A Trail of Ink

by Mel Starr

  “Sir Jocelin will bluster like a champion when he feels power behind him,” Sir Roger agreed, “but when the wind turns he’ll bend, I think. Let us see.”

  Sir Roger lifted his surcoat from a hook on the wall and motioned me toward the door. When it opened all eyes in the clerk’s anteroom turned to us, and several there who were seated stood to their feet. The sheriff turned to his harried clerk. “Urgent matters demand attention,” he said loudly, so all could hear. “My return is uncertain.”

  A warder stood guard in the passage outside the clerk’s chamber. Sir Roger directed the fellow to collect six sergeants and report to the gatehouse immediately. This command the sheriff barked in a tone which sent the man scurrying without a backward glance.

  I followed Sir Roger down a stairway and thence to the castle forecourt. The warder and six armed men were but moments behind us in reaching the gatehouse. It would be unwise, the warder surely realized, to displease the new sheriff.

  Two of the men who followed the warder were those who had appeared along the Cherwell five days past when I pulled poor Salley from the river. If they recognized me they made no sign. It is surely useful for a man to appear enigmatic when his overlord is supplanted.

  It is but a few paces from the castle to Hawkwode’s house. Sir Roger sent three men to the small toft behind the place to apprehend any who might depart the house there; the others accompanied us to the door, where Sir Roger, without hesitation, banged loudly with the pommel of his dagger.

  Someone saw us approach, for the door swung open but a heartbeat after Sir Roger ceased pounding upon it. A servant, quite ragged in appearance, stood at the open door. Sir Roger did not wait for his greeting.

  “Sir Jocelin Hawkwode,” he bellowed. “Inform him his presence is required.”

  “Uh, Sir Jocelin is not within, m’lord.”

  “Oh? Where has he gone?”

  “I know not, m’lord.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “Yestere’en, m’lord.”

  “You lie,” Sir Roger bawled, and pushed past the quaking servant. I and the warder and three sergeants followed.

  “Search the place,” Sir Roger directed. He then turned to the servant, who gave every appearance of a man whose knees were about to fail him. The man had backed against a wall for support, else I think he must surely have collapsed.

  “Where is he? Speak, man, or there will be a cell for you in yon castle.”

  I am uncertain if the man did not wish to speak, or could not. His mouth worked, but no sound came forth. Sir Roger stepped closer to the servant, his arms akimbo, those great eyebrows furrowed to trenches plowed across his forehead. In similar place I might have shuddered a bit myself.

  “Well?” Sir Roger spoke softly now, but there was menace in his voice. The silent servant swallowed and pointed to the stairs.

  Sir Roger turned abruptly from the shaken man and strode to the stairway. I followed, and drew my dagger from its sheath. Preparation could do no harm.

  A passage led the length of the dwelling from the top of the stairs. The sheriff had just set a thundering boot in this corridor when much shouting came from the toft behind the house. I ducked through a nearby door and crossed the room to a window which opened to the rear of the house. Ten paces or so behind the house was a small stable. Between house and stable was a yard of bare, muddy earth. A tangle of arms and legs were intertwined there in the muck. It was not readily apparent how many cursing, shouting men were engaged in the conflict, but it was sure that the sheriff’s men there had apprehended some who wished to depart the precinct unobserved.

  Sir Roger crashed back down the stairway. I thought to follow, but reconsidered. I peered again through the glass window at the fight below me. The contest was nearly done, the sheriff’s men in the toft being now supported by the arrival of the others who had accompanied us to the front door. Two young gentlemen were being pulled roughly from the mud to their feet. Neither of them wore green or possessed a red beard.

  I returned to the corridor and opened doors to other chambers until I found a room with an open window, from which the two apprehended in the toft had dropped moments before. Along one wall was a large, iron-bound chest, heavily carved. I entered the room, muttered an expression of disappointment, then slammed the door to the passageway shut while I remained, silent, in the chamber.

  I had not long to wait. I soon saw movement. The lid of the chest raised a finger-width. Someone inside the chest was peering through the slit to learn was he alone in the chamber. Pressed against the wall, aside the chest, I was near invisible to whoever it was hiding there. Well, I knew who it was.

  A great urge to startle the fellow came upon me. I waited until the lid was raised as high as my hand is wide, then plunged both hands down upon it, all of my insubstantial weight behind the stroke. The lid crashed down and a heartbeat later I heard a muffled yelp. This was most gratifying.

  My dagger was yet in my hand. I held it at the ready and lifted the lid. Sir Jocelin Hawkwode lay curled in the chest, sucking upon a finger. The unlucky digit had apparently been caught between lid and chest when I banged down the cover. I felt no remorse. This may be a sin. I must ask Master John.

  I believe Hawkwode did not at first know who stood over him with drawn dagger. He cursed me, not an easy thing to do with a wounded finger between his lips, then scrambled from the chest.

  “You!” he exclaimed when vertical. He knew then who had brought the sheriff to his door.

  “Aye, Hugh de Singleton, friend to Master John Wyclif and bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot. The same Lord Gilbert who is friend to Sir Roger de Elmerugg, newly appointed sheriff of Oxford and who, unless I mistake me, is about to return to the house from the toft, seeking you.”

  Sir Jocelin remembered his disheveled condition and left off nursing his hurt finger long enough to straighten his cotehardie and smooth his cap. A green surcoat was not part of his dress, but I was sure it would be discovered somewhere in the place. It was.

  I heard a door slam below me. Moments later Sir Roger bellowed up the stairway, “Hugh, where are you?”

  I motioned to Sir Jocelin, intending him to precede me through the door and down the stairs. He had another plan. He spun around, ducked past my dagger, which I was slow to raise, and dove for the open window.

  The man was quick on his feet, but so am I. As he went through the window I discarded my dagger and leaped to arrest his flight. I caught one heel with both hands as he straddled the window frame. Momentum caused his body to continue its path out the window while my grip held one foot in place. I braced a knee against the window sill and held tight to Sir Jocelin’s ankle. One man had escaped me through a window. I was determined that another would not. A moment later the knight dangled, kicking and squalling, from the window, suspended a dozen feet or so above the mud of the toft.

  Sir Jocelin’s cries brought Sir Roger back to the toft. He looked up to find the source of the tumult and beheld Hawkwode, heels over head, suspended from a window. Above the bawling Sir Jocelin the sheriff saw me, my hands clenched tight about the fellow’s ankle. This task would have offered Arthur little challenge, but my grip was not so sure, and I was near to letting the fellow fall.

  This was too much for Sir Roger. He stared open-mouthed for a moment, then laughed. This became a roaring guffaw. The sheriff slapped his thighs with glee and soon the warder and sergeants were also snickering. Even Sir Jocelin’s friends saw humor in the spectacle and grinned.

  Sir Roger soon recovered his composure, took stock of the situation, and shouted advice. “Drop him,” he suggested. It is always best to obey authorities. I did. And in truth I could hold the man no longer.

  Sir Jocelin landed upon his head in the mud of the toft. Two of the sheriff’s men were immediately upon him, but their restraint was unnecessary. The fellow was in no mood or condition to attempt escape.

  I left the window and hastened to the toft. Hawkwode was on his feet when I arrived. T
he warder and sergeants were yet grinning at his head-first arrival there.

  “This is the fellow?” Sir Roger asked.

  “Aye.”

  “The others?” he asked as he glanced to Sir Jocelin’s companions. “Were they a part of this business?”

  “I do not recognize them, but it may be so.”

  “No matter. We’ll have them all to the castle and sort this out. Bring ’em along,” he directed the warder.

  We returned to the street through the house, passing the quaking servant who stood where Sir Roger had left him. Half-way from house to castle I saw Arthur approach, striding from around the Church of St Peter-le-Bailey. I had been so occupied with events that it had not occurred to me that he was tardy returning from his mission to return Kate to Holywell Street.

  Arthur glanced from me to Sir Jocelin as he approached. It was clear from his manner that something vexed him. The others continued toward the castle gatehouse while I stopped to greet Arthur.

  “You have Sir Jocelin, I see. That the new sheriff?”

  “Aye. Sir Roger was eager to favor Lord Gilbert’s bailiff.”

  “Sorry I was delayed. Couldn’t be helped,” Arthur growled. “Kate an’ me got to ’er father’s shop an’ who was marchin’ down Holywell Street but Sir Simon an’ a squire. New fella’, never seen ’im before. Sir Simon give us a vile look an’ says to Kate, ‘Takin up with a bailiff is not low enough for you, eh? Is this churl your new love? I’ll next see you on Grope Lane, no doubt.’”

  My rage was instant. Arthur saw and grasped my arm. “No need to seek ’im,” he said, and held out his right hand before me. The knuckles were split and lightly caked with drying blood. ’E’ll be more careful of ’ow ’e speaks of a lass henceforth.”

  “Kate is safe?”

  “Aye. Delivered to her father.”

  “And Sir Simon?”

  “Well, I don’t know as he’s in best of health. Last I seen, ’e was walkin’ Holywell Street toward the Augustinian Friars Hall.”

  “Seeking medical care, was he?” I smiled.

  “Aye. ’At would be my guess,” Arthur grinned in return. “I told ’im I knew of a competent surgeon who could mend ’is lip. Paid no heed.”

  Beyond Arthur, where the road through the Westgate circles south of the castle and crosses the Castle Mill Stream, I saw four horsemen appear. Three wore the same livery of blue and black as Arthur. The lord at their head was too far away to identify but I knew it must be my employer.

  Arthur followed my gaze and together we awaited the arrival of Lord Gilbert. I was surprised to see him. It is his custom to remove to Goodrich Castle for Christmas and the winter, and this he does by Martinmas or thereabouts, before the roads turn to mire and winter cold is upon the land.

  “Hugh,” he called out when he saw who awaited him before the castle gatehouse. “You are well met.”

  The unexpected nature of Lord Gilbert’s appearance must have been reflected on my face. He swung down from his mount and explained. “Word has reached Bampton of Sir Roger replacing Sir John as sheriff. Sir Roger is an old friend. I thought to offer congratulations, and see how does your pursuit of thieves proceed.”

  “You have just missed Sir Roger, m’lord. He has three miscreants in hand we wish to examine regarding Master John’s stolen books and other untoward events.”

  “We?” Lord Gilbert questioned. “You have met Sir Roger?”

  “Aye.”

  “But you’ve found no books, I think.”

  “One, m’lord.”

  “One?” Lord Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

  “It was in the possession of a penniless scholar who was then found dead in the Cherwell… but not drowned, murdered.” The eyebrow lifted higher.

  “And Kate? How does your lass?”

  “She is well, m’lord.”

  “’Tis past time I should be at Goodrich,” he explained, “but I delay so as to learn of the recovery of Master Wyclif’s books. And Lady Petronilla will not remove to Goodrich until she has seen you wed.”

  “I am sorry to interfere with your plans, m’lord. I wish to be wed soon, but I am obligated to Master John.”

  “Well, Sir Roger will be of more aid to you than Sir John, I think. He is in the castle, you say?”

  “Aye. With a man I wish to question.”

  “Let us seek him out, then.”

  Lord Gilbert strode toward the gatehouse, leaving his horse to be led by a groom. I followed close behind, with Arthur a pace behind me.

  Oxford Castle has been enlarged and restored many times. Its passageways are many and crooked and a man might easily lose his way. But not Lord Gilbert; he marched straight to the sheriff’s chamber.

  Sir Jocelin Hawkwode’s henchmen stood beside the clerk’s table in the antechamber. The warder stood alert near them, and two sergeants guarded the passageway door. A few supplicants remained in the room, but most had abandoned their pleas for the day. Sir Roger was not in view.

  The clerk recognized me and saw that my companion was a gentleman of rank. He leaped to his feet. Not because of me.

  “Sir Roger is within,” he explained. “Who shall I say…?”

  “Gilbert Talbot,” Lord Gilbert said, loudly enough that his words surely penetrated to the inner chamber, for the door was ajar. “Tell the knave I’ve come to see for myself if the King’s judgment be so clouded as to put him in this place.”

  The door swung open and Sir Roger’s bulky form filled the doorway. “The King,” he replied, “could not decide whether to punish my many transgressions by clapping me in the tower or by assigning me to this post.”

  Slapping of shoulders and backs accompanied this banter. It was clear Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger were friends. Enemies would not speak so to each other.

  “I wondered,” Sir Roger said, turning to me, “where you’d got to. You wish to question Sir Jocelin?”

  “Aye. And it would be well if you and Lord Gilbert attend the inquiry. A bailiff alone might not pry from a man what a scowling sheriff and baron might, even did they speak no word.”

  Sir Roger motioned Lord Gilbert and me into his chamber and closed the door. Sir Jocelin sat at the table, but sprang to his feet when Lord Gilbert entered. All semblance of bluster was gone from Hawkwode’s features and manner. Here is a man, I thought, who finds himself in trouble he had not anticipated. When in the past I found it necessary to interrogate such men, I discovered it was often best to keep silent so much as possible, and allow invention to loosen their tongues. A man of ripe imagination who thinks on potential punishment due him will often say more than he would otherwise intend, hoping thereby to escape judgment.

  Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger should, due to their rank, have led the interrogation. But as they were unacquainted with many particulars they sat in chairs to one side and discharged the work I had hoped of them. They glared menacingly at Sir Jocelin. I watched him chew upon his lower lip in response.

  The sheriff had left his chair, across the table from Hawkwode, vacant. He peered at me from under those magnificent brows and nodded toward it. I sat, and took some moments to arrange my coat. Let the scoundrel wait and worry.

  “A fortnight past you were toppled into the Thames,” I reminded him. “Surely your fine surcoat is much shrunken for the wet.”

  “Neither I nor my surcoat have been in the Thames,” he protested.

  “Hmmm. Perhaps another red-bearded gentleman with green surcoat haunts the road to Eynsham. Did Sir Simon pay you well to accompany him Sunday, or did you travel the Eynsham Road with him for friendship?”

  “I have not traveled to Eynsham.”

  “I expect not. The first time I saw you on the road your journey halted at Swinford. Three days ago you traveled only so far as a swineherd’s hut in the forest. So you speak true… you have not been to Eynsham. Now, answer fairly: was it for coin or friendship you aided Sir Simon Trillowe?”

  Hawkwode glanced beyond me to Sir Roger and Lord Gilbert but found
no solace there. “Answer!” the sheriff growled.

  “For friendship,” Sir Jocelin sighed in defeat. He had apparently decided to behave wisely, as men may do when they see no alternatives.

  “Were you of those who came over the wall of Canterbury Hall and seized me and Lord Gilbert’s groom?”

  “Nay. Knew nothing of that ’til Sir Simon told of the business Sunday morn.”

  “And what did he tell?”

  Hawkwode again looked about the chamber, as if some way of escape previously unseen might appear. I said no more, but awaited a response. When he saw there was no avoiding the question, Hawkwode muttered a reply.

  “Said I was to accompany him and Sir William Folville. We were to put a fright to you, he said.”

  “Why?”

  “Sir Simon wished you gone from Oxford. That’s why we pursued you on the road to Eynsham.”

  “When my man dunked you in the river,” Lord Gilbert chuckled.

  “Aye,” Sir Jocelin grimaced.

  “To what purpose was I to be frightened away?”

  Again Sir Jocelin was silent. So were we all, awaiting his understanding that he had no choice but to answer.

  “There is a lass… Sir Simon would have.”

  “Kate Caxton?”

  “Aye. The stationer’s lass.”

  “And for a maid he would threaten harm to my bailiff?” Lord Gilbert scowled.

  “What of Robert Salley?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “A poor scholar, murdered and found floating in the Cherwell.”

  “I know of no Robert Salley.”

  “Perhaps you have forgotten. I will refresh your memory. The lad tried to sell a book, Sentences. ’Twas one stolen from Master John Wyclif. Then he was discovered dead in the river. The book he had hidden with a cordwainer, for others also sought it. When I was assailed Saturday eve the attackers said I was not to be found as Salley was. So if Sir Simon knew where I was to be found on Sunday, he knew also who it was took me there in the night and who slew Robert Salley. And whatever he told you, he told my captors I was not to be seen again.”