by Neal Roberts
Noah takes a few moments to read it silently. “Very well. Thank you, Master Neville, I have read the notice. Master Killigrew, please deliver my letter to Lord Burghley.”
Henry releases Cheerful’s arm. “How did you know?” he asks in amazement.
“Don’t worry, Henry. There is no leak of information at the Privy Council. Having been in this profession for many years, I’ve seen it all. Thank you so much for coming. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to go to bed.”
“Wait!” says Henry. “I have other news.” He regards Noah skeptically. “Considering how swollen your head has become, however, I shall require your assurance that you will receive this news with reserve and humility — feigned, if need be.”
“Very well,” says Noah, yawning.
“Sir Henry is up and around. It appears to be mostly due to his undertaking to take care of your daughter, and Doctor Lopez’s medicine.”
Tired as Noah is, he stands up and does a little jig in place. He pulls Henry out of his chair and hugs him like a brother.
“Old Sir Henry!” Noah cries. “Why, that’s wonderful!”
Henry regards him with irritation. “What happened to feigning reserve and humility?”
“I did try,” says Noah, crinkling his nose. “I’m just not very good at it.”
Noah tramps upstairs, slams the door, collapses on his bed, and sleeps.
It’s just after supper on Sunday evening a few weeks later. As yet, Noah has received no reply to his letter to Burghley. He’s about to write another, this one directly to the Queen, when he hears a commotion downstairs.
“Yes, sir,” he hears Jonathan say obediently.
Heavy footfalls make their way up the stairs, followed by a knock. “Ames. It’s me. Neville. Open up. I need to speak with you right away!”
Noah opens the door. “Come in, Henry. What news?”
Henry shuts the door behind him. “I instructed Jonathan to collect Arthur and his other friends in his room, and to tell them to wait to be summoned up here. I told Jonathan to come up alone as soon as that was done.”
“Sounds serious.”
“As plague. I came straight here from an audience with the Queen at Windsor, attended, of course, by Lord Burghley and Robert Cecil. This was their opportunity to review your petition with Her Majesty.”
“My letter?”
“Was it not a petition?” asks Henry. “That’s what they called it.”
“Doesn’t matter. I have no idea what it should be called, as there’s no precedent for it. I’ve never seen anything like it in a book. Please continue. I’m sorry to have interrupted.”
Jonathan flies up the stairs, lets himself in, and sits down, out of breath.
Henry gives him a moment to catch his breath, and resumes. “The Cecils told the Queen that you wish to address the Commissioners as soon as they have been empaneled and the charges read, which will be this coming Wednesday, incidentally. Two days from now. She asked Robert what you intended to speak to them about, and he said you wished to move them to transfer the Lopez matter to Queen’s Bench, and dissolve the Court of Oyer and Terminer.
“Her Majesty asked what your grounds might be. I must say Robert did a masterful job of articulating them to Her Majesty, largely based, no doubt, upon the petition you and Jonathan wrote, but they seemed to make a great deal of sense.
“Her Majesty asked whether it would be lawful for the Commissioners to do as you’d propose. He told her that it would be lawful — if unorthodox — for Commissioners to dissolve their court voluntarily. She asked Robert whether it would be ‘prudent’ to allow such a motion to be made.”
Noah places his hands over his eyes and grits his teeth. It could all be lost right here. “How did he reply?”
“He said that the points underlying your motion are important, and that it would be a good idea to have such arguments made — but perhaps not by you.”
Noah’s stunned. “But he’s the one who had me appointed in — ”
Henry smirks. “Stop! You must understand that we’re talking about Sir Robert Cecil, the world’s foremost expert in handling Her Majesty.”
“Sorry for ripping into your narrative.”
“Mended again,” says Henry indulgently. “So, Her Majesty asks why it might be better to have a different lawyer make the motion. And Robert says: ‘Because Master Ames is a real lawyer, madam. He is not a sycophant currying favor with a faction of the Privy Council, but more like a common tradesman, whose single-minded aim is to help his client, in this case, Doctor Lopez. There is no telling what he may say to the Commissioners, or how indignant they may feel.’”
Jonathan chimes in, incredulous. “He said that? A common tradesman? What did she say to that?”
Henry smiles. “Her Majesty said, ‘How refreshing! You will instruct the Commissioners to hear Master Ames out, until he feels he is good and through. There shall be no interruptions, no reprisals or threats thereof. I expect my Commissioners to treat him with the utmost courtesy, and to give good heed to everything he says.’ Of course, that is precisely what Robert hoped she would say.
“Robert then said, ‘But, Your Majesty, the Commissioners are the most strong-willed men in the realm. They’ll not take kindly to being told what to do by a mere barrister.’ At that point, Her Majesty, who was becoming more than a little irritated, said: ‘They will hear him out just as I have said. Let me be clear. I do not care what he says. I do not care if he blows out a wall of Guildhall with a Gresham cannon.’
“‘But, Your Majesty,’ said Robert, ‘you cannot be in earnest!’” Henry’s face turns bright red, and he laughs. “And the Queen turns to me and says, ‘Master Neville, fetch me a cannon!’”
Noah’s jaw drops, and Jonathan doubles over in laughter.
“So, we’re on, then!” says Noah, a hopeful light in his eyes.
“Wait!” says Henry. “I’m nearly done. Her Majesty then said: ‘I place Master Ames and his assistant under the protection of Lord Burghley and yourself.’ As we were being dismissed, Robert said, ‘Majesty, you have said that all the Commissioners shall hear him out. Does that include Lord Essex?’ Her face turned quite to stone, and she said: ‘Especially Lord Essex!’”
Jonathan gloats at that most of all.
“One last thing,” says Henry, almost as an afterthought. “Robert persuaded the Queen to issue a writ of safe passage ordering all subjects to assist in keeping you safe and on your way. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Anyway, I’m suppressing it. It’s in my pocket to stay.”
“Why suppress it?” asks Noah.
“Because if Essex learns of it, he’ll know he cannot be seen to arrest you.”
Noah cocks his head. “Is that not the point of the writ?”
“Of course. But, if Essex cannot arrest you, he may see no other way but to kill you. Either way, we should now bring up your young brothers at the bar, to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Any residual relief has left the room. “Thank you, Henry. You are a true friend. However, I would just as soon refrain from participating in my own funeral arrangements. Jonathan, please take care of such measures with Master Neville in your own room, and leave me here with my thoughts. I have a great deal of work to do between now and Wednesday. And please, Jonathan — no lethal force. If I cannot escape Essex’s men without ruining all your lives, I’d rather be taken, and, if need be, face my end alone.”
Jonathan nods reluctantly.
Noah continues. “Henry, there is one more thing I would beg of you. Whatever you may be able to find out about the composition of the panel, as well as the identity of Crown counsel at the hearing, I would be much obliged.”
“I shall let you know tomorrow,” says Henry. “On one point, however, I can tell you right now. Crown counsel for the Court will be the Solicitor General, Edward Coke.”
Noah nods gravely. “Then it is to his conscience we must make our most strident appeal. There’s
no way I can persuade the panel myself. But Coke will remain with the panel long after I’ve left, and they’ll be inclined to credit what he says. If we can enlist Coke,” he says, hoping he’s not fooling himself, “we might have chance.”
Chapter 26
THAT WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, at quarter to three, Noah, Jonathan, and Arthur don their barrister’s robes and depart Gray’s Inn together on foot. Although it’s less frigid than it’s been, it’s still nearly freezing, and crystalline moisture nips at their faces. As they walk toward Guildhall under a leaden sky, Arthur tells them what they’ll do if a contingent of Essex’s tangerine-and-cream assembles outside while Noah’s addressing the Court of Oyer and Terminer, as the purpose of such a gathering can only be to lie in wait for him. In that case, the plan is for the jesters to remove Noah and Jonathan from London until they can arrange a prompt return under Crown protection.
The consensus among the jesters is that, once Noah’s argument has been made, Essex will be supremely furious, making it the likeliest occasion for him to have his men forcibly “escort” Noah to Essex House, ostensibly for a consultation, but really to begin repaying him for several public humiliations. The Queen’s issuance of a writ of safe passage at the request of Sir Robert Cecil only reinforces their view.
Noah, for his part, has never been so frightened in his life. The most important men in England are now assembled in Guildhall, fully expecting to participate in a legal proceeding. As the Queen has instructed them to hear him out, in approximately half an hour he’ll tell them that their services are not needed and that they should disband and go home.
“Noah,” says Arthur urgently, “have you heard a word I’ve said?”
Noah has been so focused on his upcoming task that he hasn’t taken in what Arthur’s been saying.
“Noah!” Jonathan says sternly. “If anything unsavory is happening outside Guildhall, Arthur will send us a message inside. If that happens, then, when you leave the hall, you must fly out of the door like Até hot from hell. Understand? Or they will have you!”
Noah nods absently.
Jonathan shakes his head in frustration. “Not good enough. Say it back to me, Noah!”
Noah looks him straight in his eye. “If there’s a problem outside, Arthur will send a message to us. That means, when it’s done, I fly out of the door, and … what?”
Jonathan is exasperated. “We run like hell on horseback!”
Guildhall is on the same street as Henry’s town home, and only a few hundred feet from it. As they reach Lothbury, Noah feels the urge to turn right, and pay the Nevilles a social call. It takes every bit of determination he has to turn left instead.
The sun emerges as Guildhall comes into view. Arthur stops, and holds the others back firmly by the arm. About a dozen people mill about in front of the hall. Two appear to be vendors of food, perhaps sausages, judging by the smell. The aroma of roasting chestnuts also wafts toward them on the cold breeze. Most of the others appear to be gentlemen.
“How many do you see, Jonathan?” asks Arthur.
Jonathan’s eyes scan the scene. “One, two … three in livery. Probably another one or two in plainclothes, somewhere. Can’t be sure.”
“Who’s that fat ugly one in peaches and cream?” Arthur asks. “Looks like a bulldog who got loose in the dairy. Still, he looks familiar.”
“That’s Gelly Meyrick. You’ve seen him before, giving perjured testimony against Granger. He’s made of filth and dirty tricks. Watch out for that one.”
“They’d better watch out for us,” Arthur says, and quickly turns back to Gray’s Inn without a parting word.
Noah and Jonathan proceed to the main entrance.
“Hey! Who are you two?” says a gruff voice behind them. It’s Meyrick, evidently failing to recognize either Noah or Jonathan.
Noah turns, looks Meyrick up and down, and snarls with contempt. “Who the devil are you, presuming to interfere in the Queen’s business? On second thought, stay right there. I’ll call a constable, and have you arrested for perjury.”
Meyrick recoils, and slinks away with a sneer. Jonathan seems surprised that Noah, even in his distracted state, can call up the reserves needed to face down that ugly hulk.
The doorkeeper examines Noah’s commission, and allows them both to pass. As they traverse the vestibule into the main hall and walk toward the well, Noah loses all awareness of the world in general, focusing solely on the panel and what he has to say. No sound is heard in the cavernous room but the clopping of their feet on the wooden floor, echoing distantly in the rafters. The afternoon sun that slants through the clerestory windows onto the eastern wall feels like a palpable weight on Noah’s heart.
On the dais sit some of the most accomplished men in the land. To Noah’s right are the familiar Lord Burghley and Sir Robert Cecil, as well as Solicitor General Edward Coke, who serves as Crown counsel in the case. Burghley holds the scepter symbolizing the presence of the Sovereign, which is a good sign, as it means that Noah will address the panel through Burghley, and can watch his face for any sign he’s overstepped.
To Noah’s extreme left sits the dour and angry Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, blatantly resentful that he has been required to entertain a defense motion, his lips taut, as though he’s just been forced to eat a particularly sour fruit.
Between these two extremes sit several judges whom Noah recognizes on sight. One is the Chief Justice of Queen’s Bench, also known as the Lord Chief Justice of England, who briefly joined Lord Bleffingham and Noah as they dined with Master Neville at Serjeants’ Inn many months ago. There are additional justices of Queen’s Bench, too, as well as of the Courts of Chancery, Common Pleas, and Requests. Also seated on the dais is the Chancellor of the Exchequer, to whom Noah will be submitting his bill for legal services provided to Doctor Lopez.
There is another warrior up there who would be recognized by anyone in England. It’s Admiral Howard, who, along with Francis Drake, is credited with destroying the Spanish Armada mere hours before its scheduled invasion of England. He’s flanked by several knights of renown, though none of comparable stature.
A sneeze comes from the gallery, which is supposed to be vacant on grand jury occasions such as this. He looks up to see the sole representative of Parliament sent to observe the proceedings, namely, Henry Neville. Henry nods without looking at Noah, evidently satisfied that his presence has been duly noted by the defense.
Lord Burghley bangs the scepter on the floor three times. “Commissioners in the matter of Regina versus Roderigo Lopez. As we have discussed heretofore, we have been commanded by the Queen to hear and consider various motions to be made by Master Noah Ames, counsel for the prisoner. Her Majesty has commanded that there shall be no answer or comment from the Commissioners nor Crown Counsel during the presentation. Counsel will proceed.”
“M’lord.” Noah bows, his heart pounding. “Gentlemen Commissioners.” He bows again. “Distinguished Crown Counsel.” He bows to Coke. “May it please the Court, my name is Noah Ames. This is my assistant, Jonathan Hawking. We are both counsel at Queen’s Bench, representing the prisoner Roderigo Lopez in this Court by special commission of Her Majesty. We beg the Court’s indulgence for the robes we wear, as we have earlier today appeared at Queen’s Bench, which court is very much in session at Westminster. Never having appeared before an extraordinary Court of Oyer and Terminer, we are neither of us aware of any customary accouterments expected of counsel admitted to this Court.
“On behalf of the prisoner, it is my duty to move that the Court transfer the matter of Roderigo Lopez to Queen’s Bench for all purposes, including, but not limited to grand jury deliberations, which have not yet commenced in this matter.”
Noah surveys the reaction thus far, which seems reasonably temperate.
“The Queen’s Bench finds its origin in the Curia Regis, which was the original court where King William the Conqueror heard all matters, regardless whether they were of concern to the Crown.
When jurisdiction was first divided between matters which were of no concern to the Crown, and those which were, it was Queen’s Bench (known at the time as King’s Bench, of course) which was granted jurisdiction over all matters of concern to the Crown, including cases of high treason.
“I mention this only for those Commissioners who might otherwise be completely unaware. By no means do I profess any expertise in such matters. Needless to say, there are Commissioners and Crown counsel among you who know far more about the origins of Queen’s Bench than I, and who have struggled on occasion to enlighten me in the past … with mixed results, as you can see.”
This is met with restrained laughter.
“So, we may conclude that this case falls well within the jurisdiction of Queen’s Bench, and indeed would have been commenced there if this Court had not been convened. As Queen’s Bench is perfectly capable of hearing and deciding cases such as this, one naturally asks: What is the purpose of convening a Court of Oyer and Terminer?
“To be sure, when Queen’s Bench is out of session, if a matter truly must be addressed immediately, sometimes a court such as this is convened. However, as the prosecution is evidently satisfied in this case that Her Majesty is now in no danger from the alleged plot, there seems little reason to rush to indictment and trial. And, as I have mentioned, Queen’s Bench is in session in the midst of its Hilary Term, and is perfectly capable of handling this case justly and speedily.”
Having dispensed with one pretext for convening the Court, Noah moves on to the next. “In a Court of Oyer and Terminer, such as this, Commissioners are selected on grounds of their high standing in the community. Outside London, the assurance that the accused will be tried before a panel of local notables makes substantial sense, as so many potential jurors in the English countryside are uneducated and even illiterate. Within London, however, there is a large body of men who are literate and educated. In fact, some say London suffers from a surfeit of educated men.