A Trail of Ink (8 page)

Kate was required to await my return outside the gate at the porter’s hut. No women are permitted in Canterbury Hall’s precincts so that the monks there remain unsullied by their presence. Some monks seem well sullied even without females at hand. But it is true, the sight of Kate might well cause a man to reconsider his vows.

I went to the guest chamber and from my box I drew two pouches. One contained the dried and pulverized seeds and root of hemp, the other dried, pounded lettuce. I returned forthwith to Kate, who surely felt out of place standing unaccompanied before the gate to Canterbury Hall. There were women of Grope Lane who stood so near Balliol College when I was a student. I did not wish Kate to be associated with their employment.

Together we hurried down Schidyard Street to the yarnspinner’s cottage. My patient sat where I left him. The yarnspinner stood behind with a length of brown hempen fabric. I asked the man for a cup of ale. He frowned at this added expense for his roof, but grudgingly entered his cottage and returned a moment later with what appeared to be a cup of well-watered ale. Watered or not, it would serve.

I emptied part of both pouches, hemp and lettuce, into the cup and stirred the mix with a splinter of broken reed from the thatchers’ work. This I gave Aymer to drink.

“This potion will dull the pain when I must prod your shoulder to see the bones set firm against one another,” I explained.

Aymer took the cup with his good hand and, watered though it was, drank the potion down with approval, and a belch when he had drained the cup.

“The remedy will take effect in an hour or so. I will have you wait upon the bench, your back to the cottage wall. Your friends may be about their work while you rest here. I will be about my business and return when ‘tis time to see to the injury.”

I saw one of the thatchers turn and grin toward the other. If the fellow deduced my business, it was no concern to me. I offered my arm to Kate and we set off down the muddy path to St Fridewide’s Lane, Fish Street, the water meadow, and the path along the Cherwell.

“Will the thatcher’s shoulder mend?” Kate asked as we stumbled across the stubble.

“Aye, does he do as he is told and leave his work so the fracture will heal.”

“So ‘tis a break, then?”

“I cannot be sure ‘til I feel my way across his shoulder.”

“And this examination will be painful?”

“Aye. But the hemp and lettuce potion will diminish the hurt. Some.”

We regained the path, and reversed our direction, walking in silence for a time along the stream, ducking under the occasional low-hanging willow branch.

“The theft you intend… when will you strike?” Kate asked.

“Soon, I think. Time lost in such a venture may never be reclaimed, and I have squandered much already.”

We came to the end of the path, where the Cherwell flows under the East Bridge, and turned to walk back through the Eastgate to the town and my patient.

“There is time,” I said, “to return you to your father before I see to the thatcher. Or, if you wish, you may accompany me while I see to him and we will return to Holywell Street after.”

“I will remain with you. I think my father had no pressing work for me this day.”

It was as I expected. When I put my fingers to Aymer’s collarbone I felt the fractured ends move under my touch. And the shoulder was swelling, turning red and purple beneath the skin. Aymer gasped as the broken bones grated against each other. I have used hemp and lettuce before, with good result. God provides much for men to ease their suffering in this world. But he has provided nothing which will end all suffering. So Aymer’s pain was less than might have been, but was real enough. Pain is God’s way of telling us not to do some things again. Surely Aymer, when he is next upon a roof, will take more care.

The break was clean, so far as my probing fingers could discover. I placed the fractured ends of the broken collarbone together so well as I could, which was not difficult, as the bone is but beneath the skin in that place. I also had in my pouch a vial of oil of rue, mixed with oil of ginger root. This concoction I rubbed gently about the thatcher’s swelling shoulder. Both rue and ginger relieve pain, but rue must not be applied alone or blisters will rise where it touches the skin, and the cure becomes worse than the complaint.

When I had the bones in place I set Aymer’s arm across his stomach and made a sling from the hempen home-spun the yarnspinner had produced. I supported Aymer’s arm in the sling, tied it behind his neck, and pronounced the work complete.

“You must take care to keep your arm in the sling ‘til St Stephen’s Day. You may then return to your work, but take care, even so. Where the bone has knit it will be weak for many months even after the sling may be discarded.”

“‘Til when?”

“You should be near good as new by Candlemas.”

The thatcher shrugged, and winced, as his injury taught him that he must in future express himself in another way.

“Ow much do I owe ye?” he asked, rising tentatively from his bench.

This thatcher was not a wealthy man. His chauces were torn from close contact with the reeds and stained, and his cotehardie was faded and threadbare. “Ha’penny for the potion, and a farthing to the yarnspinner for his ale and hempen cloth.”

It was now past noon, and my growling stomach reminded me of the time. I waited while the thatcher explored his purse for coins, and when he had done and placed a ha’penny in my hand I offered my arm to Kate and we set off for Holywell Street and her father’s shop.

“I fear this morning’s distraction will cause your father concern.”

“He will understand, when he learns the cause of our delay. After all, it was your skills gave him relief for the wound which troubled his back.”

“He may be concerned for his dinner.”

“There is a capon in the pot, which I set to stewing this morning. What of your dinner, Master Hugh?”

“I will return to Canterbury Hall.”

“It may be that the scholars there will have taken their meal already.”

“The cook will find something for me, I think.”

“The capon is fat. You shall dine with father and me.

Kate spoke this not as an invitation, but as a conviction. A capon seemed to me an improvement to the usual pottage and loaf at Canterbury Hall. I made no objection.

We walked through the Smithgate on to Holywell Street but forty paces from Caxton’s shop. As we did a figure appeared in the door, leaving the place. The man was tall, with a close-trimmed dark beard, wore particolored chauces, a green cotehardie, and a yellow liripipe coiled about his head.

Sir Simon Trillowe saw us approach and frowned mightily, so that his dark brows met above his nose. He took no step in our direction but stood fast before the shop and observed us through narrowed eyes.

“Sir Simon,” I greeted him with a bow.

Trillowe made no reply to me, but turned to Kate and spoke. “Mistress Kate… your father said you were out. Perhaps I am too late to ask if we might walk again along the Cherwell?”

“Aye, Sir Simon. I am needed this afternoon in the shop.”

Trillowe smiled grimly at Kate, glared at me, and strode west toward Canditch and the castle.

It was well past noon and the bell at the Augustinian Friary rang for nones when Kate, her father, and I sat at the workroom table for our dinner. The capon had stewed all morning in a broth with turnips and leeks and was delicious. I did not wish to be thought a glutton, so contented myself with a modest portion. But when I had finished Kate spooned out another helping to my bowl. I protested, but she knew it was but for courtesy and ladled the bowl full. Robert Caxton looked up from his own spoon with a benign expression. I was pleased that the stationer did not seem to think I was presuming upon either his dinner or his good nature.

While we ate Kate told her father of the injured thatcher and my ministrations to him.

“‘Tis a good thing to be able to help men so,” Caxton affirmed between bites of turnip. “My back seems now good as ever since you drew the splinter from it.”

“Father kept the splinter,” Kate laughed, “and shows it to all who are willing to hear the tale of his wound.”

I was pleased to learn that word of my skills might thus become known, but it seems unlikely that an injured man would forsake the physicians and surgeons of Oxford to seek me at Bampton. It is good when men speak well of you, even if no profit follow.

I was reluctant to leave the stationer’s shop when the meal was done. Had you seen Kate and spent time in her presence you would understand. I have written these words before. They bear repeating. And lurking in my mind was an apprehension that Sir Simon might return while I was away.

Nevertheless I bid Kate and her father “good bye” - after praising the meal. Kate can cause a man to forget himself, but I kept enough of my wits about me that I remembered to thank her for dinner.

Only after I left the stationer’s shop did I think of Arthur. I have written that Kate had such an effect upon me. Perhaps Arthur had gone to the stables behind the Stag and Hounds and seen to our horses. Then he might have dined at the inn. Or perhaps he returned to Canterbury Hall and was fed there. I set my feet toward Canterbury Hall. If I did not find Arthur there, he might return later and find me.

I found him. Arthur had drawn a bench from the guest chamber and sat upon it against the chamber wall, drowsing in the afternoon sun. I might have some worry for his welfare, but it was clear he had little concern for mine. Considering the company in which he last saw me, this was understandable.

Arthur became aware of my approach, and jerked upright when he saw me. He seemed abashed that I had found him lazing in the sun, but I hold nothing against a man who seeks the simple pleasures God provides when no duty calls him.

“Are the horses well?” I asked.

“Aye. They be fine. An’ Mistress Kate?” Arthur grinned.

“Likewise. There are more stationers in Oxford than when I last resided in the town. I must copy two more lists.”

“What do you want of me? Can’t serve with copyin .

Arthur has many skills, but dealing with books and words on a page are not among them. I thought of another employment for him.

“Go to Northgate Street, and perhaps the castle foregate, and keep your ears open. It seems unlikely that a despoiler of books would seek to sell them there. But I have few other plans. Perhaps a careless thief may let a word slip, and it be repeated.”

Many days had passed since the theft. If a robber wished to sell his plunder he would surely do so straightaway, not wait near a fortnight. Or would he? I had no better notion, so Arthur set off and I went to the guest chamber to copy two more lists.

I might have saved ink, parchment, and time. The stationers to whom I took the lists had not been presented any of the books registered, although both gave ready assurance that, should a volume from the list be offered, they would report the business to me at Canterbury Hall. I had no reason to doubt their word, but it occurred to me as I departed the second stationer on Great Bailey Street that, for a share of the profit, a man might close his eyes to the misdeeds of a felon. There was little I could do about that. No man can change the nature of another. Only the Lord Christ can do so, and then only if the one whose soul is altered be willing.

There was again a pease pottage with leeks and maslin loaves for supper. I thought of the meal I might have enjoyed at Bampton Castle had I supped there rather than Canterbury Hall. But was I in Bampton I would not have enjoyed time and dinner with Kate Caxton. Most things worthwhile have a price.

The Angelus Bell ringing from the Priory Church of St Frideswide awoke me next morning. The tolling had not the same effect on Arthur. The man could sleep through our Lord’s return.

I had become accustomed to breaking my fast with cheese and a loaf fresh from the Bampton Castle oven. I did not enjoy setting about my day with an empty stomach. Arthur agreed on this matter, but while we were guests at Canterbury Hall we must observe the regimen. This was to me further proof that I had made the proper choice when I decided I would not seek a position in the Church. Although I suppose as secular clergy with my own parish I might eat when I chose.

This day I decided to visit the monastic houses in Oxford to learn if any had recently been offered books. I sent Arthur again to the marketplace and castle foregate to listen.

The great Benedictine House in Oxford is Gloucester College. I set my feet for Stockwell Street, and arrived as the chapel bell chimed for Terce. I waited until the service was done, then sought the college librarian. The monk in charge of the college volumes was a genial fellow, well fed, who peered at me with watery eyes made weak from much attention to his manuscripts.

I did not think it necessary to provide such a man with a list of Wyclif’s stolen books. He would be familiar with all the missing volumes, and most assuredly his library would include the missing titles, with the possible exception of Bede’s work, which is rare and valuable.

The fellow had been offered no books, as I expected. But he readily agreed to send word to Canterbury Hall should he be approached to buy.

I returned to the Hall for my dinner. Arthur was there before me, and eager for his meal, which this day was not a pottage, but egg leaches for a first remove and eels baked in ginger for the second remove. This was a pleasant change from the Hall’s normal fare. Arthur approved. He grinned at me from the far end of the table, his cheeks bulging with eels. A groom at Bampton Castle might share in egg leaches, but would never enjoy eels in ginger.