This day I decided to visit the monastic houses in Oxford to learn if any had recently been offered books. I sent Arthur again to the marketplace and castle foregate to listen.
The great Benedictine House in Oxford is Gloucester College. I set my feet for Stockwell Street, and arrived as the chapel bell chimed for Terce. I waited until the service was done, then sought the college librarian. The monk in charge of the college volumes was a genial fellow, well fed, who peered at me with watery eyes made weak from much attention to his manuscripts.
I did not think it necessary to provide such a man with a list of Wyclif's stolen books. He would be familiar with all the missing volumes, and most assuredly his library would include the missing titles, with the possible exception of Bede's work, which is rare and valuable.
The fellow had been offered no books, as I expected. But he readily agreed to send word to Canterbury Hall should he be approached to buy.
I returned to the Hall for my dinner. Arthur was there before me, and eager for his meal, which this day was not a pottage, but egg leaches for a first remove and eels baked in ginger for the second remove. This was a pleasant change from the Hall's normal fare. Arthur approved. He grinned at me from the far end of the table, his cheeks bulging with eels. A groom at Bampton Castle might share in egg leaches, but would never enjoy eels in ginger.
4
I went in the afternoon to the Franciscan and Dominican Houses where friars who seek degrees at Oxford reside while at their studies. It would be a waste of parchment to write more than that they had no knowledge of Master John's books. And yes, they would send word to Canterbury Hall should any man offer to sell. But for my dinner this was a wasted day.
The cook, I think, decided he must atone for dinner. Supper this day was a white pottage of oats and leeks. Arthur ate two bowls of the stuff, but when I finished my portion I felt I should whinny like a horse did I consume more.
I had no opportunity before supper to question Arthur about his day, but did so as soon as we retired to the guest chamber after supper. I lit a cresset and asked Arthur of town gossip. He removed his cap, brushed thinning hair with thick fingers, and spoke.
"Buy a man a cup of wine at tavern an' he'll be glad to tell what 'e knows. There be many folk in Oxford don't abide by what the priests tell 'em," he began. "But you'll not be carin' about all that."
"Aye. Spare me the details of Oxford's sins. I once lived here, remember?"
"Oh, aye. Well, 'tis known about town that you seek Master Wyclif's books. 'Eard it spoke of three, four times."
"So the theft is known?"
"Aye. Not as most on Northgate Street or the castle forecourt care 'bout that. Most is like me, see, an' books is no good to 'em.
"Strange thing. Some young gentlemen was passin' by the castle forecourt an' two was badgerin' the other. Said as how he looked a fool, chasin' a tradesman's daughter, an' her then tossin' 'im aside for a bailiff. They came near to blows. Figured I knew who was spoke of."
"Did one of these fellows have a dark beard, trimmed short, and wear a yellow cap with a liripipe coiled about his head?"
"Aye. 'Twas him the others nettled. Had 'is hand to 'is dagger before the others left off."
Sir Simon had lowered himself to court a burgher's daughter. To be rejected would injure his pride. He would blame me. Perhaps I should be on my guard.
I left Arthur to report on my progress, or lack of it, to Master John. I found him seated in his chamber, a candle before him and a borrowed book open on the table. He did not seem surprised when I told him I had no better idea now how to seek his books than the day before.
Arthur was snoring upon his pallet when I returned to the guest chamber. This music, and my thoughts, kept me awake long into the night. The sacrist of St Frideswide's Priory was rousing the canons for vigils before I slept.
There was yet Rewley Abbey and Oseney Abbey, and the friaries of the Carmelites, the Augustinians, and the Trinitarians to visit. I resolved to seek Master John's volumes in these houses next day if Arthur learned nothing more in another day of attending to Oxford gossip. While he did so I resolved to pursue another mystery: women.
I awoke with the Angelus Bell from St Frideswide's Priory to a cold, drizzling morning. Arthur was not pleased that I sent him to the castle forecourt on an empty stomach on such a day. I told him to return and we would meet for dinner. I did not tell him the business I intended to pursue. I should have.
I wrapped my cloak about me and set off for Holywell Street. This cloak was of fur, a gift from Lord Gilbert two years past as part of my wages for accepting the post of bailiff on his Bampton estate.
I had seen others peer enviously at me when I wore the garment through Oxford's streets. Such a coat was beyond my station. Let them stare. I was warm and dry.
I made my way up Catte Street, passed through the Smithgate, and had walked but two or three paces east on Holywell Street when three men stepped before me and blocked my way. My first thought was that I had been accosted by thieves and was about to be robbed of my purse. A second thought caused me to realize this was not likely. It was not the dark of night, when felons might be abroad, but day, and the men who obstructed me were not poorly dressed, as one might expect of a man willing to risk his neck to have another man's coins.
One of the three stepped toward me and demanded my name. I told him. He next asked my destination. I told him that, as well. He then asked about my coat; where had I come by it? When I told him it was a gift he rolled his eyes and turned to his companions.
One of these was a man of about my size and age. Which is to say he was some above average in height and slender. The leader of the three turned to this fellow and spoke:
"Sir William, is this the coat?"
"Aye, the very one."
The leader of this band was a brawny fellow, not of my height, but he surely outweighed me by two stone or more. He was of Arthur's size and shape. He grasped my shoulders and before I could react, so surprised was I, he spun me about and his companions stripped my coat from me.
"You are arrested," the leader told me harshly.
"Of what am I accused?" I replied, somewhat stupidly as I think back on it.
"Hah… do not take us for fools. You have stolen Sir William's fur coat."
"Not so," I replied with some heat. My wits were returning and my temper was aroused. "'Twas a gift from Lord Gilbert Talbot."
I thought the fellow hesitated for a moment. Perhaps it was my imagination. "And why should a lord give a fur coat to you?"
While I engaged the leader in this conversation Sir William was inspecting my coat. "This is my coat, Sir Thomas," he said firmly.
Sir Thomas, who still gripped my arm, turned back to me. "You were a fool to steal such a coat, and twice a fool to walk along the Cherwell with a maid where another might see you wearing a stolen coat."
I opened my mouth to protest but before I could speak the third member of the group, a short, round fellow, seized my free arm and with Sir Thomas began dragging me down Canditch toward the Northgate. A crowd of onlookers gaped at the scene, believing, I am sure, that some miscreant had been apprehended.
Sir Thomas and his silent companion alternately dragged and shoved me through the streets to Oxford Castle. Once there I was taken through stone passageways to a chamber I knew well, the anteroom and clerk's office for the sheriff of Oxford, where two years past Margaret Smith and I convinced Roger de Cottesford and a judge of the King's Eyre that they must release Thomas Shilton. Standing beside the clerk was a man I knew. Sir Simon Trillowe grinned thinly at me behind hooded eyes.