by Ann Swinfen
‘So, Master Elyot,’ Frowike said, ‘you have seen the advisability of handing over our property.’
‘Not your property, I think, but the property of Merton College.’
He shrugged, not bothering to reply.
‘I have it here.’ I patted my satchel. ‘However, you know my terms. I will give it to you only once my daughter is handed over safely to me. She can be of no use to you, a child of six. Give me the child and I will give you the book. Fair exchange. But if you try any trickery, there is a fire there.’
I drew the book out of my satchel and held it up so they could see it.
‘Any trickery, and the book flies straight into the heart of the fire.’
‘You would not dare.’ Frowike tried to sound convinced, but there was a nervous tick in his left eyelid. ‘You bookmen, these things are too precious to you to be destroyed.’
‘Do you want to try me? What will your master, Allard Basset, have to say to you if you present him with nothing but a heap of ashes? I would not value your necks too highly in that case.’
I was aware that a solid volume of parchment does not burn so easily, but I was counting on their not knowing that.
They looked startled when I mentioned Basset’s name and exchanged a worried glance. I hoped I was starting to rattle them, but not too much, not too soon. Alysoun stood absolutely still, her eyes fixed on me. Good girl, I said to her silently. Keep still and don’t provoke them.
Clearly it was Fromike who made the decisions. He had not quite made up his mind. I decided to show him that I was serious. I leaned over the fire and trailed the end of the knotted tape over the burning logs. It caught almost at once and a red bud of flame glowed, before beginning to move slowly up the tape toward the wrapped book.
‘No!’ Frowike shouted. ‘Give him the brat, Pierson!’
Gidney shoved Alysoun toward me. She stumbled and almost fell, but I grabbed her in the curve of my left arm, then flung the book, with the tape catching fully aflame, to the far side of the room. Both men leapt after it. I scooped up Alysoun and ran.
Down the passage, out of the door onto Carfax, then into the doorway of St Martin’s.
‘Oh, Papa!’ Alysoun wound her arms round my neck and her legs about my waist, clinging to me like some small terrified animal. She was weeping now, great wrenching sobs. I held her close and pressed my cheek against hers.
‘It’s over, my pet, no need to weep now. Such a brave girl you have been. Now watch. See what will happen to the bad men.’
I eased her round on to my hip, so that we could both watch the tavern. Walden’s men were closing round it in a tight circle.
‘Are those soldiers?’ Alysoun whispered, her breath tickling my ear.
‘They are. They will catch the men, but I needed to get you away first.’
It was neatly done. As Gidney and Frowike came out of the tavern smirking in triumph, Walden’s men simply closed around them, but not before I had seen a thin wisp of smoke still rising from the book.
‘That is my horse over there,’ I said to Alysoun, ‘wondering what is happening. As soon as we can reach him, we shall ride him home.’
‘Ride? Through Oxford?’ Her eyes glowed. I knew she was hoping she would be seen in such splendour.
‘All the way down the High Street to home,’ I promised.
The two men fought their captors, but must soon have realised it was hopeless. Before they were marched away to the castle, I spoke to Sheriff Walden.
‘I will come to the castle tomorrow, with Master Brinkylsworth of Hart Hall, and bring all the evidence we have of the men’s guilt. And might I have my book?’
‘Here, take it,’ he said. ‘It seems to have had a singeing, but no serious harm. I will see you tomorrow.’
As the ruffians and their escort headed away down Great Bailey, I lifted Alysoun on to Rufus’s back and mounted behind her. We were halfway down the High when she squirmed around in my arms.
‘I’m sorry, Papa, it was all my fault. I should not have taken Rowan into the street. Those bad men caught me when I went chasing after her.’ Tears welled up in her eyes again. ‘And now Rowan is lost. Everything is my fault!’
‘Nothing is your fault, my pet. And as for Rowan, at this very minute she is making up to Aunt Margaret, saying that it is long past her dinner time.’
‘You found her!’
‘Nay, she found her own way home herself. I think she is an exceptionally intelligent dog. But no more walking in the street until she is thoroughly trained.’
‘I promise.’
Suddenly she yawned. By time we reached the end of her triumphant ride down the High Street, Alysoun was asleep.
Jonathan was lurking across the street and came running when he saw me ride up. He stared up at Alysoun, slumped against my chest.
‘Alysoun, is she–?’
‘She is asleep. No harm done.’
I hoped that was true. I slid down from Rufus, still with Alysoun in my arms. She stirred, but did not wake.
‘Hold the horse for me, Jonathan. I shall be back shortly.’
He grabbed the reins eagerly. It was not often that he was able to come so close to fine horse flesh.
I found Margaret, Jordain, and my two scriveners in the kitchen, their faces turned to me, drawn with worry and anxiety. Rafe was sitting on the floor, cradling Rowan. He knew that something was amiss, but I do not think he understood. At least I hoped he did not.
‘All’s well,’ I said softly. ‘I am just going to take her upstairs.’
I set Alysoun gently down on her bed, just as she was in her torn and dirty gown, only removing her shoes and pulling the feather bed over her. Back down in the kitchen I laid my satchel on the table and smiled round at them. One speaks of a burden being lifted from one’s shoulders, but it is no empty metaphor. I felt suddenly light, as if I might spring from the floor and take flight.
‘We’ll let her sleep as much as she needs. I doubt whether she had any rest last night. When she wakes, Margaret, she will need a wash and food, but apart from a fright, she seems unharmed. All she was worried about was losing Rowan.’
‘I said from the start that the dog would be trouble,’ Margaret said with severity, and Rafe looked up, clutching the puppy protectively. ‘Nay,’ she added, ‘now the pup is here I suppose she must stay. From the way she found us again last night, she has decided this is her home.’
Jordain smiled at me across Margaret, as she bent to fondle the puppy, giving the lie to her words.
I unbuckled my satchel and drew out the book with the singed tape. Walter gasped.
‘You did set it to the fire, then!’
‘Only the end of the tape.’ I untied the tape and the charred end fell onto the floor, then I carefully removed the cloth wrapper, and drew out Aquinas’s Meditations.
‘You schemer!’ Jordain said admiringly. ‘So even in extremis you dared to trick them!’
‘It was a gamble, but by then I had the support of Sheriff Walden and his men surrounding the tavern. I took both books with me, but I managed to bring Alysoun away without risking the Psalter.’
I gave them a brief account of how I had met Walden returning to Oxford and so had avoided the need to go to the castle.
‘Which I would have had no time to do, in any case,’ I said.
I got up. ‘I must go.’
‘Go?’ Margaret said. ‘Where must you go? I thought we had you safely home at last.’
‘I still have the Mitre’s horse. Jonathan is holding him for me. And I want to return this to Merton.’
I drew the other wrapped book from my satchel to show them, then returned it. ‘I shall not be long.’
On my way out, I picked up Basset’s threatening note and dropped it into my scrip.
Having retrieved Rufus and sent Jonathan to tell his father that Alysoun was safely home, I mounted and rode to Merton.
‘The Warden?’ the porter said. ‘He’ll be in his lodgings, I’d say. Do
you know the way?’
‘Aye,’ I said, setting off across the quad. I had been shown around the entire college by Allard Basset when I was about to join as a junior Fellow. I averted my eyes from the staircase to his rooms as I made for the Warden’s lodgings.
It took some time to explain to William Durant why I was there and what had been happening under his very nose within his college. He had heard some mention that the Irish Psalter was in poor condition and not to be handled, but that was all. Initially, he was inclined to disbelieve my story, but when I unwrapped the Psalter and laid it before him in all its undiminished glory, he grew thoughtful.
‘The two hired villains are now imprisoned in the castle,’ I said, ‘in the custody of Sheriff Walden, who will corroborate all I have told you about how my daughter was taken hostage. There is other evidence to link them to the murder of William Farringdon, who was to have come here in the Michaelmas term. Whichever way you look, I am afraid Merton is entangled in this affair. I am sure that, under questioning by the sheriff, these two men will be only too ready to claim that they were merely hired to act for another, the man who wanted to replace the Psalter with a copy and keep the ancient book for himself. He is a Merton man.’
The Warden leaned forward, frowning. He had said little during my explanation, but I could read from his expression that he now accepted it. This last remark, however, went too far.
‘I cannot believe that is true.’
I sighed. ‘I am sure Sheriff Walden will call on you tomorrow, but since I wanted to see the Psalter safely into your hands, I thought I should also show you this. Do you recognise the hand?’
I drew Basset’s note from my scrip and laid it on top of the Psalter. It curled a little, and Durant smoothed it flat. His face changed from disbelief to shock. He knew the writing at once. Those trailing letters gave it away.
‘I am afraid that Allard Basset is the man behind this plot,’ I said, ‘which has seen the theft of a valuable book, the murder of a gifted young man, an attack on my sister, and the kidnapping of my six-year-old daughter. I do not doubt that he meant what he threatens in that note. He would have killed her without a qualm.’
Picking up my empty satchel, I got to my feet. ‘I will leave the matter with you. The university prefers to judge its own.’
If he detected any sarcasm in my voice, he showed no sign, for he was still too shocked. I let myself out of the Warden’s lodgings and crossed to the staircase leading up to the book rooms. As usual, Olney was poring over some tome and gave me an unfriendly look. I did not sit down, but remained standing by the door, gazing down at him.
‘I have found and brought back the Irish Psalter,’ I said. ‘William had hidden it in a safe place, where it could not be stolen again. I have handed it to the Warden.’
He had blenched white and dropped his quill, which left a great smear of ink on his sheaf of notes.
‘The Warden now knows who was behind it all, so you need have no fear any longer of Allard Basset. I know your secret and so does Jordain Brinklesworth.’
He staggered to his feet, clutching the edge of the desk or he might have fallen.
‘You have told the Warden?’
I shook my head. ‘He shall never hear it from me, or from Jordain. Why should a man, even if he be a scholar, not have the love of a family? I made my choice. You have chosen a more tortuous path, but I wish you well.’
In the doorway, I turned and looked back at him, small hunched, perhaps still afraid, but with the light of hope in his eyes. I smiled at him.
‘She is very pretty, your woman. And the boy favours you.’
By the time I had returned Rufus to the Mitre and walked home, I was very tired, but it was a satisfied tiredness. It was still early afternoon, but I sent the two journeymen home, and Jordain went back to Hart Hall.
‘My students will either believe I have deserted them,’ he said, ‘or they will have eaten the whole week’s supply of food. Or both.’
Alysoun woke long enough to eat an early supper and to fall asleep again over it.
Once the children were both abed, Margaret and I were sitting in the kitchen, she with her interminable sewing, I with my restored Meditations open on my lap, pretending to read, but doing no such thing, when there came a tentative tap on the street door. I walked through to see who would be calling at this hour. It was twilight, but not yet dark.
When I opened the door, I was astonished to see Philip Olney standing there, without his academic gown, in nothing more than a simple cotte and hose.
‘Philip!’ I said, ‘come within.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll not come in, Nicholas.’
We had both been surprised into such intimate terms by the events of the day and the dimming of the light.
‘I want to apologise,’ he said, ‘for not thanking you, for–’ He could not get the words out. ‘I have not always treated you with courtesy, yet what you did seven years ago was more honest than what I have done, and you would have every right to report me to the Warden. I am grateful for your silence.’
‘Philip,’ I said, ‘I hope you can find the happiness that I found with Elizabeth. It was God’s will to cut it short, but I have never regretted my choice.’
He nodded, and half turned away. ‘There is something else,’ he said so quietly I could barely hear him. ‘Half an hour ago, a fisherman drew Allard Basset’s body from the Thames, not far down from our boundary wall. He had strapped to his chest a satchel full of stones.’
It was my turn to be shocked. ‘What a tragic waste of a gifted man!’ I said. ‘I admired him beyond all others when I was a student. He was my hero. Dear God, I wanted to be like him! Now my evidence has destroyed him.’
‘But he never forgave you for the choice you made,’ Olney said, turning back to me. ‘And do not think the blame lies with you. He brought his own destruction upon himself.’
He held out his hand to me and I took it.
‘God go with ’ee, Philip,’ I said.
‘And with you, Nicholas.’
I gave a wicked grin. ‘And give my regards to your lady.’
Perhaps I was mistaken, but I thought I heard him laugh as he walked away.
The street door locked and bolted, I walked through to the house. Margaret had fallen asleep, her hands resting on her sewing, which I slid away carefully and laid aside, lest she stab herself on the needle. None of us had had any sleep the previous night, yet I felt curiously wakeful.
The garden lay in silver and grey under a clear starlit sky, with the moon just rising, but not yet usurping the glory of the stars. I thought I had never seen so many, a bounty of God’s jewels cast over a velvet black sky, which most of us never witness, tucked up asleep in our beds.
There was a strong, richly pungent scent of vegetable growth to my left, and the sweet and aromatic perfume of the herbs to my right. Why does the night bring out such scents so powerfully? A rustling came from the hen house as I passed, as one of the birds shifted in her sleep. Down in our small orchard even the bee skep was quiet. The fruit trees had mostly shed their blossoms now, and tiny fruits would be forming, no larger than the nail of my little finger. All that promise of the future, coiled tight within stem and bud and infant fruit.
The bench was a little damp with the night dew, but what did I care? I sat down and stretched out my legs. When I threw back my head I could see a wisp of cloud no bigger than a lady’s veil drift across the sky from west to east, so thin that the stars shone through it.
I was enveloped in tranquillity and silence. Tomorrow I would ride out again to Godstow, peacefully and content, and I would tell Emma Thorgold all that had happened. I thought of those long, fine hands, ink-stained. And I smiled.
Historical Note
For those who know Oxford, there will be much here that is familiar, but also some oddities. The university structure had not yet taken on its later form, so that in 1353 undergraduate students were not admitted to the colleges. They live
d in ‘halls’, or sometimes in town lodgings, and would only join a college if they proceeded to advanced study after completing the Trivium and Quadrivium.
It would be another century before the invention of printing replaced the handwritten book, but nevertheless booksellers did exist and in university towns they could be licensed to provide the peciae, extracts from essential texts. Students would hire and copy these, in order to have their own versions of the study texts, and the system provided booksellers (who were also stationers) with a regular income.
Only a handful of colleges existed at the time, and not all are extant. Gloucester became Worcester, Canterbury was replaced by Christ Church, much of Durham was taken over by St. John’s College. Hart Hall has become Hertford College. You will not find the Hospital of St John, it has vanished under Magdalen. The monastic establishments were suppressed at the Reformation.
The area of dirty hovels north of St-Peter-in-the-East, inhabited by thieves and prostitutes, was swept away later in the fourteenth century and replaced by New College.
The main street plan survives, although the Broad now lies over the line of much of the filthy Canditch, and very little of the town wall can still be seen. Hammer Hall Lane is New College and Queens Lane. Even now the maze of waterways encompasses the town and the water meadows are still at risk of flooding.
A curious personal note. A later building replaced the medieval Holywell Mill, but as a first year student I cycled there once a week for a tutorial. Miller Wooton, I’m glad to say, no longer lives there.
The Author
Ann Swinfen spent her childhood partly in England and partly on the east coast of America. She was educated at Somerville College, Oxford, where she read Classics and Mathematics and married a fellow undergraduate, the historian David Swinfen. While bringing up their five children and studying for a postgraduate MSc in Mathematics and a BA and PhD in English Literature, she had a variety of jobs, including university lecturer, translator, freelance journalist and software designer. She served for nine years on the governing council of the Open University and for five years worked as a manager and editor in the technical author division of an international computer company, but gave up her full-time job to concentrate on her writing, while continuing part-time university teaching in English Literature. In 1995 she founded Dundee Book Events, a voluntary organisation promoting books and authors to the general public.