Will had apparently considered Meg’s worries, for when he met with Mack again, he suggested they observe a session of court. “It was your sister’s advice, which I am glad to heed because she is a very wise and comely wench.”
“Did we not discuss the perils of flattery but two days ago?” Meg said. “I cannot be moved by praise of my sister.”
“I speak the simple truth,” said Will. “Now, which way to Westminster?” He was all business today.
“It is far and we will spend too much time getting there. The chapel in St. Paul’s is closer. Offenders against common morality are tried there.”
“The bawdy court!” said Will. “I have heard ’tis like a play, such lively scenes occur there. Let’s go.”
Dozens of idlers crowded the chapel, some munching on bread and cracking nuts. Meg and Will pushed their way onto a bench. A woman charged with slandering her neighbor was being sentenced to wear a bridle to curb her tongue.
“I knew a notorious scold in Stratford that would not submit but bit her bridle so hard she broke all her teeth. Thereafter no one could understand her ranting and railing.”
Meg chuckled. “A wayward horse is wiser than she was.”
Then came a tenant accused of lewdness toward his landlady; his lawyer argued that because his client was drunk, he was not aware of his acts and therefore not guilty.
“Qui peccat ebrius, luat sobrius,” intoned the judge.
Will gave a rueful laugh. “That is true, without a doubt!”
“What did that gibberish mean?” Meg asked him.
“He who does wrong while drunk must be punished when sober.”
“Were you drunk when your father’s money was taken from you?”
“That is not the point in my case,” said Will irritably.
“Well, if the judge tells me to ‘quee peck it,’ how should I reply?”
“Neither admit nor deny, but equivocate. Say, ‘Quaeritur, prima facie’—on the face of it, the question is raised.”
Meg whispered the phrase, trying to commit it to memory. “Kway-it-tour preema fock-ee-ya.” It sounded like a lewd insult.
The next defendant was a woman accused by her husband of adultery. She bore an expression of such abject misery that Meg’s sympathy was stirred. With no lawyer to plead for her, she raised her hands to the judge and denied that she had ever been unfaithful to her husband. She was interrupted in midsentence.
“Your Honor, I have two witnesses who will swear that they beheld the defendant in flagrante delicto, in a close, lascivious, and unlawful embrace.”
“That is the husband’s attorney,” said Will.
“Assuredly a rogue. Note his shifty eyes,” said Meg.
“Produce the witnesses,” ordered the judge while he stared at the woman with disdain.
Meg gasped. Standing before the judge and wearing gentlemen’s finery that belied their baseness were Peter Flick and Davy Dapper.
Will glanced up from his book. His arm shot out to the side, striking Meg in the chest.
“Ow!” Meg’s breasts hurt. She hoped Will did not see her cringe.
“It’s them! What should we do?” he whispered.
Meg put her finger to her lips. “For now, listen.”
Davy was calling the defendant a lascivious woman and stamping his satin-booted feet for emphasis. Peter clasped his filching fingers and swore that the plaintiff, Roger Ruffneck, was an upright and faithful man.
Meg started. She had seen the man in the gargantuan ruff. “All three villains are here in one place!” she said.
“They outnumber us, Mack.” Will pulled his cap over his eyebrows.
“We’ll waylay them outside,” Meg whispered.
The judge was now speaking. “Jane Ruffneck, have you no one to vouch for your … virtue?” He hemmed as if the word was stuck in his throat. Meg heard scornful laughter from the observers.
Mistress Ruffneck stood without bending. Her self-pity had fled and her eyes flashed with anger. “Who is the man you accuse me with?” she demanded of her husband. “Where is he?” She glared at Peter and Davy.
Roger masked his villainy with a false face of innocence. Peter tapped his fingers against his leg and eyed the crowd for his next victims.
“These men all lie,” said Jane to the judge. “But as God is my witness, I am a true wife. I am the one abused by my husband.” She pulled up her sleeve. Dark bruises covered her arm.
Meg covered her mouth to keep from crying out. She recalled Roger pressing Violetta’s arm hard while attempting to seduce her. She could not count the number of times he had come to the Boar’s Head with lewd women. He, not Jane, was the one guilty of adultery. Meg swelled with fury.
“A man may rebuke his wife. Indeed it is his duty if she is wanton,” said the judge loudly. “Per curiam, the defendant is guilty. I grant the plaintiff a divorce.”
A hubbub ensued. Jane Ruffneck’s voice rose over the commotion. “Your Honor, how shall I feed myself and my child?”
Meg felt herself jostled as the wardens forced the unruly observers from the chapel. “Where is Truth? Whither Justice? They have deserted these proceedings!” Meg heard herself shout.
Will grabbed her elbow. “Were this a morality play, Mack, lightning should strike all those devils!”
“It’s not a play,” said Meg, her voice low and steely. “Come with me, Will.”
In the crowded churchyard Meg threw her gaze from right to left, but it was Will who spotted them.
“Over there in the cloisters!” he announced. “Ruffneck and his lawyer!”
Meg advanced toward Ruffneck while beckoning Will to follow. All her attention was on the villain framed by the arch of the cloisters with the monuments to the dead ranged behind him. He was giving his lawyer a purse, saying “I thank you, Weasle, and you also, Peter and Davy.” The face of Death, painted on a stone wall, oversaw their transaction.
Like an avenging angel she drew her sword and said, “It’s the devil himself dividing the spoils of the innocent among his foul minions.”
Four sets of startled eyes looked up at her. Roger drew his sword. Weasle clutched the purse to his chest. Peter and Davy glanced at each other and ran.
Meg decided to let them go. “Give me that purse, Weasle. Give me all your money, your rings, and jewels. Make haste before Death claims you loathsome, lying dogs.”
Roger made as if to strike her but Meg, quickened with fury, smote him with the flat side of her sword. He dropped his weapon and fell to his knees clutching his side. Meg sheathed her own sword and picked up Roger’s.
“I took this off you once before, did I not?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized with horror her mistake. It was Long Meg, not Mack, who had taken the sword the first time, at the Boar’s Head. She hoped that neither Roger nor Will noticed the slip.
She turned to Weasle, who cringed. “Don’t take my purse, sirrah. It’s my fee. Let me keep my fee!”
“You put your money where your heart should be. Shall I cut it out of your chest?” How good it felt to let her words flow and shape themselves into fearsome threats!
Weasle dropped the purse and pulled off his rings as if they burned his fingers. Meg scooped them up, then motioned toward Roger. “Now strip him of his valuables.”
Weasle stumbled to his knees and groped in his client’s pockets, tugged at his fingers. Roger cursed and tried to shove him away, but Weasle managed to poke him in the eye.
“What ho! No fighting in the cathedral precincts!”
Meg turned to see a constable approaching.
“Arrest him! He broke my ribs,” Roger cried, trying to point at Meg.
“Sirrah, ’tis only a scuffle among friendly rivals,” Meg said with a laugh. She lifted Roger’s sword. “While I hold this they cannot harm one another.”
“Help, my eye is bleeding,” moaned Roger.
The constable took another step toward Meg but she blocked his way.
“You might get hurt yourself,” she said in a threatening tone. She pulled a gold coin from the purse. The constable hesitated for only a moment before taking it and turning on his heels.
A shaking Weasle got to his feet and handed over Roger’s purse and jewels. There was a considerable sum inside, Meg thought with satisfaction as she hefted it. “This may help to right a few of your damnable wrongs, Roger Ruffneck.”
“Now give me back my sword,” said Roger. His ruff was in shreds.
“Do you want it through your leg or in your gut?”
Roger shrank into himself like a turtle.
“Now give me the rings you put in your own pockets, thief,” said Meg to the lawyer.
Weasle produced two large gold rings set with precious stones. “By gog, I’ll sue you.”
“I’m not afraid of snakes, rats, or weasels,” she said scornfully.
A grimacing Roger shook his fist at Meg. “I know who you are, Mack.”
Meg felt courage seep from her sinews. What did Roger know? How had he discovered Mack was not a man? She must not let him call her bluff.
“You know nothing. This game is not up yet.” It took effort to keep her voice steady.
“And we know who Long Meg is,” growled Roger. “You can’t hide from us.”
Meg’s heart jumped but she was ready with a comeback.
“I know Long Meg well. She is more of a man than you’ll ever be!” As she hoped, Roger looked both insulted and confused.
“Come, Will, let’s go,” she said, feeling triumphant. She turned but Will had disappeared.