by Ann Swinfen
‘Mayhap I’ll go.’ Walter was less enthusiastic. ‘Mayhap not.’
‘Come you with me,’ Roger said, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘We need not spend our chinks. We can watch other folks spending theirs. And there will be plenty to look at, not just your seller of spectacles. All I have seen when I go to mind the booth at night, is a row of closed doors and folded stalls. I have never even been to the end of the row. We can have our dinner there. Both the Mitre and the Cross have stalls.’
I left them to it, Roger persuading and Walter – I could see – gradually yielding. There seemed to be more people than on previous days making their way through the streets toward the fair, their curiosity roused, perhaps, by last night’s disturbance.
At the priory’s gate, one of the other lay servants was on duty, with a soldier from the castle in attendance.
‘How is Donster?’ I asked.
‘Nursing a sore head, maister’ the man said, ‘but otherwise none the worse. He’s pleased to have a day free of work. ’Tis not often us gets one, not even on saints’ days, for them’s often the busiest, here at the gate.’
This was good news about the porter. I had thought the vomiting the night before was a bad sign, after a blow on the head, but it seemed the man was recovering.
‘And the canons?’ I said.
‘Nursing their own wounds. There’s four still in the infirmary. The three worst hurt this night past, and one of the old men, who took a fainting turn this morning. The rest are in Chapter, though they’m likely done by this.’
Giving him a nod of thanks, I made my way to the Chapter House, where the canons were just leaving. I caught up with Canon Aubery.
‘How are you this morning?’ I asked. ‘I saw you take some shrewd blows.’
‘Stiff,’ he said, ‘and some fine purple bruises under my habit, but a few days will cure all, which is more than can be said for this poor house of ours.’
He sighed. ‘They have asked me in Chapter to take charge until Sub-Prior Resham is fit again, so I must see to the managing of the fair for the last days, a task I fear I am not fit for. And there is the church door to repair. I needs must send for a carpenter this morning.’
‘How are the sub-prior and the other two faring.?’ I asked.
‘Mending slowly, but still very weak. I cannot think they will be fit to rise from their beds for several days.’
‘I had hoped I might speak to your cellarer,’ I said. ‘You know that I am trying to discover which of the French vintners has been supplying wine to the priory.’
Aubery shook his head. ‘I am afraid you are out of luck this morning, Nicholas. All three have been given a dose of poppy syrup to help them sleep, for sleep is their best cure for now.’
I supposed it was no more than I expected, but it meant I had wasted a journey.
‘I had word from Sheriff Walden this morning,’ Aubery said. ‘He is sending a letter telling of last night’s attack to Bishop Glyndwelle in Lincoln and asked if we wished to add a letter of our own, but we have left all to him. I am sure he will report it fairly.’
‘Aye,’ I said. ‘I think you may trust to that. If the bishop or one of his household comes to investigate, then you may apprise him of anything more he needs to know. You will be more familiar with de Hungerford’s conduct than the sheriff can possibly be. And you can also tell him about the thefts of priory treasures.’
He sighed. ‘I am not a man always to be looking over my shoulder at the past, Nicholas, but I could wish that our last prior were still alive. He was a kind man, pious and gentle. Not a good manager of money, but honest. Everything about the priory has suffered since de Hungerford came.’
‘And do you still have your royal guest?’
‘Aye, he is to remain another three or four days. The repairs to Wallingford Castle should be finished by then.’
‘I must leave you to all your duties,’ I said, ‘but it is good to know that the priory is in your capable care.’
By the time I reached home again, the kitchen was spotless, Alysoun and Rafe were waiting in their best Sunday clothes, and Margaret was seated in her chair, pretending to be asleep.
I put my finger to my lips and whispered, ‘Do not disturb Aunt Margaret. We will slip away quietly.’
‘We have been very good.’ Alysoun’s whisper was loud enough to be heard in the street. ‘We cleared the breakfast, and swept the floor, and fetched in logs for the fire.’
‘Can we bring Rowan?’ Rafe asked.
I shook my head. ‘She would not like it, and she might frighten the bear.’
The ghost of a smile played around Margaret’s lips, and she opened one eye a slit. I smiled back.
‘Fetch your cloaks,’ I said.
Walking through the streets with the rest of the fair-going townsfolk, I kept a firm hold on the children’s hands, for they were apt to skip ahead in their excitement. I hoped the fair would not prove a disappointment.
As it was, the jugglers and acrobats were some of the best I had ever seen. From their dark hair and olive skins, I thought they must be Spanish or Italian, and from their strong likeness, one to another, they must all belong to one family, though a large one. Four of the men juggled balls and rings and cups, each man by himself, then passed things back and forth between them so fast you could hardly tell what was flying through the air. Then one of the women flipped over and over in somersaults, before balancing on her hands on the tips of two swords, which the men raised high in the air, parading about as though they were carrying a banner instead of a mortal woman at risk of falling and breaking her back.
There were two children, no older than Alysoun – boys or girls I could not tell – who performed amazing contortions, turning themselves into hoops and rolling about the dusty ground, then three women joined them, and they formed patterns, rolling then turning cartwheels, then throwing the children in the air until they landed on the shoulders of two of the men. Alysoun and Rafe watched with their mouths a-gape.
To finish, all of them, men, women and children, formed themselves into a human pyramid, men at the bottom, women leaping on to their shoulders, and the men tossing the children up to stand on the women’s shoulders, as carelessly as if they were sacks of grain. The whole crowd gasped as the children sailed through the air, but they landed neatly, with impish grins, then they stretched a banner between them which read, in rather shaky letters: ‘Long live our good Prince Edward”.
That brought a great cheer from the crowd.
‘Will the prince be watching?’ Alysoun asked.
I hoped he might be, but feared he might not.
‘He would only be able to see from one of the high windows of the priory,’ I said, ‘but if he has not seen it, then I am sure someone will tell him.’
And perhaps he will send a purse to the acrobats, I thought.
They leapt down from their pyramid, bowing to the applause, and one of the women began to go round with an upturned hat, collecting coins. I gave the children each a whole silver penny to drop in the hat. She smiled at me and sketched a curtsey.
‘Gracias,’ she said.
From a distance the women had looked graceful and delicate, but up close I saw that she was as hard and sinewy as a mercenary soldier or a country labourer. A cruel life, I thought, and a body trained from early childhood to those terrible contortions. I wondered how she had managed to balance on the sword points without piercing her hands, but it must be a secret of her profession. Perhaps she wore thick pads to protect her palms, but let her keep the illusion.
Rafe tugged at my sleeve. ‘And now may we see the dancing bear, Papa?’
‘I asked at the gate,’ I said. ‘The bear keeper will be having his dinner soon, and so shall we. Afterwards, the bear will dance further along from here, where there is an open space beyond the stalls. But first, let us see what is to be seen in the rest of the fair.’
We spent half an hour or so happily strolling about the stalls, and visiting those of the stallholders we
knew. Mary Coomber gave the children marchpane sweetmeats, then we called on Master Winchingham.
‘I have the very thing for you, my maid,’ he said. ‘I am left with the end of a bolt of sky blue linsey-woolsey which is just enough to make you a gown.’
He drew it out from under the counter and spread it out for Alysoun to see. Her eyes glowed.
‘Oh, it is beautiful.’ She reached out a finger to touch it but, mindful of the sticky marchpane, I wiped her hands first. ‘May I have it, Papa?’
I laughed. Alysoun was by nature a little ruffian, playing most happily with Jonathan Baker, even scrumping apples from the orchard at Holywell Mill, under the nose of the fearsome Miller Wooton, but of late her admiration of Juliana and Emma had given her a taste for more ladylike clothes.
‘Very well, my pet, but you must help Aunt Margaret in the making of the gown.’
I reached for my purse, but Peter Winchingham shook his head.
‘Nay, Nicholas, I owe you much more than a length of cloth for saving my life the other night. Now, what might I have for the little lad?’
He disappeared into the room at the back of the booth, and emerged with something hidden behind his back.
‘Now,’ he said, handing a carved wooden toy to Rafe. ‘See whether you can make the monkey climb the stick.’
He smiled at me. ‘I planned to bring these round to your shop, but you have saved me the journey.’
It was a clever thing. I had once had one myself, though it had been broken long since. By manipulating a weight on the end of a string, the wooden monkey could be made to climb the stick. This was a better one than mine had been, purchased by my mother from a pedlar when I had been quite ill with the measles. I could remember long days when I was too tired to do anything but play with the monkey, for hours on end, it seemed. This one was finely carved, the handle of the stick and a hat upon the monkey’s head painted red and blue.
At first Rafe did not manage the trick, and Alysoun could not keep her hands from reaching out.
‘I can see how it is done!’ she said. ‘Let me!’
I put my hand on her shoulder and shook my head. ‘Let Rafe find out for himself,’ I said.
Peter Winchingham winked at me.
It did not take long before Rafe had mastered it, and in delight he made the monkey climb the stick again and again.
‘There is an excellent toy stall,’ Winchingham said, ‘in the next row over from here. Bavarians. I used to buy toys for my children when they were young, whenever I had business in Bavaria.’
‘They have come a long way to our Oxford fair,’ I said, ‘and those acrobats as well.’
‘Spaniards. Have you seen the players yet? They perform a play late each evening, just before the fair closes.’
I shook my head. ‘I hope they at least are English! To say truly, I have been caught up in such wild events as would make a play, which have left me little time for visiting the fair.’
I gave him a brief account of events at Belancer’s house and the priory, while Rafe, watching jealously, allowed Alysoun a turn with his toy.
Winchingham grew grave as he listened. ‘There have been whispers about what has happened at the priory, but I did not realise how serious matters had become. So Belancer is dead, and you suspect the Frenchman who struck me down. Very probable, I would say, though like you I can see no reason for it. And this attack on the priory by their own prior – that is shocking news! Yet you do not think the one is connected to the other?’
‘I cannot see how, and I still have not been able to discover which vintner supplied the priory. I do not suppose you have recognised your attacker amongst the Frenchmen?’
‘I have not. They keep very much to themselves. Nor have I seen the man who offered me the books, although I expected him to return to the inn last night. Perhaps he will come tonight, unless something has caused him to take fright.’
‘If he comes,’ I said, thinking fast, ‘perhaps you should say that you will, after all, buy the two books, but it must be the day after the fair, when you have had time to pack up your remaining goods and make up your accounts. Bid him come to the Mitre – at midday, shall we say? – and I will bring Sheriff Walden. He can catch him in the very act of selling stolen property.’
‘An excellent plan. I will do so, if the man shows his face again, which surely he must do, for I still have the books in my possession.’
‘I wonder whether he was amongst those with de Hungerford last night,’ I said, and described the men as well as I could remember, from the confusion and the erratic light of flares and lanterns.
‘Nay,’ he said. ‘I think not. This was no big bully of a man, but a weak, weedy little fellow, with the look of a lower servant about him, or perhaps an under-fed clerk, such as might be employed in the imaginary gentleman’s household.’
We were no further forward, but Winchingham promised to send me word if the man should come to the Mitre at any time.
Rafe had regained possession of his monkey, and he tugged again my sleeve. ‘The bear? You promised.’
‘May I leave the length of cloth with you?’ I asked Winchingham. ‘I fear it might suffer in the crowds around the dancing bear.’
‘I will have it made up into a parcel for you, and send one of my lads round this evening with it. I would come myself, but if I am to await the fellow selling the books–’
‘Aye. It would be best it you kept to the inn.’
We needed to find somewhere to eat, or the children would be fretting, even with the excitement of seeing a dancing bear. The crowds had grown so much today that we found all the tables set out by the Mitre and the Cross were already full, but I remembered that there had been a stall not far from Mistress Walsea’s which sold hot pies, so we made our way there. For the moment I had forgotten the hostile men of two nations guarding the boats and barges moored at the jetty, but remembered them as we drew near. Many of them were clustered about the pie stall. The trouble-makers must still be under lock and key, and the present company eyed each other warily, but for the moment no blows were being exchanged.
The pie stall did not provide tables and chairs, so we carried our pies to the jetty and sat there, swinging our legs over the river. For cheap pies they were surprisingly good, if somewhat messy. When I had rinsed my handkerchief in the river and wiped faces, we went in search of gingerbread and Alice Walsea.
She remembered the children from her brief encounter with them at my cousin’s farm, and insisted on buying them an extra gingerbread babe each.
‘So, you are going to see the dancing bear,’ she said. ‘Keep well clear of him, for if anyone provokes him, he may turn nasty. Bears are wild beasts, and you should never forget it.’
‘Aye,’ I said, ‘Mistress Walsea speaks truly. Do not try to stand too close.’
For once it was Rafe who did not seem to be frightened by this warning, though Alysoun looked thoughtful.
Alice Walsea and I both admitted our failure to trace the swarthy Frenchman, who might be the man she sought, or might not, although he was certainly the man who had attacked Peter Winchingham, and probably the murderer of Belancer.
‘And I hear that you were caught up in the trouble at the priory this midnight past,’ she said.
I did not ask how she knew. To discover what others do not know was her profession, but I told her what had happened.
‘And now,’ I said, ‘we must be off to seek this bear.’
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘He usually performs a little way from the fair, to be away from the stalls and draw his own audience. Follow the path in the lee of the town wall, toward the priory grange, but not nearly as far.’
Rafe set off at once, and Alysoun and I had to hurry to keep up with him. A crowd of people was already moving from the main part of the fair along the path below the wall, and Rafe tugged anxiously at my arm.
‘Hurry, Papa! We might miss him.’
We reached an area which had been marked out with rope st
rung round a large circle of wooden pegs driven into the turf. The rope could not have kept the bear in, had he taken it into his head to lunge at the crowd, for it was no more than a foot off the ground. I assumed it was meant merely to hold back the audience and give the animal room to perform. A lanky youth in shabby finery was standing just inside the circle, calling out as people made their way nearer.
‘Come and see the remarkable bruno, Radofitch, all the way from the frozen wastes of legendary Muscovy. A bear who will dance for you as dainty as any gentlewoman.’
His speech was also a little threadbare with use, for he spoken the words as though they had lost their meaning for him. I saw that he had a small drum slung on a baldric.
I made our way to the front of the crowd, but far enough from the rope that I hoped a swipe of the bear’s paw could not reach us, and put the children in front of me, so that no one blocked their view. However, I kept a tight grip on their shoulders, so that I could whip them behind me if it seemed there might be danger.
From a tent erected next to the wall, the bear keeper appeared. Like the youth, he wore bright but worn garments of a curious cut, designed to suggest that he came, like the bear, from some exotic land, although I doubted whether he (and the bear) had come further than from one of the German states. He led the bear on a chain, which was attached to a wide metal collar, trimmed with vicious looking spikes. They both stepped easily over the rope.
The bear ambled along on all fours, ignoring the crowd. He was a little grey around the muzzle, but otherwise looked healthy enough. Sometimes these performing bears are so old they can barely stagger.
Once inside the ring, the bear keeper held up his hand to hush the crowd.
‘Good people,’ he said, ‘you must keep quite silent while the magnificent Radofitch performs. Noise disturbs him, and I will not answer for the consequences.’
Alysoun moved a little closer to me, but Rafe was watching with shining eyes.
The bear keeper unclipped the chain from the bear’s collar, and drew a double pipe from a cloth sheath at his belt. The youth lifted a pair of drumsticks and began to tap out a rhythm, while the man raised the pipe to his lips and started to play a lively dance tune. For a moment the bear simply stood where he had halted, then he rose up on to his hind legs.