by Mel Starr
“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.”
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 m
arriage 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 suitors 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.”
Caxton had pushed open a door. I was not so addled that I could not see and walk through it.
“It is of this I would speak. You agreed I might pay court to Kate. I have done so, and she approves my suit.” I swallowed the frog in my throat and pressed on. “I wish to make her my wife.”
Caxton peered somberly at me. “She approves?”
“She does.”
“Will you continue to seek Master Wyclif’s books and be wed also?”
“I have thought on that,” I admitted. “I have no home in Oxford for a bride, and cannot seek stolen books from Bampton. Does Kate agree, we may have betrothal and read the banns so soon as she may wish, and be wed when I conclude the business of Master John’s books.”
“You believe this will be soon?”
“Kate will be incentive to make it so,” I smiled.
“There must be time to discuss dowry and like matters,” Caxton replied. “No need for haste.”
That was his opinion, but not necessarily my own.
The stationer turned toward the workroom door and called for his daughter. Kate appeared immediately in the door. I think she had been pressed against the door-frame, listening while we spoke of her future.
“Kate, Master Hugh asks for your hand. Will you have him for your husband?”
“Aye, father, I will.” She did not hesitate.
“Then I consent and offer my blessing.” Caxton smiled, then turned quickly and busied himself at a shelf stacked with parchment gatherings.
Another awkward silence followed. How does a man know what to say at such a time? He has no experience nor practice for the moment. Voices from the street intruded upon the stillness, and I entertained the odd thought that, given twenty years or so, God willing, I might be in Caxton’s place.
Kate broke the hush. “A pottage is warming on the hearth, and there is a loaf and cheese for our dinner.”
A man might turn from warmed pottage, but not after eating molding bread and drinking foul water for two days. Kate ladled the pottage into three bowls, broke the maslin loaf, and directed me to take a place at the workroom table. Caxton spoke a prayer over the simple meal, asking the Lord Christ to bless the food and our marriage, and thanking him for intercession and my freedom from Oxford Castle. The pottage was liberally flavored with pork, and was delicious. Or was it Kate, gazing at me from across the table, that was tasty? Perhaps my senses were confused.
I remained at the shop after dinner to discuss betrothal with my future father-in-law. Upon Sunday the priest at St Peter-in-the-East Church would announce to the parish the forthcoming marriage of Kate Caxton and Hugh de Singleton. Before this priest we would pledge to marry. There would be ample witnesses, and the banns might be first read then as well.
The banns must be read in Bampton, also, as the Church of St Beornwald was my parish. And when wed, in Bampton we would live. I wished for the marriage to take place in Bampton, and thought the stationer might object, but he was amenable.
I did not expect a great dowry to accompany Kate. The lass was gift enough. But Caxton offered a house in Oxford, also on the Holywell Street. This house was one of three he had purchased when he came from Cambridge to set up his business here. One house was his shop and home, the others he rented. It was one of these he offered as Kate’s dowry. I was much pleased. The income from such a house, twenty shillings each year, would be a welcome addition to the stipend Lord Gilbert provided.
For Kate’s dower I offered twelve shillings. When we made Galen House our home Kate would have a toft, so I also offered to buy for her a rooster and a dozen hens.
I have heard that there is often much vigorous bargaining before dowry and dower are agreed upon and a wedding may proceed. Perhaps such is the case when each party brings great wealth to the marriage. Kate and I could not do so. Robert Caxton and I came to agreement in little more time than it has taken me to write of the covenant.
I would have enjoyed speaking more to Kate that day, but she might not have thought the same. I reeked of the cell and its filth, and was unshaven. I requested of Caxton that he tell his daughter of the terms of her betrothal, and that I would join her on Sunday at St Peter’s Church whence we would make pledge to each other. Tomorrow I would be about seeking Master Wyclif’s stolen books. For this work I had new ardor. When the thieves were found I would be free to take a bride and return to Bampton.
The kitchen at Canterbury Hall provided two buckets of hot water. In one I soaked my filthy clothes and in the other I scrubbed the Oxford Castle gaol from my flesh. I had thought to scrape the stubble from my chin, but decided to leave it. Perhaps I would grow a beard. I was soon to be wed, no longer to be thought a lad. And a beard might remin
d me of lessons learned in the dungeon of Oxford Castle. It was not clear what these lessons might be, but when I discovered them the beard might serve to remind me of them.
Master Wyclif provided a scholar’s robe for the afternoon while my kirtle, chauces, and cotehardie dried in the pale autumn sun. Arthur had watched my purification wordlessly. When I was done with the work and adjusting the robe, he spoke.
“Near forgot, with all that’s happened since, but I learned a thing in castle forecourt the day you was took to gaol. Don’t know as it has to do with Master Wyclif’s books… but you said to tell you of aught I heard.”
“I did. What news?”
“Where the forecourt verges on Great Bailey Street a pieman has a stall. Mostly pie, little meat.”
“You purchased one?”
“Aye. Wanted to stand close an’ hear ’im gossip with regular customers.”
“He has regular customers for meatless pies?”
“Aye. Some as bought from ’im got pies from one pile; others, like me, got from another.”
“Ah… so you ate a pie and listened for gossip and scandal?”
“As you wished,” Arthur protested, as if, unbidden, he would do no such thing.
“So I did. And you must have overheard some tale or I would not be hearing of these pies.”
“Aye. Right after them gentlemen near came to blows, a fellow told the pieman his brothers was gone to London. Brothers is carters. They was takin’ a chest to Westminster, to the abbey.”
“That is your news?”
“Not all of it,” Arthur replied defensively. “Told you it might have naught to do with books. You said…”
“I know. Tell me what else you heard.”
“The chest was locked and not to be opened. And ’twas not to get wet. A linen shroud, waxed stiff, was to cover the box.”
Arthur’s tale became more interesting. “Did the man say who it was hired his brothers for this work?”
“Some scholar. Wore a scholar’s robe, an’ was tonsured.”
This identification was of no help. Near half the men of Oxford might fit such a description.