A Corpse at St. Andrew's Chapel by Mel Starr

Author:Mel Starr [Starr, Mel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9781854249548
Publisher: Monarch Books
Published: 2009-05-15T07:06:52+00:00

Chapter 10

I planted my feet on the cold flags of my chamber as soon as dawn lightened my window. The cook was surprised to see me, as I am not usually early from my bed. There was a warm wheaten loaf fresh from the oven, and cheese and ale, for my breakfast.

I searched out John Holcutt while the marshalsea prepared Bruce, and told him of my journey. He would serve as Lord Gilbert’s agent in my absence, which I planned to take but two days. A trip to Oxford and back might be completed in one day, on a younger horse, by a competent rider, who did not mind arriving home after dark. But Bruce was aged, and my skills at horsemanship are meager, and I remembered clearly the last time I rode at night alone. And there was more I wished to do in Oxford than purchase ink and parchment.

There is much profit in a springtime journey to Oxford. It was indeed a pleasant occupation to observe the countryside as Bruce ambled upon his way. Villagers were mostly at work in their tofts, as by this day in May the fields were all plowed and sown.

Birds darted from meadow to forest, completing nests. Even the oaks, last of the trees to achieve full foliage, seemed sure enough of the season to bring forth leaves.

The journey brought me nearer to Oxford, but no nearer to assembling the events of the past months into some coherent pattern. I gave up the attempt and turned myself to observing the approaching town as Bruce’s great hooves clattered across the Oxpen’s Road Bridge.

Some of my most agreeable memories involve Oxford. But some unpleasant memories of the place are yet green in my mind as well. The St Scholastica Day Riot, of which I took no part, but which drove me and many other students from the town, remains vivid in my mind’s eye. And as Bruce ambled past the castle and the old keep I thought back to the testimony I gave there before the king’s eyre which came near to sending an innocent man to the gallows. It is, perhaps, good to remember our errors. But perhaps not. Men seem to repeat their mistakes with some frequency. Is it forgetfulness or foolishness which is to blame?

I guided Bruce to the High Street, where I stabled the grateful beast at the Stag and Hounds. I relieved my hunger with a half capon. It is often comforting to note that the world continues day after day with little change. But the unimproved character of the food and ale at the Stag and Hounds did little to reassure me of the permanent nature of things. Capons are to be fat. Mine this day was stringy as an old rooster, which I suspect it was.

I was not much distressed to leave off gnawing at my meal and set my feet toward my first object in the town. I dodged illegal vendors and students on Cornmarket Street, turned east on Broad Street, and presented myself to the porter at Baliol College.

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