A Trail of Ink (10 page)

So he went unmolested to the stationer’s shop where, after some pounding upon the door, Robert Caxton opened to him. My disappearance, and the arrest of a young man wearing a fur coat on the Holywell Street, caused much consternation at the stationer’s shop that night. Arthur would have gone to the castle then, but Caxton persuaded him that he would not be received, the gate being closed for the night.

Arthur told me he spent a sleepless night, and at dawn ran to Canterbury Hall, pounded upon Master Wyclif’s chamber door, and together they returned to Caxton’s shop. The four then hurried to the castle and entered as a warder drew up the portcullis.

Kate said it took some time to find the sheriff. They discovered a man who directed them to the clerk’s anteroom, but the sheriff was not in. They waited. When Sir John arrived he dismissed their plea for my release. He told Master John that I had been arrested and charged on presentment of evidence. He, himself, had seen the evidence. Trial would be tomorrow. Had Master John evidence he wished to set before the court, he might do so on the morrow.

The clerk showed them firmly from his office, and it was Kate who, in the castle forecourt, turned to Arthur and bid him ride to Bampton for Lord Gilbert. The county court might dismiss Robert Caxton, Kate, Arthur, even Master Wyclif, but the court would hear Lord Gilbert Talbot.

I knew nothing of this. The slot in my cell appeared in ghostly light to announce dawn, but I had no other way to learn the time. The bells of Oxford which rang for holy office could not penetrate to my place.

The gaoler returned as the light from my thin embrasure began to fade. I heard him lift the bar and the door creaked open. A bowl of cold pottage and a cup of foul water appeared in the opening. The door banged shut before I could rise from the malodorous rushes which I had gathered in one corner of the cell as my bed.

I felt no hunger. Two spoonfuls of the cold pottage and a sip of water were all I could manage. If a man were to stay long in such a place the diet might kill him before he went to the gallows.

Arthur went from the castle to the Stag and Hounds, retrieved his old palfrey, and set off across Castle Mill Stream bridge and Oseney Island as fast as the ancient beast could trot. So he told me.

By the time Arthur saw the spire of the Church of St Beornwald rise above the forest east of Bampton it was too late to return to Oxford that day. John the chamberlain ushered him to the solar, where Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla are pleased to sit by the fire of an evening. Lord Gilbert heard Arthur’s tale with rising fury, swore vengeance against Sir John did harm come to me, and sent Arthur first to the kitchen, for his supper, then to the marshalsea with orders to have five coursers and Arthur’s palfrey ready and saddled at dawn.

The rising sun was yet but a glow above the naked branches of the forest to the east of Bampton, and the Angelus Bell ringing to announce the dawn, when Lord Gilbert, Arthur, and four other grooms thundered across the bridge over Shill Brook and rode east toward Oxford. Arthur’s palfrey could not keep up the pace, but he followed with as much haste as the old beast could manage.

About the time Lord Gilbert was rattling the planks of Shill Brook bridge I was looking up to the place in my cell where dawn showed the location of the slot and the world beyond. This day the county court would find me guilty of theft. Of this I was certain, for none who knew of my innocence knew of my peril. So I believed. I knelt again on the rushes, as I had done often the day before, and asked the Lord Christ to spare me. If He chose not to do so, then I asked that I might go to my death as a Christian, bearing no unforgiven malice toward those who sought my death. Which of these requests He would find most difficult to perform I knew not.

I had not been shaved since Tuesday, and my chauces and cotehardie were wrinkled from sleeping in them and stained from lying upon the filthy rushes which were my bed. I looked a thief even was I not. Certainly Sir Thomas, Sir Simon, and Sir William hoped my disheveled appearance would lead others to accept my guilt.

I ran fingers through my hair, made myself as presentable as I could, and awaited summons to my doom. I had no way to judge the time, but thought it must be near to the sixth hour when I heard the gaoler lift the bar and squealing hinges respond.

I had seen no daylight for two days. The courtroom into which the gaoler shoved me was lit by a row of south windows. I blinked in the light and it was some moments before I saw Kate, her father, and Master John standing near the back of the hall. Their dour expressions did little to lighten my spirits, although Kate did manage a fleeting smile and fluttered her fingers in my direction. My eyes turned to others in the chamber and I saw Sir Simon scowling at me. He had observed Kate’s greeting.

I blinked my way, still shackled, to the accused’s box with more joy in my heart than another in my place might have felt. While stumbling up the stairway from the cells I had thought of a way to escape the gallows. In time Lord Gilbert would learn of my plight and see me freed. Until then, if it be necessary, I would plead Benefit of Clergy.

No man who can read and has his wits about him should ever face the gallows for felony. Even should the county court or the King’s Eyre find him guilty, and guilty he may be, can he read from the Bible and plead Benefit of the Clergy, he will escape the hangman. What punishment a consistory court might demand would be small indeed compared to a noose. The Church hangs no man.

The bailiff shouted for silence and the din subsided. “Oyez,” he cried. “All good and worthy men are called to hear the charge against Hugh de Singleton.”

The judge took his place - he was none other than Sir Thomas Barnet. The king’s statute of four years past gives justices of the peace the power to apprehend and try felonies in accordance with writs of Oyer et terminer. It was sure now I must plead Benefit of the Clergy, for there was no jury in the box to hear my plea.

Sir Thomas called Sir William to testify, which he did convincingly. Sir Thomas held out my coat. Sir William drew close to inspect it and pronounced it his own. Sir Simon was next called, and swore that he had seen his friend, Sir William, wear this very coat for two years, since his return from London, where he had joined his father, who had been called to Parliament.

“Do you answer this charge?” Sir Thomas growled and glared at me. His countenance could leave no doubt in the spectators’ minds of his opinion.

“I am not guilty of this charge,” I replied with as much resolve as I could muster. “The coat is my own. ‘Twas a gift two years past from Lord Gilbert Talbot, as I told you two days past. You had but to send for him to know the truth, which you would not do, for truth is a thing you wish to evade.”

“Silence!” Sir Thomas roared. “There are laws to deal with those who impugn the court and its officers. You have answered the charge; you will say no more.”

“He may not, but I will,” said a voice from the rear of the chamber. It was Master John. He pushed his way through onlookers to Sir Thomas’ bench and spoke again. “I have testimony to give in this case,” he declared.

“Oh? And who are you?”

“I am John Wyclif, Warden of Canterbury Hall.”

I saw Sir Thomas look to Sir Simon and Sir William and shrug. They bent their heads together while Sir Thomas granted Master John permission to speak. He could do no other, for an accused man is allowed to bring three witnesses to court to testify on his behalf.

“Say what you will.”

“Master Hugh speaks the truth. The coat is his and was a gift of Lord Gilbert Talbot to induce him to accept the post of bailiff on Lord Gilbert’s Bampton estate. I have seen him wear this coat when he called on me here, in Oxford.”

“You claim that Sir Simon, son of the sheriff, speaks perjury?” Sir Thomas asked, incredulity in his voice.

“Aye, he does. Or he cannot recognize one fur from another.”

Laughter passed through the hall at this, but neither Sir Simon nor Sir William smiled.

“No other witnesses being present,” Sir Thomas bellowed over the snickering, “I will consider a verdict.”

Silence descended upon the court. Sir Thomas gave indication of thoughtful meditation. I knew this but artifice. My fate was already determined. So Sir Simon thought.

Sir Thomas looked up from studying his hands. His audience took this as a sign that he was prepared to announce a verdict. He was.

“In the matter of Hugh de Singleton,” he announced grimly, “I find the defendant guilty as charged.”

“Sir Thomas,” I cried over the uproar which followed. “I claim Benefit of the Clergy.”

That silenced the crowd.

“Very well,” Sir Thomas looked to his bailiff. “Bring a Bible from St George’s Church.”

St George’s Church is upon the grounds of Oxford Castle. The bailiff returned with the Holy Book in but a few moments and placed it upon the bench before Sir Thomas. He opened it at random, scanned a page, then demanded that I approach.

“To claim Benefit of the Clergy you must read a passage of Holy Writ to my satisfaction. Come and read where my finger points.”

I did so. Sir Thomas had opened to the Book of Isaiah, chapter nine, verse eighteen. I read the verse:

When I had done I returned to my box. Sir Thomas stared gravely at the Bible, then at me, and then spoke. “Benefit of the Clergy is denied. You made errors in the passage.”

“Not so!” roared Master John. “I know that scripture well. Master Hugh read it properly. ‘Tis you who are in error!”

“Be silent,” Sir Thomas barked. “You do not decide matters of law in this court. That is my bailiwick.”

Sir Thomas turned again to me. “Hugh de Singleton, you are found guilty of theft. This court…”

A tumult from beyond the hall interrupted Sir Thomas as he was about to pass sentence upon me. I heard the echo of several agitated voices. These increased in volume rapidly.

The door at the rear of the chamber crashed open and Lord Gilbert Talbot strode into the court. His beefy face was livid above his beard, his apparel dusty. Spectators at the rear of the chamber, who had expected to hear me sentenced to the gallows, melted back from the agitated noble as ice from a flame.

Lord Gilbert spoke no word, but strode purposefully toward Sir Thomas. Three blueand-black-clad grooms walked grim-faced behind him.

Lord Gilbert stopped before Sir Thomas, stood arms akimbo, and nodded toward me. “I am told you charge my bailiff with stealing his own coat!” he thundered.

Sir Thomas surely knew who addressed him, but in a bid to collect his thoughts said, “Who… who are you?”

“Gilbert, Third Baron Talbot. Who are you, to try my bailiff?”

“I am Sir Thomas Barnet, justice of the king’s peace… with powers of Oyer et terminer.”

“Indeed. And who is it says this coat,” Lord Gilbert lifted it from the bench, “is his and not Master Hugh’s?”

Sir Thomas turned to peer at Sir William and Sir Simon. They appeared willing to dissolve into the stonework, was such a thing possible.

“Uh… ‘tis… uh, much like my coat, I, uh… which was stolen a fortnight past,” Sir William finally stammered.

“Careless of you, to leave a valuable garment laying about where a thief might make off with it. Where did you leave it? In the stews?”

Onlookers snickered again, much to Sir William’s discomfort. Sir Thomas, his voice and vanity returning, roared out for silence. Laughter and chattering did finally subside, but not promptly. Sir Thomas’ influence seemed waning.

Lord Gilbert stared at Sir William. “Where is it you purchased this coat you claim as yours?”

“Uh, London, m’lord.”

“London, you say? Who was the furrier,” he challenged, “and upon what street is his shop?”

“Uh… I do not remember, m’lord.”

“Hah,” Lord Gilbert snorted. “Then tell of what fur this coat is made.”

“Uh… ‘tis weasel, m’lord.”

“Weasel, is it? Tell me, Sir William, do you possess lands worth four hundred marks per year?”

“What matter his wealth?” Sir Thomas spluttered.

Lord Gilbert turned from Sir William to face Sir Thomas. A look of incredulity lifted both eyebrows.

“What matter? Surely, Sir Thomas, as one sworn to uphold the King’s statutes, you know of the sumptuary laws made these two years past. No knight may wear fur of weasel or ermine unless he be worth four hundred marks per year. Sir William, I ask you again, be your worth four hundred marks per year?”

“Uh… nearly so, m’lord,” the fellow stammered.

“Nearly so?” Lord Gilbert rumbled. “Then if this coat be truly your own, you are in violation of the ordinance. But, you say, you cannot remember the furrier. I can. This coat is of dyed fox, and ‘twas made by Andrew Adrian, of Walbrook Street. Sir Thomas, if you look inside the coat you will see Master Adrian’s mark: two `A’s, embroidered in gold thread inside the left breast. Look and see if ‘tis not so,” he demanded.

I remembered the letters well but had never known their meaning and thought they were an elaborate “G” and “A”. It was well I did not know the meaning. I might have told when protesting my arrest. Then in court Sir William would not have twitched in ignorance before Lord Gilbert.