Justice Littlewit clapped his moth-eaten periwig over his bald pate and leaned on the bar in the very guildhall where Lady Jane Grey had been convicted of treason for conspiring to become Queen of England. Littlewit longed to try some renowned defendant, but as a common magistrate he did little more than punish debtors, thieves, and cozeners. With a groan he eased himself into a worn and ancient armchair. The jurors rose in an uneven line and sat down again. The clerk, Nib Squiller, gave him a doubtful look. Littlewit reached in his pocket to touch the apothecary’s flask filled with spirits and determined he would pass a strict and unforgettable judgment that day.
“Oyez, oyez,” intoned the clerk, calling forth the prisoners in the docket. Clerks and attorneys circled around Littlewit like moons, and sergeants stood by with their tipstaves.
“Roger Ruffneck versus Mack, alias Meg de Galle.”
Squiller’s high voice made Littlewit’s head ache. Holding the flask in the crook of his arm, he took a sip.
Led by a bailiff, the defendant approached the bar wearing a soiled doublet. He was young, of prodigious height, and like any sensible person, scared. A red-eyed wench in a servant’s cap began to sob. Women always wept in an effort to move Littlewit to mercy, but today he was implacable. The wench was being consoled by a woman he recognized as Mistress Over–byte of the Boar’s Head Inn.
“Where is the plaintiff?” Littlewit said.
A man wearing a ruff so wide and stiff it looked as if his head were surmounted on a platter stood up. Weasle the attorney was beside him, which portended dull and lengthy speeches. Littlewit sighed and took another drink.
Squiller read the charges. “That upon the tenth day of October in the vicinity of St. Paul’s, the defendant Mack, alias Meg de Galle, did malo animo, with malicious intent, assault the plaintiff, Roger Ruffneck, vi et armis, with force and arms, causing bodily harm and stealing from him the sum of forty crowns and jewels worth five pounds.”
“How do you answer?” Littlewit asked the defendant.
“I will answer for him. I am his lawyer.” A young bearded fellow pushed his way to the surprised defendant’s side. They appeared to argue over a point of law.
“Today I am the lawyer. Trust me!” He turned to Littlewit, saying, “I, Dick Talio, contest the charge on behalf of my client and plead for a dismissal upon the evidence of this counterclaim.” He thrust a writ at the clerk.
Littlewit bristled at the unorthodox procedure. Why did Italians always insist their ways were superior?
“My lord, this claims the plaintiff is a foul abuser of the innocent, a perjurer, and a notorious villain,” said Squiller in a bored voice.
Weasle pointed at Talio. “He lies. I have two infallible witnesses to this assault besides myself, who was a victim as well.”
“Weasle, you cannot be a lawyer, a witness, and a victim in the same action,” Littlewit said.
“I am the victim here,” said Ruffneck, glaring at his attorney.
Chastened for the moment Weasle said, “I call as witnesses Davy Dapper and Peter Flick!”
Talio clapped his hands. “Bring them on!”
The two witnesses came forward, glancing uncertainly at Talio. Yes, they said in reply to Littlewit’s questions, they had seen the defendant strike Roger Ruffneck with a sword and deprive him of his purse and jewels.
“Let me question them,” said Talio, proceeding without waiting for Littlewit’s permission. “Why did you not help your friend?”
“We did not want to suffer his fate,” said Davy.
“Mack was beating Roger bloody and saying he would murder him!” said Peter.
“Stow it,” said Davy out of the side of his mouth.
“Peter Flick, you perjure yourself!” cried the defendant.
Talio continued, ignoring the interruptions. “Ha! Neither of you denies Roger was your friend. Was he not in fact paying you for your lying testimony that helped him divorce his wife? And did you not run away before the alleged assault occurred?”
Littlewit pretended to cough in order to gulp some spirits. This confused case was demanding all his attention. “How do you know they ran away?” he asked Talio.
“Because I was present and gave chase.”
“If I cannot be both a witness and an advocate, neither can you, Dick Talio,” complained Weasle.
Now the defendant spoke up. “Then I attest that Davy and Peter are arrant liars, and Roger also, for I was at the bawdy court with Dick Talio when he unlawfully divorced his wife.”
“You are the defendant; you cannot be a witness either,” said Weasle.
Littlewit rose from his chair and shook his fist at Weasle. “I am the magistrate. Let me ask the questions!”
Weasle ignored him and shouted at the defendant. “You waylaid my client in the churchyard animo furandi, with the intention of robbing him, and your lawyer chased his companions away so that you could assault him without witnesses!”
“Aha! You are admitting that Davy and Peter did not, could not, see what befell Roger!” cried Talio in triumph. “Quod est demonstratum. There were no witnesses; therefore there was no assault. The charges must be dismissed.”
“Not so fast,” said Littlewit. Talio was a clever youth, but Littlewit had been a judge for a long time and that counted for something. “Weasle, describe what happened.”
Weasle related the incident at length, including the defendant’s threats to carve out his heart and drive a sword through Roger’s guts. Littlewit glanced at Mack-alias-Meg, who looked sheepish. Guilty, he decided.
“Why did you chase them away when they might have prevented the assault?” Littlewit asked Talio.
“The alleged assault,” said Mack-alias-Meg.
“The reason touches an unrelated action,” said Talio with a slight smile. “But since you ask …” He paused.
“On the seventh day of September,” Talio continued loudly, “at the Boar’s Head Inn, Davy Dapper and Peter Flick stole from me twenty-five crowns. Here is the warrant sworn out this very morning for their arrest.”
Quick as rabbits, the two witnesses bolted from the bar. They shoved the bailiff, skirted the sergeant with his tipstaff, and made for the door. They would have escaped had Mistress Over-byte not stepped into the aisle and blocked their path with her outstretched arms. Davy put his head down like a bull and rammed into her. She caught him in a fleshy embrace and staggered backward. A second bystander—was it the host of the Boar’s Head?—tackled Peter from behind.
“Take that, you cowardly cozeners. Hurrah for Mistress Gwin and Overby!” Dick Talio shouted, drawing cheers and the deafening sound of feet stomping on timber floors.
Littlewit rose to his feet slowly. He flushed as warmth spread through his chest. What should he do? He could not release Davy and Peter without starting a riot. “Arrest them!” he ordered.
“We never should have robbed a lawyer,” said Peter to Davy.
“Shut your stupid trap,” said Davy. He shook his fist at Talio. “You stole my best satin boots!” This brought a peal of laughter from the defendant. “And my purse too.”
“So I did,” admitted Talio, “and with its contents paid the man whose cart you wrecked. That day I spared your lives so that you could be here this day.” He smiled with sly delight.
Was this a new wrinkle in the case? Littlewit took a sip to help him think more clearly and said, “Oyez! Attention. Remove those two to prison. All return to the present action lest you confuse the jury. Are there further witnesses to the assault upon Roger Ruffneck?”
At once the plaintiff shot to his feet and pointed to a woman in the crowd. “My wife! Jane Ruffneck. She was there.”
The woman came forward, shaking her fist. “If he was assaulted, I swear he deserved every blow he got.”
“Quiet, woman, until you are questioned,” said Littlewit. “Did you see Mack-alias-Meg attack your husband?”
“No, for that man is not my husband.” She pointed to the plaintiff.
“Don’t let her speak. Her truth will dig my grave,” the defendant begged Talio.
“Admit he was your husband, Jane,” said Talio gently. “Until he defamed your good name in order to divorce you.”
This was a provocative case after all, Littlewit decided. A harsh judgment against one of the parties would be necessary to teach these wrangling foes a lesson. But first he had to settle a simple question.
“Mistress Ruffneck, did you see this person”—he pointed to the defendant—“assault that person?” He pointed to Ruffneck. “As Cuthbert Weasle described it?”
The still-defiant witness said, “I did.”
“There you have it,” said Weasle in triumph.
“Finally a plain answer from a witness! How does the defendant reply?” Littlewit asked.
“It is true; Mack de Galle assaulted Roger Ruffneck,” said the defendant.
A gasp rose from the onlookers. The weeping began again. Littlewit scratched his head.
“But there are compelling reasons—” said Mack-alias-Meg.
“Mitigating circumstances,” Talio whispered.
“Mitigating circumstances,” the defendant repeated, “that a magistrate and jury ought to take into account, namely that the plaintiff abused his wife, destroyed her good name, and cheated his family of a livelihood—injustices that the law did not remedy but rather permitted!”
“Yea, when Justice sleeps, the wakeful citizen must see that the law is obeyed,” Talio said with the air of a sage.
Littlewit’s patience and his drink were almost gone. “What, are you both lawyers, with your mitigating this and that?”
“Your Honor,” whispered Nib, “I would conclude this action before it is entirely out of your control.”
Littlewit shifted, let out a fart, and spoke loudly to cover the sound. “I see no reason why the plaintiff should not prevail in this matter. No disinterested person has come forth to credibly discredit him.”
“Wait,” said Mack-alias-Meg. “Send a bailiff to the Wood Street prison to fetch a boy named Grabwill Junior. He will testify to Roger Ruffneck’s criminal abuses.”
“What is being abused here, Justice Littlewit, is the civil procedure itself,” said Weasle. “This case concerns not whether my client has assaulted anyone, but by whom he was assaulted. Mack de Galle has admitted guilt. Dispense with the trial and proceed to judgment!”
“Fie upon the procedures!” Littlewit said. “I am the judge here.”
“And I am still a witness!” It was the woman again. “I will have my say.”
“Speak, woman!” shouted Littlewit, hoping to frighten her into silence.
“Being no longer the wife of Roger Ruffneck, I have no duty to obey him. My obligation is to the truth, a duty that compels me to reveal a heinous and long-hidden crime.”
Littlewit rose from his seat, blinking away the dulling effects of the wine. What terrible crime could this insignificant woman have committed? Would he get to hang someone yet today?
“My husband was ever a jealous and violent man,” she began. “Three years ago, when we lived in the parish of St. Alphage, he accused me without any cause of lying with the priest, who was no godly man. He went out one night and came back with blood on his hands, and he threatened to kill me if I ever revealed to anyone that he had murdered the priest in his bed.”
There was not a sound in the hall until the defendant let out a high, womanish cry and fell senseless to the ground.