by Ann Swinfen
‘This is the matter of the books the merchant Master Winchingham brought?’
I could not remember discussing it with him, but perhaps the merchant and I had still been talking when we came through the shop after our meeting in the small parlour.
‘Aye,’ I said. ‘Something is afoot at the priory. I do not like the smell of it.’
Chapter Five
Unfortunately, with all the confusion of the last few days, I had forgotten to warn Margaret that I had invited the merchant Master Winchingham to sup with us that evening, only calling it to mind during our midday dinner. When I broached the subject, my sister gazed upon me with an expression which conveyed, more clearly than any words, what she thought of me and my failure to consider all that was entailed.
‘I am to understand,’ she said, dangerously quiet, ‘that this is a wealthy gentleman, a merchant of Bruges trading throughout the cities of Europe. A merchant, moreover, who has in hand the purchase of a manor here in Oxfordshire? You have invited him to sup with us? Here in the kitchen? With a bare afternoon to prepare?’
I nodded, guiltily. I was aware, also, that she still looked tired after yesterday’s long day at the fair, playing the part of shopkeeper (to which she was unaccustomed), then followed by a disturbed night.
‘He does not seem to me a man who makes much of . . .’ I was not sure how to express my sense of Peter Winchingham. ‘He is a plain-spoken man. Despite the fact that he trades in fine cloth, he dresses soberly. He is not one of those newly enriched merchants who ape the courtiers,’ I searched my mind. ‘He is poles apart from a man like Gilbert Mordon.’
‘So I devoutly hope.’
‘There are many of the great merchants here at the fair who carry that air of superiority, and gaze down their long noses at people like us. That group of French merchants, for example. But Master Winchingham could not be further from them. I think he would despise such pretensions.’
She sniffed. ‘Nevertheless, I have my own pride. I cannot entertain such a man in my kitchen, amongst my greasy pots.’
I thought that she had never hesitated to do so before, not even when the Lady Emma Thorgold ate with us. Perhaps it made a difference that Master Winchingham was a man, and a stranger. And lived, exotically, in Bruges. I kept my tongue behind my teeth.
Alysoun had been listening to this exchange with a keen interest.
‘Aunt Margaret,’ she said, ‘you could serve supper in the small parlour. I could help.’
Margaret looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Aye. ’Tis not so convenient as the kitchen, but it could be done.’
She turned to me. ‘And who else have you invited?’
I was startled. ‘No one.’
‘Then you had best put your mind to it. If we are to entertain this merchant, then you should provide him with more stimulating company than our small family. Invite Jordain and Philip for conversation, and Emma for quality.’
‘But that will make more work for you.’
She shrugged. ‘It will mean a great deal of work and little enough time to do it, in any case. No need to waste it on a single guest.’
‘If you are sure?’
‘I would not waste my breath, else.’ She was truly annoyed with me.
‘Is there aught I can do to help?’ I asked humbly.
‘Aye. You may go to the butcher in Great Bailey – the expensive one, just past Carfax – and fetch me a leg of mutton. I shall need to start it roasting slowly. Then ask Mary Coomber for a plate of those comfits which we have not yet taken to the fair. Alysoun, you shall help me make an apple and blackberry pie. It’s fortunate I kept back some of the blackberry preserve. Rafe, take the dog into the garden and keep her there, out from under my feet.’
‘It is cold in the garden today,’ Rafe whispered.
‘Then put on your thick cloak and capuchon,’ she said. ‘If you run about you will be warm enough.’
Margaret was in full battle mode. I mouthed my apologies to Rafe, who went off grumbling to himself, but Alysoun looked pleased and slightly smug, finding herself part of Margaret’s armed forces against the incompetent world of men.
I set off for Great Bailey, stopping in St Mildred Street to extend the invitation to Emma, who was minding Maysant while her aunt and cousin took their turn at the fair. She raised her eyebrows when I explained the situation and apologised for the short notice.
‘You are to be the ornament to the occasion,’ I said, ‘to raise the quality of the company above the mere shopkeeper level into something rather more grand, for this merchant from Bruges.’
‘He is a widower, you say? Should I exercise my charms on him?’
‘He is old enough to be your father,’ I said, abruptly, and she laughed.
‘I shall be there. And pass my sympathy to Margaret.’
Once I had bought the leg of mutton – at excessive cost – and carried it home, and fetched the comfits from Mary, I sent Walter to Merton with a message for Philip, and walked round to Hart Hall to see Jordain myself. As always at the start of term, he was so busy I had hardly seen him.
‘Supper?’ he said. ‘I should be more than glad to come. I am afraid we are back again on a diet of bread, cabbage, and a sliver of hard cheese. Our cook seems to be unable to contrive anything else with the small allowance I am able to afford for food.’
‘Well, tonight you will be able to enjoy the most expensive mutton in Oxford,’ I said, still sore at the amount of coin I had handed over. ‘And you will like Peter Winchingham. He is a great lover of books, and does not put on the airs and graces of so many great merchants.’
Walter had already returned from Merton when I reached the shop.
‘Master Olney thanks you, and will be pleased to come,’ he said. ‘And we have had a message from Master Stalbroke that Lady Amilia’s book is ready.’
‘Good.’ At least, I thought, with these increased numbers I should be protected from any frostiness on Margaret’s part. If all went well, she would have forgotten her annoyance by the time the meal was over. And I was certain that she too would like Peter Winchingham. I must make arrangements to collect the book from the binder.
Walter and I sat down at our desks to try to salvage what we could from the last of the day, but had barely started when Roger finally returned.
‘You managed to see Canon Aubery?’ I said, for I saw that he was carrying a letter. He should still be waiting if he had not delivered mine.
‘In the end. I had to kick my heels for a long while. The canons had a meeting in Chapter, which seemed to go on for several hours, and it was not a friendly one, I tell you. I heard shouting.’
‘Perhaps they are worried by last night’s attack,’ Walter said.
‘Aye, that might be it.’ Roger laid the letter in front of me and sat down on his stool. He brightened. ‘I saw the prince. Quite close. He nodded and smiled at me.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘And Canon Aubery?’
‘I was able to speak to him at last. He took me to his chamber. Did you know that they do not have cells in a dortoir, like ordinary monks, but bed chambers, divided off, each man his own?’
‘And?’ I said.
‘I gave him the letter, and he said that I had best wait in case he needed to send an answer. While he wrote it, he gave me wine and fig sweetmeats.’ He grinned. ‘I was hungry by then, you may be sure.’
‘He is a very courteous man,’ I said, picking up the letter Roger had brought and lifting the wax seal with the tip of my paper knife.
From Francis Aubery to his friend Nicholas Elyot, greetings in God.
Rather less formal a letter than mine, I thought, smiling.
Your warning comes most timely. I have been these three hours in Chapter where we discussed the matter of priory treasures which have gone missing, such as I told you of. As no one now holds the position of librarius, volumes missing from our library had not, before this, been noted. Our debate concerned the safe-keeping of the priory’s remaining treasures
, lest they fall victim to thieves. It was a matter of bitter dispute, but in the end the voice of the majority prevailed. All treasures will be removed to the choir of the church, close by the high altar, in so sacred a place that even the most nefarious of robbers would not dare to set foot there, nor lay hand on objects under divine protection. Now that I have received your warning about missing books, I shall undertake to move the library to the same sanctuary. In this we are supported by all my brothers of good will, and by Sub-Prior Resham, but not, I regret, by the prior.
Your friend and servant in Christ, Francis Aubery
I folded the letter and looked up. ‘Thank you, Roger. A most interesting reply.’
So the canons were making a stand against Prior de Hungerford at last. Francis Aubery did not say whether they would report him to the bishop, but that seemed the most logical next step. The religious houses of Oxford, as well as the parish churches, and to some extent the university itself, came under the general jurisdiction of the Bishop of Lincoln. It was a jurisdiction lightly exercised, but a case of serious misconduct would certainly be investigated by the bishop. At the moment, it seemed there was no definite proof against de Hungerford, but his opposition to the canons’ plan to preserve the treasures, combined with the known ostentation of his recently acquired wealth, certainly laid the grounds for suspicion. I hoped the canons would write to the bishop, for he would have the means and the authority to investigate.
During the meal this evening I would explain to Jordain and Philip the problem Peter Winchingham had brought to me, and assure the merchant that matters had now been taken in hand by those who could best deal with them.
I told Roger that on the morrow he should collect Lady Amilia’s book from Bookbinder’s Island before coming to the shop, and gave him a purse to pay for it. After the scriveners had left – early, since the shop was closed to customers – I helped Margaret move sufficient chairs and stools into the small parlour to accommodate our company for supper. The children would eat early, in the kitchen, but Alysoun would be permitted to help with the serving of the meal. Her contained excitement gave a sparkle to her eyes, and she had insisted upon arranging a few late roses in a jug to stand upon the coffer against the wall.
‘Is Roger not wary of spending tonight as watchman?’ Margaret asked, laying out our best pewter plates. ‘After last night’s trouble? With this meal to prepare I have not even been able to learn how our business has fared today.’
I shook my head. ‘Roger has asked a friend to go with him. Besides, Cedric Walden is leaving soldiers to guard the fairground. He thinks the provision of lay servants by the priory not able for the task.’
‘He should have thought of that yesterday,’ she said. ‘’Tis only by the grace of God that Oxford was spared the spreading of that fire.’
Privately, I agreed, but I respected Walden. He carried out the duties of a full sheriff with competence, something which could not be said of John de Alveton, High Sheriff of Oxfordshire and Berkshire. The care of two counties was a fine excuse for always being needed somewhere else.
‘There had been nothing more than rumours,’ I said, ‘before the fair opened, and there are always rumours. Probably Cedric Walden expected nothing more than the usual fist fight. Some bruises and a few bloodied noses.’
‘The strife between townsmen and priory has been growing more serious since de Hungerford came,’ she said, shrewdly. ‘He has raised the tolls and rents, as well as maintaining the priory’s rights for all our shops to be closed.’
‘That is a condition of the ancient charter,’ I said reasonably. ‘It is an annoyance that we must shut up shop, particularly for us just at the beginning of term, but it is their right. Prior de Hungerford could indeed use the town with more courtesy, but as his own canons detest him, he is unlikely to make the effort to woo the town.’
‘Now, there you are mistaken, Nicholas.’ She paused, tucking a stray lock of hair back into her wimple. Despite her annoyance at the lack of preparation time, it was clear that all was almost ready.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I have heard talk in the town – in the market, and yesterday, too, amongst the local people at the fair. Prior de Hungerford is not unpopular with all the townsmen. It seems he has a group of . . . perhaps one should not call them friends. Allies? Cronies? Men not particularly known for their honesty. Men of violence, too, some of them.’
‘Curious company for a senior churchman.’
‘Curious indeed,’ she said. ‘He drinks and dices with them, aye and goes hunting.’
‘He is not the only churchman to hunt.’
‘Perhaps. But they usually hunt on their own lands, or by permission of the king. It seems de Hungerford does not always seek permission.’
‘Well.’ I shrugged. ‘It is not for us to worry about de Hungerford. The deputy sheriff will keep a watch on disputes between town and priory. And I have just heard from Francis Aubery that the canons are taking a stand against the prior’s possible stripping of the priory’s valuables.’
Margaret opened her mouth, clearly wanting to know more of this, but we were interrupted by Alysoun dragging Jordain into the parlour to admire the preparations, and any further discussion of de Hungerford and his misdemeanours would need to await another occasion.
Philip and Emma arrived soon after, having met on their way along the High Street. I had intended to escort her here myself, but she had forestalled me, and would probably have poured scorn on my suggestion that she should not walk the streets of Oxford alone. It was a different matter in the summer, with its light evenings, but now October brought darkness with the onset of Vespers, and the dark streets of the town are no safe place for a woman alone. However much she might protest and assert her independence, I would not allow her to walk home without company.
Three of our four guests now having arrived, Margaret busied herself with some last minute touches to the food, while we stood about in the small parlour, a little awkward at first with the formality of the room, until I started to explain why Master Winchingham was coming, and how he had approached me about the books which had been offered for sale. While we talked, I sent Alysoun to look out for the merchant from the door of the shop.
Philip shook his head. ‘It sounds like a bad business, Nicholas. From your description, that Bible must be worth a great deal, and the book of hours would command a fair price.’
‘It is not as fine as some I have seen.’ I gave Emma a sly sideways glance, which made her blush. ‘Nevertheless, it is a pretty thing, and of course I was able to identify it beyond any doubt.’
‘Bad luck on the thieves,’ Jordain said.
‘Aye,’ I said, ‘but I would know a fair number of the priory’s books. When Canon Aubery had the monies for it, he purchased many books for their library, first from my father-in-law, and then from me. There was a good chance I might recognise one of the books from the collection. The man tried to pass them off as coming from a gentleman’s library, but that was a blatant lie.’
Our talk moved on to the fire of the previous night, and I gave an account of all I had seen, though I had come too late to identify the fire raisers.
‘Roger recognised one of them, though the fellow seems to have gone missing. No doubt Sheriff Walden will be able to round them up.’
‘I wonder what their punishment will be,’ Jordain said. ‘It was a stupid, dangerous thing to do.’
Margaret joined us from the kitchen, looking worried. ‘It is growing late, Nicholas. Vespers is long over. Should your Bruges merchant not be here by now? It is no distance to walk here from the Mitre.’
‘He may have been overseeing his business at the fair,’ I said. ‘That might have delayed him.’
‘But the fair is closed when the bell for Vespers rings from the Priory,’ Philip objected.
‘Could he have mistaken the day?’ Emma said. ‘You told me he is elderly.’
‘Not that elderly.’ I regretted having teased her abo
ut Winchingham’s age. ‘But you are right. Perhaps he was uncertain which day I meant. I will walk along to the Mitre and fetch him.’
‘I will come with you,’ Jordain said. ‘If the town is restless, and you were seen amongst the traders at the fair, best you don’t go alone.’
I demurred, but he was determined. Philip said he would remain to keep Emma company, and they both offered to give Margaret any assistance she needed. I could see that my sister had no very high opinion of any assistance from a university scholar, but she held her peace.
I peered over Alysoun’s shoulder and out of the door.
‘You bide inside, my pet. It is cold here. Go back to the kitchen. We are going to fetch Master Winchingham.’
Jordain and I donned warm cloaks and I lit a candle lantern, for it was full dark outside. Like the previous night it was overcast. The colleges and a few householders lit lanterns or torches before their doors in the early hours of the night, but these scattered patches of light only served to make the dark in between even more impenetrable.
Jordain and I picked our way slowly up the street. Some of the cobbles were uneven, and there were holes where a few of the more useful stones had been prised up and carried away by someone who needed to mend a wall. In better times, the High, one of the four major streets of the town, would have been repaired long ago, but ever since the deaths in the Pestilence labour was scarce. The town authorities, their own numbers cut down, had difficulty maintaining Oxford. This was a proud place, and would surely rise again, but at the moment, like so many other towns and villages, we were still licking our wounds. By day the broken surface of the street gave no problems. We had all learned to avoid the holes and the half loosened stones without giving it any thought, but at night it could be treacherous.
Jordain echoed my thoughts. ‘This poor surface to the street – do you suppose the merchant might have missed his footing and fallen? He might be lying somewhere with a twisted ankle.’
‘He can only have come this way,’ I said, holding the lantern high, ‘from the Mitre to us. If he is lying anywhere in this short stretch of road, we shall come across him, surely?’