Simon Hawke - The Merchant of Vengeance

“‘Twould seem to me that some man has made you very angry, Elizabeth,” Winifred replied.

“Oh, all men make me angry,” she replied with a grimace. “Well, all save one, perhaps, and yet even he has the tendency to irk me now and then. I do not mean to offend you, Winifred, or cause you any more undue distress, but consider your own situation as it stands now. Consider that of my own mother, and that of nearly every woman that I know. mat happens to a woman when her whole world, her very firmament, is encompassed by a man? my, then he becomes her lord, her life, her keeper, her head, her sovereign, one that cares for her and for her maintenance commits his body to painful labor by both sea and land, to watch the night in storms, the day in cold, whilst she lies warm at home, secure and safe, and need offer no other tribute to him but love, fair looks, and tme obedience. And so one might well think ‘tis too little payment for so great a debt. And yet, what is the payment, truly? ’Tis this: Let a woman make a man her entire world, then take that man away, and she has lost her entire world. ”What, then, has she got left? “Where is her foundation and her firmament? What shall become of her when all that she is has been bounded by a man and she has lost that man? ”Why, then she has lost herself. Well, I have no wish to lose myself. And if that means living life without a man, why then, I am prepared to do so and accept spinsterhood without complaint. But I would much prefer to live life with a man whom I have chosen, and who lets me be myself, who does not compass all my borders, but understands that I need to set my own, who is my mate and works with me the way these horses work together so that they might pull this coach, thus sharing all the burden equally.“

“You wish for a great deal,” Winifred replied.

“I wish for no more than what many of the simple, common, working people have,” Elizabeth replied, “perhaps because they do not have aught else. Is that too much to ask?”

“Perhaps not,” said Winifred with a smile. “I hope you get your wish someday, Elizabeth. I truly do, for I should like to live in such a world. And if we do not have that opportunity, then perhaps someday our daughters will.”

The coach pulled up in front of the Darcie house.

“Right, we are here,” Elizabeth said, as the coachman climbed down and opened the door for them. “There is little time to lose. We must bundle Portia up and be off with her, as quickly as possible.”

“But where then shall we take her?” Winifred asked.

“I have already thought of that,” Elizabeth replied, as she got down out of the coach. “I know of a place where Portia shall be safe and they shall never think to look for her.”

“”What do you mean, you do not think he did it?“ Smythe asked.

Shakespeare shook his head. “I could be wrong,” he said, “but look at him. He is arrogant and angry, and proud, so very proud… indeed, just as you said. He is also frightened, surely, and yet he remains defiant. He is outraged that these common criminals should have dared to take such liberties with him. Aye, and he is a fool, too, I shall grant you that, for he truly does not seem to realise the danger he is in. But amidst all the violent emotions that play across his countenance, I still do not see guilt.”

“And upon this reasoning you base your judgement” Smythe asked dubiously.

“Aye, and upon this, as well,” said Shakespeare, tapping the side of his nose several times. “‘Strewth, I simply do not think he did it, Tuck! It smells all wrong to me. He hath not the aspect of a guilty man.”

“If we were to judge all men by their aspects, Will, then many of the guilty would go free and innocents throughout the world would suffer punishment,” said Smythe.

“I shall not dispute with you,” said Shakespeare. “What you say is sound, indeed. And yet, despite that, I do not think that this man would be clever enough to dissemble and conceal his guilt. More like that he would trumpet it, for if he truly did the deed, he would believe ‘twas the right deed he had done.”

“Enough!” shouted Locke from the dais, bringing down the hammer. Once more, the room fell silent. “I shall ask you once again, Henry Mayhew, how do you answer to this charge?”

“I am not obligated to make you any answer,” Mayhew replied haughtily. “You are no one to sit in judgement over me. If I am to answer to anyone, then I shall answer to God for all that I have done or not done. And to God I would say that I have had no hand in any murder, either of your son or that of any other man.”

“And this is your defence?” Locke replied scornfully. “To perjure yourself before God?”

“I would not expect any defense at all in this outrageous mockery of a court,” said Mayhew. He glanced around at the crowd, derision clearly written on his face. “Who, after all, among this scrofulous and motley gathering would rise to defend me?”

“I would,” Shakespeare called out suddenly, getting to his feet.

Smythe stared at him, aghast. “Will! Have you lost your mind?

Sit down, for God’s sake!“

Shakespeare gave his head a brief shake. “Nay, Tuck,” he said, keeping his voice low so that only Smythe could hear, “‘tis neither you nor I for whom Shy Locke whets his knife. ’Tis Mayhew. We are but a means to his end. And I intend to thwart it if can.”

“What concern is this of yours?” demanded Locke, staring at him with a frown. “You were brought here as a witness, so that you could tell your story and depart. And yet you would undertake to speak for this man?”

“I would,” said Shakespeare, stepping forward.

A buzz of curious conversation swept throughout the room, and Locke hammered several times for it to cease. “What is he to you?” he asked.

“In truth, Master Locke, he is naught to me,” Shakespeare replied. “That is to say, not more than any other man nor less.”

“So then why speak for him?”

“Because ‘twould seem that someone must,” said Shakespeare with a shrug. “After all, why bother with the fiction of a trial if no one is to speak for the accused? I am no friend of his, ’tis true, but then, neither is anyone else amongst this company. If what you wish for is revenge for your son’s death, and if you are certain beyond any doubt at all that this man killed him, why then, take your revenge and kill him also. What is to stop you? But on the other hand, if what you wish is justice for your son, and if that is why you have convened this court of your compatriots, rather than merely to put on a show for them as they do down at the Paris Gardens, then someone must perforce speak for the accused, or else there is no justice, nor even any semblance of it. Would you not agree, my friends?” he added, turning to the audience and spreading out his arms to them.

The reaction was immediate. Many of them burst into applause; others still shouted their agreement, calling out such things as ‘Well said!“ or ”Aye, let him speak! Let him speak!“ or ”A trial! A trial! Let us have a proper trial!“

Locke hammered angrily upon the table, while Smythe noticed Moll Cutpurse smiling to herself. She met his gaze and gave him a wink.

It took a few minutes for order to be restored, and then Locke said, “Very well, player. You may speak for the accused. But mark you, this is no stage for you to prance upon. We shall have no jokes or tricks or Morris dances. This is a serious matter, and you shall comport yourself accordingly. Is that understood?”

“In every aspect and particular,” said Shakespeare, giving him a small bow. “However, before we proceed, I would like to make but two requests of this fine court, with your permission.”