A Trail of Ink hds-3

by Mel Starr

  "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 blue-and-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.

  Sir Thomas reached reluctantly for the coat before him on the bench. It was as if he thought the foxes it was made from might return to life and snap at his fingers. The chamber grew silent as he lifted the garment, peered at the lining, then looked to Sir William. I saw a smile cross Lord Gilbert's florid face and he folded his arms across his chest.

  "Uh, I remember now," Sir William blurted. "Aye… twas Andrew Adrian, of the Walbrook Street who made my coat. I asked it be dyed to resemble weasel. I, uh, wished to be thought… uh, above my station," he admitted.

  "But…" Sir Thomas protested. Before he could say more Lord Gilbert spoke again.

  "The letters embroidered there are not twin `A's, are they, Sir Thomas?"

  "Nay."

  "They are `G' and `A', for Geoffrey Adrian… of Watling Street, not Walbrook Street, as Sir William so mistakenly now remembers. Your memory, Sir William, is exceeding poor for one so young."

  Onlookers guffawed again. This time Sir Thomas was not so quick to silence the mirth. He knew it would do no good.

  It was Lord Gilbert who quieted the spectators, and without a word. He turned and glowered at the observers and all fell silent.

  "You are a justice of the King's peace… is this not so?" Lord Gilbert growled at Sir Thomas.

  "Aye, m'lord."

  "By king's writ you have power of Oyer et terminer." Lord Gilbert stood, arms akimbo again, was silent for a moment, then spoke quietly but with menace. "Then set this man free. There is mischief here for you to discover. That coat," he pointed to the garment before Sir Thomas, "was not stolen by Master Hugh, but 'twas about to be stolen from Master Hugh by that thief." He pointed to Sir William, who seemed ready to shrink behind Sir Simon.

  The hall was silent. All awaited Sir Thomas' response. My heart skipped several beats before Sir Thomas spoke.

  "My Lord Gilbert persuades me that Master Hugh de Singleton is wrongly… uh, mistakenly accused of theft. The
charge is dismissed."

  I looked to Lord Gilbert with a smile of gratitude. When I glanced back at the bench Sir Thomas was gone, about to pass through a door at the side of the hall. My coat lay on the bench, and I moved to retrieve it.

  From the corner of my eye I saw Sir Simon and Sir William edging furtively along the wall toward the same door which had swallowed Sir Thomas. They had twice Sir Thomas' distance to cover, and another also saw their attempt to flee the chamber.

  "Halt!" Lord Gilbert bellowed. They halted, eyes wide with concern. A knight should not display fear, but Lord Gilbert is of such rank and stature that even a true knight might regret causing him displeasure.

  Sir Simon and Sir William stood motionless, backs against the stone wall of the chamber. Lord Gilbert advanced toward them and did not halt until his face was but a palm's width from Sir William's nose. He spoke in a whisper, but my hearing is yet acute, and Lord Gilbert's whisper, when he is angry, might deafen a man at ten paces. Lord Gilbert was indeed angry.

  "What Sir Thomas may make of your perjury I know not. But this I know; do you seek to do ill again to my bailiff, I will see you suffer for it. And do not send some companion to revenge yourself on Master Hugh. Any harm which comes to him I will construe as from you. Is this understood?"

  Sir William gulped air and nodded. Lord Gilbert then turned to Sir Simon, who had observed this threat with detachment. Lord Gilbert said no more, but simply glared at Sir Simon under dark brows. The man finally spoke: "Aye, m'lord."

  5

  We made a procession leaving the court chamber; Lord Gilbert, me, the grooms, Kate and her father, and Master Wyclif. Our parade did not halt until we reached the castle forecourt, where a groom had remained with the horses. As we entered the forecourt Arthur arrived upon his wheezing palfrey. Lord Gilbert turned to me and spoke.

  "This business is a puzzle to me. Why did that scoundrel accuse you of stealing his coat when he knew it was not so? Has he aught against you?"

  "Sir William? Nothing, I think."

  Lord Gilbert frowned and pulled at his beard. "Then why did he wish to see you entertain the commons with the sheriff's dance?"

  "'Twas not Sir William, I think, who desired that end, but Sir Simon."

  "The sheriff's son? What have you done to raise his choler? Has this to do with Master Wyclif's books?"

  "Nay. I think not."

  "But that was the business which brought you to Oxford, was it not? What else might provoke Sir Simon's wrath?"

  "There was other business brought me here. You and the Lady Petronilla advised me on the matter."

  "We did?"

  "Aye. You suggested I seek a wife in Oxford."

  Understanding washed across Lord Gilbert's square face. "Ah… and that quest has caused this trouble?"

  "I fear so, m'lord. Sir Simon and I court the same maid."

  "Hmm. Sir Simon is a proud man. Like his father."

  The others of our party were privy to this conversation. One of them spoke. "No more, m'lord," Kate said.

  Lord Gilbert peered over my shoulder at Kate Caxton, then met my eyes. "This is the lass?"

  "Aye," I grinned. I thought I understood Kate's words and could not suppress my joy.

  Lord Gilbert inspected Kate again. I turned to follow his gaze and saw her blush and curtsey in response to his scrutiny. His eyes, I thought, lingered upon her longer than was meet. Like most of his station, Lord Gilbert admires a fine horse and a comely lass. Men of any rank are much the same.

  It seemed to take Lord Gilbert some effort to draw his eyes from Kate and turn them again to me. I understood his trial. I have the same difficulty when in her presence.

  "I applaud your choice, Master Hugh," he beamed. "I would hear when the banns will be read."

  "Ah… my suit is not yet come to such a happy conclusion, m'lord."

  "No matter, no matter. Lady Petronilla will know of it so soon as may be. Your chamber off the hall in the castle will be too small for a man with a family, I think. We will move you back to Galen House. What say you, Hugh? Will that suit?"

  Nobles believe they must order all men's lives, else the world come undone. But, it is true I had had similar thoughts regarding my habitation should my pursuit of Kate Caxton succeed.

  "Well? Cat got your tongue?" Lord Gilbert laughed when I hesitated to reply.

  "Nay, m'lord. It would suit very well… but other matters come first."

  "Aye, indeed. Have faith, Hugh," he clapped me upon my back, "and seek your future. God will grant it, I think, to so loyal a servant of His as you."

  I did not reply to that assertion. It seems to me God does not always grant the requests even of His saints. The Apostle Paul sought the removal of his "thorn in the flesh", but the plea was not granted.

  Robert Caxton's head swiveled from me to Lord Gilbert and back again. As Lord Gilbert put foot to stirrup I turned to the stationer to see the effect of this conversation. I was gratified to see a smile play across his lips.

  Lord Gilbert and the grooms, but for Arthur, mounted their steeds and clattered across the cobbles. Arthur, Robert Caxton, Master John, and I seemed drawn to the same theme and turned as one toward Kate. Whether she was yet crimson from Lord Gilbert's examination or blushed anew, I know not. An awkward silence followed, until Master John, rarely lost for words, spoke.

  "I must return to Canterbury Hall. Hugh, after you have seen Mistress Kate to Holywell Street I would speak to you about the books. But no need for haste," he added before he turned away.

  Arthur glanced about him briefly, decided that it was not so long past dinner that he could not discover a morsel at Canterbury Hall kitchen, and announced that he would accompany Master John and leave the palfrey at the Stag and Hounds. I offered my arm to Kate and we set off behind her father for Holywell Street.

  We walked silently until our steps took us from the Canditch to Holywell Street. I searched my mind for some light topic of conversation but nothing offered. This was not the first time I found myself so. The presence of a comely lass will usually strike me dumb. Perhaps Kate had worked this distraction on other lads and understood the effect.

  "'Twas Sir Simon, you think, who set the plot against you?" she offered.

  "Aye, so I believe."

  "Because of me, then."

  "The evil another does cannot be laid to you."

  "I should not have agreed when he first began his suit… but he did not seem a wicked sort then."

  "What man would show the baseness in his soul when in pursuit of a maid?"

  "'Tis later, I think, when the maid becomes a wife, that she knows all about her husband," Kate sighed.

  "A man also, will not truly know his wife 'til they be wed," I agreed.

  "Aye," Kate sighed. "It is a wonder folk wed at all… such are the hazards."

  "Are there no rewards?"

  She was silent for several paces, and slowed her steps so that her father was two houses ahead before she replied. "I think, if the proper mate be found, the risks in marriage be small and the compensation be great."

  "We are of like mind," I replied. "I remember my parents' hall, before the great death. There was much bliss in their eyes when they were together at table, or of an evening by the fire."

  "It was so with my father and mother," Kate replied with somber tone. "I was small when my mother perished, but I remember. 'Tis why I seek a man like my father."

  "A stationer?"

  "Nay," she laughed. "It is not the ink on a man's fingers which draws me."

  "Then what?"

  "It is a man's right to rule his house, yet I would seek a husband who will govern justly, as did my father."

  "I wish you success. Your beauty will attract many suitors. You may sort through the swarm until you find such a fellow."

  "Perhaps I have already done so… and 'tis not Sir Simon," she said firmly.

  "It would give me joy to know it was so. I know I have many challengers for your hand. I wish for no new suit
ors for competition."

  "A suitor? Why, Master Hugh, do you speak of a suit?"

  "Has your father not told you? I asked his permission to pay you court. Did he not say so?"

  Kate averted her eyes, and color again rose in her cheeks. "Aye. I jest with you. He did so."

  "And your response?"

  "You ask me to uncover a secret between a man and his daughter?"

  "Nay… but I would know your heart. Do I have grounds for hope, or do I squander my time and affection?"

  We had reached Caxton's shop, and stopped before the open door whence the stationer had entered a moment before.

  "Your hope is pleasing to me, Master Hugh. Do not think otherwise."

  "Then I am Hugh, not Master Hugh."

  "Very well, you shall be Hugh, 'til God and Holy Church make you my master."

  "God and Holy Church? You have also a choice in the matter, Kate."

  "My choice is made," she whispered, and held my arm close.

  "Shall I then speak to your father?"

  "It would please me."

  And so my happiness was sealed while Kate and I walked the Holywell Street to her father's shop. In but half a day I had gone from fear for my life to success in love. I was much pleased with the turn in my fortune.

  We entered the shop as Caxton raised his shutters and prepared to tardily open his shop for the day. Kate looked up to me with expectation, then announced that she would prepare a meal. She disappeared through the open door to the workroom and left me standing before her father. We exchanged stares. It was my obligation to begin this conversation. I sorted through remarks I might make to open the parley. None seemed to suit. Generations of young men have faced the same trial. Caxton guessed at my distress and eased it.

  "We are relieved, Kate and I, that Lord Gilbert arrived in Oxford in time." In time for what he did not say, nor did he need to.

  "As am I," I smiled.

  "We slept little last night. Kate shed many tears when she learned you were arrested."

  No man wishes to be the cause of his beloved's tears, and I was about to say so when Caxton added, "She sobbed that she was to be made a widow before she might be a bride."