Dark Fire (7 page)

The prisoners shuffled into the dock. Most had frightened, drawn expressions and the young horse thief was shaking like a leaf now. Forbizer gave him a hard look. The clerk stood and asked the
prisoners, one by one, how they pleaded. Each replied, ‘Not guilty.’ Elizabeth was last.

‘Elizabeth Wentworth,’ the clerk asked solemnly, ‘you are charged with the foul murder of Ralph Wentworth on May sixteenth last. How say you – guilty or not
guilty?’

I felt the courtroom tense. I did not rise yet, I must wait and see whether she took this final chance to speak, but I looked at her beseechingly. She bowed her head, the long tangled hair
falling forward and hiding her face. Forbizer leaned across his desk.

‘You are being asked to plead, Mistress,’ he said coldly and evenly. ‘You had better.’

She lifted her head and looked at him, but it was the same look she had given me in her cell: unfocused, blank, as though looking through him. Forbizer reddened slightly.

‘Mistress, you stand accused of one of the foulest crimes imaginable against God and man. Do you or do you not accept trial by a jury of your peers?’

Still she did not speak or move.

‘Very well, we will address this at the end of the session.’ He looked at her narrowly a moment more, then said, ‘Bring on the first case.’

I took a deep breath. Elizabeth stood motionless as the clerk read the first indictment. She stood thus all through the next two hours, only occasionally moving her weight from one hip to the
other.

I had not attended a criminal trial for years and was surprised anew at the careless speed of the proceedings. After each accusation was read witnesses were brought on and put under oath. The
prisoners were allowed to question their accusers or bring on their own witnesses and several matters descended to exchanges of abuse, which Forbizer silenced in a clear, rasping voice. The horse
thieves were accused by a stout innkeeper; the fat woman insisted over and again she had never been there, although the innkeeper had two witnesses; her son only sobbed and shook. At length the
jury were sent out; they would be kept in the jury room without meat or drink until they reached their verdicts and would not be long. The prisoners shuffled their feet anxiously, chains clanking,
and a buzz of conversation rose from the spectators.

Everyone had been penned in the hot room all morning and the stench by now was dreadful. A shaft of sunlight from the window had settled on my back and I felt myself begin to perspire. I cursed;
judges never like a sweating advocate. I looked around. Joseph sat with his head in his hands, while his brother studied Elizabeth’s still, frozen form through half-closed eyes, his mouth set
hard. My watcher leaned back on his bench, arms folded.

The jury returned. The clerk handed Forbizer the sheaf of informations annotated with their verdicts. I felt the tension in the box as the prisoners stared at the strips of paper holding their
fates; even Elizabeth glanced up briefly.

Five men were found innocent of theft and seven guilty, including the old woman and her son, whose name was Pullen. As the verdict on them was read out the old woman called out for the judge to
be merciful and to spare her son, who was but nineteen.

‘Goodwife Pullen – ’ Forbizer’s lower lip curled slightly, red amid his neat beard, his habitual gesture of contempt – ‘You took the horse together, you have
both been found guilty of larceny and so there will be a-pullen at both your necks.’ Someone among the spectators laughed and Forbizer glared at them; he did not like levity in court, even at
his own jokes. The old woman gripped her son’s arm as he began to weep again.

The constable released those found innocent from their shackles and they scurried off. The condemned were led back to Newgate and the clattering of their chains faded away. Now Elizabeth alone
remained in the dock.

‘Well, Miss Wentworth,’ Forbizer rasped, ‘will you plead now?’

No reply. There was a murmuring in court: Forbizer silenced it with a look. I rose, but he waved me to sit down again.

‘Wait, Brother. Now, Mistress. Guilty or not guilty, it takes little effort to say.’ Still she stood like a stone. Forbizer set his lips. ‘Very well, the law is clear in these
cases. You will suffer
peine forte et dure
, crushing beneath weights until you plead or die.’

I rose again. ‘Your honour—’

He turned to me coldly. ‘This is a criminal trial, Brother Shardlake. Counsel may not be heard. Do you know so little law?’ There was a titter along the benches; these people wanted
Elizabeth dead.

I took a deep breath. ‘Your honour, I wish to address you not on the murder but regarding my client’s capacity. I believe she does not plead because her wits are gone, she is insane.
She should not therefore suffer the press. I ask for her to be examined—’

‘The jury can consider her mental state when she is tried,’ Forbizer said shortly, ‘
if
she condescends to plead.’ I glanced at Elizabeth. She was looking at me
now, but still with that dead, dull stare.

‘Your honour,’ I said determinedly, ‘I would like to cite the precedent of
Anon
in the Court of King’s Bench in 1505, when it was held that an accused who refuses
to plead and whose sanity is put in question should be examined by a jury.’ I produced a copy. ‘I have the case—’

Forbizer shook his head. ‘I know that case. And the contrary case of
Beddloe
, King’s Bench, 1498, which says only the trial jury may decide on sanity.’

‘But in deciding between the cases, your honour, I submit consideration must be given to my client’s weaker sex, and the fact she is below the age of majority—’

Forbizer’s lip curled again, a moist fleshy thing against his grey beard. ‘And so a jury has to be empanelled now to determine her sanity, and you buy more time for your client. No,
Brother Shardlake, no.’

‘Your honour, the truth of this matter can never be determined if my client dies under the press. The evidence is circumstantial, justice calls for a fuller investigation.’

‘You are addressing me now on the matter itself, sir. I will not allow—’

‘She may be pregnant,’ I said desperately. ‘We do not know, as she will say nothing. We should wait to see if that may be so. The press would kill an unborn child!’

There was more muttering among the spectators. Elizabeth’s expression had changed; she was looking at me with angry outrage now.

‘Do you wish to plead your belly, madam?’ Forbizer asked. She shook her head slowly, then lowered it, hiding her face in her hair once more.

‘You understand English then,’ Forbizer said to her. He turned back to me. ‘You are clutching at any excuse for delay, Brother Shardlake. I will not allow that.’ He
hunched his shoulders and addressed Elizabeth again. ‘You may be below the age of majority, Mistress, but you are above that of responsibility. You know what is right and wrong before God,
yet you stand accused of this hideous crime and refuse to plead. I order you to
peine forte et dure
, the weights to be pressed on you this very afternoon.’

I jumped up again. ‘Your honour—’

‘God’s death, man, be quiet!’ Forbizer snapped, banging a fist on his desk. He waved at the constable. ‘Take her down! Bring up the petty misdemeanours.’ The man
stepped into the dock and led Elizabeth away, her head still bowed. ‘The press is slower than the noose,’ I heard one woman say to another. ‘Serve her right.’ The door
closed behind them.

I sat with my head bowed. There was a babble of conversation and a rustling of clothes as the spectators rose. Many had come only to see Elizabeth; the petty thefts worth under a shilling were
of little interest, those guilty would just be branded or lose their ears. Only Bealknap, still lurking in the doorway, looked interested, for those convicted of lesser crimes could claim benefit
of clergy. Edwin Wentworth went with the rest; I saw the back of his robe as he walked out. Joseph remained alone on his bench, looking disconsolately after his brother. The sharp-faced young man
had already gone, with Sir Edwin perhaps. I went over to Joseph.

‘I am sorry,’ I said.

He clutched my hand. ‘Sir, come with me, come now to Newgate. When they show her the weights, the stone to go beneath her back, it may frighten her into speech. That could save her, could
it not?’

‘Yes, she’d be brought back for trial. But she won’t do it, Joseph.’

‘Try, sir, please – one last try. Come with me.’

I closed my eyes for a moment, ‘Very well.’

As we walked into the vestibule of the court, Joseph gave a gasp and clutched his stomach. ‘Agh, my guts,’ he said. ‘This worry has put them out of order. Is there a jakes
here?’

‘Round the back. I’ll wait for you. Hurry. They’ll take her to the press straight away.’

He shouldered a way through the departing crowd. Left alone in the hall, I sat down on a bench. Then I heard a rapid patter of footsteps from the court. The door was flung open and
Forbizer’s clerk, a round little man, ran up to me, his face red, robes billowing around him. ‘Brother Shardlake,’ he puffed. ‘Thank goodness. I thought you had
gone.’

‘What is it?’

He handed me a paper. ‘Judge Forbizer has reconsidered, sir. He asked me to give you this.’

‘What?’

‘He has reconsidered. You are to have another two weeks to persuade Mistress Wentworth to plead.’

I stared at him uncomprehendingly. No one could have looked less like reconsidering than Forbizer. There was something shifty, uneasy, in the clerk’s face. ‘A copy of this has gone
to Newgate already.’ He thrust the paper at me and vanished back into the courtroom.

I looked at it. A brief order above Forbizer’s spiky signature, stating Elizabeth Wentworth was to be detained in the Newgate Hole for another twelve days, until the tenth of June, to
reconsider her plea. I sat staring around the hall, trying to work it out. It was an extraordinary thing for any judge to do, let alone Forbizer.

There was a touch on my arm. I looked up to find the sharp-faced young man at my elbow. I frowned and he smiled again, a cynical smile that turned up one corner of his mouth, showing white even
teeth.

‘Master Shardlake,’ he said, ‘I see you have the order.’ His voice was as sharp as his face, with the burr of a London commoner.

‘What do you mean? Who are you?’

He gave a small bow. ‘Jack Barak, sir, at your service. It was I persuaded Judge Forbizer to grant the order just now. You did not see me slip behind the bench?’

‘No. But – what is this?’

His smile vanished and again I saw the hardness in his face. ‘I serve Lord Cromwell. It was in his name I persuaded the judge to give you more time. He didn’t want to, stiff-necked
old arsehole, but my master is not refused. You know that.’

‘Cromwell? Why?’

‘He would see you, sir. He is nearby, at the Rolls House. He asks me to take you there.’

My heart began pounding with apprehension. ‘Why? What does he want? I haven’t seen him in close on three years.’

‘He has a commission for you, sir.’ Barak raised his eyebrows and stared at me insolently with those large brown eyes. ‘Two weeks’ more life for the girl is your fee,
paid in advance.’

B
ARAK LED ME
at a brisk pace to the courthouse stables. My heart still banged against my ribs and the skin on my face had a
tight, drawn feeling. I knew Lord Cromwell was not above bullying judges, but he always liked to observe the legal niceties and would not have done this lightly. And Barak was a strange person to
use to confront a judge. But though he had risen to be chief minister, Cromwell was the son of a Putney alehouse keeper and was happy to work with men of low birth so long as they were intelligent
and ruthless enough. But what in Christ’s name did Cromwell want from me? His last mission had plunged me into a hell of murder and violence I still shuddered to recall.

Barak’s horse was a beautiful black mare, its coat shining with health. He cantered out while I was still saddling Chancery, pausing in the stable doorway to look back impatiently.
‘Ready?’ he asked. ‘His lordship wants to see you this morning, you know.’

I studied him again as I climbed on the vaulting block and eased myself onto Chancery’s back. A hard eye and a fighter’s build, as I had observed before. A heavy sword at his hip and
a dagger too at his belt. But there was intelligence in his eyes and in the wide, sensual mouth, whose upturned corners seemed made for mockery.

‘Wait a moment,’ I said, seeing Joseph running across the yard to us, his plump face bright, clutching his cap in his hand. When he had returned from the jakes I told him Forbizer
had changed his mind: I said I did not know why. ‘Your advocacy, sir,’ he had said. ‘Your words moved his conscience.’ Joseph was ever a naive man.

Now he laid a hand on Chancery’s side, beaming up at me. ‘I have to go with this gentleman, Joseph,’ I said. ‘There is another urgent case I must attend to.’

‘Some other poor wretch to save from injustice, eh? But you will be back soon?’

I glanced at Barak; he gave a brief nod.

‘Soon, Joseph. I will contact you. Listen, now we have some time to investigate Ralph’s murder there is something I would have you do for me, if you can. It will be difficult—’

‘Anything, sir, anything.’

‘I want you to go to your brother Edwin and ask if he will see me at his house. Say I am unsure of Elizabeth’s guilt and wish to hear his side of things.’

A shadow came over his face. ‘I need to meet the family, Joseph,’ I told him gently. ‘And see the house and garden. It is important.’

He bit his lip, then nodded slowly. ‘I will do what I can.’

I patted his arm. ‘Good man. And now I must go.’

‘I shall tell Elizabeth!’ he called after me as we rode out into the road. ‘I shall tell her, thanks to you, she is spared the press!’ Barak looked at me, raising an
eyebrow cynically.