait, I thought, might be long. I decided to see what Lord Gilbert Talbot’s name might do to speed my appeal.

  “I am Hugh de Singleton, bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot at his manor of Bampton. Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger fought side by side at Poitiers.”

  This information did not seem to impress the clerk. He shifted his gaze to admire his fingernails.

  “Lord Gilbert has sent me to Oxford on a matter of some urgency,” I continued. This was not exactly true, but was not untrue, either. “Lord Gilbert would be much pleased should Sir Roger find occasion to assist in the difficulty. Perhaps you might inform Sir Roger of my presence and Lord Gilbert’s request.”

  The clerk rolled his eyes but did as I asked. As bailiff to Lord Gilbert I have much authority in Bampton, and some even in Oxford. Though it is true in Oxford I must occasionally flee from miscreants who respect neither me nor my employer.

  The clerk pushed open the heavy oaken door and I heard voices through the aperture. Sir Roger had a guest already. The clerk stood in the doorway and repeated my words nearly as I had spoken them. The fellow was practiced at relaying messages to his master.

  When the clerk was silent I heard a chair scrape across the flags and a heartbeat later a round, florid face appeared beyond the clerk, peering at me through the open door from under a pair of the shaggiest eyebrows I have ever seen. On a bright day Sir Roger carries with him his own shade.

  “Bailiff for Lord Gilbert, eh,” Sir Roger exclaimed, and pressed past his clerk through the doorway. “How does he? Is well, I hope. Enter… enter. How may I assist him?”

  I did not hesitate. As I passed into the inner chamber I caught sight of envious glances from those who were before me seeking audience with Sir Roger. I felt guilty, but the emotion soon passed.

  The sheriff’s previous caller stood before a table which occupied the center of the chamber. A chair rested upon the flags behind him, and another where Sir Roger must have sat, was placed across the table from the visitor.

  I did not know the supplicant I had displaced, but it was clear from his behavior that he was unwilling to leave Sir Roger’s presence. The sheriff, however, seemed pleased for the interruption as opportunity to chase the fellow away.

  “Be assured, Sir Thomas, that I will give the matter scrutiny.” This the sheriff said while placing a meaty hand upon the small of Sir Thomas’ back and firmly thrusting him toward the door. Sir Roger then nodded to his clerk, and the fellow pulled
the door shut firmly before Sir Thomas could turn to protest his expulsion.

  “Your name again?” Sir Roger asked.

  “Hugh de Singleton.”

  “And in Gilbert Talbot’s service at Bampton?”

  “Aye.”

  Sir Roger motioned to the empty chair, and when I sat he drew up the other chair across the table.

  “Is Lord Gilbert well? And Lady Petronilla? I’ve not seen m’lord since…” Sir Roger went to stroking his graying beard, then continued. “Since Whitsuntide four years past. He was at Pembroke. When plague returned he thought it was well to be in a barren place. Offered sanctuary to me and Anne until the pestilence passed and ’twas safe to return to Oxford.”

  “He is well, and Lady Petronilla and Master Richard, also.”

  “Excellent. Well, how may I serve Lord Gilbert?”

  I told Sir Roger of Master John’s stolen books, my arrest for stealing my own coat, and the attack on the road to Eynsham. I spoke of the death of Robert Salley and the recovery of Sentences. I related how assailants had come over the Canterbury Hall wall and carried me and Arthur to the forest. I told of Sir Simon Trillowe’s name spoken, and Robert Salley’s corpse mentioned, and recounted our escape and watching from a hedgerow as Sir Simon passed by. And then I spoke of a red-bearded knight who wore a green surcoat, and who but moments before had chased me to the castle – Sir Jocelin Hawkwode.

  I saw Sir Roger’s lip curl in distaste, as if he had taken a sip of costly Rhenish wine and found it gone to vinegar. I thought this a signal that he knew Sir Jocelin and, was I patient, I might discover his opinion of the knight.

  “A hyena who will follow any lion,” Sir Roger scoffed.

  “I have hopes this is so,” I replied. “What Sir Simon may have to do with Master John’s stolen books I cannot guess. But I hope that Sir Jocelin might know, and be willing to say if pressed. Sir Simon and his father have no longer the authority to control or protect him. Why then would he protect them at his own peril?”