the Barking that’s east of London?”
“Yes. There are only ruins left of it now, but it used to be enormous. Had its own farm, granaries, kilns, mills and so on. They used to make high-quality clay pots, or maybe it was glass pots, and sell them. A chap from London University’s doing a paper on those now. Very busy place, lots of work: the nuns had men there, living in separate quarters - they did the heavy labouring for them.”
Nielsen stood up and started gathering the materials on the table. “You have been most helpful, sir. Thank you for your time.”
“Glad to. It was actually very interesting. It’s very close to the field I specialise in.”
“Very good. But please, I must ask you not to tell anyone about what you have read. It is a most important matter.”
“May I ask why? It all seems pretty harmless.”
Nielsen refused to comment. He walked me to the swing doors at the station entrance and thanked me again.
* * *
As I mounted my bicycle, I looked at my watch. I’d spent three and a half hours inside, and was exhausted.
I cycled slowly back down Crawford Road, thinking hard. The documents were intrinsically fascinating to me. I’d never seen any like those. But why would a detective care what was in them? Beyond the question of their authenticity, Nielsen seemed scarcely bothered by their historical significance. It had to be the wolf. Yes, it was absurdly unlikely that the seventh-century jet wolf stolen from the college could not be the same seventh-century jet wolf from the bishop’s letter. But certain as I was of that, it still didn’t completely make sense: if Nielsen couldn’t read Latin, how on earth did he know that the wolf was mentioned in the document? Did someone tell him? They must have - he did know something - but then he still needed a translator, as though he knew almost nothing.
The harsh interview room light had given me a headache, and I was soon tired of thinking. The hot sun was fading at last, washing the now woolly sky with wonderful lemons and oranges, and the streets were peaceful, grateful for the passing of the day. As I pedalled, the wind felt soothing on my face, and I looked forward to a good sleep.
7
“Arminius retreated into pathless country. Germanicus
followed … Arminius first ordered his men to fall back on
the woods in close order. Then he suddenly wheeled them
around and a force he had secretly posted in the forest was
given the order to charge.”
The Roman general Germanicus
is baited by the fugitive Arminuis in Germany, 15 AD.
Annals of Imperial Rome
On Thursday morning I got up early. It was cloudy, and very hot again, so I went swimming at the baths on Corby Street.
Swimming is a superb sport. It can strengthen one immensely, especially in the chest and arms, and is excellent for fitness. This sport is gentle on the body too, the perfect way to stay fit when I am nursing an injury from rugger or boxing. I swim four or five mornings a week in summer.
I swam the six-beat crawl for nearly an hour, back and forth relentlessly with strong, steady strokes, breathing well. But there were shadows on my good mood, for I could not suppress persistent questions about Claude and the stolen wolf.
Yes, I am a trained scholar. I am trained to find answers. And at this moment I had none. I was curious, very curious on several levels. Were the police still suspicious of Claude? Were they under pressure from the public, and looking for a scapegoat? Did the theft have anything else to do with the letters that I had read the night before?
* * *
As I towelled myself off in the changing rooms, Monsignor Charles Hough, a keen fellow summer-swimmer, began a conversation with me. Until a few years ago, the monsignor had tutored history, theology, Greek and Latin at St Matthew’s. He had been an academic mentor to me since I’d arrived in Allminster.
“How’s the doctorate, nearly done?” The monsignor had a highly educated accent, though one could detect a trace of Northern in it if one listened carefully.
“Getting there. Bit snowed under with other stuff. I’ve been thinking I could do with your help again, Monsignor.”
“I’d be delighted. What sort of help do you need?”
“Not nearly as much as last time. I’d like to borrow Freeman’s Norman Conquest again, if it won’t inconvenience you.”
“Inconvenience me? My dear boy, I don’t think I’ve even picked it up for months. How about you come by the presbytery on Monday afternoon?”
“Only if it’s not too much bother. I know how busy you are.”
“Not at all! Let’s make it four o’clock Monday, shall we? You can always ring me if you change your plans.”
We chatted for a while about the doctorate before settling into news of the college’s staff members. Then: “I meant to ask you on Friday,” said Hough, “about a Humphrey Miller from the Archaeology Department at St Matthew’s. He’s about your age, thirtyish. Do you know him at all?”
I thought for a moment. Through Claude and Tiernan, most of the names in the department were familiar to me, but I could not place Humphrey Miller. The only other man our age that I knew of in archaeology was Alan Reardon, the asocial, bookish specialist in Middle Eastern archaeology who lived at the college in rooms next to Tiernan’s. “No, I don’t think I’ve even heard of him. Perhaps he’s new, Monsignor.”
“Yes, perhaps that’s it. I just thought you might know him. But no-one at the department seems to know who he is.”
I thought for another moment. The monsignor had been so generous to me with his time. In February he’d practically devoted a whole month to straightening out my doctorate.
Here was a small chance for me to help him.
“Look, I’ll be at St Matt’s all day today. If it’s important, I could ask around for you. There’s bound to be someone there who knows him.”
“It is important. He said he had something of particular interest to me. Would you mind? I’m wearing out my welcome there.”
“I’d be more than happy to. What would you like me to do?”
“If you can find him, just tell him that I’ll be waiting for him at my presbytery at three today, as we arranged.”
I assured the monsignor I would. I finished dressing, and rode back to the college to dress for breakfast in Hall.
* * *
Once I had changed into something civilised and put my don’s
