“Hi, there! Where are you going?”
Flemild was not very sorry to be saved the solution of Derette’s difficult problem. She turned to the youth of some fifteen years, who had hailed her from the corner of Castle Street.
“Where you should have gone instead, Haimet—with the budget for water. Do go with me now.”
“Where on earth are you going—to Osney?”
“No, stupid boy: to Plato’s Well.”
“I’m not going there. I don’t mind Saint Maudlin’s, if you like.”
“We are out of the way to Saint Maudlin’s, or else I shouldn’t have minded—”
“No, my lady, I rather think you wouldn’t have minded the chance of a dance in Horsemonger Street. However, I’m not going to Plato’s Well. If you go with me, you go to Saint Maudlin’s; and if you don’t, you may find your way back by yourselves, that’s all.”
And laying his hands on the budget, Haimet transferred it from his sister’s keeping to his own.
Plato’s Well stood in Stockwell Street, on the further side of the Castle, and on the south of Gloucester Hall, now Worcester College. Fortified by her brother’s presence, Flemild turned after him, and they went up Castle Street, and along North Bayly Street into Bedford Lane, now the northern part of New Inn Hall Street. When they reached the North Gate, they had to wait to go out, for it was just then blocked by a drove of cattle, each of which had to pay the municipal tax of a halfpenny, and they were followed by a cart of sea-fish, which paid fourpence. The gate being clear, they passed through it, Flemild casting rather longing looks down Horsemonger Street (the modern Broad Street), where a bevy of young girls were dancing, while their elders sat at their doors and looked on; but she did not attempt to join them. A little further, just past the Church of Saint Mary Magdalen, they came to a small gothic building over a well. Here, for this was Saint Maudlin’s Well, Haimet drew the water, and they set forth on the return journey.