‘Not a very good silversmith,’ Sir John heard Stanmore whisper to his brother-in-law. ‘Did you see those spoons he made for me? Disgraceful workmanship!’
Shirlok was not a fool, and he could see the jury did not like him. In an effort to make himself sound more creditable, he scoured his memory for the Latin he had learned as a child, hoping it would make them revise their low opinions and give him the benefit of the doubt.
‘Second, Adam Molendinarius received that urciolum I stole. Third, “defenceless” Widow Godeknave and Lora Boyner are no innocents, either. With Walter Chapman and that sly clerk who is Molendinarius’s brother, they–’
‘Liar!’ yelled Lora, breaking into the diatribe. She appealed to Sir John, full of righteous fury. ‘He is trying to save himself by befouling the names of decent, law-abiding people.’
Shirlok pointed at a man who stood some distance from the others he was naming. The fellow wore sombre clothes and carried himself in a way that made Sir John suspect he had once been in holy orders. The country was full of fallen priests, and it was not unusual for them to turn to crime to support themselves.
‘Next, John Aylmer took the white pearls I gave him, knowing they were stolen,’ declared Shirlok. ‘It was probably him what stole the chalice, too! He has a liking for such things, because he is a–’
‘You are full of deceit, Shirlok,’ interrupted Aylmer dismissively. Although he was young, there was an air of dissipation about Aylmer, evident in his ale-paunch and bloodshot eyes. Sir John wondered if loose living had seen him defrocked. ‘I am no thief.’
Shirlok continued his malicious tirade, naming others he claimed had helped him burgle houses or who had offered to sell the goods he had dishonestly acquired – ten in total. Predictably, all were outraged, and the hall was soon full of clamouring voices. Sir John quelled them by hammering on Langar’s writing desk with his fist. He was used to tempers running high in such situations – although everyone on Shirlok’s list had been told exactly why they were obliged to appear at the castle that morning, few folk ever stood quietly when accused of crimes that could see them hanged.
‘Everyone indicted by Shirlok is present today, Sir John,’ said the sheriff, when it was quiet again.
‘And they all assert their innocence,’ added Langar, writing furiously.
‘It is pure spite,’ declared Chapman, an undersized fellow whose only outstanding feature was his penchant for startlingly gaudy scarlet hose. ‘There is no truth in these allegations. Shirlok knows he will hang, so he wants others to die with him.’
Sir John studied the ten appellees, noting the expressions on their faces. Herl and Adam Molendinarius appeared to be bored, and kept glancing at the hour candle in a way that suggested they resented their time being wasted. Chapman, the other Molendinarius brother and Widow Godeknave were anxious and flustered, aware that Shirlok’s accusations – even if unproven – might see them strung up in the castle bailey. The debauched Aylmer continued to stand apart from the rest, and Sir John wondered whether Shirlok had included him as an afterthought – the others knew each other, but Aylmer was obviously an outsider. Hefty Lora Boyner and the remaining three were sullen, angry that they had not been permitted to assert their innocence at greater length.
‘Did these people know you were a thief, and that the goods you sold them were stolen?’ asked Sir John of Shirlok, nodding at Langar to make a note that the question had been put.
‘Yes,’ stated Shirlok, his firm voice cutting through a new chorus of denials. ‘You cannot blame me for stealing when there are folk ready to buy cheap supplies, Your Majesty. I am human, so there is only so much temptation I can bear. These are the rascals who should be hanged, not the poor thief.’
‘The rest of us manage to resist the seduction of easy wealth,’ declared a juror called Stephen Morice, whose reputation for dishonesty – although nothing had ever been proved – and greed was legendary. Sir John tried not to gape at him. ‘I do not see why you should be any different.’
‘Morice is right,’ said Stanmore. ‘Men come to me all the time, offering to sell illegally imported cloth at low prices, but I say no. A man is responsible for himself, and should accept the consequences of the actions he chooses to take.’
‘Well put, Stanmore,’ said Morice. ‘But we have wasted enough time on Shirlok, and we must hear another two cases before we go home. My verdict is that Shirlok is guilty and these others are innocent. It is clear he named them out of malice.’
‘But most of these ten have been thieving and receiving stolen goods from me for a decade, and I have just exposed their sins, like the good citizen I am,’ cried Shirlok, alarmed by the statement. He appealed to the Justice. ‘Let me go, Your Worship, and I promise never to rob in your county again.’
‘What say you?’ asked Sir John, turning to the rest of the jury. ‘Does Morice speak for you all?’
‘He certainly speaks for me,’ said Thomas Deschalers the grocer, glancing impatiently at the hour candle. A consignment of dried fruit was due to arrive by barge at noon, and it was imperative he was there to check it himself – last time, the contents of one sack had been exchanged for wood-shavings. ‘He has admitted he cannot resist easy pickings, and I do not think he can be trusted to live an honest life. He should hang.’
‘I agree,’ said a portly scholar named Richard de Wetherset. There was an election at his Hostel that day, and he still needed to persuade two more Fellows to vote for him, so he was also eager to be on his way. ‘The law is quite clear about what to do with self-confessed thieves.’
‘And the others?’ asked Sir John. ‘These ten he accuses of helping him?’
‘No stolen goods were found in their possession,’ said Deschalers.
‘What about the chalice?’ asked Stanmore. Sir John saw the clothier’s young brother-in-law had prompted him to put the question. ‘The sheriff said that was recovered from Lora Boyner.’
‘But she received it in good faith,’ said Langar, consulting his notes. ‘And there is no evidence to suggest otherwise. All the other goods were recovered from Shirlok’s house.’
‘Shirlok has nothing to support his allegations,’ said Deschalers, pretending not to hear Bartholomew urging his brother-in-law to enquire whether the appellees’ homes had actually been searched. ‘I say we dismiss his testimony.’
Tentatively, Stanmore suggested further investigation, but fell silent when Morice and Deschalers rounded on him – why waste time exploring the claims of a self-confessed criminal? It would mean any thief could accuse whomsoever he liked, just to postpone his execution. Where would it end?
‘Then the verdict is carried,’ said Langar. ‘Shirlok is guilty; the appellees are acquitted.’
Shirlok’s jaw dropped as he listened to Sir John intone a sentence of death by hanging. ‘But I turned approver,’ he breathed, aghast. ‘You cannot kill me!’
‘You misunderstood the law,’ said Langar. ‘It does not matter whether you point fingers at the greatest villains in England – turning approver will not affect your sentence one way or the other. You lodged a plea of guilty, and there is only one possible outcome.’
‘Then I want to change it,’ cried Shirlok, as the sheriff’s men began to drag him away. ‘I am not guilty. I did not take anything after all – it was Chapman, Lora and… It was not me!’
‘Next case,’ said Sir John.
Cambridge, June 1355
A cart clattered along the tangled lanes known as the Jewry and headed for the high street. It was still early, and the wispy clouds were not yet tinged with the sun’s golden touch, although the birds were awake and sang loud and shrill along the empty streets. Folk were beginning to stir, and smoke curled lazily skyward as people lit fires to heat ale and breakfast pottage. Bells announced the morning offices, and sleepy monks and friars made their way to their dawn devotions.