“I doubt you do not rightly apprehend me, sir,” returned his lordship, and his voice was soft and silken as became his judicial position. “Should you demand a formal trial, we will convey you to England that you may have it.”
“But lest you should build unduly upon that,” cut in Sir John fiercely, “let me warn you that as the offences for which you are to suffer were chiefly committed within Lord Henry Goade’s own jurisdiction, your trial will take place in Cornwall, where Lord Henry has the honour to be Her Majesty’s Lieutenant and dispenser of justice.”
“Her Majesty is to be congratulated,” said Sir Oliver elaborately.
“It is for you to choose, sir,” Sir John ran on, “whether you will be hanged on sea or land.”
“My only possible objection would be to being hanged in the air. But you’re not likely to heed that,” was the flippant answer.
Lord Henry leaned forward again. “Let me beg you, sir, in your own interests to be serious,” he admonished the prisoner.
“I confess the occasion, my lord. For if you are to sit in judgment upon my piracy, I could not desire a more experienced judge of the matter on sea or land than Sir John Killigrew.”
“I am glad to deserve your approval,” Sir John replied tartly. “Piracy,” he added, “is but the least of the counts against you.”
Sir Oliver’s brows went up, and he stared at the row of solemn faces.
“As God’s my life, then, your other counts must needs be sound—or else, if there be any justice in your methods, you are like to be disappointed of your hopes of seeing me swing. Proceed, sirs, to the other counts. I vow you become more interesting than I could have hoped.”
“Can you deny the piracy?” quoth Lord Henry.
“Deny it? No. But I deny your jurisdiction in the matter, or that of any English court, since I have committed no piracy in English waters.”
Lord Henry admits that the answer silenced and bewildered him, being utterly unexpected. Yet what the prisoner urged was a truth so obvious that it was difficult to apprehend how his lordship had come to overlook it. I rather fear that despite his judicial office, jurisprudence was not a strong point with his lordship. But Sir John, less perspicuous or less scrupulous in the matter, had his retort ready.
“Did you not come to Arwenack and forcibly carry off thence. …”
“Nay, now, nay, now,” the corsair interrupted, good-humouredly. “Go back to school, Sir John, to learn that abduction is not piracy.”
“Call it abduction, if you will,” Sir John admitted.
“Not if I will, Sir John. We’ll call it what it is, if you please.”
“You are trifling, sir. But we shall mend that presently,” and Sir John banged the table with his fist, his face flushing slightly in anger. (Lord Henry very properly deplores this show of heat at such a time.) “You cannot pretend to be ignorant,” Sir John continued, “that abduction is punishable by death under the law of England.” He turned to his fellow judges. “We will then, sirs, with your concurrence, say no more of the piracy.”
“Faith,” said Lord Henry in his gentle tones, “in justice we cannot.” And he shrugged the matter aside. “The prisoner is right in what he claims. We have no jurisdiction in that matter, seeing that he committed no piracy in English waters, nor—so far as our knowledge goes—against any vessel sailing under the English flag.”
Rosamund stirred. Slowly she took her elbows from the table, and folded her arms resting them upon the edge of it. Thus leaning forward she listened now with an odd brightness in her eye, a slight flush in her cheeks reflecting some odd excitement called into life by Lord Henry’s admission—an admission which sensibly whittled down the charges against the prisoner.
Sir Oliver, watching her almost furtively, noted this and marvelled, even as he marvelled at her general composure. It was in vain that he sought to guess what might be her attitude of mind towards himself now that she was safe again among friends and protectors.
But Sir John, intent only upon the business ahead, plunged angrily on.
“Be it so,” he admitted impatiently. “We will deal with him upon the counts of abduction and murder. Have you anything to say?”
“Nothing that would be like to weigh with you,” replied Sir Oliver. And then with a sudden change from his slightly derisive manner to one that was charged with passion: “Let us make an end of this comedy,” he cried, “of this pretence of judicial proceedings. Hang me, and have done, or set me to walk the plank. Play the pirate, for that is a trade you understand. But a’ God’s name don’t disgrace the Queen’s commission by playing the judge.”
Sir John leapt to his feet, his face aflame. “Now, by Heaven, you insolent knave. …”
But Lord Henry checked him, placing a restraining hand upon his sleeve, and forcing him gently back into his seat. Himself he now addressed the prisoner.
“Sir, your words are unworthy one who, whatever his crimes, has earned the repute of being a sturdy, valiant fighter. Your deeds are so notorious—particularly that which caused you to flee from England and take to roving, and that of your reappearance at Arwenack and the abduction of which you were then guilty—that your sentence in an English court is a matter foregone beyond all possible doubt. Nevertheless, it shall be yours, as I have said, for the asking. Yet,” he added, and his voice was lowered and very earnest, “were I your friend, Sir Oliver, I would advise you that you rather choose to be dealt with in the summary fashion of the sea.”
“Sirs,” replied Sir Oliver, “your right to hang me I have not disputed, nor do I. I have no more to say.”
“But I have.”
Thus Rosamund at last, startling the court with her crisp, sharp utterance. All turned to look at her as she rose, and stood tall and compelling at
