Love Disguised (17 page)

“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.

When Peter and Davy ran, Will ran after them. He did not stop to think. He knew only that he could not stand by like an idle lackey while Mack took on Roger Ruffneck. Without a sword he was swift and agile. He had Mack's pistol securely tucked inside his belt. The desire for revenge pulsed through his veins.

Will's mind was working as fast as his legs. What would he do if he caught Davy and Peter? The odds were against him in a fight. He would demand their purses, and if they had twenty-five crowns between them he would take the money and let them go. If they tried to overcome him he would fire the pistol. What if he happened to kill one of them? His dreams would die at the end of a hangman's rope. He decided he would only threaten to use the pistol.

Keeping Peter and Davy in his sight, Will dashed through the maze of streets, dodging chickens and small children. Slowly he gained ground. He was close enough to smell the cloying French perfume that trailed Davy like a cloud. He could see the dandy's boots coming apart, the heels flapping.

“Just take them off,” Will heard Peter shout.

“Nay, these cost me ten shillings!” said Davy, mincing along on his toes.

Will saw the crash coming. But Davy was looking over his shoulder at Will while the handcart piled with straw and dung creaked its way toward him. By the time he turned around again, the cart was upon him and he ran headlong into it. The carter lost control and tipped his load and Davy into the street. With a loud crack the cart broke into pieces.

Will supposed it was a sort of thieves' honor that made Peter stop running when Davy fell. Or it was dumb surprise. Will soon caught up with them, halting just short of the malodorous mess.

Davy crawled out of the slime and shouted at the carter, “You rank and crusty dung dealer! I'll sue you for ruining my clothes.”

“The devil take you! I'll sue
you
for breaking my cart.” The enraged carter began to beat him with a shovel.

Peter pushed the carter, who growled and turned on him. Will heard the crack of a bone breaking. Peter howled and grabbed his twisted left arm with his right. The carter swung around again and hit Davy in the head. He was a powerful fellow with arms as big around as hams. Will knew he should act and stop the mayhem. He put his hand on the pistol.

The blast stunned even Will. The carter dropped his shovel and fell backward onto his buttocks.

“You killed him!” said Peter.

Will stared at his hand holding the smoking pistol. The carter didn't appear to be bleeding. About three feet away was a blackened, bowl-shaped hole in the street. Will's relief
was immense but momentary. He was holding three miscreants at bay with an empty pistol.

“Hold, all of you. I'll shoot the next man who moves!” he said.

Fortunately his foes were in no state to run away. A whimpering Peter cradled his broken arm, and muck-covered Davy his sore head. Will hastily sprinkled fresh powder into the pistol.

“Who are you?” demanded the carter.

“I am a notorious bandit in these parts. These villains know me well,” said Will. He carefully waved the pistol at Davy and Peter. “I trusted you and you shook me down. Now you will taste my vengeance.”

“It was not me that robbed you,” lied Peter. “See, my arm is broken.”

“Stow it, Peter. Your brain is broken. And you, Will Shankspeer, are a white-livered bumpkin. Ha!”

Will thought he was behaving quite boldly and Davy's accusation made him furious. “You ingrate!” he said. “I saved you both from that dunghill madman. You owe your lives to me. For twenty-five crowns I'll spare you. Empty your pockets and your purses.”

“You go first,” murmured Davy.

Moving only his eyes, Peter glanced toward the black hole in the street. “No, you. He said he would shoot the first one of us who moves. I am afeard of pistols.”

Neither of them stirred. Will knew that if a constable arrived he would be the one arrested, for he was brandishing the pistol. Davy smirked, for he knew it too. The carter was getting restless.

“Yield every penny to me. Now! Or you shall not live to regret it,” said Will.

Uttering yelps of pain, Peter struggled with his good arm to reach his opposite pocket and managed to throw his purse at Will's feet. Davy dropped his in the mire.

Will picked them up, emptied them, and quickly tallied the coins. His heart sank. The total was less than five crowns. He pocketed the coins and threw down the empty purses. “You are still twenty crowns short.”

Peter held his arm and looked at the ground. Davy shrugged.

At once Will knew where they kept their money.

“Take off your shoes and give them to me.”

Peter removed his shoes and shoved them toward Will with his bare foot. Davy reluctantly stepped out of his boots. The satin was soiled, the heels hanging useless. Will shook the boots, peered inside, then tossed them away. He examined Peter's shoes, wrinkling his nose at their rancid odor.