"Aye. What's all this about?" The yarn-spinner peered at Master John. "You be of Canterbury Hall?"
"I am," Wyclif replied.
"Thought I seen you there. Does the Hall need a ladder, the thatcher won't mind yer usin" is… won't know of it anyway, so long as you bring it back."
The four of us passed the corner of the house and gazed upon the ladder. "Is it as it was when the thatcher left it?" I asked.
"Can't say. Paid no mind." The puzzled expression returned to the fellow's face as he realized we intended to borrow no ladder. An explanation was in order.
"Property has gone missing from Canterbury Hall. 'Tis possible some felon used a ladder to get over the wall, just there." I pointed to the wall, some twenty paces away.
Understanding, then apprehension washed across the yarn-spinner's countenance.
"I'm an honest man, an' no thief," he protested.
"We do not accuse you," I assured him, "but it's possible the stolen goods were taken by one who gained entrance to the Hall over the wall."
"An' so you want to know has the ladder been moved?" The yarn-spinner grasped my intent. "I been busy with work. Gave no thought to the thatcher's business… 'E hasn't begun yet, so…"
The man's voice trailed off with his thoughts.
"Have you seen, in the past fortnight, any man walking along the wall?"
"Nay. None pass there. Where would a man go did e walk behind me toft along that wall? His journey would lead 'im no place."
"No place an honest man need go," Arthur added.
We stood between the yarn-spinner's house and that of the cobbler as we discussed ladders and walls. While we spoke my gaze drifted over the town wall to the water meadow to the south and the willows lining the banks of the Cherwell. Two figures walked there; a woman dressed in a long cotehardie of blue, and a man wearing particolored chauces, a red cotehardie, and a cap ending in a long yellow liripipe. The couple were two hundred paces from me, and walking away, so I could not see their faces. I did not need to.
The sight of Kate and Sir Simon caused me to lose the thread of our conversation. The others noted this and followed my eyes to the south. We four stared at the strolling pair, and Arthur began to sing in a cracked voice, "It was a lover an' his lass, with a hey, with a ho, with a hey nonnny, nonny, no."
The yarn-spinner and Master John chuckled at this wit. Then Wyclif noticed my face and fell silent.
I turned my face from Kate Caxton to the riddle before me: Master John's missing books. Any man who had seen Mistress Kate might wonder that I was able to do so. Truth is, the resolve did not last long.
I have found it helpful when faced with a puzzle to write of events and possible solutions, placing my thoughts on parchment. Doing so keeps my mind ordered, and some minor incident, when inked on parchment, can take on new significance.
So as Master Wyclif, Arthur, and I trudged along the wall and back to the porter and the gatehouse, I asked Master John for parchment, quill, and ink. Also for a table and bench. These were brought to the guest chamber. I set Arthur free for the afternoon, told Master John of my intent, and until the tenth hour sat scratching my thoughts on parchment. I wondered if I was wasting parchment. And yes, more than once my thoughts strayed to Kate Caxton.
Master John's books were gone, likely taken by more than one man. The porter, did he speak truthfully, saw no one enter the hall. The scholars, both monks and seculars, were at supper when the thieves struck. But these felons knew where to go, so some knowledge of the Hall might have been passed to them. Or perhaps the thieves were formerly attached to Canterbury Hall. Or perhaps they were simply in luck when they entered Master John's chamber.
Arthur's guess that a ladder was used to gain entrance had seemed worth pursuing, but when the wall and grounds about it were examined no sign of a ladder's use was found. Nevertheless, a ladder was readily available. But would a thief, intent on stealing Master John's books — a thing which must have been contemplated for many days — know that the thatcher's ladder would be conveniently propped against the yarn-spinner's house? Perhaps, if a ladder was used, the thieves brought their own, and the presence of the thatcher's ladder was but coincidence.
To what man would the books be most valuable? A scholar, surely. Or who would most like to see Master John bereft of his volumes? Oxford is a den of scholarly vipers, each seeking eminence above others. Did some master take this way to avenge himself against a slight from Wyclif?
"Too many folk here in a hurry," Arthur announced, breaking upon my thoughts as he entered the guest chamber. "Even on the Lord's Day, scurryin' 'ere an' there. Bampton be more to my likin'."
His remarks concluded, Arthur sat heavily upon the other bench and stared at me, then at the parchment before me. What I had written there was meaningless to him, but he peered at the writing with a confident expression, as if the mystery of stolen books could be explained through the mystery of writing.
I laid the quill aside, picked up the parchment, and told Arthur, "Here are no answers, only questions."
"An' when you find answers to the questions, you find books, eh?"
"Aye. And not all of the questions need answers. Only the proper questions must be explained."
"Trouble is," Arthur observed, "you don't know yet of the questions you writ which ones 'tis need answers. That right?"
"Aye. I must choose what I will search for first — books, or the thief who plundered them. If I find the thief, I will then find the books. But the act of thievery is past, so how I am to trace the felon I do not know. If I find the books, I might then learn who it was who took them, and how, for the books are surely not destroyed, and are searchable."
"Seems to me," Arthur replied, "what Master Wyclif wants most is his books. Did he never know the thief he'll be satisfied, long as 'e has 'is books. T'other hand, 'e'd not be pleased to know who 'twas took 'em did 'e never see em again."
Arthur made sense. Find the books. See justice for the thief after. If the books were ever offered for sale, my work would be easier. If they had become part of some scholar's library, I must fail. How could I inspect every library in every house and hall and college in Oxford?
The first thing to do was to visit the stationers of Oxford and leave with each a list of the stolen volumes. I sought Master John and procured another sheet of parchment upon which I made seven lists of the stolen works. This business I did not conclude until the sun was below Oxford's rooftops and the bell rang for supper. I include the list:
Rhetoric: Aristotle
Perspective: Witelo
Institutes: Priscian
Categories: Aristotle
Ethics: Aristotle
Metaphysics: Aristotle
Sentences: Lombard
Topics, Books 1, 2, and 3: Boethius
Topics, Book 4: Boethius
Elements: Euclid
Almagest: Ptolemy
Historia Scholastica: Comestar
Commentary on Aristotle's "Physics": Grosseteste
Commentary on Posterior Analytics: Grosseteste
De causa dei: Bradwardine
Holy Bible
De Actibus Animae: Wyclif
De Logica, three volumes: Wyclif
Borrowed:
Moralia on Job: Gregory the Great
Historia Ecclesiastica: Bede
Arthur and I set off Monday morning to visit the stationers and booksellers of Oxford. Of such establishments there had been six when I was a lad at Balliol College. I assumed Caxton's shop would make seven. I was wrong.
I determined to visit the other stationers first, as I hoped there might be other business to detain me at Caxton's. I left the sixth list at a shop on the Northgate Street, and passed two other stationers new to me before Arthur and I arrived at Holywell Street before Caxton's open shutters. I must copy two more lists.