The Tarnished Chalice

‘Poor fool indeed,’ murmured Sir John, thinking what he would have assumed, had a rogue like Shirlok appeared on his doorstep and claimed he had his grandam’s silver for sale.

‘And he stole my linen,’ added the young woman at Lora’s side, speaking because Lora had jabbed her in the ribs with a powerful elbow. Mistress Godeknave was a slender, graceful creature with large blue eyes. ‘I am a poor defenceless widow, and cannot afford to lose my few possessions to thieves.’

‘How do you plead, Shirlok?’ asked Sir John, watching Langar write down the charges.

‘Guilty to some of it,’ replied Shirlok, trying to stand upright. It was difficult with the manacles weighing him down. ‘But I intend to turn approver, and expose the eight men and two women what helped me steal all these years. Deal kindly with me, Your Highness, and I shall give you their names.’

‘Speak up, then,’ said Sir John, although his inclination was to sentence Shirlok and move on to the next case. He was weary of criminals bucking against the inevitable.

‘He is wasting our time,’ called one of the jurors, equally keen to be finished before more of the day was lost. Oswald Stanmore was ambitious, determined to make his fortune as a clothier, and because it was market day, he was eager to be back among his apprentices. Next to Stanmore was his youthful brother-in-law, enjoying a break from his studies at the University in Oxford, although Sir John knew why he had not been pressed into jury service: Matt Bartholomew had a sharp mind and would ask too many questions. They would probably be perfectly valid ones, but no one wanted to spend all day ironing out details that were irrelevant to the outcome anyway.

‘The law compels us to hear what the accused has to say,’ replied Sir John. He saw a ripple of annoyance pass through the twelve men. ‘Is that not so, Langar?’

Langar was thoughtful. ‘There have been other instances when criminals have turned approver. But their testimony is nearly always dismissed – mostly because felons are dishonest by definition, so they cannot be trusted to tell the truth. Thus, listening to Shirlok’s charges is not mandatory for this court.’

‘Not mandatory,’ mused Sir John. He was silent for a moment. ‘But I took an oath to be fair, even to the lowest of villains. Name your associates, Shirlok.’

There were several weary sighs, and Sir John was irritated to note that one came from Langar, who worked for him and so was supposed to support his decisions.

‘First, there is Nicholas Herl,’ said Shirlok. He pointed at a thickset man with black hair, who glowered at him. ‘We robbed the Walmesford mill together, then set it alight.’

‘That is a flagrant lie, Sir John,’ snapped Herl. He sounded more annoyed than concerned. ‘I am a silversmith – a professional man. Why would I burgle a mill?’

‘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.’