Sacrilege

as I embraced him. “And you have not even had your breakfast.”

He laughed. “I shall have to hope that French girl comes back. I might persuade her to fetch me some bread.”

“What French girl?” I said, drawing back and looking at him.

“The one that came yesterday morning when you were out. Came to see your friend upstairs,” he added, barely audible. “I didn’t like to let her in, but there was no one around to see, and she was very insistent.”

“Hélène?” I frowned. “Sophia didn’t mention it.”

“I don’t know her name. I recognised her though, nice girl. The minister’s daughter.”

“Minister?”

“Try not to repeat everything like a simpleton when you’re at the bar, won’t you? The Huguenot minister. I forget his name.”

I stared at him as if he had suddenly begun speaking the language of the Turks.

“But what did …?” I began, but Edmonton strode over and interrupted, his hands behind his back.

“Sorry to break up your sentimental farewell, gentlemen, but this prisoner must be taken without further delay. And since the people like to know that things are done properly in this town, I’m afraid you must walk through the streets as befits one charged with capital offences.” With a triumphant smile, he brought out a set of manacles from behind his back, joined with a thick chain.

I held out my hands without protest, still staring at Harry, my mind spinning so fast I barely felt the pinch and snap of metal around my wrists. It seemed to me that time had slowed to a trickle, so that I could see the earth turning moment by moment, all the pieces falling into place as if through water, one by one. A gull cried overhead and I looked up to see thin drifts of white cloud chased across a perfect blue sky. Now I understood—and I had to decide what I would do with that understanding. I turned as the guards nudged me towards the gate to see Harry leaning on his stick, his lips moving in what I supposed was silent prayer. In that moment I envied him the certainty of his faith; mine had shattered. I bowed my head and prepared to be led in chains past the jeering crowds.

* * *

THE ASSIZES WERE to be held in the Guildhall, being the only public building of sufficient size to contain the justice, his retinue of clerks and associates, the mass of accused prisoners, and the hordes of townspeople who came to watch for want of any better entertainment. The Buttermarket was already filling up with onlookers as we emerged from the shadow of the gatehouse; I had barely stepped into the sunlight when something whizzed past my ear and struck the guard on my right in the shoulder. I ducked out of instinct, turning to see him retrieve a limp cabbage and hurl it back where it came from.

“It’s not personal,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “They just like to make a noise and throw things. You could be anyone in chains, they wouldn’t care. It’s part of their day out, you know.”

“Thank you,” I said, swivelling my head from side to side on the alert for missiles.

“You will be taken into the holding room with the other prisoners who have been brought from the gaol,” Edmonton explained as we walked, evidently taking pride in airing his knowledge and quite unconcerned by the intermittent bombardment of vegetables. “The prosecutors and witnesses will be sworn in by the marshal. After this, the prisoners are called to the bar to hear the charges read. Cases of blood always take precedence,” he added, with a smirk.

I could barely concentrate. Harry’s last words to me had had the effect of opening a shutter and allowing a shaft of light into a dim room, so that everything that had once been only outline and shadow now stood clearly illuminated. And the result was horrifying. I caught Edmonton’s last phrase and looked up.

“Cases of blood?”

“Crimes for which the punishment is death.” The smirk widened into a sideways smile. “Then you make your plea, guilty or not guilty—”

“Not, as I have said a thousand times.”

“—after which the jury will hear witnesses, the justice will direct them to a verdict, they retire to consider, then they return their verdict and the justice will pass sentence on those found guilty. He is efficient, Justice Hale. I’ve seen him work through as many as fifty cases in a day.”

“Fifty? But how can they possibly weigh the evidence for each one in that time?”

Edmonton only gave an unpleasant laugh, as if my naïveté were comical.

“And I?” I asked. “When do I see my counsel?”

“Your what?” He turned to look at me, mouth open, as if I had made a great joke.

“A man of law who will speak for me against the charges.” I heard my voice rise, panicked. Edmonton stopped still in the street, hands on his hips, his neat moustaches trembling with suppressed laughter.

“Oh dear—did you really think …?” He shook his head indulgently, as if at a slow child. “I’m afraid English law does not permit counsel for those accused of capital crimes. Now, if you stood accused of stealing five shillings, you would have a man of law to speak for you. But not for murder. It is one of those funny little quirks. The idea being, I suppose, that to hang a man the evidence must be so clear that there can be no defence.”

“But the evidence against me is all fabricated,” I said, through my teeth. “I must be allowed to challenge it!”

“You will have the chance to answer the charges,” he said, in a soothing tone, resuming his pace. “But you would be well advised not to raise your hopes.”

The crowds lining the street grew denser as we approached the Guildhall. Outside the main door, a handful of men on horseback in city livery did their best to hold back the press of people, but it was almost impossible to get in the door. Men stood on each other’s shoulders, straining for a glimpse in the windows, while women shrieked vague generic abuse as we passed.

“They are ripe for a hanging,” Edmonton murmured as our guards used the shafts of their weapons to encourage a path through the crowd. “Too many acquittals at the last assizes, they went home disappointed. People do like to see justice done, don’t they?”

“Well, they have not much hope of that here,” I said.

“Your quick tongue will avail you nothing with Justice Hale,” he said over his shoulder as he tried to elbow his way through to the door. He spoke as if the justice were an old drinking partner, a friend he had known for years. “He likes proper decorum in his courtroom. For pity’s sake, good people, let us through or there will be no trial today at all!” he bellowed at the broad goodwives in their best caps and bonnets, dressed up as if for a carnival.

On the threshold I lifted my hands, the chains rattling, and clutched at Edmonton’s sleeve.

“Constable? May I have one request?”

He turned to me with a face of incredulity and brushed my fingers away from his arm as if they might leave a stain. “What do you think you are, a nobleman in the Tower? Even now, you think you merit special treatment just because Harry Robinson was fool enough to pay your bail?” When I did not respond, he sighed. “Well, what is it?”

“I wish to speak to Dean Rogers.”

“Before you are called? Impossible. Why?”

“I would like him to pray with me. I am sure he would not refuse.”

Edmonton hesitated.

“If my friends at court should learn that I was refused that comfort, it will go the worse for you.”

“Yes, yes. Your friends at court. Sing another song.” But he looked uncomfortable. “Make way for the prisoner there!” he called out, as the guards drove back the spectators to allow us to enter the Guildhall.

The crush of people was even greater in the entrance hall, and small skirmishes were breaking out as the crowd fought with one another for access to the main hall. I was dragged through to an anteroom guarded by two solid-looking men holding pikestaffs at a slant across the doorway. A clerk of the court with a portable writing desk slung around his neck stood outside and looked up, enquiring, his pen poised.

“Filippo Sav— What is your name, Italian?” Edmonton snapped, turning to me.

“Savolino,” I said to the clerk. He ran a finger down his list and nodded.

“Murder, attempted murder, and grand larceny,” Edmonton added with emphasis, as if I might be confused with another Filippo Savolino there on lesser charges. The clerk made a mark in his register and nodded to the guards, who lowered their weapons and allowed us to pass.