As the Sparks Fly Upward (9 page)

Colin had to hurry to keep up with Traverson's long paces and when they turned to enter one of the ivy-covered buildings, he asked, “Is the master hard?”

“A demon! He assumes every one of his students is an idiot—and in some cases, he's not far off. Step lively, now!”

The two entered a large room illuminated by beams of light from high windows. Colin's glance took in the dozen or so students, then focused on the master. He felt his arm grasped firmly as Traverson pulled him up to the bulky man, who stared at him with a pair of gimlet eyes. “Professor Biddle, this is a new scholar for you. His name is Colin Winslow.”

“Ah, Winslow, is it?” Biddle had deep growl of a voice and examined Colin for a long moment before demanding, “You're the son of Baron Winslow of Stoneybrook?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I've found that the sons of earls and dukes and barons are just as empty-headed as the sons of butchers. Your father's title won't get you any credit with me!”

Colin was speechless. Then, feeling Knox's grip pulling him away, he went at once to a place at one of the long tables. One of the scholars was a hulking fellow with muddy brown eyes. He leaned over to whisper, “The Honorable Mr. Winslow, is it? We'll have some fun with this one, Simon!”

“He looks like a plucked chicken, don't he, Ives?” The speaker was a thin individual with hazel eyes and a smirk on his narrow lips. He glared at Colin, saying, “You know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking you won't make it here.”

Knox said shortly, “Ives, put a lid on it—and you too, Simon.”

“You have much to say, Mr. Traverson,” Biddle's voice cut into the silence. “Suppose you amaze us by translating this line:
‘Emas, non quod opus est, sed quod necesse est: quod non opus est, asse carum est.'
”

Colin glanced at Knox and saw that he was at a total loss.

“I—I think it's something about—about a dog,” Knox stammered.

“You are as ignorant as ever, Traverson!” Biddle snapped. “But I am sure Mr. Lofton can enlighten us.”

Lofton, Colin saw, was the hulking fellow to his right—and his face was a blank.

“No? Why does that not surprise me? What about you, Mr. Simon Matthews? No? I thought not! You are three dunces! You will each translate fifty lines to be handed in tomorrow!”

Biddle glared around the room and informed his pupils that they were as ignorant a crew as ever drew breath. Finally his eyes fell on Colin and he snarled, “Well, Winslow, I don't have any hope that you are any different from your fellow clowns. Can you translate just one word of the quotation which your fellows cannot?”

Colin rose and said, “Yes, sir, I think I can.”

Biddle stared at Colin in disbelief, then snapped, “I suppose I must give you the lines again?”

“No, sir, I remember them,” Colin said.” ‘Buy not what you can use, but what you cannot do without. What you do not need is dear at any price.'”

Biddle stared at Colin as if the young man had fallen from the moon into his classroom. He cleared his throat and asked, “And do you happen to know who is the author of the lines?”

“I believe it was Cato, sir.” Colin felt a touch on his leg and looked over to see a frown on Traverson's face, and when he nodded slightly, Colin turned to see that both Ives Lofton and
Simon Matthews were glaring at him with hatred in their eyes.
I shouldn't have answered the professor! But—it's too late to take it back.

“Well, now, Winslow. How old are you?”

“Sixteen, sir.”

“Now how does it happen that you are a Latin scholar?”

“My father loves Latin, sir, and he taught me.”

“Hmmm. Well, evidently Lord Stoneybrook is a fine teacher. You don't belong in this form, but in a much higher one. However, I will keep you here, young man. You will give me some relief from the abysmal ignorance in this class. You will assist the duller fellows—especially my three pets, Mr. Traverson, Mr. Ives, and Mr. Matthews.”

“But, sir, I don't feel—”

Biddle cut off Colin's protest with a chop of his meaty hand. “You will do as I say, Mr. Winslow! In the church and elsewhere you will obey God, but in this class you will obey
me
!”

The remainder of the time in the classroom was torture for Colin. Professor Biddle used him as a weapon to humiliate any student who faltered, and by the time Biddle dismissed the class, Colin had no hope that he would ever have a friend in Latin One.

Simon Matthews stood and glared at Colin. “You'll be sorry you made the rest of us look bad.” He turned and left, and Colin turned to Traverson. “I guess I made a mistake, didn't I?”

“Yes, but it's too late to try to look dumb. Just stay away from Simon and Ives as best you can.”

“I hate that fellow! He's been here two months, and he's made us look like clods!” Ives Lofton shot a glance of hatred at Colin Winslow, who was walking across the commons with Knox Traverson. “I'd like to slit his bloody throat!”

“We can't do that, Lofton,” Simon Matthews said. He had been leaning against one of the columns that supported a walkway,
but he straightened up, and his eyes followed the pair as they entered a two-story building covered with ivy. “The fellow isn't worth hanging for, but I've had enough of him. Thinks he's somebody special! He's got all the faculty fooled, even Master Chadburn. The old fool is so proud of Winslow, always pointing him out as just what an Oxford man ought to be.”

“I say we catch him out after dark, Matthews, and beat him so bad he won't be able to walk.” Lofton's eyes gleamed as he took pleasure in describing ways to hurt young Winslow. “We can wear masks, and nobody will know it was us who did it.”

“No, it's too risky. Everybody knows we hate him. We'd be the first ones they'd look for.” A sly smile crossed Matthews's face. “I've been thinking about a way to get at him, and I think I've got it.”

Lofton grinned, “You always were one for planning, Simon. What's the scheme?”

“It'll take a little acting on our part, Ives, but if we play it right, we'll fix Winslow good! Now, here's what we do . . .”

Colin had been at Oxford for two months, and the early misery had faded to some extent. He had been shocked to discover how easy the studies were—at least for him. His phenomenal memory served him well, and he excelled in all his classes. But he missed being in the woods, and next to his family he missed Meg Caradoc most. He had not realized how fond of Meg he had become, and he determined to see her as soon as vacation came.

The first month had been the hardest, for some of the older students could not forgive him for earning good marks so easily. But his quiet ways and lack of pride made a difference, and he made a point of helping those who were struggling. Some of the older students had made life hard for Colin, but he expected this. Lofton and Matthews had been the worst of his tormentors, but it seemed that lately even they had mitigated their efforts to
hurt him. Knox Traverson was his best friend, and the two of them spent much time together.

He knew that he would never love Oxford, and he had no clue as to what he would do with his life. He had no preference for any of the professions that a young man should choose. He hated the idea of the law and had no inclination for the church. Some young men went into the army, but Colin knew himself unfit for that life.

The choice of a profession pressed on Colin greatly, and one afternoon he made his way to the large fountains that threw up a beautiful spray, the drops glittering like jewels as they caught the gleams of the sun. He sat down on a stone bench and watched the huge crimson carp as they swam lazily in the green water. He suddenly wished that he could catch one and dissect it, but he knew that for him that time had passed.

“Well, Winslow, what's happening with you?”

Startled, Colin looked up to see Simon Matthews standing close by. “Why, nothing much. Just thinking.” Colin spoke nervously, for it was possible that Simon might push him into the fishpond.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Why, no, not at all.”

Simon sat down and stared at the fish. “Those are the biggest carp I've ever seen. Do you have fish like that on your grounds at home?”

“We do have a large pond, but the fish aren't as large as these.” Colin kept his eyes on Matthews, but it seemed for once he was in a good humor.

“Winslow, I've got a confession to make. I'm not very good at admitting I've been wrong, but I've been wrong about you.”

Colin stared at him and asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I've been too hard on you. Most new boys go through a certain amount of initiation, but Lofton and I have gone too far. The truth is, a lot of us are jealous of you. Most of us work
ourselves into the ground just to get by, and you manage all the studies so easily! I've been wrong, and I hope you won't hold it against me.”

“Of course not.”

“Well, we are going to make it up to you, me and Lofton. We are going to take you out to watch a play. There is a traveling one that I thought you might like.”

“I really don't—”

“No protest, now! Lofton and I have talked about it. The play is a good one, and we'd like to go tonight. It's going on at the old theater just north of the university. You have yourself ready, put on some good clothes. Who knows, we may find ourselves some good female company!”

Colin desperately tried to think of a way to refuse the invitation, but he knew he could not. “All right. I'll be ready.”

All that day Colin worried about going anywhere with Matthews and Lofton. He mentioned this to Traverson, who said, “I wouldn't go if I were you, Winslow. They are always getting into trouble. They'll drag you down with them.”

“I guess I'll have to go.”

“Well, don't let them get you drunk. That's all I can say.”

Staying sober was Colin's plan, but when they left the campus and headed toward the theater at the edge of Oxford, Matthews said, “We're too early. Let's get something to eat, and maybe some good ale.”

Colin protested, but Lofton and Matthews laughed and took him to a tavern called The Blue Elephant. They were greeted by a barmaid they introduced as Dolly Bly. Matthews said, “This is a fine new scholar at the university, Dolly. I want you to be especially nice to him.”

Dolly Bly was an overblown young woman wearing too much makeup. Her dress was cut lower than any Colin had ever seen. “Why, of course I'll make him welcome, Mr. Matthews, you can be sure of that!”

“Fine! Now bring us something to drink.”

That was the beginning, and although Colin tried his best to avoid getting drunk, he was forced to drink a great deal. He was not accustomed to it, and soon he felt his legs were going dead and his lips were so numb he couldn't speak clearly. Finally they went to the play, but he remembered little about it. By the time it was over, he could scarcely walk.

“We will have a little more ale,” Matthews said, “and then we will go back.”

“I don't think I can have another drink . . . ,” Colin protested. His protests were in vain. He was led back to the tavern, where he drank until he passed out.

While Colin was slumped in a chair at the tavern, Matthews moved to the bar and grinned at the barmaid. “Dolly, we're going to play a little joke on Winslow—and you have to help us. We want to put him in your bed, and then you undress and get into the bed with him.”

“He is a nice enough young chap. Why would I do that?”

“Because I say so, and because I am paying you.”

“Paying me? Well, now, that's business!” Dolly grinned. “Just playing a joke, is it? I've always liked jokes. Bring 'im up.”

The charade went off very well. Lofton and Matthews carried Colin upstairs, took his clothes off, and threw him into bed. Dolly stripped down to her shift, but suddenly demanded, “What's the joke? I don't see one.”

“There'll be a man coming, and when he sees his prize scholar in this condition, he'll have a fit!”

“And what will 'appen to this poor lad?”

“Oh, nothing serious. He's a friend of ours, Dolly. We wouldn't do him any real harm.”

Leaving Dolly's room, Matthews went downstairs and found Lofton talking with a blunt-featured man. “All right, Madison, do you have it straight?” he demanded.

“No problem. You got the cash?”

“Here's two sovereigns. Two more after you've done the job. Tell me again what you're to do.”

“Go to the master, John Chadburn, and tell him one of his prize scholars is about to ruin a young woman. Then I brings him back 'ere, and I takes 'im to Dolly's room.”

“See you do it, then!”

Colin awakened with a horrible headache and a man yelling at him. He opened his eyes to see the master, Mr. John Chadburn, standing over him. “I am shocked, Mr. Winslow! Shocked! Such behavior! And I am sure your parents will be as well!”

Colin stared around wildly and couldn't understand what happened to him. He tried to speak, but his lips seemed to be frozen.

“You want us to take him back to the university, Mr. Chadburn?” The voice came from Colin's left. He turned to see Simon Matthews there, a grin plastered on his face. “I hated to inform on you, Winslow, but we were afraid you would get into trouble with the law. Making threats the way you were and trying to attack Miss Dolly here.”

“That's right, sir,” Dolly piped up. She had pulled the sheet up to cover herself, and seemed to be overplaying her role. “I almost lost my innocence, sir!”

John Chadburn stared at the barmaid and knew something was terribly wrong here. But the evidence was insurmountable. “I will take him back myself, Mr. Matthews. Get dressed, Winslow.”

Somehow, Colin was able to scramble into his clothes and left The Blue Elephant. He was placed in a carriage, sitting next to Mr. Chadburn. When Chadburn demanded, “How do you account for your behavior, Winslow?” Colin could only mumble, “I don't know, sir.” Colin did know, but he was aware that he would never convince the master that he had been tricked.