"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.