Paul Lawrence - The Sweet Smell of Decay

There are lessons to be learnt in the art of being imprisoned. These include:

1) Eat all the food they give you, no matter how foul it is. Else the rats will come and eat it.

2) Choose one corner in which to sit. Take care that it is not the lowest part of the floor. Use the farthest corner to piss in and shit.

3) Regard your body and your mind as two different entities. If you cannot dissociate your brain from the rats and the roaches and all the bugs that walk about your body, then you will go mad.

A man came to see me. He looked like a clerk, like I did a week or so ago. His face betrayed disgust, like I was an animal or a madman. He looked at me like I probably looked at Joyce just a fortnight ago.

‘You have been indicted,’ he told me, as if he expected some reaction. He pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket and read it aloud. I don’t recall exactly what he said, but it was basically an indictment for the murder of Lord Keeling. Sitting in my pool of crap and piss I watched him speak. It was a good thing, I reflected, for it meant that I would be going to trial — and soon. Out of this hole.

It had occurred to me before this fellow arrived that I had two choices, should I be indicted. I could talk about what we had discovered at Epsom, with no mention of my doubts concerning the truth of it, nor of course the disinterment — the tale that Shrewsbury clearly wished spoken in other words. Or I could tell the whole truth. This was my dilemma. The more time dragged on, with my wrists and ankles burning like they were doused in lime, the less well disposed I was towards Shrewsbury, and the more I felt inclined to speak plainly. Now that I had been arrested, by Hill of all people, and indicted, now I could not trust Shrewsbury to safeguard my well-being — this was obvious.

I had thought through all of my witnesses. First I would call Dowling, who could testify all that I had seen. The slaughterer that had seen Keeling kill John Giles. As my star witness I would call William Ormonde, who could surely now speak openly, and I would consider calling Mrs Johnson and John Stow. The combined testimony of all these witnesses would surely be enough to acquit me.

‘What is your plea?’ the clerk asked me.

Ah now! This was important. I struggled to pull myself up to my feet. He stepped back uncertainly so that his face sunk back a little into the shadows of the torch held by the gaoler.

‘Might we speak upstairs?’ I enquired politely, bowing slightly, trying my best to put the fellow at ease.

The clerk opened his mouth then shut it again, looking at the gaoler as if for guidance before realising the absurdity of it and becoming flustered. I avoided his eye. ‘Yes.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘That is a very good idea.’

Never has a shithouse smelt so fresh as Newgate once we climbed out of the stone hold. When he saw me in the light I fancy he was able to see that I was unlikely to pounce upon him in some manic frenzy. Optimistic that this fellow would listen to me, I began to feel quite rejuvenated, hopeful that I would be able to put forward my point of view. When he dug into his pocket and purchased a meat pie and a jug of ale for me, then I almost danced for him.

‘Well,’ he said, sat on a little stool opposite me, ‘what is your plea?’

My mouth was full of gravy and thick, dry crumbs.

‘You may wish for the judgement of God, or you may go to trial. I assume you wish to go to trial?’ I nodded vigorously. If you wished for the judgement of God, then there was no disgrace upon your family, nor would you be executed in public. However, you were laid upon your back on the floor over a large boulder. A board was placed upon your stomach upon which were loaded heavy stones. One by one. Over the course of several days.

‘Then you may plead innocence, self-defence or provocation.’ He regarded me earnestly with anxious brown eyes. I considered. The fact was that I had stuck Prynne’s stick into Keeling’s ribs. That was an accident, self-defence or provocation? If I was successful in pleading an accident then I would be acquitted. If I was found guilty of self-defence then I would be pardoned, but would be fined a sum of money equivalent to the value of all my goods. Which by now was half what it had been anyway. If found guilty of killing Keeling under provocation, then I’d lose my property and be branded on one hand. The jury would never believe it was an accident; he came at me with a knife and I stabbed him.

‘Self-defence,’ I replied.

‘Very well.’ He opened a volume that lay upon his knee and wrote in it. He then closed it and stood up.

I was by no means ready to go back into the stone hold. ‘When will the trial be?’

Sitting down again he replied. ‘I think the day after tomorrow, or perhaps even tomorrow. They are keen to try you quickly.’

‘Who will be my counsel? Will it be you?’

‘No-o, Mr Lytle. In cases such as these you are not permitted counsel. You will represent yourself.’

I had thought so. ‘To whom then do I submit my list of witnesses?’

The young fellow looked at me wonderingly from out of his fresh innocent face. Like mine had been. ‘You are not entitled to submit a list of witnesses.’

‘But I have witnesses who I believe will be willing to testify.’

‘No matter. There will be only one witness, I believe.’

I was frightened. I knew that you could not force a man to testify against his will, but I felt sure that at least William Ormonde would want to set the record straight, and I was sure that Dowling would speak up for me. ‘Who is the witness?’

The young clerk opened his book again and turned its pages. With one finger he slowly traced a line down one page and then another, until he found what he was looking for. ‘Ah-ha.’ He looked up and regarded me enquiringly. ‘A friend of yours, I think?’

Dowling?

‘William Hill of Basinghall Street?’

‘Hill?’ Hill as sole witness? What did that signify?

‘I think the only other thing I can tell you is that the judge will be the Right Honourable James, Earl of Mansfield and the prosecutor is the Attorney General himself.’ I knew neither. ‘And you can of course challenge up to thirty-five jurymen, though I would consider challenging none.’

‘Why so?’

Pulling a face he whispered, ‘The Earl of Mansfield will not like it. He has a foul temper and little patience, and may hold it against you.’

‘I see.’ No counsel, no witnesses and a judge keen to finish quickly. It did not bode well.

‘I will leave you some clean clothes to change into.’

‘That is good of you.’

‘No, sir,’ he grimaced. ‘It is not for you, it is for the judge — he would not let you in his courtroom smelling as you do.’

‘Of course.’

‘Good luck.’ He stood and regarded me awkwardly. ‘May God be with you.’

‘Thank you.’ I sat and looked at the flagstoned floor. He hadn’t been so far.

Back in the hold I racked my poor brains. What could it mean, calling Hill as the only witness? True — he seemed to be working for Shrewsbury, but what motive could Shrewsbury have for seeing me condemned? I had spoken to Hill three times during this affair. Every time he had urged me to Epsom. So I had gone to Epsom, discovered what he wanted me to find, and got rid of Keeling for him besides. Hill was my friend . We had spent countless nights together drinking ale, smoking pipes and sharing our lives. Surely he would not turn the tale so that I was found guilty? Surely?