by Ann Swinfen
In the event, it was Roger himself who came up with a suggestion. He was delighted at the prospect of spending time (at my expense), visiting the taverns of Oxford to moan about his need for money, in the hope of securing an offer of work from the two men who had dealt with William. As far as we had been able to discover, it had been these two who had employed William and provided him with the Psalter and the writing materials. The man from Merton, whoever he was, had rarely or never appeared, although he must be providing the money.
Of course it had been necessary to tell Roger everything we knew. Jordain had joined us after his morning lecture and between us we gave a full account of all that we had learned, from the time I had pulled William’s body from the Cherwell until my visit to Godstow Abbey and my meeting with Sister Benedicta. From time to time Walter joined in. There was always a lull in the shop before the students came in after their lectures, so we were left undisturbed. It was clear Roger had guessed a little of what had been happening, but he was taken aback at the audacity of the plot to replace the original book with a copy.
‘Surely no one would be fooled for a moment,’ he objected. ‘I have never seen this Psalter, but any book which is hundreds of years old, no matter how carefully kept, will show its age. No one could mistake a newly bound book for an old one. It would not even smell the same.’
‘That is very true,’ I said. ‘The book I fetched from the binder’s yesterday, it still smelled of freshly dressed leather.’
‘And glue,’ Walter said.
‘And the feel of the parchment in your fingers is different,’ Roger said. ‘Some of those old books we have had here to sell, their pages feel different. I do not know whether it is age, or whether they used to cure the skins in some other way.’
‘Nay,’ said Walter, ‘I think parchment makers have used the same methods for centuries. Even the Romans–’
He broke off when Jordain laughed.
‘It is very instructive,’ he said, ‘listening to the three of you on the fine details of the book trade, but the fact remains that this was the plan. It is no concern of ours whether it would have succeeded or not. It is our aim to prevent it happening at all.’
‘So you are content to start this afternoon, Roger?’ I said. ‘Though I am still uncertain how I am to spread the word that I know the whereabouts of the book – which these men must find before they can employ you.’
‘But, Master Elyot,’ Roger said, bright eyed, ‘I can do both. While I am grumbling about how miserly you are in paying your hardworking scriveners, I can also say that you have found a most wonderful ancient Psalter, probably Irish, a veritable treasure, which will no doubt make your own fortune. Not that we poor scribes will see any benefit from it.’
‘You know,’ Jordain said slowly, ‘I think that might be the answer. It would look very suspicious were you to talk about it yourself, Nicholas, but if your discontented scrivener let the information slip out while in his cups, that would have the ring of truth about it.’
‘I think you might be right,’ I said.
‘You must not overplay your hand, lad,’ Walter said. ‘Don’t be too eager about telling folk everything.’
‘I know just how to let it out, a little at a time,’ Roger said scornfully. ‘You may trust me.’
‘But there is one thing you must not do,’ I said. ‘You must not let your listeners believe that I have the book here. I do not want those ruffians breaking into my home and endangering my family.’
‘I shall say that you have it hidden away, not anywhere about the shop or house, for I have searched for it. Only you know where it is.’
‘Aye, that’s best,’ I said.
Jordain frowned. ‘I do not like this. You could be putting yourself in great danger, Nicholas. If these men are desperate enough to lay hands on the Psalter again – which they must be, as will be the man who is behind it all – what might they not do to extract its whereabouts from you? Men who do not scruple at murder will not, I think, scruple at torture.’
Despite putting on a brave face, I shivered involuntarily. ‘Then I must take care not to walk alone down any dark alleys, or wander about Oxford at night.’
‘I wonder how quickly they will act,’ Walter said. ‘For a few days, we could make sure there is always someone with you.’
‘That would arouse their suspicions, I think,’ I said, ‘if I were to be seen always in company with any of you.’
‘I have a couple of stout lads amongst my students,’ Jordain said. ‘Both of them from good families, only spending time in Oxford to get a little of the new learning, not in order to take holy orders or to become scholars. Both have been brought up to handle arms. Yesterday evening I raised with them the possibility of the need for some lads with such training, although I did not say why or for what purpose. They were, I am sad to say, only too eager. Any excuse to neglect their studies! They could stay near you, within shouting distance. They would not be recognised as having anything to do with you.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said reluctantly. I was not sure just what kind of hare I had started running. ‘Let us try this for a day or two, and see what comes of it. Today is Wednesday. We will attempt our scheme until Monday. If we have not enticed the wolf to the tethered lamb by then, I think we may assume that the rogues have abandoned Oxford, and I shall return the Psalter to the Warden of Merton. Let Olney take the consequences.’
This we all agreed. Roger would leave work early that very afternoon, and begin haunting the taverns. By now I had started to feel that it was a foolish plan, no one would be taken in, and much time would be lost for no gain. And I should look a very fool.
Roger returned much later that evening, long after the children were abed, looking remarkably pleased with himself. I brought him through to the kitchen, where Margaret plied him with oatmeal porridge laced with honey.
‘Clearly you have taken too much drink, Roger,’ she said sternly. ‘You reek like a spilt barrel. This will soak up some of it and steady your stomach.’
‘I thank you kindly, Mistress Makepeace,’ he said meekly. Margaret could subdue even Roger.
Once he had made a start on his porridge, I could contain myself no longer. His complacent air must have some cause.
‘Well?’ I said.
‘I started first at Tackley’s,’ he said. ‘I’m well known, taking my dinner there most days. No point in playing the downtrodden scribe there, else how could I afford my dinners? But I did know that some of the servants from Merton drink there of an evening, and I was in luck. Three arrived soon after I was sitting with my mug of ale before me, and they came to join me at my table. I let them chatter for a while, but I managed to slip in a hint about you finding a valuable ancient book. I hadn’t seen it myself, but I thought it might be a Psalter. Two of them were not interested, but I saw one prick up his ears. If what you think is true, that they’ve concealed the loss, he’ll know nothing of that, but it could be that he’s heard of Merton’s Psalter.’
I nodded. ‘That all sounds like good strategy. Word may not get back to the college, but it is worth the attempt.’
‘From there I went on to the Mitre, but I stayed only a short while. I think it is too grand a place for our villains, so I went on to the Swindlestock.’
His eyes were gleaming, and he was clearly containing his news with difficulty.
‘It was here that I became the misused, underpaid scrivener who works long hours for a miserly master, who pays him barely enough to live on. I became quite drunk, weeping into my ale.’
He gave Margaret a startled look. ‘I was not really drunk, mistress! Indeed, I think I have missed my calling. I should be one of these travelling players who can become an angel or a devil at will.’
‘So,’ I said, ‘you were drunk and maudlin in your cups, and too poor to eat. How did you pay for your ale?’
‘It was my last farthing, maister,’ he whined. Then he laughed. ‘I was bought two more pots out of charity, and the second of
them by a red-haired man with a small beard and a pock-marked face.’
I gave a gasp. I had not expected my ill-made plan to work at all, certainly not so soon.
‘It must be the man,’ I said. ‘It was in the Swindlestock that William was overheard speaking of his need for money. And it was there that Dafydd Hewlyn’s journeyman saw them last Saturday. Surely it is their regular drinking place.’
‘It is more than that.’ Roger looked smug. ‘They have been lodging there for the last two months, and I had their names before I came away, from one of the potboys I know. He’s the son of my landlady. They are Robert Frowike and Pierson Gidney. Robert Frowike it was who bought me ale, and drew out from me my tale of woe, how I have worked for you these four years, but still paid barely enough to live on. And there is my master, living in comfort, buying books and selling them at a great profit. And now he has found some wonderful old Psalter which is worth more than his whole shop together. Will I see any of the great fortune he will make when he sells it to some nobleman? Not I!’
I drew a deep breath. I hoped that Roger had not overdone his pose and caused the man to suspect he was being deceived. It was almost too much to hope that the wolf had been drawn to the bait.
‘And this fellow, Robert Frowike,’ I said, ‘what was his reaction to your sorry tale?’
‘Patted me on the shoulder, bought me another ale, told me to be of good cheer. He needed to speak to someone, but I am to meet him there on Friday after I have finished the day’s labour for my thankless master. He might have work for me, which would be well paid, but I must bring him a page of my writing and illuminations, as evidence of my skills.’
‘You have done remarkably well, Roger,’ I said. ‘I never expected that you would find any trace of the men so soon, or that they would approach you at once. Clearly they are growing worried.’
‘I think it was the mention of your find, Master Elyot, that really drew him in. Without the book, they cannot offer me work, can they? That was a ruse to keep me satisfied. Or else he thinks he will be able to secure the book from you by Friday. You had best watch your step.’
‘Aye.’ I was troubled. ‘This fellow did not follow you, and see that you came back here to report?’
‘Nay, I thought of that. I waited until he had gone off himself, then slipped away.’
Gone off to Merton, I thought, to make his own report.
‘I am surprised,’ Margaret said austerely, ‘that you were able to walk straight after so much ale.’
Roger laughed. ‘I gave that last tankard to my friend, the potboy. It’s thirsty work serving in an Oxford tavern all evening.’
‘Well, now we have the names,’ I said, ‘we could report them to the sheriff, though I would prefer to catch them in the midst of some illegal act. It will be difficult to prove them William’s murderers. I wish now that I had not taken the ink well from the mill. If it had been found in their possession, it would have been proof clear of their connection with him. Still, too late to grieve over that.’
‘I’ll away home now,’ Roger said, getting up. ‘I thank you for the supper, mistress.’
‘Are you sure you will be safe in the dark streets?’ Margaret said. She might deplore the drinking, but she cared for his safety.
‘Aye, ’tis but a five minute walk.’ And he went off, whistling jauntily.
‘I do not think he understands the risks you are all running,’ Margaret said.
She frowned. She was right, of course.
‘I truly had no real hope that they would take the bait,’ I said apologetically. ‘It was a wild scheme.’
‘Well, tomorrow Jordain’s students will be here, to keep a close watch on you,’ she said.
‘Then I must lead them a merry dance. I have bills to deliver to Queen’s and Durham. That should stretch their legs for them.
The following morning I made much of going in and out of the shop. I called on Master Crowmer to buy a small flagon of wine, but I did not tell him anything of what we had discovered. Like the coroners he seemed happy to forget the case, yet one more Oxford killing, with nothing to indicate who the culprit might be.
When Margaret set off for the market, I walked with her as far as the Mitre, then turned back to take my reckoning to Queen’s College. I hoped that by turning sharp about I would be able to see whether there was anyone following me. I saw nothing but Jordain’s two students keeping close. They were two lads I recognised from my visits to Hart Hall. They were far from inconspicuous, being unmistakably students who should have been attending lectures. However, it should ensure that our two scoundrels would not attack me in broad daylight in the middle of Oxford.
After my visit to Queen’s, I decided I would go myself to Durham College. I could have sent Roger, but if we were to maintain the story of the ill-used servant, I would hardly be entrusting him to fetch home the substantial sum owed to me. Besides, it was a pleasant spring day, and I would enjoy the walk. Up Catte Street I led my faithful attendants, past the turn to their hall and out through Smith Gate. It was as far again to Durham College, but it was a delightful place, with exceptionally large grounds, something only possible for colleges outside the town wall. The bursar there was a good fellow, not a mean penny-pincher like his counterpart at Merton. If he paid late it was because he was as disorganised in keeping his accounts as I was. He invited me to take a glass of wine sitting in the garden, which I accepted.
‘It would be a kindness, however,’ I said, ‘if you were to tell the porter to serve a stoup of ale to those two students waiting outside. They are providing me with a kind of bodyguard.’
He sent word to the porter, but said in astonishment, ‘Bodyguard, Nicholas? What devilment have you been about?’
‘I shall tell you all when it is over,’ I promised.
Having enjoyed the wine and half an hour’s conversation, I took my purse of coin, collected the students, and made my way leisurely back home. There was no sign of either Robert Frowike or Pierson Gidney.
It was only when I entered the shop that I found I had been playing a foolish game. Walter and Roger had abandoned their desks, Margaret was in the shop, her hair escaping in disarray from her wimple, her cheeks pale and streaked with tears.
I seized her hands. ‘Meg! What has happened!’
She gulped and mastered herself, freeing one hand to wipe away her tears.
‘I went on from the market to call on Mistress Farringdon at the Cross Inn. We sat talking for a time. It was as I was coming away. There was a crowd in Northgate Street.’
She gripped my hand hard.
‘Please, Meg!’ I said.
‘Someone grabbed me about the waist. For a moment I thought it was a cut-purse, but then he clamped his hand over my mouth so I could not cry out. He said he had a knife and if I looked back or made a sound, I would regret it.’
Her voice trembled. I have never known Margaret so afraid, except during the Death.
‘He said that if you did not deliver up the Psalter by tomorrow midday, to the innkeeper at the Swindlestock, then you would regret it.’
‘He was bluffing,’ I said, with more conviction than I felt. ‘He cannot touch me.’
My foolish plan was working itself out rather more rapidly than I had expected.
‘I am sorry he has given you such a fright, Meg, but he hopes to frighten me through you, and I refuse to play his game.’
She looked at me unsmiling.
‘This is no game, Nicholas. He meant every word he said.’
Chapter Twelve
Walter and Roger were clearly shaken, as well as Margaret, and although I did my best to keep up a calm front, I was beginning to be frightened. Blithely setting afoot this gamble, this wolf trap, I had thought I might take some risks myself, should the previously nameless villains try to discover from me the whereabouts of the Irish Psalter. With a bodyguard, however inexperienced, I thought myself safe enough. And I had warned Roger to make it clear that the book was not to be
found here, so that there should be no danger to my family. I had never expected that one of the men would seize Margaret in the middle of one of Oxford’s busiest streets and threaten her.
‘Did no one come to your aid, Meg? There must have been dozens of people about of a morning.’
She shook her head. ‘Since the Death, I think folk have become more careful of their own skins. All that matters now is to survive. Let others fend for themselves. Things have changed. It was never thus, before. People must have seen, but they turned away. There is a kind of hardness of heart amongst us now. We have seen too much, lost too much. ’Tis as if we all wear a kind of armour of indifference.’
‘I hope it may not be so,’ I cried, ‘for what kind of world would that be in store for the children?’
‘I wish I had never gone to Swindlestock Tavern,’ Roger said bitterly. He was pale, and looked as though he might be sick at any moment. ‘This is my doing. If I had never blabbed about that b’yer lady book, this would never have happened.’
It was a mark of Margaret’s fright that she did not reprimand him for swearing.
‘’Tis not your fault, Roger,’ I said, ‘it is mine. This whole misguided scheme was mine, you were but doing as you were asked. I think there is nothing much that we can do today. We’ll stay quiet, not let them see that they have frightened us. But before tomorrow we must think what is best to do. And I must speak to Jordain.’
I knew I was babbling, for I could not see my way ahead without either courting danger or sacrificing the very book William had died to protect.
‘Perhaps it is time to call in the sheriff,’ I said. ‘A threat of violence has been made against my sister. We know it stems from these men. And we know their names. And where they lodge.’
I turned to Margaret. ‘Were you able to see the man, Meg? I know you say that he warned you not to look round, but did you gain any impression of him?’
She was a little calmer now, tucking her hair into her wimple.
‘I did not see his face, but he felt like a big man, strong.’ She thought a moment. ‘The hand he clamped over my mouth sprouted black hairs.’