I

The early morning sun had stayed with the people of Oxford on that happy day, but its rays made no impact on the ice-white grass of the pastures between Christ Church College and the River Thames. After luncheon, Jane agreed to walk in the pastures with John, accompanied – at a distance – by his friend, Harry, her sister Maude, a page and the Mansfield sisters’ maid.

All but the maid were happy with this arrangement.

Jane Mansfield was happy to be with the strange John de Courcy, so tall and yet so gentle, so handsome and yet apparently unaware of his charms. Her younger sister, Maude, adored Harry Hopetoun more than anyone in the world. Their fathers had been friends as children and the tradition had continued with Maude and Harry. No one could argue with her as well as Harry, no one made her laugh as Harry did.

John smiled happily at Jane, offering her his arm, which was gladly taken. Harry and Maude, no longer children, kept a strict distance between themselves as they talked. The maid followed behind, complaining to the page about the cold.

“I wish it was always so cold, Jane,” John said, gazing at her, as they walked.

“Do you not like summer, John?”

“I do. But in summer you are not attired in red velvet that compliments the auburn glow of your hair…”

Jane laughed modestly, “Are you a poet as well as philosopher, John? ”

“Only in your–”

They both looked up as they heard a sound of shouting and galloping horses. A group of riders were fast approaching along the river bank, the metal of the horses’ shoes sparking on the hard ground.

“A race, sirs!” cried the page. “The gentlemen are racing!”

“Mercy!” said Maude. “This is madness! How can they make the horses gallop on this ice?”

The two front horses turned sharply up the avenue towards the college. As they did so the page jumped out with excitement, shouting and waving his arms about.

“Ice, sirs! There is ice!”

The third horse, disturbed by the sudden jumping of the boy, lost its balance on the frozen earth and ejected its rider, who fell hard to the ground. The figure of Philip Howard, Duke of Gloucester lay still, face down upon the earth. John and Harry rushed to him, carefully turning him over. John put an arm under his head and lifted him gently as Jane and her sister reached the scene. Jane took the Duke’s bare hand in hers and rubbed it, but yelped as she scratched her hand on his large, emerald ring.

The Duke opened his eyes and squinted at them for a few moments.

“Was that noise from you, my lady?”

“Sir! You are alive!”

“I am indeed. How come I to be lying on the ground? Where is my horse?”

The maid handed Jane the Duke’s glove and his cloak, both of which had come off in the fall. The Duke looked at them and then around himself.

“Your horse did not make the corner, sir. You fell. We were worried.”

“I thank you for your worry, my lady. John de Courcy, you are already meriting your patronage, I see! Thank you, and young Hopetoun.”

“Sir, it is nothing more than any would have done. We…”

“Uncle! What happened? Are you hurt? What did that idiot de Courcy do to scare your horse?” Edgar Hardridge had returned with the rest of the riders.

Jane frowned at him. “It was nothing to do with him, Edgar.”

“You have the audacity to call us ridiculous, when you treat a horse like that on icy ground, Hardridge?” Harry sneered at Edgar.

“Now, now, gentlemen.” The Duke held up a hand. “This is not the place for your rivalries. These kind people helped me, Edgar. I am alive, but I confess that I am not completely well. If one of you men could help me to my feet...” John and Harry jumped forward to help the Duke, who walked a few tentative steps to establish he was not so badly injured as he thought, retied his cloak and replaced the glove.

“Remember, Harry Hopetoun,” he said, getting on his horse, “that it was not just my nephew who was riding on the ice, but myself also. Would you say the same words to me?”

The Duke lifted an eyebrow at Harry whose face blushed red as he mumbled his apologies.

“No – you are right.” the Duke smiled, “You spoke the truth as the man of law you are. It was foolish of us, and ended in disgrace for me. But I will survive! Until tonight’s banquet then!” The Duke touched the horse’s flanks and set off at a gentle speed up the avenue.

Edgar held out his hand to Jane.

“Would you do me the honour of accepting a ride back to the college on my horse, Miss Mansfield? You must be shocked and tired.”

“No, sir, I thank you.” Jane shook her head at Edgar very pleasantly. “Our walk was interrupted by the accident and I would like to finish it.”

As John hurried to Jane’s side once more, Edgar turned away. He looked briefly at the page, smiling, then whipped his horse hard and galloped after his uncle.

II

Some hours later, as the final preparations for the evening’s banquet were completed, there was a great commotion in the Duke’s chambers. His thunderous voice could be heard shouting furiously, and servants were sent running to his aid.

After his fall from the horse, the Duke had retired to his bed in the company of two young 'ladies' Edgar had procured to distract him from his injuries. Alluring and well-practised in the arts of love, the two whores had succeeded in their mission: distracting the Duke for the entire afternoon, with only a brief respite when Tom, the mute servant, brought a platter of refreshments to the door.

It was when the Duke dressed himself for the banquet that the trouble started: he discovered that his Ducal ring, a jewel that had been in the Howard family for centuries, was not on the table where he had placed his pendant, bracelets and rings when the whores arrived. His instant suspicion was that one of them had stolen it, but after searching them intimately he was certain this was not the case. Nor could the servant, Tom, have taken it: he had not entered the room, but had passed the platter to one of the naked whores at the door.

This was when the servants were called and ordered to search the room from top to bottom, even looking for rat holes in case a rodent had taken the ring as the Duke cavorted with Edgar’s whores. There was nothing.

“Are you sure that you had the ring when you undressed, sir?” Edgar asked when he heard the furore. “Perhaps you lost it earlier in the day. When you fell from your horse, for instance?”

Suddenly, the Duke was not certain. Had he or had he not placed the ring on the table? It was true that his glove had come off when he fell from the horse – could the ring have come off at that moment too?

III

The vast banquet hall of Christ Church College was lit by a thousand candles, in the chandeliers, on mantelpieces, on tables, in every niche, and among the branches of green holly with red berries that decorated the walls for Christmas. Priceless tapestries inlaid with golden threads were glowing in their light. The few ladies were dressed in their most beautiful dresses, the men magnificent in velvet doublets, brocade breeches and fur-lined capes.

The air was alive with laughter and shouts: spirits were high, in all except the Duke. The Gloucester Ducal ring had been given to the first Duke by the King himself, and was the most prized of all the family treasures. Philip Howard had seen the ring shine on the hand of his father. To him it was the emblem of manhood, of all that he had wanted to be.

Almost the last to arrive was John de Courcy, who entered the hall out of breath, red-faced and with his hair in disorder. He was followed by the figure of Edgar and some of his friends, all smiling widely.

“You are late, sirs!” the Duke barked “What kept you? I am not in the mood to be kept waiting this evening.”

“Apologies, my lord,” said John. “Sir Edgar and some fellows of his thought it might be amusing to drop me in the fountain. I resisted, fortunately, or else I would have been a great deal later than I am.”

“This is not the time of year to give a man a ducking, Edgar.” the Duke snapped, “What were you thinking of?”

“It was only a game, uncle. We did not intend to drop him in the water, only to make it seem so!”

“If that was a game, I’m a rat’s arse,” hissed John angrily, trying to tidy himself. He took the seat of honour in between the Duke and Jane, who thankfully did not look as bad-tempered as his new patron did.

IV

The tables were piled high with chicken legs and pies, bread and oysters, which the guests ate hungrily as the Rhenish wine was poured, and then platters of roast meats that were first shown to the Duke for his approval before being placed on the table: succulent roast beef, legs of lamb and venison joined the feast. For dessert, there were tarts and gingerbread covered in gold leaf.

The Duke was in no humour for talking until he had eaten. Only then did he turn his attention to John, who had been deep in conversation with Jane Mansfield, magnificent in a bodice embroidered with yellow thread.

“So John de Courcy, what plans do you have for your studies now?” he asked, “Or is my new Scholar’s brilliant intellect to be monopolised by young ladies who tempt the Queen’s anger by dressing in yellow?”

Jane, hearing the Duke’s words, suppressed a smile. She knew that her dress was audacious, but how could a young woman obey Queen Elizabeth’s rules on ladies’ clothing? The queen had only made the rules so that nobody should be as resplendent as herself. But if the ageing queen was not there to see, and a young girl’s beau was…?

“Maybe the lovely Jane should pay more attention to my nephew, Sir Edgar.” the Duke smiled, “As the wife of a noble you would be free to wear gold and silver threads, Miss Mansfield.”

“It is true, sir, that only a noble’s wife is free to dress so. But surely you do not think I pay attention to any man other than my father?”

“Ha! Do you hear that, Edgar?” the Duke laughed, “Mistress Jane knows how to play the game!”

John saw Jane blush deeply and felt the rush of blood to his own head as he resisted the desire to reprimand the Duke for his familiarity.

“Speaking of games, uncle,” Edgar answered, “is it not time for some amusements? What say you to a little sport?”

The Duke, who was always in favour of such things, especially after a few cups of wine, slapped the table with his hand, silencing the hall. “An excellent suggestion! My spirits are returning! What game would you have us play, nephew?”

“Let me think, my lord...” Sir Edgar replied, “I have it! Now, for the game I have in mind, everyone must place their hands upon the table.”

The Duke led the way, placing his two large hands on the table, palms down. Rapidly, the rest of the hall emulated him, the guests looking from one to another in amused anticipation of the game to follow.

“Now… Sir Wilbur!” Edgar called across the table to one of his close friends, “Kindly take one hand off the table and reach into the pocket of Sir Humphrey there beside you, and see what you can steal from him!”

The guests began to laugh at the direction the game was taking. Sir Wilbur’s hand reached into his friend’s pocket and produced a tobacco pouch. A cheer went up around the room as he held it up for all to see.

“Now you, Humphrey!” Edgar laughed, “What is in your neighbour’s pocket?”

And so the game continued along the table. Tobacco, pipes, herbs, potions and kerchiefs appeared from the pockets of gentlemen and ladies.

“What! Are you all so sick in Oxford that you carry potions?” the Duke frowned as he pulled a vial of elixir from the pocket of Dean Mansfield.

“The air in town is pestilential, my lord,” said John by his side. “It is true that many are sick as a result.”

“Well, you’ll find no such thing in my pocket, young Scholar! Game on, game on – it is your turn.”

John de Courcy reached tentatively into the Duke’s pocket, more than a little apprehensive of what he might find. He felt a soft leather pouch and the hall roared with amusement as he pulled out a bag of coins.

“My money, you scoundrel!” the Duke shouted over the noise. “Edgar, I trust that your game is only a game – I’ve already given this man thirty sovereigns today!”

“Of course it is only for jest, sire,” Edgar smiled. “De Courcy, put it down! Now, Miss Mansfield – it is your turn...”

Jane’s hand moved under the table to a chorus of whistles around the room. She smiled as her fingers felt inside John’s pocket, but then her brow furrowed and she turned to look at him, her eyes suddenly anxious as she opened her hand to reveal an object that brilliantly reflected the light of the thousand candles: a luminous gold and emerald ring.

V

John de Courcy stood nervously in an ante-chamber of the banqueting hall, guarded by two of the University bailiffs. Dean Mansfield sat in a heavy, wooden chair, while old Macebius, John’s tutor, kept to his feet. Edgar lounged against the wall, looking disinterested in the whole scene. Harry Hopetoun had entered quietly and stood half hidden by the curtain.

The Duke burst angrily into the room and began pacing up and down like some kind of predatory animal. No one spoke as a servant offered wine to all except John, and then left the room. The Duke stopped pacing, drank deeply from the goblet and swallowed.

“So, de Courcy?” he roared. “Have you nothing to say?”

“My lord, I do not know what to say. Apart from seeing the ring upon your hand, I have neither seen nor touched it at any time. I swear it.”

“And yet it is found within your pocket, on your person. Ha!” This was a different Duke to the one that John had known. This Duke was a soldier who thought nothing of killing, a merciless man of iron.

“I do maintain that, my lord, upon my honour!”

“Your honour, sir, has no great value at the moment.”

Wise Old Macebius cleared his throat, saying “If I may speak, my lord. I know this man and would like to say something.”

The Duke nodded. “As you will. I do not know how to proceed except to prison.”

Macebius spoke firmly, undaunted by the grandeur of the Duke. He had seen dukes before, and princes, and knew them to be men like any other in the eyes of God.

“Firstly, as I said, I know John de Courcy to be an honest man. Second, and more important, he is in no way an idiot. Only an idiot would steal a precious ring and then carry it upon his person while he sits dining with the owner of that ring. Thirdly, he has no motive: today is the culmination of years of work for him, and he gained more by your patronage than he would gain by stealing the ring. Whatever the truth is of this matter, John de Courcy is the victim of a crime, not the perpetrator.”

“Yet I say he had both opportunity and motive,” Edgar spat venom from his tongue. He would not miss this chance to see his rival defeated. “Was it not de Courcy who happened to be by your lordship when you fell from your horse this afternoon? He could easily have taken the ring while you were senseless. As for why: he is a poor man of no fortune, in love with a lady beyond his means. We all know a man would do anything for love, is that not so, de Courcy?”

Edgar’s lips quivered in a victorious smile as he soaked in John’s discomfort in front of Jane’s father.

While John stood in the centre of the room, the Duke circled him like a wolf sizing up his prey. At last he stopped, standing face to face with him.

“I have an idea, de Courcy. I have listened to your Master Macebius. I know him to be a sensible man, and I know that you are famed as an honest man. But even honest men can be tempted. You had an opportunity to steal the ring and it was found upon your person. This does not look good, to any eyes.

But let us play a game of logic, as you academic men so like to play. Let us presume you are honest, as he says. Then you must prove that honesty. He says you are intelligent. Well then, I will give you five days of freedom – until Christmas – in which to use that intelligence to prove your innocence and deliver me the real criminal. If you are intelligent enough to be my Scholar, you will succeed. But if you fail, I will be without pity – for, in that case, either you are the thief or you have not the intelligence I hoped. Your punishment shall be gaol and ignominy. Do you accept my challenge?”

Master Macebius shook his head. John’s face was grey with shock.

“I have no choice sir.”

“Come, come. You can do better than that.” the Duke retorted, “Be a man! You de Courcys may be honest, but we must teach you some spirit. If you are innocent, as old Macebius says you must be, then fight for that innocence, sir!”

“Yes, sir. I will, sir.”

“Good, then I will see you in the great Hall five days hence.”

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About the author 

Philippa Boston