hastened forth from his dwelling in order to restrain them in defiance of the state of arrest under which he had been placed. When Champniss saw him run into the building he feared for his life and himself hurried thither in order to remonstrate with the soldiers. When he rounded the corner of the building a minute or two later he found the Dean kneeling on the ground in front of the soldiers clutching a document and praying. Champniss heard him begging aloud for God’s forgiveness for his murderers – one of whom was a mere boy who was in tears. As Champniss came up to him, the Dean saw him and urged him away with his hand. Two of the soldiers seized Champniss and forced him away from that place and just at that moment he saw an officer approaching who he knew bore a grudge against the Dean which was wholly unjustified. As he turned the corner a few seconds later he heard the discharge of two or three pieces. Even as the old man recounted this incident that happened about twenty years ago, he was in tears.
I broke off. The implication is clearly that the officer himself ordered the Dean’s death, is it not?’
‘The image Pepperdine presents is so emblematic that it arouses suspicion.’ Dr Locard compressed his lips in an ironic smile. ‘Do you know the work of Charles Landseer?’ I nodded. ‘It would suit his mawkish sentimentality, would it not? Even to the sobbing boy-soldier for there is usually a good-looking lad in his pictures. Can you not imagine a canvas called “The Dean of Thurchester prays for his murderers”?’
I smiled. ‘But even allowing that the old man was partial, that does not discredit his account.’
‘Of course not. But it is also possible that Pepperdine is misreporting the old gentleman’s words.’
‘I can’t imagine any reason why he would do that.’
The Librarian regarded me speculatively for a moment. ‘Really? My principle as a historian, when I am faced with a conflict of evidence, is to work out what view of events each witness regarded it as being in his own interests to promote. That seems to me to be the best chance one has of arriving at the truth. So in this case, if Pepperdine was writing to a powerful Royalist he might have good reasons for weighting the story in the Dean’s favour, might he not?’
‘His correspondent, Giles Bullivant, was merely another scholar with no political influence. He and Pepperdine were interested in the transmission of classical texts in the late middle ages, and that was why Pepperdine had come to the town. He was to be disappointed in his hopes because little had been done to sort out the manuscripts after the sacking of the Library.’
‘And I’m afraid that you will find that little has been done in the succeeding two centuries.’
I gazed at him in astonishment.
‘That is the literal truth. Nothing has been done to most of the manuscripts since they were roughly sorted out in 1643. What does he say about where he found the manuscript which interests you?’
‘He is exasperatingly imprecise:
I searched the upper floor of the Old Library and found nothing of interest. The manuscripts in the undercroft of the New Library are grievously disordered and it would be the work of many days, or even weeks, to examine them and not worth the labour since they seem to be for the most part records of the abbey in the old times
.’
I broke off. ‘Can you explain what he means?’
He smiled. ‘I will show you, for very little has changed since he wrote those words.’
I shrugged my shoulders to express my surprise and continued with my account of the letter. ‘Then he writes:
I chanced upon a manuscript of some interest, I suppose, to those who concern themselves with the early history of the uncouth tribes who ruled in this land in the age of darkness before the Conquest. It recounts – in woefully bad Latin – the story of a king whose former tutor is slain before his eyes by the heathen who have captured his capital, of
I broke off. The implication is clearly that the officer himself ordered the Dean’s death, is it not?’
‘The image Pepperdine presents is so emblematic that it arouses suspicion.’ Dr Locard compressed his lips in an ironic smile. ‘Do you know the work of Charles Landseer?’ I nodded. ‘It would suit his mawkish sentimentality, would it not? Even to the sobbing boy-soldier for there is usually a good-looking lad in his pictures. Can you not imagine a canvas called “The Dean of Thurchester prays for his murderers”?’
I smiled. ‘But even allowing that the old man was partial, that does not discredit his account.’
‘Of course not. But it is also possible that Pepperdine is misreporting the old gentleman’s words.’
‘I can’t imagine any reason why he would do that.’
The Librarian regarded me speculatively for a moment. ‘Really? My principle as a historian, when I am faced with a conflict of evidence, is to work out what view of events each witness regarded it as being in his own interests to promote. That seems to me to be the best chance one has of arriving at the truth. So in this case, if Pepperdine was writing to a powerful Royalist he might have good reasons for weighting the story in the Dean’s favour, might he not?’
‘His correspondent, Giles Bullivant, was merely another scholar with no political influence. He and Pepperdine were interested in the transmission of classical texts in the late middle ages, and that was why Pepperdine had come to the town. He was to be disappointed in his hopes because little had been done to sort out the manuscripts after the sacking of the Library.’
‘And I’m afraid that you will find that little has been done in the succeeding two centuries.’
I gazed at him in astonishment.
‘That is the literal truth. Nothing has been done to most of the manuscripts since they were roughly sorted out in 1643. What does he say about where he found the manuscript which interests you?’
‘He is exasperatingly imprecise:
I searched the upper floor of the Old Library and found nothing of interest. The manuscripts in the undercroft of the New Library are grievously disordered and it would be the work of many days, or even weeks, to examine them and not worth the labour since they seem to be for the most part records of the abbey in the old times
.’
I broke off. ‘Can you explain what he means?’
He smiled. ‘I will show you, for very little has changed since he wrote those words.’
I shrugged my shoulders to express my surprise and continued with my account of the letter. ‘Then he writes:
I chanced upon a manuscript of some interest, I suppose, to those who concern themselves with the early history of the uncouth tribes who ruled in this land in the age of darkness before the Conquest. It recounts – in woefully bad Latin – the story of a king whose former tutor is slain before his eyes by the heathen who have captured his capital, of
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