A Trail of Ink (16 page)

A few moments later our wheezing beasts drew up before the monastery gatehouse. The hosteller was within, discussing some matter with the porter. He remembered me, but peered disapprovingly at men who would misuse their horses so.

Arthur was drenched through and shivering from the cold. I asked the hosteller was there a fire where we could warm ourselves and poor Arthur might dry his dripping clothes.

I thought some explanation for our state in order, and so told of our close escape. The hosteller’s expression softened and he sent for a lay brother to care for Bruce and the palfrey while Arthur and I sought the calefactory and the fire which Benedictines keep burning in winter months, unlike Cistercians, who seem to believe that one grows closer to God as the temperature falls and chilblains increase.

We were eager to continue our journey. Arthur was dry and warmed on one side, and nearly so on the other, when Abbot Thurstan entered the calefactory.

“Master Hugh; we meet again. Brother Jacob has told me of the circumstance. I am pleased our house may offer respite.”

“We are in your debt,” I acknowledged. “Do thieves often prowl the forest between here and Oxford?”

“Nay. Years ago a band of young knights, finding no employment to their liking, for England was at peace then, would sometimes venture south from their lair near the King’s hunting lodge at Woodstock. But not for many years have they made an appearance. I am sorry to learn they may have returned. Even the monastery was not safe from their pillaging, and villagers suffered often their looting and rapine.”

Arthur, steaming by the fire, growled a response to this information. “They wasn’t no common brigands. They had fine coursers under ‘em, an’ their tunics an’ cotehardies wasn’t such as folk livin’ hard in a forest is likely to wear.”

I thought back to the attack and found myself in agreement with this assertion. “This is so. Their garments were more suited to an Oxford street than a forest glen.”

The old abbot seemed glum. Our observations did not bring him joy. “It will be a time of trial, should it be that free companies have returned to the shire.”

“Surely the sheriff will see them harried out of his bailiwick?” I protested.

“If he had a mind to do so. But even so, they strike and are gone before the sheriff can be summoned. So it was when they tormented us in past times.”

“Perhaps Lord Gilbert may take a hand in the matter,” I suggested.

“It would be a great mercy did he do so,” the abbot sighed. “But some gentlefolk turn away from free companies, do they leave their manors untouched. If a lord choose to drive them from his lands, they will then turn a special visitation upon his tenants and villeins. So some lords think ‘tis best to leave them to their thievery, if they practice it against others.”

“Are they likely to prowl the road to the west? Toward Witney and Bampton? We are called to Bampton on an urgent matter. Lord Gilbert’s son has broken his leg. I am a surgeon, and am summoned to deal with the injury. This delay will cost us the light of day as it is.”

“In earlier times they did not strike much in that direction. There are few forests there to hide them, ‘til one is past Burford, I am told.”

“Aye,” I agreed. “Lands between here and Bampton are flat and fertile and many prosperous manors are there. But since the plague the forest now encroaches. Much assarting will be needed before these lands may be again put to the plow.”

“After the swim one of their fellows took,” Arthur chuckled, “perhaps they will think better of attacking us again.”

“Or,” I mused, “they may wish revenge upon us and lay in wait beyond Eynsham.”

“This eve?” Arthur asked. “They will think us secure and well bedded for the night in the abbey’s guest chambers. Better we be on our way now. Tomorrow they might well set upon us.”

Arthur’s argument made sense. The abbot insisted we visit the kitchen for a loaf and ale to refresh us for the journey, and sent a lay brother to the stable for Bruce and the palfrey. They had been fed, the lay brother announced. Bruce seemed to observe me with an accusing eye, removed as he was from a comfortable stall to set off again on a muddy road into the setting sun.

We entered Bampton on the High Street well after dark. No brigands sought our coin on the road from Eynsham. We saw no living soul until at the marketplace we came upon John Prudhomme attending upon watch and warn. The beadle challenged us, for it was dark and he could not see who rode upon the village streets after curfew. I asked of news of Richard Talbot, but John had none, being unaware of the child’s hurt.

Bruce knew he was home. He turned without guidance into the castle forecourt and halted obediently before the darkened gatehouse.

Wilfred the porter is no light sleeper, nor is his assistant. I banged away on the gate with the pommel of my dagger until finally a sleepy challenge penetrated gate and portcullis. I shouted that I was returned as Lord Gilbert required, and shortly I heard the wheel creaking to lift the portcullis, then the bar was lifted and the gate swung open.

All was dark in the castle yard. I thought there might be a light from the windows of the solar, but even that chamber was dark.

“Where is the lad?” I demanded of Wilfred.

“Lad?” he blinked.

“Aye… Richard. Arthur, take the horses to the marshalsea and wake a groom to see to them. I will find John Chamberlain and be about my business.”

Wilfred watched as Arthur and I set about our tasks. It seemed a night for rousing sleeping folk. The chamberlain was also slow to answer the pounding upon his chamber door. I heard him shout that whoso thumped upon his door should cease, and that he would attend directly. His word was true. The door soon opened and John stood, cresset in hand and bare feet upon the cold flags of his chamber.

The light from his cresset told him who it was who had awakened him. “Master Hugh… you have returned late from Oxford. Are Master Wyclif’s books found?”

“Nay. I am come to treat Richard, as Lord Gilbert requested.”

“Richard?”

“Aye. Sir Walter delivered Lord Gilbert’s summons.

“Sir Walter?” John replied sleepily.

“Sir Walter Benyt. He rode to Oxford at Lord Gilbert’s request to seek my return.”

“Lord Gilbert said nothing to me of this charge.”

“I am to attend Richard. The lad fell from the parapet, so Sir Walter said, and broke a leg. I was to hasten to deal with the injury. Is the child with his nurse?”

“I, uh, suppose so. But he has no broken leg. Least not since I saw him chase a duck near the mill pond after terce this day. And who is Sir Walter Benyt?”

“You have no knowledge of this knight? He claimed to come from Lord Gilbert.”

“He may have claimed so, Hugh, but no knight of that name has dined at Lord Gilbert’s table. Do you wish me to wake Lord Gilbert so you may report this tale to him?”

“Nay… so long as you are certain no injury has befallen Master Richard.”

“Of that I am certain.”

“Then I bid you good-night, and apologize for troubling your slumber.”

I found Arthur and released him to go to Cicily, his wife, and a warm bed, then felt my way along the dark wall of the hall until I reached the door to my chamber. Enough pale moonlight penetrated my window that I was able to find my bed without lighting a cresset. The bed was cold, but the hope that it would not long be so warmed me. This agreeable meditation I thought would bring sleep upon me, but not so.

Who was Sir Walter Benyt, was that his true name, and why did he call me from Oxford? Had his false account to do with the brigands who attacked near Swinford? Was it my purse they sought, or a thing more valuable to me? Did they seek my life? If so, there could be but two reasons for their mission: to prevent me finding stolen books, or to prevent my marriage to Kate Caxton. I knew of no other reason men might wish to do me harm.

Such thoughts pursued each other through my mind. I found little rest that night. I was yet awake when the Angelus Bell rang from the tower of St Beornwald’s Church and roused a rooster to his duty in the poulterer’s yard.

No one in Bampton Castle knew of my presence but for Wilfred the porter and John Chamberlain. So there was no ewer of warm water with which to fill my basin and wash hands and face, and no ale nor maslin loaf with which to break my fast. I sought John’s chamber but found it vacant. As I turned from his door he appeared at the foot of the stairs which led to the solar and Lord Gilbert’s and Lady Petronilla’s chambers.

“Ah,” he exclaimed. “You are well met. I have told m’lord of your return, and the circumstance. He would see you in the solar straightaway.”

A blaze in the fireplace warmed the solar against the chill November morning. Lord Gilbert was licking his fingers after devouring a morning loaf as John ushered me into the room. Lady Petronilla was not present. I thought she might be in attendance upon her injured child, and that John Chamberlain was somehow mistaken in his declaration that there was nothing amiss with Richard. But not so.

“Master Hugh,” Lord Gilbert roared as he stood to greet me. Most lords would remain seated to address their bailiff. I recognized the honor. “John has told me of your presence, and that some fellow has passed himself as a knight, requesting your return to Bampton on my command. What did the scoundrel say his name was?”

“Sir Walter Benyt, m’lord.”

“Bah… never heard of such a knight. And he told you Richard had broken a leg falling from the parapet?”

“Aye, he did.”

“The child may do so yet, for all the screeching from Lady Petronilla and his nurse when he steals away from their notice. But to my knowledge the lad was yet unmarred when the nurse put him to bed last night.”

“Arthur and I were attacked while on the road yesterday, near Swinford.”

“Attacked, you say?” Lord Gilbert’s face blackened and his brows drew together in a great scowl. “There is treachery here! Some knight lies when he says he comes from me. His tale puts you on the road, where knaves waylay you. How did you escape them?”

I told Lord Gilbert of the floating log and Arthur’s use of it. He laughed heartily when I described the horse toppling over into the river, its rider pinned beneath it.

“God’s eyes,” he roared, “I’d like to have seen that. His fellows did not pursue you then to Eynsham?”

“Nay. Or if so, we reached the abbey before them.”

Lord Gilbert’s laughter subsided and he went to pulling at his beard, a sure sign that his thoughts grew serious. “Whoever this Sir Walter Benyt may be, he and those who sent him to you with this tale will know that when you arrived here you would know the truth of the matter. They will expect you to return to Oxford. We must be certain they can do you no harm when you do. You do intend to return, do you not?”

“Aye. I have learned some things which may lead to recovering Master Wyclif’s books, but that is uncertain. They are not recovered yet.”

“Why,” he puzzled, “would someone invent a tale to put you on the road where you could be assailed?”

“I thought at first, when the rogues were charging down upon us, that they sought my purse. But now, I think not.”

“‘Twas not your purse they wanted,” Lord Gilbert agreed. “It was you, I think. How have you angered men so that they seek to do you harm?”

“I have thought on this. I seek stolen books. There are surely men who wish me no success. If they guess I may be close to a discovery, perhaps closer even than I know, they might wish to do me ill.”

“And you are to wed a lass who had once a proud suitor who wished to do you mischief. I am told the banns were read in St Beornwald’s Church upon Sunday. I congratulate you, Hugh. We must keep you alive and whole until you are wed. After that, the lass… Kate, is it? Aye, Kate… she may take responsibility then.

“You must be more cautious, Hugh,” Lord Gilbert continued. “After dinner I will accompany you back to Oxford myself. We will travel with half a dozen grooms. I think three men lurking in a wood near Swinford will allow us to pass.”

My appetite was better this day than when I last dined at Bampton Castle. For the first remove there was pork in pepper sauce, roasted partridge, and parsley bread with herbed butter. For the second remove there was a fruit-and-salmon pie and dates in syrup. For the third remove the cook presented roasted capon, an egg leach, spiced apples, and pear-and-herb fritters.

Returning to the pottages at Canterbury Hall would be a trial. But in Oxford I would be near to Kate. For her presence I will gladly bear the dietary afflictions of Canterbury Hall.

As the subtlety was brought to Lord Gilbert after the third remove, he gave order that horses be readied for the journey to Oxford. Bruce, and Arthur’s old palfrey were weary from travel the day before, so Lord Gilbert did not press the beasts to much speed. I worried that the day would be far gone before he and the grooms attending us could return to Bampton. Even a powerful lord and his retainers might not wish to be on the road after dark. A noble’s ransom will fetch more shillings than his purse will carry.

My concern was answered at Eynsham. Lord Gilbert drew our party to a halt before the abbey and asked - no, demanded - the porter to fetch Brother Giles, for so the hosteller was named. When he appeared he was told that Lord Gilbert and six grooms would require shelter that evening. The hosteller bowed and promised all would be ready when Lord Gilbert returned.

At Swinford Lord Gilbert raised a hand to halt our party and asked to be again told of Arthur’s feat with the floating log. He chuckled anew at the tale and when Arthur urged the palfrey up to his side Lord Gilbert playfully swatted his groom upon the shoulder.

“I told you when I sent Arthur to accompany you to Oxford he was a useful fellow, did I not?”

“You did, and I have found him so more than once this past fortnight.”

Lord Gilbert urged his courser into the river and our party splashed across the ford. When we had crossed he raised a hand again and asked whereabouts it was that the three horsemen had set out after Arthur and me the day before. I told him that observing the landscape had been low on my priorities when I saw men wielding swords emerge from the forest, but he charged me to take the lead and see could I not discover the place where the knaves lay in wait. We might, he asserted, learn something of the fellows did we find where they set their ambush. I thought this unlikely. I was wrong.