"You are successful?"
"Nay," Wyclif grimaced. "'Tis sure that the more a man tries not to consider a thing, the more he will so do."
"You think much on the loss, then?"
"Aye, but to no purpose."
The ringing of a small bell interrupted our conversation. "Supper," Master John muttered. "I care little for food this day, but you and your man are hungry, surely. Come."
Wyclif led the way from his chamber across the yard to the hall. The scholars who preceded us there were in muttered conversation but fell silent when they saw Master John's scowl.
Supper was a pottage of peas, leeks, and white beans, with a maslin loaf, wheat and rye. Saturday is a fast day. Nevertheless I detected a few bits of bacon flavoring the pottage. A man watching might have thought this a monastic house where the residents observed silence while in the refectory. There was no resumption of the afternoon argument. The scholars ate warily, one eye on their fellows, the other on Master John.
Arthur and I ate heartily. We'd enjoyed no dinner. We might have dined at the Stag and Hounds when we left the horses, and, indeed, Arthur had peered beseechingly at me as we left the place. But I have dined many times at the Stag and Hounds. Too many times.
It was dark when we left the hall. A sliver of moon gave enough light that I did not stumble on the cobbles of the yard. Arthur did. The ale served with supper was fresh. Arthur drank copiously.
Master John led us to his chamber, and while he lighted a cresset I resumed my bench and Arthur took his place in the corner. But he did not remain standing. His back slid down the wall until he was seated in a crouch on the flags. He released a contented belch as the descent concluded.
"Lord Gilbert has released you to do service for me?" Wyclif inquired.
Aye.
"I am in his debt."
"Not yet. I have found no books nor a malefactor."
"Ali, but you will. I have faith."
Arthur greeted Master John's judgment with a snore. The scholar smiled and peered into the corner where Arthur sat, elbows on knees and head on arms.
"You will be weary from your journey this day. I will have straw brought to the guest's cell for your man and you may seek your rest. Time enough on the morrow to begin your search."
3
Scholars at Canterbury Hall take no morning meal. So when Arthur and I left our cell and made our way to Master John's chamber, my stomach growled as loudly as Arthur's snores. Arthur seemed not to notice.
Master John was awaiting my arrival. His door squealed open on rusty hinges a heartbeat after I rapped my knuckles upon it. Why, I wondered, must those hinges protest so? Canterbury Hall and its buildings were but four years old. A scholar's life is consumed with the ethereal, I think, while the realities are as lost to him as feathers upon the breeze. Greasing hinges is, to Master Wyclif, a gossamer reality.
"Master Hugh, you slept well?"
"Aye," I lied.
"I did also. For the first time in many days. You will soon find my books."
I was not so confident as Master John, but saw no purpose in disillusioning the hopeful scholar.
"You did not rise for Matins," Wyclif observed. "And I was loath to wake you. You must have rest, and your wits about you, if you are to find my books."
"If I am to do so I must first know all that happened the day they went missing. Especially I would know of any event out of the ordinary."
Master John scratched the back of his head, thought for a moment, then replied, "'Twas a normal day. A lecture in the morning. After dinner a disputation… which was a little less disputatious, perhaps, than ordinary."
"How so?"
"Canterbury Hall is a new foundation, created by the Archbishop four years past. 'Twas begun with good intentions," Wyclif sighed, "but as with many noble designs, things have gone much awry.
"The Archbishop's plan was to bridge the gap at Oxford between monks and secular fellows. So Canterbury Hall is to have four monks, from Canterbury, and eight secular scholars. There were four wardens before me, in but four years. The first was a monk of Canterbury. The secular scholars drove him out. The next were seculars, and the monks would not have them."
"There is much discord in the house?"
"Ha," Wyclif sniffed. "I have tried to calm my charges, but my soft answers have not turned away wrath. They argued before I came, and they will continue no matter what I do. The monks are particularly contentious. They wished for another of their house to be appointed warden. When this was not so they became angry. And as the secular fellows outnumber them two to one, they feel any criticism as a disparagement which must be promptly answered, else their antagonists will overwhelm them."
"And now each faction accuses the other of stealing your books?"
"Aye. You overheard yesterday's dispute?"
"We did."
"As I am no monk, the secular fellows are convinced tis the monks who have done this… to force me out."
"And you, what do you think?"
"Monks or seculars," Wyclif mused, "it must be one or the other guilty."
"Not some thief from outside the Hall?"
"The porter saw no stranger about the Hall."
"It was while you were at supper they were taken?"
Aye.
"So had some miscreant been about, it might have been too dark for the porter to see him?"
"Aye," Wyclif agreed.
"Them scholars' gowns is black," Arthur commented from his corner. "Make 'em hard to see of a night… did a man not want to be seen."
"While you supped, did any leave the table, seculars or monks?"
"Nay," Wyclif spoke firmly. "'Tis a puzzle. No stranger sought entrance from the porter, nor was any such seen about. So the deed must have been done by one within the Hall. But we were all at supper."
"Your logic, Master John, is impeccable, as always. But it must be flawed. Even though all of your scholars, secular and monks, were at table, it seems sure that one of them, at least, gave guidance in this matter."
"To whom?"
"Ah, you have me there. This is what I must search out. The porter says none were about, but as all the residents of the Hall were at their meal, there was surely one, or more, to do the theft."
Master John went to scratching the back of his head again. "Aye, it must be as you say. But why, if the thief was a stranger to the Hall, must it be a scholar gave direction?"
"How would an alien know which chamber was yours, or know the value of your books… or know that you kept them in your chamber rather than in the library?"
"An' 'twould take more'n one, I'm thinkin'," Arthur commented. "I seen scholars carryin' books on the street. One thief didn't get many books away by hisself. How many was took?"
"Twenty-two," I replied.
"One thief didn't get twenty-two books over the wall," Arthur declared.
Over the wall! A man wearing a scholar's black gown could go over the wall near where Master John's chamber butted against it. Such a man might pass about the yard in little danger of being seen. The porter would be looking out from the gatehouse toward St John's Street. The scholars would be at their meal.
"Come," I urged, and led the way from Master John's chamber into the yard. The scholar and Arthur followed obediently into the morning sunlight, questioning expressions upon their faces.
There were but three short lengths of the Canterbury Hall wall which were exposed to the yard. Most of the wall formed the exterior of the hall, the kitchen, the scholars' cells, and the chapel. But on either side of the entrance gate the interior of the wall was exposed, and on the south extension there was a short length of open wall, between Master Wyclif's chamber and the hall. I turned my steps in that direction.
The cobbled yard extended here to the wall. I studied the cobbles, and looked to the top of the wall. The stones were silent.