A Trail of Ink (13 page)

I walked with Arthur to the Stag and Hounds and saw him off to Bampton and the delivery of his happy announcement. I then set my feet to Holywell Street and was nearly there when from an alley off St Mildred’s Lane the thatcher appeared whose broken collarbone I had set. His left arm rested in the sling I made for him. He raised his right in greeting and bowed. I asked the fellow how he did.

“Not so well,” he replied.

“How so?”

“Can’t sleep… least not layin’ in me bed.”

“The injury is painful, then?”

“Aye. Do I lay on me back, the ache is fierce. ‘Tis but little better do I turn to me right side. So I sleep as I can, sittin’ in the straw upon the floor, me back against a wall.”

“I have some potions which may help. Call upon me at Canterbury Hall after the ninth hour and I will give you herbs which you may mix with ale before you go to your rest. They will allay the pain, perhaps enough that you will sleep.”

“‘Twould be a Christian thing, are you able to help me so. The broken ladder near did for me afore I set foot on the roof. Never fell from a roof before.”

“A break in the ladder?”

“Aye. ‘Twas whole when we left it aside the yarnspinner’s ‘ouse, but when I set it against the roof and went to climb, a rung dropped from under me and pitched me to the dirt.”

“What was amiss?”

“When I made the ladder I notched the sides, then bound the rungs to ‘em with thongs. One of the thongs was missm .

“And the ladder was whole when you took it to the yarnspinner’s house?”

Aye.

“Why did you not notice this when you began your climb?”

“Somebody bound the rung to the side with a cord of dirty yarn, so ‘twould seem all was as should be.”

“But the yarn would not hold a sturdy fellow like you?”

“Aye. Pitched me to the mud on me arse. No harm done. Not then.”

“You repaired the ladder?”

“Aye. An’ then got careless, like, on the roof.”

The thatcher winced to think of his error, tugged a forelock in respect, and turned away to set off toward Canditch and the Northgate. I stopped him.

“There were three of you at work on the yarnspinner’s roof. Perhaps one of the others replaced a weakened thong and thought it would serve.”

“Nay. Asked ‘em. Knew nothin’ of it.”

“What is your thought on the matter?”

“Some fellow used me ladder, broke it, an’ tried to mend it so’s none would know. Could’a broke me neck.”

“And this misuse occurred after you took the ladder to the yarnspinner’s cottage?”

“Must’ve. Me an’ me lads went up an’ down over an’ again before, to see what must be done on the roof. Didn’t give way then.”

“Well, I am sorry for your hurt, but pleased it was no worse. Come to Canterbury Hall after the ninth hour and I will have herbs ready which may help you rest.”

The man tugged his forelock again and left me to continue on my way to Kate. I had no special reason to call on her this day. A man pursuing a maid needs no reason to seek her presence. Indeed, reason might be an obstacle to love, not an aid. But I thought of a purpose for my visit as I approached Holywell Street.

Caxton smiled a greeting as I entered his shop and waved me through the door toward his workroom. I found Kate at the table, stitching a gathering of parchment to another. She peered up at me, then exclaimed, “Oh!”

She lifted her left thumb to her lips. My unannounced appearance had caused her to thrust the needle into her thumb. I wish it might be that she would always respond so to my presence. Not that she should stab thumb with needle, but that she might lose track of her occupation when I appear. Some day, and perhaps not long hence, my hair will cease growing and my belly may begin. Then my appearance will not be likely to cause her to grow careless of her work.

“I am sorry to startle you.”

“I, uh, did not expect you this day. Father said we would meet at St Peter’s-in-the-East on the morrow, there to pledge betrothal.”

“Aye. But I have no obligation this morning to draw me from Holywell Street, so I’d enjoy your company, if I may do so without interrupting any labor.”

“‘Tis no interruption. I can stitch a gathering and speak to my love at the same time.”

“Is there a word more pleasant?”

“Than what?” Kate asked.

“Love. You name me as your love. I think I will never hear so sweet a declaration.”

Kate blushed and returned to her stitching.

“Since we spoke last I have learned two new things.”

She looked up from her work, sucked again on her punctured thumb, and awaited news of recent discoveries.

“So, ‘tis not true,” I observed.

“What is not true?”

“That you can sew a gathering and listen to me as you do.”

Kate lay her work on the table. “Perhaps not,” she agreed. “Will this new knowledge help discover Master Wyclif’s books?”

“Mayhap. It’s too early in the search to know. But what I have learned bears further inquiry.”

I told her of Arthur’s discovery, and of the carters’ task; of the monk who hired the work, and the precautions taken so the monk’s chest would remain dry. I told her of meeting the injured thatcher, and of his mysteriously damaged ladder. Kate’s brow furrowed as I concluded the tale.

“When we walked beside the Cherwell you told me you suspected the thieves went over the wall with a ladder.”

“Aye.”

“But you could find no mark at the base of the wall to tell if this was so.”

“Aye.”

She was silent for a moment. “Perhaps there was a sign at the wall which you did not see, because you sought another.”

“How so?”

“You sought two cavities in the grass where a man might have stood a ladder.”

“I did, and found nothing.”

“Perhaps there may be, in the grass at the base of the wall, a bit of leather thong, snapped from the thatcher’s ladder. You did not seek such a thing, so might have overlooked it, even was it before your eyes.”

“‘Tis near time for dinner at Canterbury Hall. So soon as my meal is done I will go again to search the wall.”

The pottage at Canterbury Hall this day was not up to the usual standard. The lack of achievement startled me, as the usual standard was easily met. Perhaps it was bland because of the day. Saturday is, of course, a fast day, so no bits of pork hid in the bowl.

Master John peered at me from above his spoon throughout the meal. He is an impatient sort. Am I away from the Hall on his business, he will know what I may discover so soon as I pass the porter’s gate. There was no reason to leave him in suspense, so I told him of the carters’ work, Brother Michael of Eynsham, and the injured thatcher and his disjointed ladder.

“Brother Michael of Eynsham, you say?”

“Aye, so the carter’s wife did say. You know this monk?”

“We were students together at Balliol College.” Wyclif grimaced as he spoke.

“Your face,” I commented, “says more than your words.”

“We were not friends.”

“How so?”

“I had no reason to dislike the fellow when we first met, nor he me, as I know. But we were flint against steel from the first. Did I take one point in a disputation, Michael of Longridge took the contrary.”

“Did he do so with other scholars?”

`I cannot recall. It was twenty years and more past. Then, in our second year at Balliol another scholar noticed coins missing from his purse. There was reason to suspect Michael, ‘though I don’t now remember why. It was my idea to notch a penny, then see did it go missing. It did, and a few days later, when we were at an inn, Michael paid for his wine with the notched coin.”

“He was dismissed from Balliol?”

“Nay. He pleaded poverty, which was true enough. Promised to repay all. When he learned ‘twas my thought to notch the coin, he had more reason to dislike me, I think. ‘Twas Nicholas Map he stole from. Nicholas said he would make no trouble was he repaid, but the theft became known. The tale has followed Brother Michael, I think. He sought preferment, but is at Eynsham - a poor house, I am told.”

“Have you had discourse with him of late?”

“Nay. I’ve not seen the man for… ten years, perhaps.”

“I am about to search at the wall again,” I announced. “Will you come?”

“Nay. The scholars of Canterbury Hall await my wisdom. What do you seek at the wall?”

“Kate thought, did the thief use the thatcher’s ladder and damage it, some part of the broken thong used to fix the rungs to the poles might have fallen in the grass. This would be a confirmation, I think, of what we suspect, if such a bit of leather strapping be found.”

“Aye. I wish you success.”

We parted, I to the porter’s gate, Master John to the hall, where tables had been cleared and benches moved to turn the space into a place of learning.

I stepped into Schidyard Street and was surprised to see Kate awaiting me there. She smiled when I appeared. I wish it may always be, that her fair face will reflect joy when her eyes fall upon me. It will be my duty as husband, I think, to make it so.

“You are about to search the wall for a broken cord of leather?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“I was hopeful I might search with you. Four eyes are better than two, and seeking the solution to a mystery appeals more than stitching gatherings.”

“Your father can spare you from the work?”

“He must do so soon. He is seeking an apprentice to replace me.”

“Come. I will show you the place where the thieves, be that how they entered Canterbury Hall, must have come over the wall.”

Two thatchers were busy at the yarnspinner’s cottage, their work protracted due to the loss of one of their number. They looked up from their work as we skirted the wall. As I think back on the moment, it was probably not “we” they observed so intently. Being in Kate’s company brings a man more attention than he might otherwise receive. And perhaps, more than he might want. I considered this and made note to myself that, was there a time I wished to be incognito, I must not be in Kate’s company. Or would she be a successful distraction? What man, beholding Kate, would remember her unremarkable companion?

While I considered this we reached the place where, if a ladder was used to scale the enclosure, it would have been placed.

The thatchers got little work done for the next half-hour. Each time I looked from the grass to the yarnspinner’s roof, I found them studying me. Or studying Kate, which was more likely. I found occasion to study her myself. Had I been more alert to my business I might have found the leather thong. But it was Kate who did so.

The leather strip was far back from the wall, five paces or so, well away from where any ladder might have stood. As if, in a fury, whoso had broken the thong then flung it away in anger.

Kate held the slender strip of leather above her head and laughed in satisfaction. It is not often a woman is allowed triumph over a man. I smiled at her sport, and thought as how a bailiff might be well served to have an observant wife.

Kate held the thong out to me. There was but one more thing to do with it. I carried it to the yarnspinner’s home, where the ladder stood propped against the north wall. The thatchers watched me approach, then one recognized me as the surgeon who had treated their companion. He shouted a greeting from the roof, loosened his rope harness, and slid to the top of the ladder. Kate and I met him as his feet struck the ground.

“You be the leech what set Aymer’s shoulder to rights,” he declared.

“Aye. I saw him this day. The injury troubles him.”

“It does. He’ll be more careful, like, on a roof, next job.”

“He is to come to Canterbury Hall this afternoon for some herbs which will dull the ache and perhaps grant sleep.”

“‘E’ll be grateful, can you do that.”

“He told me also that he was pitched from this ladder when you first set to work here.”

“‘E was,” the thatcher laughed. “On ‘is arse in the mud. Splutterin’ curses, ‘e was.”

“A thong was missing, he said, and the rung fastened with but a length of yarn, dirtied so it would appear to be a strip of leather.”

“‘At’s right.”

My eyes traveled to the ladder. A new thong, lighter in color than the others, marked the repair. I held out the broken thong found in the grass. The thatcher peered at it, then at his ladder.

“The lass found this in the grass between here and the wall about Canterbury Hall. A match for the others, would you agree… but for the new repair.”

“Aye, ‘tis. But why was it there?”

“Someone may have used your ladder to go over the wall and commit theft.”

“Must’ve torn the thong on the way down,” the thatcher mused.

Aymer Thatcher appeared around the corner where Canterbury Hall meets St John’s Street. I turned to greet him, showed him the broken thong, and bid him follow Kate and me to the porter’s gate. I have had good result in treating the pain of injuries with a potion of wild lettuce and hemp seeds and root. Mixed with ale, these herbs bring sleep and allay much affliction. I might have included seeds of columbine, but I mistrust the use, for too much is poison. A man in great pain might be tempted to take more than he was advised. Then all pain, and his life, would be ended.

I left Kate and the thatcher at the gate, found my pouch in the guest chamber, and poured generous portions of the herbs into a bottle, which I sealed with a wooden plug. In my pouch was also a small vial of flax-seed oil mixed with the oil of monk’s hood. The concoction is potent in relieving aches when rubbed on the afflicted joint, but deadly if consumed.

I found the thatcher leaning against the wall, and Kate also, pressed close to the stones. Her brow was furrowed, her face pale. My first thought was that this thatcher had made free with his tongue while I was seeing to his relief. I was about to speak sharply to the fellow when, following Kate’s gaze, I saw two men sauntering down St John’s Street toward Canterbury Hall: Sir Simon Trillowe and a youth I took to be his squire.

I handed the bottle of herbs and vial of oil to Aymer and was about to instruct him in their use when Sir Simon’s path brought him before us. He stopped, stared at me, then Kate, then back to me. He smiled. No, he smirked, and finally spoke.