"Aye. Right after them gentlemen near came to blows, a fellow told the pieman his brothers was gone to London. Brothers is carters. They was takin' a chest to Westminster, to the abbey."
"That is your news?"
"Not all of it," Arthur replied defensively. "Told you it might have naught to do with books. You said…"
"I know. Tell me what else you heard."
"The chest was locked and not to be opened. And twas not to get wet. A linen shroud, waxed stiff, was to cover the box."
Arthur's tale became more interesting. "Did the man say who it was hired his brothers for this work?"
"Some scholar. Wore a scholar's robe, an' was tonsured."
This identification was of no help. Near half the men of Oxford might fit such a description.
"When were they to take this chest to Westminster?"
"Said as they left a week and more past. Told the pieman as how 'e wouldn't be seein' 'em for a fortnight."
"Seems about right, to travel to London with a cart and horse and return. These carters might be finished with their work and on their way home by now, I think."
"Aye, so I thought. An' the fellow spoke the same."
"You talked to him?"
"Aye. Told 'im I heard 'im say 'is brothers was carters an' how my lord might be needin' some sturdy lads for a bit o' work."
"You learned their names?"
"Aye. Their place, too."
"Good man. Perhaps there is nothing to this, but it will be worth seeing to."
"Thought as much. Roger an' Henry Carter. Live on Kybald Street. Got a stable behind for horse and cart."
"You went there?"
"Aye. I'll show you the place."
I trudged off with Arthur into Oxford streets crowded with late-afternoon business. It was but a short way down St John's Street to Grope Lane, then right on Kybald Street to the carters' house. The building housed two families, with entrance doors at either end.
One of these doors was open to the mild autumn afternoon; I rapped my knuckles upon the door-post and awaited a response.
A well-fed matron answered my knock, glanced at my scholar's robe, and said, "You'll be wantin' 'Enry. Ain't back from London yet. You can pay what's due then."
The woman thought I was the scholar who had hired her husband. Perhaps, was anything to be learned from the woman's error, I might make the most of it.
"I thought as how the roads be dry, he might have returned sooner than expected," I explained. Arthur stood a respectful distance behind me and nodded agreement. If the woman thought it strange that a scholar-monk should have a burly companion garbed in a noble's livery, she gave no sign.
"Nay. Expect 'im Monday, maybe, an' 'e travels on Sunday. 'E don't like to, y'unnerstand, but 'tis a long way, London an' back. 'Im an' Roger done it once before, an' that was two… three years past."
"You will send word when he returns? I wish to be certain of the safe delivery of my chest."
"Aye. Soon as 'e's home."
"You know where to find me?"
"Aye. The Abbey of St Mary at Eynsham…ask for Brother Michael."
"Just so. I will await a word from your husband."
Arthur grinned broadly at me as I turned from the door. I could not help myself and smiled in return. Perhaps the shipment to Westminster had nothing to do with stolen books. But perhaps it did. It was worth considering, anyway.
"This puzzle of stolen books seems soon to be solved," Arthur remarked cheerfully as we returned to Canterbury Hall.
"Perhaps. Who can tell what might have been in the chest, and if it was books, whose they might be. And if they were Master John's books, how did a monk of Eynsham come to have them?"
"Might be 'e knows a scholar at Canterbury Hall," Arthur suggested.
"Likely. Most scholars and monks here know one another, especially do they come to Oxford from the same house."
"The monks what study at Canterbury Hall is Benedictines?" Arthur asked.
"Aye, as are those at Eynsham."
"Then we have but to wait 'til the carters return an' from Brother Michael or the carters discover what was in the chest an' where it was took."
"There may be more required than that. If the chest did hold books, the monk would say they belonged to the order and were being returned to Westminster. Such might be truth, and was it not, who could gainsay him?"
"Oh. But would a monk lie… a man in holy orders?"
"I would not like to think so. But would a scholar steal another man's books? Never! Yet it surely happened at Canterbury Hall, and some of the scholars there are monks. A lie to cover a theft might not be wrenching even to a monk."
"'Tis easier to lie than to steal," Arthur concluded.
"Aye. And I have other work for you while we await the carters' return. Tomorrow you will go to the inn, mount your horse, and return to Bampton. Tell Father Thomas he is to read the banns at the Church of St Beornwald this Sunday and those following for Hugh de Singleton and Katherine Caxton. And tell Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla also. Lord Gilbert charged me this day to tell him how my suit progressed. You may return Monday. Perhaps the carters will have arrived and we may gain information upon which we may act."
Arthur grinned at me. "Always liked to bear good news."
6
When I awoke on Saturday — All-Saints Day — my chauces were dry and my cotehardie nearly so. I was pleased to be seen once again as different from the horde of black-gowned youths and men who swarm Oxford's streets. Benedict thought such a desire sinful, so his rule prescribed a uniform habit for monks of his house. I did not feel impious as I drew my fur coat over my shoulders. I felt warm. Perhaps the sainted monk might have thought that sinful also.
But Master John's gown had proven useful. When I donned the garment I did not know it might assist my purpose. Perhaps God knew. Had I not been tossed into Oxford Castle's malodorous gaol, I would have felt no need to scrub the stink from my clothes. There would have been no reason to approach Henry Carter's wife in the guise of a scholar-monk. Then surely I would have left the woman without the knowledge of a monk of Eynsham and his hire. Did God then set Simon Trillowe against me, so that from his evil intent, was I shrewd enough to see how, good might come? I must ask this of Master John — does God send evil so that it might be turned to good, or does He but permit evil, and allow us to use it for good, have we the stomach and wit to do so? And what of the world's evils which remain so terrible that no good seems ever likely to come from such calamity? I found myself wading in waters too deep for me. I will allow the bishops to consider the point. But perhaps I will some day ask Master John his thoughts on the matter.
I walked with Arthur to the Stag and Hounds and saw him off to Bampton and the delivery of his happy announcement. I then set my feet to Holywell Street and was nearly there when from an alley off St Mildred's Lane the thatcher appeared whose broken collarbone I had set. His left arm rested in the sling I made for him. He raised his right in greeting and bowed. I asked the fellow how he did.
"Not so well," he replied.
"How so?"
"Can't sleep… least not layin' in me bed."
"The injury is painful, then?"
"Aye. Do I lay on me back, the ache is fierce. 'Tis but little better do I turn to me right side. So I sleep as I can, sittin' in the straw upon the floor, me back against a wall."
"I have some potions which may help. Call upon me at Canterbury Hall after the ninth hour and I will give you herbs which you may mix with ale before you go to your rest. They will allay the pain, perhaps enough that you will sleep."
"'Twould be a Christian thing, are you able to help me so. The broken ladder near did for me afore I set foot on the roof. Never fell from a roof before."
"A break in the ladder?"
"Aye. 'Twas whole when we left it aside the yarnspinner's 'ouse, but when I set it against the roof and went to climb, a rung dropped from under me and pitched me to the dirt."