This information was near as hard to digest as the Canterbury Hall pottage. Who, or what, had Sir Simon sought at the Red Dragon? And why did failure cause the man such discontent? Did he seek Robert Salley also? If so, why? I had accepted Master John's commission to seek a thief and stolen books, but rather than solve the riddle, my efforts had only found new mysteries. There was nothing to do but scratch my head in bewilderment, so I did.
If I found Robert Salley I might press the youth about Master Wyclif's book: how he came by it, and where may be the others. But I could hold no threat over Sir Simon Trillowe, to demand why he visited the Red Dragon and what he sought there. Perhaps it was not Salley Sir Simon pursued, but from Arthur's description of the event Sir Simon did not find what he wished, and Salley was gone from the place.
I walked alone — I did not wish any who frequented the Red Dragon to see Arthur in my presence — next morning to the tavern. The place was newly opened for business but had not yet attracted custom. I ordered a cup of wine and settled myself at a bench. The wine was well watered and I wondered that the mayor and sheriff did not fine the fellow. Just such practice caused the terrible St Scholastica Day riots that took so many lives when I was new come to Oxford.
Perhaps the sheriff or the mayor had taken note of the business and sent Sir Simon to collect a fee which would turn the law from the Red Dragon's door? But Arthur had seen no coin change hands, else he would have said, and had seen the tavern-keeper shake his head, "No." I dismissed the thought.
The low morning sun did little to illuminate the interior of the tavern. The proprietor gave no sign that he recognized me as the man who sought Robert Salley three days past. He was bored, drumming fingers upon his wine-stained table, and eventually began a conversation about the weather. November in England. Is there no other thing in November to complain of, the weather will always suit.
I wore my fur coat this day, for the morning was chill. So it was clear to the fellow that I was no college scholar, and of some means; a man whose custom he would like to keep. It would have been easier for him to do so had he been less liberal with water in his wine.
When he saw that my cup was near empty the tavernkeeper rose, ewer in hand, and approached my bench. I waved him away and as I did so I saw recognition flash across his face.
"Ah… you was seekin' Robert Salley yesterday," he said in his gravelly voice.
"Nay. 'Twas three days past I sought him. Has he returned?"
I thought I knew the answer to that question, but thought it could do no harm to ask.
"Pardon… a gentleman lookin' much like you was'ere seekin' the lad yesterday. He's not been back. Never seen 'im before, but 'e knew what 'e was about. Went straight up to Salley's lodgin's, an' when 'e saw 'e wasn't there come straight down an' asked when 'e was like to return. Told 'im I hadn't seen the fellow since Wednesday."
"Did you tell him how it was when Salley disappeared? How another sought him, and he went through the window to escape?"
"Aye."
"How did the gentleman take the news?"
"Right black about it, 'e was."
"Did he ask to be told when Salley returns, if he returns?"
Nay.
I wondered why that could be. I was about to offer the man tuppence would he promise to send word to the porter at Canterbury Hall did Robert Salley appear. Why would Sir Simon not do likewise? Perhaps he knew where the poor scholar might be was he not at the tavern.
I opened my purse and gave the tavern-keeper tuppence; for the wine and for his eyes, which I asked he keep open for either Robert Salley or Sir Simon. Did the poor scholar return, he agreed to send his wife to Canterbury Hall with the news. Did Sir Simon, whose name I did not let fall, call again, he would report the event and conversation to me when I next called. I did not tell the fellow that Arthur would also be watching for Salley and Sir Simon. Perhaps I did not fully trust the tavern-keeper. He was willing to take silver from me. Might he accept coin from another to ignore or mislead me? Perhaps I am become too suspicious of other men.
I found Arthur where I left him, on Fish Street, before St Frideswide's Priory, and told him of Sir Simon's search for Robert Salley.
"Why would 'e be seekin' the likes of a poor scholar?"
"Could be coincidence," I replied, "or it could be that Salley has something which Sir Simon wants."
"Or knows somethin' Sir Simon wants to know," Arthur added. "An' if 'e wants somethin', might be the same thing we want of 'im."
"Aye. Perhaps both, for the scholar has little else another man might want, but for Master John's book."
"Why would Sir Simon want that?"
"'Tis worth twenty shillings. Even a young knight would not despise such a sum."
"But 'ow would 'e know Salley had it, an' 'ow did the lad come by it anyway?"
This conversation occupied us as we walked through a misting rain to Canterbury Hall and our dinner. I was much pleased with my fur coat and felt some guilt that Arthur, striding beside me, was not so warm or dry. The difference in our situations did not seem to trouble him. Perhaps he had lived cold and wet so long that the conditions were of no consequence to him.
Being chilled and damp did not spoil Arthur's appetite. He plunged into his bowl of pottage with his usual enthusiasm. And, in truth, the meal was some better than common. This was a fast day, so no pork flavored the peas and beans, but there were lentils and scraps of capon to season the mix. The cook, however, seemed to enjoy a balance. The ale was stale.
The sun was beginning to appear through breaks in the clouds when dinner was done. Arthur was surely pleased with this development, for I sent him to watch over the Red Dragon again. He would stay dry for the afternoon.
As for myself, I thought to get my feet wet, walking the path by the Cherwell with Kate. The banns had been read twice now from St Peter's Church. Once more, two days hence, and we might wed. I was eager for that day, and might have thought to hasten it by continuing a search for books and thieves. But Kate's company was a strong lure. I yielded to her attraction and set out for Holywell Street. It was well I did so, else finding Master John's books might have taken longer. Indeed, I might not have found them yet. Was it Kate who drew me to Holywell Street and the path along the Cherwell, or was it a push from the Lord Christ?
Robert Caxton smiled as I entered his shop and called to Kate, who was employed again in the workroom. I wonder that he could smile at a man who was about to take daughter and assistant from him, and cost him the income from a house as well. Mayhap he remembered days past, when he courted Kate's mother. A man must find it difficult to view his daughter so, as from another, younger man's eyes. Perhaps the same sentiment will comfort me twenty years hence.
I was correct about damp feet, although Kate seemed not to mind. The grass was wet with the morning's mist and soaked our shoes, already muddy from Oxford's streets. I was engrossed in Kate and our conversation so did not notice the clot of black gowns before us on the river bank until we were nearly upon them. Four youths gazed at something in the river, taking no heed of our approach. It was a normal reaction to peer also into the river, to learn what held their attention. It was a corpse.
A body floated face down but a short way from the river bank. It was prevented from following the current downstream by a leg entangled in a branch broken from some upstream tree which had lodged against the bank. Water weeds waved in the gentle current 'round the dead man's head, like unshorn green locks.
The four who stood studying the corpse were young scholars. They babbled excitedly among themselves but took no measures to draw the unfortunate fellow from the water. My feet were already wet, and the corpse lay in water barely knee deep. I gave my coat to Kate, drew off my shoes, pushed my way past the students, and waded into the Cherwell. In a few moments I freed the lifeless form from the broken bough and hauled the corpse upon the river bank.