The Trial by Cake

I’ve only gone and done it again. It seems that no matter what I do, I can’t seem to keep my hands clean and, despite my best attempts, end up right back where I started – face to face with the jury, awaiting the ‘Corsned.’

It’s funny how quickly I get caught. If I get away, then great, no problems with authority, and I can go to bed early; if I get caught, then meh – I have to interact with some old white men and get home later than initially planned. You may wonder why I’m not scared of my punishment. Indeed, theft holds substantial repercussions, especially in 16th century England. Us peasants don’t get let off lightly when stealing from the upper class – we’re vermin to them. Scattering rats that only take up space. Lucky for me, it’s 16th century England, and I’m hungry.

Before I get ahead of myself, for all of you that stay away from the life of larceny, let me walk you through the process of the Corsned and why it makes my life so much sweeter. There are various ways to undergo trial here in 16th century England, and most end up with some kind of burning, impalement or worse. Common sense doesn’t play the most significant part in serving punishments to peasants, so you’ve got to know the rule of law to harvest the benefits. A little reading goes a long way as a thief, and word of mouth gets around quickly after a couple of tankards of mead. There are, however, a couple of steps that have to be taken for the Corsned to work and, if not followed, can bring, quite literally, grave consequences.

Step One is quite easy; choose the Corsned. I honestly can’t think of how you can screw this one up – if you want the Corsned trial, choose the Corsned trial. I didn’t think I had to spell that one out for you.

What should happen next is the magic of the whole trial, the cherry on top – in some cases quite literally. The jury should command a servant to bring you a piece of purposefully dry cake. The flavour changes weekly, and believe me, the posh man’s dry is a poor man’s moist. They even add a little icing if it’s close to Christmas, and yes, I have had a cherry on top before. It’s a really good cake.

Step Two is my favourite; eat the cake. Yes, this is the trial – cake eating. For some reason, the jury believes that they can tell if you’re an honest man by giving you a piece of dry cake and seeing if you choke or not. According to them, a righteous man will not choke on the cake if he is innocent — a simple, quick trial. You don’t choke; you live. You choke; you die. Piece of cake!

What a load of poppycock! Nonetheless, I cannot complain. I’ll be honest and admit that there have been times where I wanted something to eat and could not be bothered to steal or spend, so I constructed a scheme with a friend of mine that owns a market stall that benefits us both through the Corsned trial. A true masterclass of pilfery.

He would give me a loaf of bread, and I would devour it before jogging down the market streets, looking like I am running away from paying. He would then tell the local guards of the ‘theft’ and apprehend me without any trouble. Once caught, I would explain that I do not have the coin needed to pay for my goods. This meant the Crown would compensate the merchant for my trouble - and that is when my friend raises the prices of all of his products, increasing his pay. I would then undergo the Corsned and end with a tasty dessert, the perfect end to any meal.

Step Three, and the final piece of the puzzle, is simple yet the most crucial – don’t choke. Take your time and go through each bite so that no part is left unchewed. Even before taking your first bite, fill your mouth with saliva and don’t take in too much air. There is a true craft to the process, and a master craftsman takes all precautions before beginning a project. One must not forget that your life is at risk here.

This brings us back to my trial. It’s become routine for me, and the jury is getting sick to death of seeing me in front of the panel on a near-weekly basis. They must be running out of cake by now. It doesn’t bother me, I’m hungry, and I hear the cook has prepared a cake never seen before on trial – a strawberry tart. Usually, the cook prefers to use chocolate cake due to its bitterness and dry texture, but for some reason today is different. I cannot wait.

Usually, there is a brief reading of the rules and regulations of the trial before the trial commences, but not after the hundredth time. The jury, head in hand and disappointment in his eyes, spoke down to me, almost uninterested in what was to happen.

“The Corsned, right?” sighed the judge

“Hmm”, I replied sarcastically, “It’s a tricky one; there are so many great trials to choose from!”

The judge leaned back in his chair and waved his hand to the corner of the room. Bolting out of the door was a young servant, almost dancing through the air as he approached me. He must be new. The newbie brings forth a silver plate covered by a shiny metal dome. With a quick ferocious swipe of the hand, he reveals the Corsned - my trial for the evening. I let out a squeal of happiness as I notice the red berries drenching the top of the soft milky pudding spread across the delicate pastry base. The rumours were true. In front of me sat the most delectable strawberry tart ever witnessed by human eyes. Who knows, I may have to come back tomorrow before they switch recipes again.

I picked up the cake and glanced at the jury with a smirk on my face.

“Go on then,” says the jury, now completely uninterested with me as he began to shuffle through piles of paper – most likely searching for a later trial not including cake.

“You know I can’t begin yet”, I mocked the jury, “say it – you know you have to say it. Say it!”

The jury looked at each other before shrugging their shoulders and letting out a harmony of sighs.

“Fine”, moaned the judge before correcting his posture. He took a deep breath in and, as if he was speaking to royalty, enunciated the Corsned.

“Here hee, here hee, all that witness thee, lend I thou honest stomach. Here hee, here hee, all that witness thee, lend I thou honest tongue.”

Now lacking the oomph behind his delivery, the judge began shrinking in his chair as he slowly realised how stupid he must look.

“Here hee, all that witness thee, assist me in judging thou gentle honesty. Oh here, oh hee, come thee to me, oh Corsned, oh hee.”

Screw the cake – hearing that makes the trial worth it all. I gesture the jury with my cake as if we were to clank our tankards in cheers and shove it all inside my mouth.

Oh, my lord, this is the best cake the trial has ever provided! So sweet, so sticky, so smooth; I am a king for the day. I look back at the now distracted jury and send them two huge thumbs up.

“Give my congratulations to the cook,” I say to the young servant, “this is some real good ca-" oh shit.

As my mouth shapes itself to let out the K, I feel something slide down my windpipe. Something small, almost as if an ant was marching down my throat. But what could it be? I turn to the cake and scan for anything irregular, but nothing strikes as a problem. The pastry was smoother than butter, and the filling was milky fresh—the red sauce too light to stick and the strawberries softer than clouds. I’m so confused; what is happening?!

Now erratic with adrenaline, my eyes continue to scan the pastry before arriving at my target – the strawberry seeds! Thousands of black stones ready to choke me from the inside out begin to plant themselves in my throat. My eyes watered as I start to fight back the gasps for air. I feel a sharp stab in my chest before releasing my first gasp for air which attracted all the wrong attention. Now glued to me with wide grins across their face, the jury examined my actions, instantaneously taking notes and rushing through various files.

With the cake still inside my mouth, I began waving my hands to the jury, trying to explain that I had caught a cold a couple of days ago and was still trying to throw it off, but this only worsened the problem at hand. As I attempted to let out the simplest of words, the strawberry seeds grasped harder at my neck, now releasing a cough so loud it echoed through the whole chamber. I stared at the silver plate in front of me as I hear the jury say words not heard before at the Corsned trial.

“It is with our utmost regret that upon witnessing the results of the Corsned, we deem the words thou speak as untrue to the Crown, to the Court, and God,” chirped the judge. “It leaves us no choice but to deem you guilty to the crimes of theft and dishonesty, which challenge the morals of our great nation.”

I looked up at the judge with a bittersweet taste in my mouth as he perked up in his chair, almost singing the words coming out of his mouth.

“It is why, according to the trial of Corsned, I sentence thee to death.”