I found Arthur fidgeting on the bench in the guest chamber. "'Bout to set out an' seek you," he chastised. "Thought you might've met up with the thief, or maybe Sir Simon again."
"Nay. Bruce will not be hurried. Have the carters returned?"
"Not yet."
A cresset lighted the chamber. I saw in its glow a loaf and a cup. Arthur followed my gaze. "Brought a loaf an' some ale from the kitchen," he explained.
I would not need to seek my bed hungry. I thought this the only laudable result of the day. I was wrong. The seed was sprouting.
7
The carters returned to Oxford on Tuesday. I had sent Arthur that morning to prowl Kybald Street and the neighboring lanes. He returned to Canterbury Hall for his dinner with no news, but an hour after eating his fill of another pottage he hastened breathlessly across the enclosure from the porter's lodge to advise me that the carters were at that moment unharnessing their horse.
Arthur followed close behind as I hurried from St John's Street to Grope Lane. The carters lived but a few paces east of Grope Lane, on the north side of Kybald Street. We found the brothers in the yard behind the house, tending to horse and cart. After such a journey both would need care.
Henry Carter and his brother were twins. Most men must peer into a well or catch their image in a glass window to see how they appear to another. Not these brothers. They had but to glance at each other to know their features. This duplication seems to me to prove false the notion that, should a woman bear twins, she has lain with two men.
"Henry?" I asked.
One of the carters looked up from considering wear to the axle of his cart and answered, "Aye?"
"You have just returned from a long journey, I am told."
"Aye. To London, to the abbey at Westminster," he replied quizzically.
The brother had just hung the harness on a peg in the barn. He stood in the open door, peering suspiciously at me. Most men, I think, are leery of those who pry into their business. I drew two pence from my purse and offered the coins to the carter. I watched his eyes soften.
"What were you commissioned to take to Westminster? It was a chest, I am told."
"If you know what it was we was hired to take, why need to ask?"
"Do you know what was in the chest?"
"Nay. 'Twas sealed an' locked an' we was told 'twas not to be opened."
"And this chest was to be covered and kept dry… is this so?"
"Aye."
"A monk from Eynsham hired this work?"
"Why do you ask when you know the answers? An' why concern yourself with my work?"
"Forgive me. I am Hugh de Singleton, bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot at his manor at Bampton."
This revelation did not seem to impress either Henry or his brother. They stared impassively, awaiting any further information I might care to impart.
"Did you deliver the chest to the abbot?"
"Nay. We was to take it to a monk there name of…" Henry turned to his brother, who stood yet in the open barn door. "Who was it we was to give the chest to?"
"The librarian, Brother Giles."
"Was he expecting this chest? Or was he surprised when it was delivered?"
"He was expectin' it, alright."
"What was your pay for this work?"
"A shillin' an' eight pence. Half when we took the job, half now we're back an' job's done."
"You are to collect from Brother Michael at Eynsham?"
"Aye. Time enough today. I'll walk there an' collect what's due."
A thought came to me. I drew another ha'penny from my purse and offered it to the carter. "When you speak to Brother Michael tell him a wheel came loose from your cart as you neared Westminster and pitched the chest to the verge. He will surely ask was the chest damaged. Tell him, `Yes, 'twas split at the end.' If he then asks were the contents damaged, tell him, `No, the books were not harmed."'
"Books? The chest was full o' books, then? Figured twas so, bein' we delivered 'em to a librarian."
"Aye, I believe so. I will return tomorrow. Report all he may say about the chest and its contents."
Wednesday morning, as the bells of St Frideswide's Priory announced terce, I set out for Kybald Street with Arthur close behind. The carters were at work behind the house, Henry splicing the whiffletree where a crack showed, and his brother greasing the harness he'd hung on the barn wall the day before. Or was it Henry greasing the harness? The brother at work on the cart peered up under frowning brows as I approached.
"Did as you asked," he muttered. "Cost me tuppence. Monk said as how we'd damaged 'is chest 'e wasn't due to pay all."
I fished two pence from my pouch and held the coins to the man. His face brightened considerably. "Hoped you'd be good for it," he said as he reached for the coins.
"What else did the monk say, besides reducing what he owed?"
"Asked did anything spill from the chest to the mud of the road. I did as you said an' told 'im the split in the chest was small an' no harm come to the books what was in it."
"Was the monk relieved to learn this?"
"Aye. Then, when he turned to leave me he thought better of it, come back, an' said, was any to ask what was in the chest, I was to tell 'em I knew not. In truth I did not see what was in the chest, an' have but your word on it. So wouldn't be like a lie."
I thanked the carter for his service and set off toward St John's Street with Arthur trailing. The carter's words stung me. I had paid a man to deceive another. Doing so had discovered, perhaps, the location of Master John's stolen books. But was it acceptable in God's sight to discover one sin only by committing another? This worry did not trouble Arthur. He spoke gleefully as we turned the corner from Grope Lane to St John's Street.
"Reckon we know where Master Wyclif's books has gone to an' who stole 'em, eh?"
"It does seem so. Although how to prove it so is another matter. Monasteries often trade and sell books, so they may be copied and libraries enlarged."
"Oh," Arthur replied thoughtfully, and walked on in silence. As we approached Canterbury Hall he spoke again. "So, 'less you could prove the books was Master Wyclif's, the monks would say they was tradin' an' you couldn't say otherwise?"
"Aye. And perhaps they were. We do not know that the books in the chest were Master John's."
"Was it not so," Arthur mused, "why did that monk in Eynsham tell the carter to say nothin' of what was in the chest?"
"It is suspicious, but I must be sure before I make any charge."
"How will you do so?"
"I know not. But I will tell Master John what has been learned. He is a wise man. Perhaps he may suggest a path to follow."
Master John Wyclif is indeed a wise man, but not well-versed in the ways of felons. He was attentive to my tale of books in a chest taken to Westminster, but was at as much a loss as I as to how to discover if the volumes were his or not, and if his, who had stolen them and how they came into the possession of a monk at Eynsham. We three sat, silently considering the issue, when the cook's bell called us to our dinner. Another pottage. I had two good reasons to solve this puzzle. When I found Master John's books I could wed Kate, and I could return to Bampton and escape the pottages of Canterbury Hall.
I was not yet finished with my dinner when I heard excited voices approach the hall. The door banged open, bringing a frown to Master John's face, and the porter entered, accompanied by another man, unknown to me.
The porter cast about, found me in the dim autumn light which managed to penetrate the windows, and pointed my way. His companion nodded and strode vigorously toward where I sat with Master John. The man who approached was a solid, bull-necked fellow, dressed well, and clearly accustomed to dining from a full trencher.
"Master Hugh de Singleton?" he asked when he stood before me.