C. Sansom - Dark Fire

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.