You stumble as you pass the Eleanor Cross, making your way westward on Cheapside. Your skin prickles at shouts behind you: are those the voices of the sheriffs' men demanding your arrest? Ahead, you see the gate to the liberty of St. Martin le Grand and the possibility of safety from the frightening prospect of royal justice. Do you [[enter the liberty and plead for sanctuary->Enter the Liberty]] or do you [[stop and see if the shouts are for you->Speak with the Sheriff]]?Mayhaps the law will judge you kindly. And isn't it right and true to submit to the king's justice? Why, when you were young, the parish priest always said as much.
As you turn, you clearly hear the hue and cry. Londoners are taking up the shouted demands of the London officers, pushing towards you. A strong journeyman lays his hand on your shoulder and you slump slightly forward, offering no resistance.
"That's the one we want!" It's four of the sheriff's men, come to take you to the Guildhall. They're swaggering and rough as they reach out to take you from the small crowd that's gathered on the busy street. Do you [[resist their hold->Fight for Freedom]] or do you [[go along meekly->Guildhall Justice]] with the city's men?You don't understand much of the men's words, but you sense the frustration behind the prosperous merchant's shouts. You step around the amused onlookers and help unload the last heavy coffers into the nearby shop where a woman smiles at your assistance.
"Many thanks, stranger," she says in accented English. "Why are apprentices nowhere to be found when work we have for them, am I not right, husband?"
The man who had shouted outside the store steps up beside her. "Right you are, Marta. And greetings to you, stranger. What business brings you to our street today?"
Do you [[tell them of your dilemma->Humble Confession]] or [[excuse yourself and head back out to the church->Speak with the Constable]]?At the closely hemmed-in church of St. Martin's le Grand, you inquire after the Constable and an officious young man with inkstained hands leads you to an older man, clad in fur-trimmed russet wool. "I am the constable of St. Martin's le Grand. What business do you have with the liberty today?"
You ask for sanctuary and he frowns. "That is serious business but the liberty keeps you safe as it has since ancient times. Tell me, for what offense are you sought?"
Do you confess that you [[seek to avoid debtor's prison->Debt Offense]] or tell him that you are [[wanted for homicide->Murderous Offense]]?Turning north on Forster Lane, you enter the liberty of St. Martin le Grand. The men who were following you stop as the authority of London's sheriff has no power in this protected quarter of the city. As you slow your step and observe your surroundings, you see what has to be the church td your left, hemmed in by shops and tenements.
The liberty swarms with bodies and voices, like so much else of London beyond it. A string of what must be angry Flemish flows from the lips of an older merchant, scolding some porters who are unloading a cart. Do you [[stop to intervene->Speak with the Flemings]] or do you [[press onto the church->Speak with the Constable]]?They're not so tough! You were wrong to hesitate. Spinning on your heel, you pull free of the startled citizen and race headlong back towards the liberty. Ducking more of the Cheapside crowds, you make a break for the liberty but the sheriff's men are gaining. Do you [[dodge into the small church on the south side of the street->Small Sanctuary]] or continue your difficult path through the crowd, [[sprinting towards the liberty->Fall Afoul of Authority]].You stumble north towards the Guildhall, firmly held on both sides by the wary toughs who work for the sheriff. Pulling you along, they drag you into the city's grand Guildhall.
"Master Hawes," the finest-dressed of the men calls out, "we have apprehended a fugitive. Was seeking sanctuary but we prevailed!"
A grey-haired man turns from his conversation to regard you. "Ah, and what is your offense that you so fear the king's scrutiny? Are you [[a debtor->Debtor's Confession]] or some [[dangerous kind of felon->Hear of Homicide]]?"You try your best but you're not able to evade your pursuers. One of them cuffs you on the side of your head and you fall to your knees.
"Not so brave now," one of the sheriff's men comments as he grabs you viciously by the elbow, twisting your arms behind your back.
"Where are you taking him?" a child asks, as they wrest you painfully to your feet.
"Why, to [[the Guildhall->Guildhall Justice]] where the sheriff will deal with this criminal," one of them cheerfully explains as you're dragged away from the gawking crowd.Your sudden entrance startles a charwoman scrubbing at the tile floor of the chapel. She scrambles to her feet, almost shrieking with alarm and a priest looks up from where he's preparing the altar for service.
"Who are you now and why have you come to St. Peter's, Westcheap?"
As the sheriff's men clatter in behind, you answer. "I seek sanctuary, father."
Sighing, the priest sternly eyes your would-be captors who shuffle back towards the heavy church doors before he turns back to face you. "You are given the protection of sanctuary for forty days, no longer. You may keep yourself here, under our holy protection, but at the end of that time, you must leave. Use your time well, either to plea for mercy from King Henry or to prepare your soul for judgment."
Do you [[nod and accept his terms->40 Days Respite]] or do you [[take your chances with the sheriff->Guildhall Justice]].You thank the priest for the sanctuary that St. Peter's offers, humble as it may be. The charwoman grumbles as she shifts to provide a pallet from the priest's own shabby belongings. You'll sleep on his hearth for the next few weeks: maybe less as you pay her to purchase some writing materials so you can beg friends to intervene on your behalf.
Maybe they can make a deal with those who brought the charges against you? Perhaps you will find no help, and after the forty days you will be forced to either go into exile or give yourself up to the belated scrutiny of the justices. You shudder and tap your fingers impatiently, standing beside the anemic fire, as you await the charwoman's return.You let the sorry tale of your descent into overwhelming debt play out to the indifferent ears of the small group around the sheriff.
At the end of your account, the impassive sheriff asks, "How much do you owe and are you prepared to discharge that obligation today?"
"Sadly, no," you admit, as you disclose the amount.
The sheriff's man holding your right arm chuckles. "Not enough that we'll have to shackle you but don't be trying to escape. It's off to Newgate for you."
They roughly lead you out of the Guildhall and towards the western end of the city where the prison awaits you for what might well be a very long visit, indeed.Aware of the strong hands holding your own arms, you hesitantly confess that you stand accused of murder.
"But I'm innocent," you explain, as those hands tighten. "It's not what they say!"
The sheriff exhales a bitter laugh. "So many have said that to me over the years, and so dark their souls have been. Better to confess now! Ah, but the truth will out, in good time, at the Sessions."
He looks to his men, still holding you. "Get shackles and secure the prisoner. Newgate awaits a new inmate who will be seen by the justices. In good time, in good time."You breathe deep. "I seek sanctuary here," you begin.
The goodwife snorts a little but you notice that two of those sluggard porters, burly men, have joined your group, as if to protect the master and the mistress. "So many do! But what kind of person are you? Are you unable to [[pay what you owe->Debt is Acceptable]] or do you [[stand accused of a worse crime->Felony is Not]]?""A debtor?" The constable chuckles as he beckons you to follow him to a small office where a slender clerk writes studiously in an account book. The constable steps past him to grab another register and set it at the clerk's elbow.
"All you need to do is register with us and, of course, pay the fee of four pence, to take sanctuary for your debt. But remember," he advises, "every time you leave the liberty and return, you will have to pay again. And if you're caught outside the liberty, you are still liable to the king's justice."
You reach into your flat purse and feel among the few coins left to you, doling out four pennies to the patient clerk. He puts them into a sturdy lockbox, then takes your name and records the transaction in the constable's register, before returning to his other work.
Smiling, the constable rocks back on his heels. "It's fortunate that you weren't seeking sanctuary from a felony accusation. As constable, I would have to confine you in our prison until the steward can see you and he's a busy man. Now, come with me and we can see about a place in the tenements that I have, you might rent. And, if you're in need of work? I have a few other sanctuary men I employ to help keep order hereabouts. . . ."The constable backs away slightly at your whispered confession. Hastily, you add that the killing was not deliberate. You're not a murderer!
Nevertheless, he hastens you out of the office. "Willem! Thomas!" At his call, two burly men appear.
"This petitioner seeks sanctuary," the constable says, "but he stands accused of murder. He must await in our prison until the steward returns to hear his plea."
You try to interrupt but to no appeal. The no-nonsense assistants strong-arm you out of the small space and just a few doors down, where you're shoved downstairs into a dark cellar with a small, barred window on the far side that looks out onto the very street you entered the liberty just a short time ago. You can see the shopkeeper whose shouts drew your attention earlier as you look out the small opening while they slam the heavy door behind you and drop a bar across the outside.
Is this what sanctuary feels like? You hope that when the steward hears your full story, he will release you to the liberty and you can get friends to plead your case to the king. Maybe, given enough time, you will be cleared, but how can you start this process from a prison within the sanctuary?"Yes, I have debts. Debts that I cannot pay at this time."
There, it feels better to have told someone your problem. The couple nods with some understanding. "Hard times - sudden misfortune - sometimes the Lord tries us all," the husband says. "Let me help you [[find the constable->Speak with the Constable]]. He will get matters sorted."You shamefully admit that you are accused of murder.
"But I am innocent," you protest as the husband moves protectively in front of his wife, whose face reflects a weary revulsion at your confession.
The older Fleming shakes his head in disbelief. "That you may say, but we need none of your kind here. Stefan! Johan! Take this man [[to the constable->Speak with the Constable]]. Let him see what sanctuary is like for felons!"