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so much, and rightly jumped to conclusions in seeing no good init.

Strictlyspeaking there was no need for subterfuge. So long as he did not employ orproduce, the terms of Samuel's 'exclusion' left him free to use his pension ashe wished. A spot of land speculation, particularly with the reclamationelement, would probably be smiled upon: a sign of useful occupation. All thesame, it was wise to err towards caution. This wasn't just any old bit of land,nor was he just any old person. The Church might harbour special memories abouteither. Thereagain, its centuries long concealment of what had been might havedraped even her own land registry in ignorance. That was devoutly to be hoped.If she had been too clever for her own good, it would make drawing her(gold) teeth extra sweet.

Butthere was no point speculating about it, he just had to wait.

Samuelwent to see if 'Dead-yet's tankard needed filling.

************

Itwas the length of the wait that should have warned him. Since the Registry wasalso a religious house, the monks saw swift reply to mountains of mail as partof their vows - and a valuable mortification. Yet Samuel waited and waited andheard nothing. Until:

‘To: Mr Samuel Melchizedek Trevan.

 C/O The Forge Inn.

  Welcombe.

   Devonshire.

    Wessex.

     England. 10th day of June,the year of our Salvation 1995.

 

Dear Mr Trevan.

Thank you for your (proxy) letter of the 25th March. Our reply is asfollows:

 

NO.

Your servant in Christ.

Philip Grimes. Senior Brother:Wessex: Stacks 17 - 23 inc.

From: The All-England Register of Land, Titles and Rights.

   The Monastery of StGeorge-of-the-Mark.

    Gosport.

     Hampshire.

      Wessex.

        England.'

Toilluminate that 'NO', to spend time on it with fine pens and colouredinks, and twirl its finials into fantastic shapes, that was pure insult.Gratuitous mockery. Likewise the passing over of his deceit without comment.They knew who’d written and they'd winged it back to him like a slap in theface.

Hetried to think of a proper response, but words weren't really adequate. Then,for once, inspiration struck when it was needed. He would derive valuefrom their reply.

Cruellytorturing the letter in his hand, Samuel headed for the privy.

************

TheLibrarian at Exeter was briefly informed of developments. There'd been asimilar occurrence back in his predecessor-but-two's time. Another searcher hadstumbled on the Polwerran text and also promptly quit the library he'd strivenso hard to join. He too had been written to, and ever after ate hisheart out, wondering how could they have known?

Thepolicy of trailing just one loose thread, one vague clue, was again vindicated.Either enquirers never found it and enquired in vain till patience gave out; orelse, whether by luck or judgement, entered the baited trap. Any request forthat one record was flagged up and investigated and monitored. Otherdepartments of Church and State (the Land Registry the very least amongst them)were told. To date it had never failed.

Asa true scholar the Librarian could hardly rejoice to see curiosity thwarted,but neither did he like his books being ransacked for mere material gain. Thatstruck him as misuse. Likewise, he'd long ago learnt that not all knowledge waswholesome, or pleasing adornment to the mind. There were many books in hiscustody that he wished he'd never read.

Thereforehe'd come to believe that it was partly his job - and a kindness - to concealas well as reveal. The Librarian was sure that one day (though perhaps not tillthe life-to-come) this Mr Trevan would bless him for what he'd done.

U[U[U[U[U[U[U

cHAPTER 24

It was the quiet that toldhim something was wrong. Nowadays Samuel lay in bed till all hours of the morning,the least of the bad habits drifted into during almost two years of indolence.

Greatevents had come and gone; the 'Commotion Times' attending the death of CharlesIV, the 'Agrarian Crusade' that struck down England's rising industrialist,land-enclosing, classes: they all passed Trevan by. Still marooned in obscurityat Welcombe, Samuel knew none of all the busy-ness was his business. He kepthimself occupied and he kept aloof. But even books and learning eventually palland now he mostly studied ceilings. It would be drink next without a doubt.

Onthe other hand he'd acquired mastery of the local routine. There was nothing hedidn't know about it - alas. So, though a gentleman of leisure himself,he expected the sounds of other people going to work. Today however, there wasno labourers' chatter along the road, no cart clatter, no tokens of animalsbeing ferried about. The absences accumulated into something noticeable; thehush which should have lulled him woke Samuel up.

Normalnoise from downstairs, a grate being cleared and plates going into the sink,confirmed the strangeness must still be outside. Samuel rolled from bed to goand have a look at it.

'It'was there, bold as brass, waiting for a look at him. The soldier,leaning on the garden fence and enjoying the sunshine, grinned and waved atSamuel. He was playing a game: it amused him.

Alerted,his comrades in a circle round the Forgemoved in.

Thedomestic sounds below were replaced by crashes and screams. In all too short aspace they were replaced by the thunder of heavy boots on the stairs.

Stillin his nightshirt, not given time to meet... whatever more fittingly attired,Samuel addressed the door. Somewhere he had a seax, the handysingle-blade knife Common Law permitted all Englishmen to bear, but he didn'tgo in search of it. The visitors - and perhaps story's end - would be upon himmomentarily. Better to meet them face-to-face than arse-up scrabbling aboutthrough your possessions.

Theydid knock - and then stood back: which said a lot about the company theykept. When no shot came from inside the caller returned to pressing the door,introducing a sabre into the gap to lift the latch. Suddenly, Samuel had lotsof company.

‘Post!’mocked the foremost, a grim giant whose whole face and tone was cruelty - andflicked a letter at him. Samuel was so surprised that he caught it.

Thebluecoats didn't seem inclined to mayhem, for all that it looked their stock intrade. They entered in but did no harm, content for the moment just to have himsafe. One began to sort through his clothes, selecting a mismatched ensemble.

‘Well,read it then!’ ordered the one blocking the open door.

Samuelhad calculated the odds on resistance or escape, and come to an answer

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