'I summon you to appear before the halimote to answer charges of treason and sedition brought against you by our lord bishop.'
The tinker swung round ... then his features relaxed.
'Holy Mother. You had me thinking you was for real.'
Richard released his hold.
'Have you got 'em, Tink?'
'What?'
'The papers.'
'They're in here,' the tinker tapped a wooden box.
'Any trouble?'
'Nah. I found a monk who was down on his luck.'
'Where was that?'
'In York ... so the English is a bit odd. But it's not as odd as what we got from Durham.'
'That wasn't just odd.' Richard pulled a face. 'It was like a foreign language. The holy sod should have left it in Latin. Then I could've borrowed the vicar's lexicon and worked it out for myself.'
'You might need a lexicon for some of this.' The tinker opened the box and removed a sheaf of papers. 'Whenever the reverend brother couldn't understand something he left it in the original.'
Richard took the papers and examined them one by one.
'What did you pay?'
'That's my secret, Master Vowell. What I paid is of no importance. What matters is what you're going to give me for them.'
Richard puckered his lips.
'Nine pence for the lot.'
'Master Vowell.' A pained expression appeared on the tinker's face. 'I cannot accept such a paltry sum.'
Richard continued to shuffle the papers.
'The handwriting's none too good.'
'Master Vowell. You have in your hands the gospels according to the saintly Paul. They are in the English tongue. You can discourse on them with learned friars ... cause the reverend gentlemen think you understand Latin.'
Richard nodded thoughtfully.
'Ten pence. Not a penny more.'
'Master Vowell. Think of the poor brother whose noble hand graces these fine pages. Imagine his anguish as he works by candlelight in his monastic cell, fearful of the terrible penalties that await those who translate the Holy Scriptures into the common tongue.'
'Eleven pence ... that's my final offer.'
'Master Vowell. Consider the risk I and my associates ran to bring these priceless treasures to you.'
'I said that was my final offer.'
Richard returned the papers to the box and walked away.
'A shilling.' The tinker ran after him. 'You can have 'em for a shilling.'
'Done.'
Richard pressed a silver coin into the tinker's hand.
'There you are, Tink ... a deal between gentlemen.'
The tinker placed the coin on his tongue and examined the edges. Satisfied that it had not been trimmed and tasted right, he put the coin in his pouch.