A Trail of Ink hds-3 Read online

  From beside the window I could hear the dispute plainly. I had the gist of the quarrel in less time than it takes to pare a fingernail. The inhabitants of the Hall were divided into two opposing camps, each accusing the other of complicity in the matter of their warden's stolen books. Occasionally I thought I heard Master John over the din, trying to calm the debate. A man might as well try to arrest the wind as silence an Oxford scholar who wishes to make known his opinion.

  In addition to the three windows, the east wall of the hall included a door. It was behind me as I stood at the window, so I heard, rather than saw, the door open abruptly and immediately slam shut. Arthur and I turned and watched Master John stalk across the yard toward his chamber. He had not seen us against the wall, for the open door blocked his view, although the afternoon sun bathed the enclosure in a golden glow.

  Wyclif did not hear us follow; he was muttering to himself as he strode. So he pushed through his chamber door and slammed it in our faces unknowingly. Arthur stared goggle-eyed, first at me, then at the door. I was accustomed to scholarly disputes. Indeed, I had shouted my way through several in my youth. But such discord was new to Arthur. He thought he was to spend some days in the peaceful company of scholars and masters. But there are few men so disputatious as scholars. Arthur was learning this and the knowledge startled him. I think had I released him at that moment he would have sought out the Stag and Hounds, mounted the old palfrey, and scurried off for Bampton.

  I rapped on Master John's chamber door and a heartbeat later it was flung open.

  "What?!" Wyclif roared, then clamped his lips shut when he saw it was me. "I beg pardon, Master Hugh. I thought… never mind what I thought. Come in."

  Master John held open the door and stood to one side as a welcome. Arthur, his cap in his hands, followed me into the gloomy chamber. The scholar had had no time, and perhaps no desire, to light a cresset to bolster the thin light of a late October afternoon which managed to penetrate the chamber through a single narrow window.

  There were but two benches in the room. Arthur noted this and stood aside, in a shadowy corner, as Wyclif motioned to a bench and sat silently upon the other. Neither of us spoke for a moment.

  "You forgot some business in Oxford?" Master John finally asked.

  "No. I am come to offer my service, as you desired, in the matter of your stolen books."

  "Ah," Wyclif smiled. "Some good tidings for a change."

  "You have made no progress in discovering the books, or who it was who took them?"

  "None. And the issue divides the Hall… more so than it already was."

  "I… we, uh, overheard some debate just now."

  "Hah. Debate. Indeed, Master Hugh, you are a tactful man. The monks and seculars are at each other's throats, each thinking the other's responsible."

  "And you," I asked, "what think you?"

  Wyclif was silent, his lips pursed and brow furrowed. The only sound was Arthur shifting his weight from one foot to another.

  "Thinking on my loss leaves an ache, so I try not to think on it at all."

  "You are successful?"

  "Nay," Wyclif grimaced. "'Tis sure that the more a man tries not to consider a thing, the more he will so do."

  "You think much on the loss, then?"

  "Aye, but to no purpose."

  The ringing of a small bell interrupted our conversation. "Supper," Master John muttered. "I care little for food this day, but you and your man are hungry, surely. Come."

  Wyclif led the way from his chamber across the yard to the hall. The scholars who preceded us there were in muttered conversation but fell silent when they saw Master John's scowl.

  Supper was a pottage of peas, leeks, and white beans, with a maslin loaf, wheat and rye. Saturday is a fast day. Nevertheless I detected a few bits of bacon flavoring the pottage. A man watching might have thought this a monastic house where the residents observed silence while in the refectory. There was no resumption of the afternoon argument. The scholars ate warily, one eye on their fellows, the other on Master John.

  Arthur and I ate heartily. We'd enjoyed no dinner. We might have dined at the Stag and Hounds when we left the horses, and, indeed, Arthur had peered beseechingly at me as we left the place. But I have dined many times at the Stag and Hounds. Too many times.

  It was dark when we left the hall. A sliver of moon gave enough light that I did not stumble on the cobbles of the yard. Arthur did. The ale served with supper was fresh. Arthur drank copiously.

  Master John led us to his chamber, and while he lighted a cresset I resumed my bench and Arthur took his place in the corner. But he did not remain standing. His back slid down the wall until he was seated in a crouch on the flags. He released a contented belch as the descent concluded.

  "Lord Gilbert has released you to do service for me?" Wyclif inquired.

  Aye.

  "I am in his debt."

  "Not yet. I have found no books nor a malefactor."

  "Ali, but you will. I have faith."

  Arthur greeted Master John's judgment with a snore. The scholar smiled and peered into the corner where Arthur sat, elbows on knees and head on arms.

  "You will be weary from your journey this day. I will have straw brought to the guest's cell for your man and you may seek your rest. Time enough on the morrow to begin your search."

  3

  Scholars at Canterbury Hall take no morning meal. So when Arthur and I left our cell and made our way to Master John's chamber, my stomach growled as loudly as Arthur's snores. Arthur seemed not to notice.

  Master John was awaiting my arrival. His door squealed open on rusty hinges a heartbeat after I rapped my knuckles upon it. Why, I wondered, must those hinges protest so? Canterbury Hall and its buildings were but four years old. A scholar's life is consumed with the ethereal, I think, while the realities are as lost to him as feathers upon the breeze. Greasing hinges is, to Master Wyclif, a gossamer reality.

  "Master Hugh, you slept well?"

  "Aye," I lied.

  "I did also. For the first time in many days. You will soon find my books."

  I was not so confident as Master John, but saw no purpose in disillusioning the hopeful scholar.

  "You did not rise for Matins," Wyclif observed. "And I was loath to wake you. You must have rest, and your wits about you, if you are to find my books."

  "If I am to do so I must first know all that happened the day they went missing. Especially I would know of any event out of the ordinary."

  Master John scratched the back of his head, thought for a moment, then replied, "'Twas a normal day. A lecture in the morning. After dinner a disputation… which was a little less disputatious, perhaps, than ordinary."

  "How so?"

  "Canterbury Hall is a new foundation, created by the Archbishop four years past. 'Twas begun with good intentions," Wyclif sighed, "but as with many noble designs, things have gone much awry.

  "The Archbishop's plan was to bridge the gap at Oxford between monks and secular fellows. So Canterbury Hall is to have four monks, from Canterbury, and eight secular scholars. There were four wardens before me, in but four years. The first was a monk of Canterbury. The secular scholars drove him out. The next were seculars, and the monks would not have them."

  "There is much discord in the house?"

  "Ha," Wyclif sniffed. "I have tried to calm my charges, but my soft answers have not turned away wrath. They argued before I came, and they will continue no matter what I do. The monks are particularly contentious. They wished for another of their house to be appointed warden. When this was not so they became angry. And as the secular fellows outnumber them two to one, they feel any criticism as a disparagement which must be promptly answered, else their antagonists will overwhelm them."

  "And now each faction accuses the other of stealing your books?"

  "Aye. You overheard yesterday's dispute?"

  "We did."

  "As I am no monk, the secular fellows are convinced tis th
e monks who have done this… to force me out."

  "And you, what do you think?"

  "Monks or seculars," Wyclif mused, "it must be one or the other guilty."

  "Not some thief from outside the Hall?"

  "The porter saw no stranger about the Hall."

  "It was while you were at supper they were taken?"

  Aye.

  "So had some miscreant been about, it might have been too dark for the porter to see him?"

  "Aye," Wyclif agreed.

  "Them scholars' gowns is black," Arthur commented from his corner. "Make 'em hard to see of a night… did a man not want to be seen."

  "While you supped, did any leave the table, seculars or monks?"

  "Nay," Wyclif spoke firmly. "'Tis a puzzle. No stranger sought entrance from the porter, nor was any such seen about. So the deed must have been done by one within the Hall. But we were all at supper."

  "Your logic, Master John, is impeccable, as always. But it must be flawed. Even though all of your scholars, secular and monks, were at table, it seems sure that one of them, at least, gave guidance in this matter."

  "To whom?"

  "Ah, you have me there. This is what I must search out. The porter says none were about, but as all the residents of the Hall were at their meal, there was surely one, or more, to do the theft."

  Master John went to scratching the back of his head again. "Aye, it must be as you say. But why, if the thief was a stranger to the Hall, must it be a scholar gave direction?"

  "How would an alien know which chamber was yours, or know the value of your books… or know that you kept them in your chamber rather than in the library?"

  "An' 'twould take more'n one, I'm thinkin'," Arthur commented. "I seen scholars carryin' books on the street. One thief didn't get many books away by hisself. How many was took?"

  "Twenty-two," I replied.

  "One thief didn't get twenty-two books over the wall," Arthur declared.

  Over the wall! A man wearing a scholar's black gown could go over the wall near where Master John's chamber butted against it. Such a man might pass about the yard in little danger of being seen. The porter would be looking out from the gatehouse toward St John's Street. The scholars would be at their meal.

  "Come," I urged, and led the way from Master John's chamber into the yard. The scholar and Arthur followed obediently into the morning sunlight, questioning expressions upon their faces.

  There were but three short lengths of the Canterbury Hall wall which were exposed to the yard. Most of the wall formed the exterior of the hall, the kitchen, the scholars' cells, and the chapel. But on either side of the entrance gate the interior of the wall was exposed, and on the south extension there was a short length of open wall, between Master Wyclif's chamber and the hall. I turned my steps in that direction.

  The cobbled yard extended here to the wall. I studied the cobbles, and looked to the top of the wall. The stones were silent.

  The wall about Canterbury Hall is not imposing. I stood on my toes, reached as high as I could, and came within a hand's breadth of the top of the enclosure. A man would need but a short ladder to climb over the wall, but the cobbles at my feet would leave no mark if a ladder had once rested there. Outside the wall, however, might be another matter.

  Master John and Arthur studied me while I studied the wall and the cobbles at its base. While I examined the wall a bell rang from the nearby priory Church of St Frideswide. I recognized the bells. I had heard them ring out to summon students to battle during the St Scholastica Day riots, when I was new to Oxford as a student at Balliol College.

  "Time for mass," Wyclif explained. Arthur and I followed him to the chapel as scholars left their cells and moved silently across the yard to join our small procession.

  I could not keep my thoughts on worship. My mind reviewed what I had learned of Canterbury Hall, which was little enough. I pondered monks and antagonistic secular scholars, the weight of twenty-two books, and ladders.

  My brooding mist dissolved when Master John concluded his sermon, performed the kiss of peace, and then passed the gospel to the scholars who, each in turn, also kissed God's word. I watched intently to see did any shy from this duty. For a man to kiss the gospel while he hid evil in his heart would be a grave sin, as all present in the chapel, even Arthur, knew. My hope for easy resolution of theft was frustrated. All kissed the holy book with fervor. Either all were innocent of complicity in larceny, or one, at least, had no fear for his soul.

  It was time for dinner when mass was done. I began to recognize the diet of Canterbury Hall. The meal was another pease pottage with a maslin loaf, cheese, and ale. The pottage was flavored again with bacon, and the ale was fresh. The meal was hot, tasty, and filling. But a man could soon become weary of the fare. Perhaps this was one reason the scholars of Canterbury Hall were so contentious.

  It was the work of the fellows to take down the tables after the meal. During the week the benches would then be arranged for disputation, and the tables set up again for supper. There would be no debates this day; it was Sunday. But the tables were stacked against the wall regardless of the day.

  The work was none of Master John's, so he left the hall immediately after his dinner was finished. I followed, and Arthur trudged behind. The tedium of the diet at Canterbury Hall seemed not to affect Arthur's appetite. I believe he would have preferred to stay for another bowl of pottage.

  Master Wyclif turned and spoke when we were well away from the hall and any listening ear. "You spoke of ladders," he reminded me.

  "Indeed. But if a ladder was propped against the inner side of the wall, it would leave no mark against the cobbles. We must go out and inspect the outer side of the wall."

  We did. But before we passed through the gate I stepped off the distance from the end of Master John's chamber to the front wall, on Schidyard Street; seventeen paces. Outside the wall, at the corner where south and east walls meet, I began to step off the distance, and stopped when I completed seventeen paces.

  This experiment was also a disappointment. There were no cobbles here, outside the wall, but if a ladder was recently placed here the mark was lost in the foliage which found the warmth of a sun-warmed south wall agreeable.

  I was unwilling to give up the search so easily. A closer inspection was needed. I knelt and on hands and knees inspected the ground about the base of the wall. I assumed a ladder tall enough to top the wall would have its base one pace or a little more from the foot of the wall. So it was along such a line I searched. Arthur grasped my intent and wordlessly joined me in examining the sod. This was a fruitless enterprise. We gained only soiled hands and stained chauces at the knees.

  Arthur's remark that a thief or two had come over the wall had seemed to me so likely that I was reluctant to give up the theory, although I had found no evidence that it was so.

  "Nothing, eh?" Wyclif observed.

  I shook my head, brushed mould from hands and knees, and turned my gaze to the nearby structures which lay close to the south wall of Canterbury Hall. Of these there were few. Three houses stood between Canterbury Hall and the town wall, where the wall abutted St Frideswide's Priory. These housed, I assumed, three families and their businesses.

  The buildings were much alike; two stories, with shops and workrooms below, the family living quarters above. They were of timber, wattle and daub. Two had recently thatched roofs; one roof, however, was old and decayed and whoever slept beneath it was going to awaken often in a damp bed. Whatever business occupied these homes, it was seemingly enough to keep them, but not enough to bring prosperity. In difficult times like this, perhaps that is all a man can ask of his craft.

  A muddy lane led from Schidyard Street and gave access to these structures. As the homes faced this lane, it was the tofts at the rear of the houses which abutted the south wall of Canterbury Hall.

  The tofts were not large, nor were they walled. They appeared to be cultivated. Indeed, the last of the season's cabbages and tu
rnips were yet unharvested from the toft nearest Schidyard Street.

  No sound of labor or commerce came from the houses. This was the Lord's Day. The inhabitants were enjoying their day of rest.

  I turned to Master John, ready to acknowledge defeat, when my eye scanned the side of the middle house. A ladder lay on the turf close by the west wall of the structure. It was in shadow, nearly invisible as it lay, one side on the earth, the other propped low against the side of the house.

  I pointed to the ladder: "Look there." Arthur and Master John followed my arm, then turned to me. A look of triumph flickered across the scholar's face.

  "Whose houses are these?" I asked.

  "A cobbler and two who deal in wool… yarn spinners."

  "The middle house?"

  "A yarn-maker, I think. The fellow's wife and daughters card and comb and work the distaff. The husband busies himself with buying and selling."

  The middle house featured the decaying roof. "I think wool may not provide much custom," Master John observed.

  "Nay," Arthur agreed. "Not since the great dyin'. Them as is dead have no need o' new garments, an' them as live can wear what the dead need no more."

  I walked across the muddy toft to the rear of the yarn-spinner's house and rapped upon the door. I heard a bench scrape across a flagged floor — perhaps there had once been more prosperity in this house than at present — and the door cracked open. The man who stood in the opening was clearly puzzled to have callers in his toff. He peered from me to Arthur to Master John. I thought a flash of recognition crossed his features when he saw Master Wyclif.

  "The ladder which lays aside your house, for what is it used?"

  The fellow was puzzled by my question. Why should three men, one in the black gown of a scholar, approach his home through the toft on a quiet Sunday afternoon and enquire about a ladder?

  "'Tis the thatcher's," he answered. "Me roof is bad. Needs redone afore winter."

  The questioning look never left the man's face while he provided this simple answer. He surely sought some reason why three strange men should enquire about a ladder.