he Lecture Notes On their way home through the springy fen one of the pilgrims said: Perhaps the second old man was the real wizard. So the Clerk unhoisted his black sack and fiddled through the lecture notes, well knowing that he’d drifted off by then. He had the knack of silent reading but the other pilgrims hung so close to every flicker of his lower lip for some word which might unmake their bad bargain. No hope came. Their packmules sank into the verges gradually. The Clerk fell like a dolloped stone through strata of transcendence till he came to rest on that damp territory yclept – he checked his notes – yclept, that can’t be right, The Hall of Swindle. 11