Nay.
Sir Jocelin might not have known of Grindecobbe's first mistake, but I did. He, and perhaps some companions, had murdered Robert Salley but not obscured the deed well enough. Did Salley die because he would not give up Sentences, or to silence him? Hawkwode did not know, so it would do no good to press him about it.
"The first error Grindecobbe made was to leave Robert Salley where his corpse might be found and his manner of death discovered. Sir Simon surely commanded the scholar's death did he not surrender Master Wyclif's book. We must next visit Sir Simon," I said to Sir Roger, "and learn what he knows. Perhaps he will give different witness than we have now heard."
"I have spoken truth," Hawkwode replied indignantly.
"Mayhap. But men will say many things to escape a noose.
The word introduced a new consideration to Sir Jocelin. His adam's apple again bounced and he was silent while contemplating the thought of hemp encircling his neck. I was convinced the man knew not of Robert Salley's death or Sir Simon's part in it. But an accomplice in murder may hang from the same gallows as he who did the crime. While this understanding washed through Sir Jocelin's mind, Sir Roger spoke.
"Sir Simon would impeach his mother did he save himself from the sheriff's dance."
The look in Sir Jocelin's eyes was one of agreement with Sir Roger's assertion. I decided to give a small shove to Hawkwode's train of thought.
"We will not get the truth of his actions from Sir Simon. He will scrape himself clean of any offense and scatter the taint on others. So you must tell all you know, or we shall hear Sir Simon's account. I suspect you will not play so benign a role in his version of events as in the version you have presented to us."
"I speak the truth," Hawkwode repeated, rising from his seat.
"Hmm. Perhaps. But have you spoken all of the truth? You sought to dissemble when first brought to this room, and gave answer only when 'twas shown to you that we knew of your lies. What may you tell us of Sir Simon and the monk Michael of Longridge which we have not asked?"
Sir Jocelin had resumed his chair while I spoke. When I mentioned the monk he straightened as if a dagger had pricked him between the shoulder-blades. This was a most satisfying response, and surprising, for I had convinced myself that Hawkwode knew but an outline of the business and nothing at all of the theft of Master John's books. Usually I am not pleased to be in error, but in this matter I was.
Sir Jocelin's posture at the mention of Michael of Longridge gave indication that the monk was known to him, and further, that he had assumed I knew nothing of this portion of the tangle. He could not guess how much or little of the monk's connection to Sir Simon I knew. I waited in silence for his reply. It did not come soon. He churned over in his mind how much, or how little, he must tell to satisfy me.
I was willing to wait while Hawkwode considered his position, but Sir Roger was not. This was just as well. "Who is Michael of Longridge?" he demanded. "What has he to do with this, and to what house is he attached?"
"Will you tell him," I said softly to Sir Jocelin, "or shall I?"
He had been studying stains upon the sheriff's table. He lifted his face to me and it was apparent that what little fight had been left in the fellow was now vanished. He put a hand to his neck, as if he could feel a cord there already, and spoke:
"Brother Michael is attached to the Benedictine house at Eynsham," he said.
"How is he known to Sir Simon?" I asked.
"They were friends of old, I think… when Brother Michael was a scholar at Balliol and Sir Simon was but a lad."
"The monk," I added, "hired two carters to take a chest to Westminster, to the abbey, but a fortnight after Master Wyclif's books were stolen. The chest contained books. Were they Master Wyclif's I know not, but suspect so. Brother Michael," I added, "and Master John were not friends."
14
Silence followed this revelation. In the quiet of the sheriff's chamber we who were there heard agitated voices through the closed door. Excited conversation could be heard from the anteroom. Sir Roger frowned at this interruption and stalked across the room to yank open the door and deal with the uproar.
Even with the door open I could make no sense of the jumble of voices. Several men were speaking at once and each seemed sure it was his words which must be heard. The sheriff's clerk seemed to be the recipient of the tumult. Sir Roger frowned through the open door at the confusion, then quieted the chamber: "Silence!" he roared. He was obeyed.
Lord Gilbert moved to the door and I followed. Even Sir Jocelin succumbed to curiosity and followed, peering between us into the now silent antechamber.
The warder was one of those whose excited babble was halted at the Sheriff's command. Sir Roger looked from him to his clerk, then addressed the clerk.
"What means this prattle?"
"There has been a brawl, m'lord sheriff… at the Canditch near the Northgate. I know nothing more," he shrugged.
The warder, who it was had evidently brought the news, spoke. "Aye, Sir Roger, five or six men, with daggers and clubs, disturbing the peace near to the Northgate."
"Put an end to it," Sir Roger snapped. "Take some men and put a stop to it."
"Aye," the warder replied, and immediately left the room. Sir Roger turned back to Lord Gilbert and looked to the ceiling in disgust.
"Have the miscreants locked up for the night," Sir Roger told his clerk. "I'll deal with 'em in the morning."
Lord Gilbert and I stood back to permit Sir Roger to return to his chamber, but before he could do so another voice and hurrying footsteps could be heard in the corridor leading to the anteroom. All there turned to see who would appear at the door.
It was a burgher of the town, from his dress a prosperous man, unknown to me. The fellow did not hesitate at the door but strode purposefully into the clerk's chamber.
"Sir Roger," he gasped, "'Tis Sir Simon."
"Sir Simon Trillowe?" the sheriff replied. "What of him?"
"He lays in the Canditch, near dead."
Sir Roger glanced back to me and Lord Gilbert, a knowing expression on his face. "Near the Northgate?" he asked.
Aye.
"Who else?"
"Sir Simon's squire, Sir Roger. More than that I know not. Sir Simon had but a moment before stepped from the Augustinian Friars when four men set upon him in the street."
"Did any restrain the assailants?" Sir Roger asked.
"Nay. 'Twas over quickly and the fellows were gone before aught could be done to stop their battery."
"Was one of the attackers a man of great size?" I asked.
"Aye… a head taller than most an' hands like a porringer."
Sir Roger turned to me: "The servant from Eynsham, you think?"
"Aye. If he lives, Sir Simon would know his attacker."
"And may need a surgeon," Lord Gilbert added.
Sir Roger instructed his clerk to hold Sir Jocelin and his companions to await our return. Together with the puffing burgher we three clattered down the stone steps of the passageway and into the castle yard. Arthur followed close behind. It was but a short way to the Northgate. Neither Sir Simon nor his squire were there.
A knot of men gathered in the Canditch told where the altercation had occurred. The warder and three sergeants had arrived at the scene before us, but stood stolidly in the mud and seemed without purpose.
Sir Simon and his squire had been taken, reported more dead than alive, to the Augustinian Friars. The assailants had struck quickly and then run off down Irishman's Street toward the Hythe Bridge. It was the collective opinion of the witnesses that Sir Simon's purse was the object of the attack. I knew better. But I was not prepared for the truth of the matter when I discovered it.
Sir Roger stalked off toward the Augustinian Friary. Lord Gilbert, Arthur, the warder, and I followed. The porter directed us to a chamber where the afflicted men were laid out upon pallets. The friary herbalist attended them, but had done little but staunch the flow of blood and then stand back to scratch his chin.