Free A Trail of Ink by Mel Starr

willing to risk his neck to have another man’s coins.
    One of the three stepped toward me and demanded my name. I told him. He next asked my destination. I told him that, as well. He then asked about my coat; where had I come by it? When I told him it was a gift he rolled his eyes and turned to his companions.
    One of these was a man of about my size and age. Which is to say he was some above average in height and slender. The leader of the three turned to this fellow and spoke:
    “Sir William, is this the coat?”
    “Aye, the very one.”
    The leader of this band was a brawny fellow, not of my height, but he surely outweighed me by two stone or more. He was of Arthur’s size and shape. He grasped my shoulders and before I could react, so surprised was I, he spun me about and his companions stripped my coat from me.
    “You are arrested,” the leader told me harshly.
    “Of what am I accused?” I replied, somewhat stupidly as I think back on it.
    “Hah… do not take us for fools. You have stolen Sir William’s fur coat.”
    “Not so,” I replied with some heat. My wits were returning and my temper was aroused. “‘Twas a gift from Lord Gilbert Talbot.”
    I thought the fellow hesitated for a moment. Perhaps it was my imagination. “And why should a lord give a fur coat to you?”

    While I engaged the leader in this conversation Sir William was inspecting my coat. “This is my coat, Sir Thomas,” he said firmly.
    Sir Thomas, who still gripped my arm, turned back to me. “You were a fool to steal such a coat, and twice a fool to walk along the Cherwell with a maid where another might see you wearing a stolen coat.”
    I opened my mouth to protest but before I could speak the third member of the group, a short, round fellow, seized my free arm and with Sir Thomas began dragging me down Canditch toward the Northgate. A crowd of onlookers gaped at the scene, believing, I am sure, that some miscreant had been apprehended.
    Sir Thomas and his silent companion alternately dragged and shoved me through the streets to Oxford Castle. Once there I was taken through stone passageways to a chamber I knew well, the anteroom and clerk’s office for the sheriff of Oxford, where two years past Margaret Smith and I convinced Roger de Cottesford and a judge of the King’s Eyre that they must release Thomas Shilton. Standing beside the clerk was a man I knew. Sir Simon Trillowe grinned thinly at me behind hooded eyes.
    “Inform Sir John that we have caught the thief,” Sir Thomas told the clerk. The man rose silently from his place, opened the heavy door behind him, and did so.
    The Sheriff of Oxford appeared in the doorway moments later. His stout body nearly filled it. Small, dark eyes peered at me from a florid face which featured a large, hooked nose. He was Sir Simon’s father. The nose left no doubt of that.
    “Here is the stolen coat,” Sir Thomas proclaimed, standing aside so Sir John could see my cloak in Sir William’s hands. “We found the thief on Holywell Street, as Sir Simon said we might.”
    Sir Simon dropped his eyes and bowed slightly toward Sir Thomas. The smile remained upon his lips and I knew why I was apprehended and charged. What I might do to free myself was not so evident.
    “‘Tis yours, surely?” the sheriff asked Sir William.

    “Aye. There is no doubt. A London furrier made it for me two years past. Twelve shillings it cost me.”
    Sir John turned to me with glaring eyes. “What have you to say for yourself?”
    “The man lies… or is mistaken. His only true words are that the coat was indeed made by a London furrier. But it was made for Lord Gilbert Talbot.”
    “Then why would you have it?”
    “A gift from Lord Gilbert. He wished me to serve him as bailiff at his Bampton estate and offered a fur coat to persuade me to agree to the post.”
    “He lies,” Sir Simon said. Until these words he had lounged against the chamber wall, pleased with my discomfort. “I’ve seen Sir