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.