I did not think that Donald, Anthony and Crispin could have been accused of studying overmuch that morning, but I let that pass and nodded nonchalantly.
“There is a pleasant wood up yonder,” Delacey continued in a rare burst of friendliness. “It belongs to the friars, but they do not mind if folk walk there. Such loveliness as Our Lord put in the world belongs to us all.”
I nodded again and we bid them good afternoon. Delacey and DeVyse continued back toward town while we walked in the contrary direction. We passed the tannery buildings and the vintner’s on the left. Past the vintner’s there were fewer buildings, a house that belonged to the Benedictines, then some abandoned houses and sheds, mostly in poor repair. I remembered hearing that the owners had perished in the pestilence some years ago and the current heirs were disputed. On the right we saw some fields and orchards belonging to the Austin Friars, and beyond that some open lands. Although they may have belonged to the church, I surmised from the townsfolk dotting the landscape that the friars did not mind much if the folk visited them on such a fine day.
We found a grassy spot in a meadow under a beech tree and there we had our little repast. Then, sadly, Donald got out his lute and began picking out a tune. Although I confess the afternoon was so pleasant, even that did not spoil the time. Perhaps his playing had improved, as my wife had said. I lay back, my head pillowed in Mariota’s lap, and drifted off to sleep.
I awoke feeling a strange sensation. I opened my eyes, at first seeing only the blue skies and a yellow leaf. Than I realized Mariota had a twig with a few leaves attached and was gently brushing my face with it.
“Leave off, Mariota,” I exclaimed, rubbing at my cheek. “That tickles.”
“Och, Muirteach,” she said, laughing, “I wondered how long it would take you to wake.”
“An observation of natural philosophy, not doubt,” I grunted, sitting up.
“Perhaps,” my wife asserted. “But also my legs had gone numb. They are all pins and needles.”
“Where are the lads? And Avice?”
“They’re off there, gathering a few beechnuts. Don’t worry, I can see them.”
I glanced in the direction Mariota pointed and saw the four young people in a grove across the meadow. They looked to be having a fine enough time there.
I looked back at my wife. The blue of the sky reflected the color of her eyes, causing them to look an even deeper shade. I kissed her quickly on the lips, and then stood up.
“It will be getting late,” Mariota observed as I helped her to her feet. “Och, my legs are still tingling,” she added, shifting her weight a little gingerly. “There, that is better now,” she added, glancing up at the sun, which was lowering in the sky to the west.
The lads and Avice had seen us and came across the meadow, Avice’s kerchief full of some beechnuts they had gathered.
“Those may belong to the Augustinians,” I observed.
“I see no one,” Donald declared with a swagger. I shrugged my shoulders and let the matter drop. We made our way back to the road. The sun was not as strong now and the day was beginning to fade.
We started down the street back toward the suburbs of Oxford, Avice giggling and blushing a little at something Anthony said to her. I raised my eyebrows a little and looked at my wife.
“It looks innocent enough,” Mariota murmured to me. “It’s good to see the lass smiling. And Anthony seems a nice enough lad.”
We were just approaching the vintner’s on the right when I felt Donald nudge my side. “Look, Muirteach” he hissed, “isn’t that Brother Eusebius?”
I followed his gaze and saw a thin, stooped figure in a worn Franciscan habit walking up the road away from town.
“Brother Eusebius.”
The friar stopped and seemed to collect himself a moment, as was his style. He blinked his somewhat protuberant light blue eyes, and then greeted us. “Good day. And so you have been on an outing?”
“Indeed, sir,” Donald answered. “It is an amazing day.”
“Yes, the elements are in harmony today.” Eusebius looked around at the road. There were several other parties of merrymakers returning to the town. He blinked again. “Still, it has grown late, I fear. Later than I thought. The dark is coming. Perhaps I should accompany you back into the town.”
Eusebius’s presence cast a bit of a pall on the chatter of the four youngsters and it fell to me to make conversation with the man. But I began to realize talk did not come easily with Eusebius, and my attempts at friendly speech lapsed.
“What of the parchment?” asked Eusebius suddenly.
“Parchment?” I asked, momentarily bewildered.
“Berwyk had a palimpsest. He claimed it to be yours and said you had found it in some old parchments you’d bought from Adam Bookman.”
“Oh yes, those. That is a strange affair. They were stolen from our lodgings.”
“When was this?” asked Eusebius with concern.
I told him.
“And no one saw anything?”
“The widow had gone out to the market. No one saw a thing.”
“Such times we live in,” Eusebius murmured. “Some poor student must have taken to thievery, without the funds to buy his own. Still, it’s but a few old parchments. They can be no great loss to you.”
“But now we will never be able to decipher the manuscript and learn its secrets,” Anthony said.
“Perhaps not,” Eusebius replied, “and that is a pity.”
Crispin had been leering and I heard him whisper to Donald, “Nor will we be able to examine more drawings.” I glared at him and thankfully he said no more.
Mariota, who had been silent during this conversation, spoke up. “I hear you are a student of the natural philosophies.”
“Yes, I try to follow in the footsteps of the famous doctor mirabilis, Roger Bacon, who studied and worked here in Oxford close to a century ago.”
“Do you study medicine as well?”
“I attend some lectures. All of the natural sciences are of interest to me.”
“You must forgive my wife her curiosity,” I interjected. “She is well regarded as a healer in our own land.”
“Indeed?” said Eusebius, staring curiously at Mariota for a moment, almost as if she had sprouted a second head.
By this time we had reached the Widow Tanner’s, where we parted company with Eusebius and went inside.
“He is an odd one,” Mariota whispered to me as we washed our hands and faces before the evening meal.
“But harmless enough, I think,” I replied. “A bit absentminded, to be sure.”
“Did you see the way he looked at me? As if I was some strange creature that had crawled out from under a rock?”
“Well, mo chridhe, there are no women doctors in Oxford that I know of. Just a few midwives.”
Anthony and Crispin eagerly accepted Widow Tanner’s invitation to stay and sup with us. She was a kind woman, to put up with us as her lodgers. I think, despite all Donald’s attempts to prove her wrong, she was still proud and impressed to have a young lordling staying in her home. And she seemed to enjoy young people, having no children of her own. Perhaps Avice would do well enough here, even with the baby.
CHAPTER 15
* * *
Berwyk’s funeral mass was to be held at Saint Mary Magdalene’s and I thought it wise to be there early. The chapel was nearly empty at this hour of the morning, except for Berwyk’s bier in front of the altar. Several large candles burning gave off the scent of beeswax. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw the figures of Torvilda Bonefey and Berwyk’s aunt kneeling before the body. I knelt and tried to pray for Berwyk’s soul.
The church filled and the mass began. I wondered not to see Mariota there, and felt ill at ease as I scanned the crowd entering for the mass. She had left our lodgings early, to attend her lecture, but had thought to have time to change and be at the funeral. Perhaps, I thought, she had arrived late and was standing with the
crowd in the back. I craned my neck to try and see but couldn’t glimpse her while the priest droned on and waved the censer over the body. The scent of incense grew stronger, almost masking the odor of Berwyk’s decaying corpse. Vortigen and Justin arrived, and I saw Donald, Anthony and Crispin among the mourners. Anthony looked to be crying. I saw him wiping at his cheeks and red eyes with one hand, and I remembered how popular Master Berwyk had been. It was a senseless death.
But what if the deaths of Berwyk and Clarkson were related? What tied them together? Again, I thought of the Isagoge. Clarkson had pawned it and Berwyk wanted it back. Which did not look well for Master Bookman.
The mass finally over, the mourners filed by the corpse to pay final respects before the burial. I looked anxiously, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs as I waited until the church was empty, searching for either Mariota or for William of Uist, but neither of them did I see.
My mouth dry and heart thudding now in earnest, I raced back to Widow Tanner’s, searching the streets, today crowded with students, for Mariota’s face. I barged into the house and our chamber, ignoring the good widow’s startled look. Mariota’s blue dress lay neatly folded as she had left it. My wife had not yet returned. And it was clear from the clothes she had left behind that she still wore the clothing of a lad. My stomach lurched and I felt a pressure in my chest.
Donald entered the room without knocking. “Where’s Mariota?” he asked.
“I am not sure,” I managed to reply, trying to sound casual. “Do you know a student named William of Uist?”
Donald shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“He’s slightly built and wears a blue tunic.”
“What’s all this about?” Donald’s eyes took in Mariota’s folded dress and her absence. His gray eyes narrowed shrewdly and for an instant I saw his father in the lad. “She’s been attending lectures, hasn’t she?”
“Aye, and now she’s disappeared.” I almost felt relief at Donald’s guess. Almost. A cold sweat was on my brow, my heart still pounding so loudly I thought Donald must hear it. “She didn’t return after this morning’s lecture,” I continued. “I must look for her.”
“I’ll help you search,” he offered, sounding remarkably mature. “Perhaps she just stopped off at the bookseller’s.”
“I do not think so. Mariota told me she meant to attend Berwyk’s funeral mass. She never arrived.”
“What was she wearing?”
I described William’s blue tunic and hood to Donald as we headed into town. I tried to take heart as we walked. It made sense to stop by the booksellers’ stalls; surely we would find her there, perusing some rare volume. That of Adam Bookman was closed but we scoured the other stalls without finding any trace of my wife, and again I felt that odd pressure in my chest. Then we ventured to School Street and surprised several masters by looking in on their lectures, still without finding Mariota. She had vanished.
“Whose lecture was she attending?” asked Donald.
“Master Rudolfo of Salerno,” I answered. “We should ask him if William attended his lecture this morning.”
It was not hard to find the lecture hall where Master Rudolfo gave classes, one of the finer halls on the street. As we entered the building a crowd of students filed out of a room to the right, and inside we found Master Rudolfo. He had a swarthy complexion and dark hair that hung down to his shoulders, but a placid and composed face.
“Can I help you?” he asked pleasantly enough.
“We are seeking a young student of yours named William of Uist.”
“Oh, yes, the new student. He enrolled last week and seems a promising boy.”
“Was he at lecture this morning?”
Rudolfo frowned slightly. “The hall was dark for that early lecture, at least in the beginning.” He paused and thought, his eyes moving upward as if seeing a mental picture of the hall. “Yes, he was there, sitting next to Brother Eusebius, for he asked a question, toward the end, about the choleric temperament. Why do you seek him?”
“We are friends of his, and he did not meet us as arranged.”
“Yes, I can tell you are from the north,” said Rudolfo, looking at my plaid mantle. “Your friend was at the lecture. Perhaps the lad is at his books and has no wish to go to the taverns today. He seems a studious boy.”
“Indeed,” I murmured, trying to sound as if all was normal. “Who else attends your early lecture? You mentioned Brother Eusebius? From Balliol?”
“Yes, he attends from time to time, although he is more interested in the natural sciences, I believe. It is a small group. Mostly graduate students. Perhaps I should not have let the lad in but his letter of introduction impressed me. I have heard of the Beatons; in fact, I studied with one in Salerno many years ago.”
“Fearchar?”
“Yes, that was his name. And so I let his nephew attend my class. As a favor. And he seems a likely student. But I have not seen the boy since this morning. Try his lodging house.”
Although it was instructive to me to learn how Mariota had obtained admission to Rudolfo’s lectures, that did little to find her now. Since Rudolfo had no more to tell us on the subject, we left him and walked down School Street, then turned onto the High Street.
“If Brother Eusebius was at the lecture, perhaps he saw where William went. He was at Berwyk’s funeral, along with the other masters,” I said, leading the way back up Northgate Street toward the gate and Balliol.
We found Eusebius just leaving the dining room, intent on conversation with Phillip Woode and Delacey. Briefly I wondered if they were discussing who would next move into the old hall, as there seemed to be numerous vacancies. Clarkson and now Berwyk were gone.
Phillip Woode noticed me first. “Muirteach. Is there any news?”
I was momentarily confused. News of what? Had Mariota been found? Then I grasped Phillip’s meaning. So intent had I been on finding Mariota, I’d completely forgotten about Berwyk’s killer.
“They’ve arrested Adam Bookman,” I replied, forcing my racing mind to some discipline. “He’s under suspicion for the murder. But I’ve another question. For you, Brother Eusebius. Do you recall a young student from the north at the early medical lecture you attended this morning?”
Eusebius looked vaguely confused.
“Master Rudolfo’s lecture. He said you were seated next to the lad this morning.”
Eusebius’s face cleared. “Oh, that boy. From the north.”
“Yes, that’s the one. William’s his name. Do you recall where the lad went after the lecture ended?”
Eusebius’s face regained its expression of perplexity. He shook his head. “I don’t recall. I was so enraptured with Master Rudolfo’s explanation of the phlegmatic humors, I fear I noticed little else on my way back. Why do you seek the lad?”
“He’s a friend of Donald’s,” I improvised. It would do little good for the masters to know my wife had flouted university rules and enrolled, dressed as a lad and hiding her sex. And I hoped Mariota would soon appear, at which time William of Uist, if I had any voice in the matter, would mysteriously disappear, never to be seen again.
“What of the messenger who arrived, the day you were attacked in town? The day Berwyk was stabbed. Had you seen him before? I’d like to find the lad and speak with him.”
“Ah, yes.” Eusebius frowned slightly and seemed to be searching his memory. “He was slightly built, wearing the robes of an undergraduate. With fair hair and blue eyes.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Indeed no, I’d not seen him before.”
“Then how did he know to warn you, here at Balliol?”
Delacey interrupted. “It is common knowledge who owns our lecture hall. Anyone would have known where to find us.”
So that proved little, although I could search the town for fair-haired scholars—after I found my wife.
Perhaps Mariota waited at home for me even now. I took some comfor
t in the thought although it did not entirely calm my racing heart. We bade the masters good day and continued on our way. The afternoon shadows were growing longer, for we had spent a good while searching in town, and as Donald and I walked back down Canditch I told myself we would find Mariota safe, chatting with Widow Tanner in the kitchen when we arrived home.
Phillip Woode, who had followed after us down the street, interrupted my thoughts. “Muirteach!”
“What is it?”
“I’ve remembered something. About the day Berwyk was knifed.”
We stopped a moment while Phillip caught up with us. While we waited I saw Anthony escorting Avice up the street, headed for Oxford Castle. I remembered that Ivo had asked to see his daughter and guessed that Anthony was escorting her, playing knight-errant. Avice was nicely dressed in a green tunic, with the silver medal Anthony had found tied around her neck with a ribbon. We greeted them, and I stood by while Anthony chatted with Donald a moment. I thought I noticed Phillip looking curiously at Avice before she and Anthony disappeared into the crowd headed for the town gates.
“So, what was it you wanted to tell me?” I asked Phillip as we walked toward my lodging.
Phillip shook his head and ignored my question. “That medal Avice was wearing. Do you know where she got it?”
“I think that’s the one Anthony found in the street. He must have given it to her.”
“Strange. Jonetta had a very similar one. I’d have sworn they were the same necklace. An unusual medal, a pilgrim’s badge, with a pelican on it.”
Thinking back, I remembered that Jonetta had indeed worn a similar necklace. “That is strange. I was with Anthony when he found it. It was lying in the street, near the vintner’s by the tannery. Perhaps it fell from her neck as they left the town.”
“But that road is not a major road heading from the town,” Phillip objected. “I’d have expected Jonetta and her chapman to take the North Road. There’s not much back there, not after you pass the Augustinians. Just some abandoned buildings from the time of the pestilence and open fields.”
Study of Murder, The (Five Star Mystery Series) Page 16