by Lisa Klein
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.
Littlewit leaned forward.
“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 Overbyte 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.
Chapter 35
For several minutes Littlewit beheld the mayhem.
“I’ll have your life!” shouted Roger Ruffneck, leaping toward his former wife.
“Seize that murderer!” someone cried. Two sergeants and a bailiff tackled Ruffneck.
Talio, Mistress Overbyte, and the wench crowded around the defendant. At least Mack could go nowhere.
“Is there a doctor here?” Talio’s voice rose over the hubbub.
Ruffneck cursed his wife as the sergeant led him from the hall. Some bystanders drew back as if from the devil himself. Others jeered and shook their fists. A rotten apple soared through the air and struck Ruffneck in the back of the head.
“Oyez, oyez!” cried Nib, but no one heeded him.
A man with a bag shoved his way through the throng and knelt beside th
e defendant, who revived and sat up.
“My mother is innocent!” he said, tears coursing down his cheeks. “And by that knowledge I am made new. I am reborn!”
Littlewit wondered if the defendant had sustained an injury to his brain. If so, could he still be found guilty?
Talio clapped the doctor on the back. “You are late, Thomas Valentine, but all is well.”
“Thomas—my love?” The wench collapsed against Mistress Overbyte. Had she not been pining for Mack-alias-Meg only moments before?
The doctor whirled around. He snatched the cap from the girl and her dark hair sprang out. “Olivia!” he cried. The girl moved her lips soundlessly as the doctor took her into his arms.
“Olivia? You are not Violetta?” the defendant was saying, still deranged from his fall. Then he smiled. “Ah! Now I understand the reason for your strange melancholy.”
“You are obstructing my courtroom. Away with you both,” Littlewit said, flapping his arms at the two lovers.
The mad hubbub had subsided into cheers of delight as the doctor led Olivia from the bench, not taking his eyes from her. But she looked back at the defendant, saying, “Wait, for I must be sure that Mack goes free.”
This domestic drama was interfering with Littlewit’s judgment. “Now to conclude this case.” He stood up and glanced around. The plaintiff and his witnesses were gone—three new malefactors in custody, one of them for murder! The present case appeared to be moot. But Littlewit was not ready to give up. He raised his voice for the benefit of the jury, though he knew none of them would understand his words. “Habemus optimum testem confitentem reum.”
“What does that mean?” whispered Mack-alias-Meg.
Talio shook his head and shrugged.
Pleased that his Latin had confounded even the Italian, Littlewit translated. “‘We have the best witness, a confessing defendant.’ Though the plaintiff now stands accused of murder, that does not mitigate your crime, de Galle.” He had no idea if this were a valid point of the law, but who could gainsay him?
Talio placed his hands on the bar and leaned forward, his face inches from Littlewit’s. “Your Honor, my client has not made a full confession.”
“Will!” said the defendant, sounding distressed. Littlewit decided he was still touched in the head, for wasn’t the lawyer’s name Dick?
Talio tipped his head toward his client and gave him a long and searching look.
“The truth will come out, howsoever it seeks to hide itself,” said the defendant to Talio in a voice free of fear or distress. “I am not who you think I am. I am not Mack de Galle, as I have claimed to be.”
Littlewit decided that Bedlam Hospital would be a better place than Fleet Prison for the lunatic Mack.
“I ask your pardon for the deceit, which was undertaken with the best of motives. Let Violetta be my witness.” The defendant gestured toward the servant girl, who left the doctor’s side and approached the bar.
“I thought you were called Olivia,” said Littlewit sharply.
“I am. I was pretending to be Violetta. As was she.” She pointed to the defendant. “I mean, she was pretending not to be Violetta but Mack de Galle, who is no such person.” Her hand and her voice both trembled.
“Are you all mad?” cried Littlewit. He struck himself on the head and his periwig flew off and landed on the floor.
Talio picked up the periwig and considered it as if it held some grave meaning. “If there is no such person as Mack de Galle, then it is impossible he should have committed any crime.” He peered at Littlewit. “Because there was no crime, then today’s action must ipso facto be dismissed.”
“Give me that.” Littlewit half stood, seized his wig from Talio, and sat down again. If there was no such person as Mack de Galle, then who was this person at the bar?
“Since coming into this hall, has my client admitted to being Mack de Galle?” asked Talio.
Nib Squiller shuffled through his papers. He gave Littlewit an apologetic look. “Your Honor, he was identified as Mack, alias Meg de Galle, and he stated that Mack de Galle struck the victim, but he did not say he was Mack de Galle.”
Littlewit bolted out of his seat, waving his periwig at Talio. “No more of your subtle quibbles!” He turned to the prisoner and shouted, “If you’re not de Galle, then who are you?”
For a long moment the silence held. Finally the defendant replied, “I am Meg Macdougall, called Long Meg by my friends at the Boar’s Head Inn.” As he spoke his whole demeanor changed. His voice grew reedy, like a young boy’s.
“Yea, I’ll vouch for you, my dear!” cried Mistress Overbyte.
Was this Mack-alias-Meg a devil? And all these people his minions, come to provoke him to madness and turn Justice on its head? Littlewit fumbled for his flask and put it to his mouth before remembering it was empty.
The defendant gazed at Talio with eyebrows raised beseechingly. “I have no brother; there is only me. That, Will, is the simple truth,” he said, reaching up to pull off his cap. Out tumbled long, golden locks.
The onlookers gasped as one. Only Talio smiled.
“’Tis a man-woman!” said Nib Squiller.
“Nay, ’tis our Long Meg,” someone shouted. “Huzzah for Talio; Meg is free!”
“I have not dismissed the charges yet,” protested Littlewit. He placed his periwig back on his head. “Draw up the dismissal,” he said to his clerk.
One of the jurors broke out in song.
Here’s to our hero, Long Meg.
She of the mile-long leg.
Sing high, sing low, heigh-ho!
To the Boar’s Head we go.
The doctor and Talio hoisted the defendant to their shoulders. Mistress Overbyte and her husband, the doctor and his wench, and the witness Jane Ruffneck danced like lunatics under a full moon.
“Arrest the defendant for … for impersonating a criminal!” Littlewit cried. “Arrest everyone for rioting in the courtroom! Unlawful assembly. Nib, draw up new charges post haste.”
But Nib was in the midst of the revelers. Even the sergeants were celebrating by pounding their staves in time with the singing.
“Oyez!” shouted Littlewit, banging his chair against the bar in frustration. He knew with a magistrate’s infallible reckoning that young Talio would one day be a renowned and admired judge, while he himself would die an obscure magistrate. As the joyous party trailed from the hall, he tore at his periwig with both hands and threw clumps of the false hair to the floor.
Chapter 36
Will had every reason to be jubilant. Dick Talio was his best performance ever. Talio was Latin for “retaliation,” but not even the judge had suspected his alias. He had kept his dearest friend from prison and seen three of his tormentors apprehended for their crimes. He relished the paradox that Justice was done even as its procedures were so riotously overturned. Will smiled at the memory of Littlewit tearing his wig while the officers of the court danced with the victors.
Despite what the old thief had told him, Will was startled to hear Long Meg’s voice coming from his friend Mack. More so to see his familiar face change into Meg’s and her golden hair tumble forth. Then admiration stirred him. This goddess of the Boar’s Head had proved as adept at transformations as one of Ovid’s shape-shifting gods! He was elated, for her timely disclosure had sealed their triumph.
Bearing her from the courtroom, Will was aware of Meg’s rump on his shoulder, her thigh alongside his cheek, her ankle in his grasp. Her presence made his blood quicken. They had cavorted all the way to the Boar’s Head, where she disappeared, returning in a bodice and skirt. Will sneaked furtive glances at her full, round breasts and wondered how they could have been so well hidden under Mack’s doublet. How many times had he unknowingly brushed against them? Now their curves were visible, but alas her strong, shapely legs were hidden beneath a skirt. His new interest in Meg confused him, and he was uncertain how to speak to her now. She gave him no help, rather avoided meeting his eyes.
&n
bsp; Why, he wanted to ask, did you do this? Was it only for fun?
Master Overby opened the taps, pouring free ale for all. The drink filled Will with warmth. He reveled in his sudden and satisfying revenge against Peter Flick and Davy Dapper.
“Let’s drink to Justice, which prevails despite the law!” he said, raising his cup.
“To villains and thieves hoist with their own petard!” crowed Meg.
“Brought down by this arm they were!” said Overby, shaking a fist, proud to have proved useful at last.
“Nay, more by my great girth,” boasted Gwin. “My gut still hurts from the force of his head.”
Will could tell that this story would grow with each telling until it was a legend at the Boar’s Head. Like Long Meg herself, already larger than life and glowing with pleasure. He could not look at her for long.
“To Jane,” said Will, “for delivering the blow that felled the fatal Ruffneck!”
Meg raised her cup to Jane and said, “The truth that condemns the guilty, sets the innocent free.”
Will wondered why Jane’s testimony had caused Mack to collapse, then rise up again suffused with joy. It had something to do with his—rather, her—mother. The only time Meg had spoken of her past was while they were watching the play. He knew so little about her, really.
A tipsy Jane Ruffneck promised to redeem Grabwill Junior from prison and take care of him. She told how Meg once came into the Boar’s Head unaware of the man’s cap still on her head. Ned mimicked Violetta—rather, Olivia—gesturing wildly for her to remove it. Olivia giggled and turned her face toward Thomas Valentine.
“O how my throat ached after so many hours of speaking in a low voice,” said Meg. “It is a relief to be myself again.”
Will understood that Meg had to disclose her sex in order to defeat the charges against Mack. He realized now that in court, Mack had been mutely beseeching Will to reveal him as Meg. While he admired the strategy he had to ask himself, How did she expect me to know? And that led to the inevitable question, Why did she disguise herself in the first place? He sensed it was a mystery tied up with everything that was dark and inscrutable in the species womankind.