by Ann Swinfen
‘You are sure? Black hairs?’
‘I am sure.’
‘Then it was not the foxy haired one,’ I said, ‘he would not have had any black hairs.’
‘Pierson Gidney,’ Roger said, ‘not Robert Frowike.’
‘He does appear to be the one more given to violence,’ I agreed, ‘though it was the other who clouted me over the head.’
‘To your advantage,’ Walter said dryly. ‘Pierson Gidney might have thrust his knife between your ribs.’
‘For the rest of today,’ I said, ‘I think we should go about our work as normal. In the meantime, I will send a message to the sheriff, to say that we have found the murderers of William Farringdon, who have also mistreated my sister and made threats against me. He must at least pay some heed to that. We have until tomorrow midday before they carry out their threats against me.’
‘You are very trusting,’ said Margaret. ‘These are hardly men of honour. Who is to say that they will wait until then?’
‘I do not know what else to do,’ I said simply. I realised that I was impossibly out of my depth in this affair.
‘You will not hand over the book to them?’ Walter said anxiously.
‘Never.’
Margaret went through to the house and I told the men to shut the shop and go for their dinner as if nothing had happened. If the rogues believed Roger’s tale that he was an ill-used servant, they would not expect Margaret to have told him of the threats made to her. They must give every appearance of behaving normally.
As soon as they were gone, I sat down with paper and pen to write to the sheriff. I would have preferred to talk to Jordain first, but there was no time to lose. I kept my message short, saying that I had discovered the identity of the two men who had attacked and killed William Farringdon, giving their names and where they lodged, and explained further that they were involved in a plot to steal a valuable book from Merton College, with the connivance of a Fellow of that college, although I baulked at naming Olney. I concluded by saying that my sister had been assaulted and threats made against me, so that I sought his help urgently. After dinner I would take my letter to Edric Crowmer, who would know how to reach the sheriff quickly. It was most likely that he was resident in the castle, but for all I knew he might be at his town house, or at his manor in the north of the county.
After dinner, as the men returned to open the shop and I was about to go along the street to the vintner’s shop, Alysoun called out to me.
‘Papa, may I go to Jonathan’s to show him how well Rowan is walking on her lead now? We practised in the garden all day yesterday and she is very good and obedient. Jonathan is supposed to be training the terrier pup, but he has not even put a collar on him yet.’
‘Aye, you may go. What of Rafe?’
‘He is coming too. We will show Jonathan how to train his puppy.’ When she was so sure of herself, she reminded me of my sister.
So Jonathan had claimed the terrier pup for his own. Well, let Alysoun busy herself with puppy training, it would keep her well away from our shop and house, and prevent her from becoming too interested it these dangerous affairs. Together Alysoun and Rafe ran off across the street toward the bakeshop, Rowan dodging about and nearly tripping Alysoun up. Perhaps she was not quite so well trained to the lead as Alysoun supposed. All for the best. It would keep her occupied all afternoon in the Bakers’ garden.
My student guards were leaning against the trunk of a spindly ash tree which had taken root at the side of the street and somehow managed to survive. As I set off for Crowmer’s shop, they sauntered after me at a discreet distance. I wondered whether I should set one of them to guarding Margaret, but she had promised me that she would not venture out again today.
I was kept waiting a good half hour on Crowmer’s threshold, but at length he returned and unlocked the door of his shop, his journeyman following behind and pushing a handcart. The journeyman lowered the counter in front of the window, ready for the afternoon’s business, while I followed Crowmer inside.
‘I need to send an urgent message to the sheriff,’ I said, plunging in without preliminaries. ‘I thought that, as the current parish constable, you would know where he is at present.’
Crowmer was lifting a large jar on to a table, ready to decant the contents into smaller flasks. He straightened with a groan, and scratched his head.
‘The sheriff? Why, he’s away at his manor these two weeks. What would you be wanting him for?’
‘An urgent matter, concerning the murder of the student William Farringdon. You remember the body I found in the river just last week?’
My tone was sarcastic, for I did not think he took his duties as seriously as he should, except when they gave him the opportunity to lord it over others.
‘Of course I remember,’ he said irritably. ‘What concern is it of yours? You fished the body out of the river, and there’s an end to it.’
I strove to keep my temper. ‘I knew the boy, and the Warden of his hall is a long-time friend of mine. We have been looking into the circumstances. I now know a great deal about what lies behind the killing, and the names of the men who did it. Then this morning one of them assaulted my sister in Northgate Street and uttered threats against me. It is time the sheriff acted.’
Crowmer regarded me with a superior smile. ‘I think you take too much upon yourself, Nicholas. Leave these matters to those in authority. We will see to all that concerns the fellow’s death. You, on the other hand, have no authority at all.’
This was intolerable, but I bit down on my caustic reply.
‘Even those in authority should pay heed when they are offered important information. If the sheriff is away at his manor, how can I reach him? And does he have a deputy here in town?’
Crowmer shrugged. Two customers had appeared at the window and he had lost interest in me. He turned away, but threw over his shoulder, ‘You could try the castle.’
There was nothing else for it. I would get no help from Crowmer. I set off in the direction of Carfax, with Jordain’s two students shadowing me behind. By the look of them, they were growing bored. It had seemed at first an exciting diversion from the dull round of daily lectures – for two lads who were not serious students – but it was fast becoming a tiresome trek back and forth across Oxford. I considering sending them home to Hart Hall, but then I remembered Meg’s words, that Gidney and Frowike might not wait until tomorrow’s noon. If they could catch me before then, they would try to force me to reveal the whereabouts of the Irish Psalter.
When I reached the castle at last, the guards at the gatehouse were in no hurry to let me through.
‘The sheriff is not here,’ one of them said, a supercilious young fellow, who clearly looked down his long aristocratic nose as a mere tradesman from the town.
‘So I have been told,’ I said patiently. ‘I would like to see his deputy.’
‘Have you any authority?’
The word was beginning to annoy me.
‘I have information for him,’ I said.
‘Hark,’ he said, turning an amused face to his companion, ‘our little shopkeeper here has information for Deputy Sheriff Walden. Do you suppose he weighs it out by the pound, and charges per weight?’
The other guard sniggered at this supreme piece of wit, and they both stood, hands on hips, barring the entrance.
‘It concerns a recent case of murder, tried before the coroners last week, and you would do well not to impede any information which may be of considerable value to the deputy sheriff in preventing further bloodshed.’
I was growing increasingly angry, which was reflected in the arrogant tone of my own voice. Surprisingly, this had some effect. I suppose these fellows responded automatically to the voice of authority, like well trained dogs.
‘Oh, very well.’ The man who regarded himself as in charge stepped slightly to one side. ‘Across the bailey. Guardhouse on the right before you reach the keep. Deputy sheriff is away till tomorrow, but
the captain of the guard is there.’
I edged past them, since they barely allowed me room. The students were left outside, no doubt drumming their heels. So neither sheriff nor deputy sheriff was in Oxford. Perhaps the captain of the guard would have the authority to arrest Gidney and Frowike. If not, the deputy sheriff would be back tomorrow. I could only hope it would be before midday. Once the two men were arrested, surely they could be forced to reveal which Fellow of Merton was behind the plot. If not, I would be obliged to reveal all I had deduced about Olney. Somehow, it stuck in my throat. I did not like the man, but he was a poor miserable creature, with nothing to love but his books. Driving him away from them would be like another kind of killing.
The captain of the guard seemed a competent enough man. One who would carry out his orders scrupulously, but he did not look like one who could take the initiative himself. As soon as I saw him, I had misgivings, but I explained in detail why I was there.
‘I have set it all out in this letter to the sheriff,’ I said, ‘but I am told that he is away at his manor, and his deputy out of Oxford until tomorrow.’
‘Aye, that’s so.’
‘You had better read this for yourself, then,’ I said, handing him the letter.
He peered at it. ‘But this is addressed to the sheriff.’
‘Aye. It is the letter I wrote to the sheriff before I learned that he was not here.’
‘I can’t open a letter to the sheriff.’
‘I say that you may. I wrote the letter.’
He shook his head, and laid the letter down. ‘Can’t do it. More than my position is worth.’
‘Heaven preserve me from fools!’ I said. ‘If this is the protection the castle offers to the town, why is it here at all?’
I seized the letter, flipped off the wax with my thumbnail, and set it before him. He was so astonished at my behaviour he took up the sheet and peered at it again. His lips moved as he struggled to read it. Clearly he was not a lettered man. When he was finished, he looked at me, baffled.
‘What do you expect me to do?’
‘I expect you to arrest those two men,’ I said, hoping I was making some progress at last. ‘Pierson Gidney and Robert Frowike. They are lodged at Swindlestock’s Tavern. Go cautiously, for they are armed.’
‘I cannot do it.’ There was a certain smug satisfaction in his tone. ‘Not until the deputy sheriff comes back tomorrow and orders it.’
I had run my head against the stone wall of military command.
‘Very well,’ I said, through gritted teeth. ‘Have your men ready to go at once, and hand that letter to the deputy sheriff the moment he sets foot in the castle.’
There was nothing more I could do.
Drearily I tramped back into town. I must have worn out more shoe leather in the last two weeks than in the previous six months. I would be heartily glad to become a little shopkeeper again. What I must do now, before all else, was to tell Jordain all that had happened since I had last seen him. He did not even know that Roger had discovered the men’s names.
When I reached Hart Hall, I nodded to the students to follow me inside. It would be perfectly natural, should anyone be watching, for them to return to their own hall. Indeed I was beginning to have an uneasy feeling that I was being watched, and anyone watching must have noticed my two shadows. It would be best to dispense with them, but that would be risky.
Jordain was relieved to see me. ‘I have been to the shop, but Walter said you had gone off to see the constable directly after dinner and never come back.’
‘Crowmer was as useful as a plate of wet fish,’ I said, sitting down and easing my feet out of my shoes. I hoped I should be able to put them on again. ‘I thought he would direct me to the sheriff, but the sheriff is away. All he could tell me was to visit the castle, where I wasted my time. Did Walter tell you what Roger discovered last night?’
‘Aye. And what happened to Margaret this morning. ’Tis as well that she has such a stout heart. Many a woman would have fainted with the terror of it, a hand clamped over her mouth and threatened with a knife.’
‘She was badly frightened, even so.’
‘What happened at the castle?’
I gave him a brief account of my tussle with the gatekeepers and the ineptitude of their captain.
‘I can only hope that the deputy sheriff returns before I am due to hand over the Psalter at the Swindlestock Tavern.’
‘What shall you do if he does not?’
‘I have had a thought of something which might win us some delay,’ I said. ‘I have in stock an old book – not a Psalter but a copy of Aquinas’s Meditations – which is much the same size and shape as Merton’s Psalter. My feeling is that Gidney and Frowike are barely literate. I may be wrong, but I think to them one old book may look much like another. I thought I would wrap the Meditations carefully in several layers of cloth, tie it around and about firmly with well knotted tape, and present that to the innkeeper at the tavern. I doubt whether they will even unpack it, but will take it at once, just as it is, to the man who is employing them. By the time the substitution has been discovered, surely the deputy sheriff will have returned.’
‘That should certainly buy us some time,’ he said slowly. ‘Though once they have discovered the deception, I should not like to be in your place.’
‘I will not give up the Psalter to them. Once it is safe to do so, I will retrieve it from Godstow and put it in the hands of the Warden of Merton.’
‘Lads!’ Jordain called to the two students, who had made off to the kitchen, no doubt hungry after their exercise. ‘Bring us a stoup of ale here.’ He lowered his voice. ‘They have kept you safely under their eye?’
‘They have, but anyone watching me will have noticed them by now. They had better stay here when I leave.’
One of the students brought us a flagon and two beakers, then returned to the kitchen. Jordain poured us each a generous measure.
‘After this, I must go back to the shop,’ I said, ‘and hunt out that copy of the Meditations. Have you seen Mistress Farringdon today? Margaret visited her this morning, just before she was grabbed in the street.’
I took a long drink of my ale, which was welcome after the walk back from the castle.
‘You know,’ I added, before he answered, ‘I wonder whether they were watching the Farringdons, on the chance one of us might call on them.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But it would not be difficult for them to discover that Margaret is your sister, and you are their means of recovering the book. I did call at the Cross Inn after dinner. The Farringdons knew nothing of what happened to Margaret, any more than I did, then. They go home tomorrow. I would have given them William’s ink well along with the rest of his belongings, but we had better keep it for the sheriff.’
‘Aye.’ My mind was on other things. ‘Do you know, Jordain, in all that crowd in Northgate Street, not a soul came to Margaret’s aid? She could have been stabbed and left for dead. No one would have cared.’
‘Men have grown skins as thick as ox hides, these last years. It is that or go mad with despair.’
I sighed. ‘I wish I had been the one given the warning, not my sister, but I had my stout bodyguards. For the rest, I must keep my family safe.’
I donned my shoes again and got to my feet. ‘I’m off home. Will you come with me and sup with us? I should like you to see whether you think my substitute book will pass muster, for a short time at least.’
‘Aye, I’ll come with you. Best if you do not walk alone, even in daylight. I’ll just leave word where I shall be, if I am needed.’
When we set out down Catte Street, Jordain suddenly chuckled. ‘There is a certain irony in it, is there not? Their plot was to substitute William’s copy for the Psalter. Now you hope to deceive them by substituting the Meditations for the Psalter.’
I gave a wry laugh. ‘Indeed, there is something very satisfying in that.’
As we walked slowly down the
High toward my shop, I noticed a familiar hunched figure in front of us, heading past the shop and on toward the East Gate. I caught Jordain by the sleeve.
‘That is Philip Olney! It’s strange, that is the second time I have seen him heading that way. What business can he have at that end of the town?’ I racked my brains, trying to remember. ‘It was after Mass on Sunday. I thought it odd, that he should come to St Peter’s. Merton is not even in our parish, and besides, they have their own chapel and their own priest to celebrate Mass. Then afterwards I saw him scurrying away furtively like this. I had forgotten, but it surprised me at the time.’
‘Well, why do we not follow, discreetly, and discover the answer?’ Jordain said. ‘Anything that might be connected with William’s murder is worth investigating.’
Olney hurried ahead of us along the High and we followed at a distance. As usual there were plenty of people passing to and fro, since the High is one of the main thoroughfares of Oxford, so that it was not difficult to seem to be merely walking in the same direction.
‘He is not wearing his academic gown,’ Jordain said. ‘That too is odd.’
By the time we reached the East Gate, Olney was already through it, walking more confidently now, as though he did not expect anyone who knew him to notice him out here, beyond the bounds of the town. We paused on the far side of the gate and saw him turn in at the third of the cottages which lay on the left hand between the East Gate and the hospital of St John. These houses were set a little back from the road, with a patch of ground in front, each one put to a different purpose. One held a stall for selling vegetables. One sold eggs. Another had allowed a carpenter’s workshop to overflow into the space, with stacked timber, half-finished stools, and a heap of wood shavings. Olney’s destination was a house which sat back behind a well-stocked herb garden, bisected by a narrow path laid with flat stones. The cottage too looked neat and tidy.
Before Olney had reached the door, it was flung open and a pretty young woman flew down the path and into Olney’s arms.