A Second Daniel

by Neal Roberts

  “In London, then, there is no valid reason to require the greatest dignitaries of the realm to serve as Commissioners. Here we are awash in potential jurors. And I beg the indulgence of the Lord Admiral, as I am certain to be using that term incorrectly, as well.” A few snorts and titters are heard from the dais.

  “But, one may ask, where is the potential prejudice to the accused if, sitting in judgment on the facts of his case are the most learned men in the land, instead of the first twelve nobodies who can be corralled off a London street to sit on his jury? I will tell you where that potential prejudice lies, but, to do so, I must refer to first principles, that is, to Magna Carta. Incidentally, I fully expect to hear a great deal of tooth grinding by those of you who know Magna Carta better than I … which I daresay may be all of you.” The panel erupts into general laughter at this, as it not only demeans Noah’s learning but overstates the Commissioners’ learning, while at the same time doubting their patience.

  “Magna Carta contains two widely separated mentions of the requisite trial by ‘a jury of his peers.’ Article Twenty-One provides that earls and barons shall not be tried for a serious crime except by their peers. Similarly, Article Thirty-Nine provides that no freeman shall be tried for a serious crime, nor will the Crown ‘go upon him nor send upon him,’ except by the lawful judgment of his peers or by the law of the land.

  “Well, now, Magna Carta mentions earls and barons, whose peers must likewise be earls and barons, and the like. And Magna Carta separately mentions freemen, whose peers must be other freemen, not earls and barons. There can be no doubt that the prisoner Roderigo Lopez, a common physician, is neither an earl nor a baron. Yet, many Commissioners of this Court are earls and barons, lords, knights, and admirals. This jury is therefore not comprised of peers of the accused.”

  Noah then builds on his argument. “Those of you who have listened closely may say: Ah, but Magna Carta says that a freeman need not be tried by a jury of his peers, so long as he be tried ‘by the law of the land,’ which must mean something different from a trial by jury, or there would have been no need for the draftsmen to use those words, ‘the law of the land.’ And you are to be congratulated, for that is a correct interpretation.

  “What, then, is ‘the law of the land?’ Our English Constitution is largely unwritten. It is found in what is often called the ‘Common Law,’ as expressed in the customs and practices of our courts of regular session, which Queen’s Bench is, but which Oyer and Terminer is most certainly not. It is the irregular character of this Court and its composition, its uncommon procedure, if you will, that removes this Court from the ambit of Common Law.”

  Noah pauses to let this point sink in. “But, if this argument sounds too complex, let us go back to the words ‘nor will the Crown go upon him nor send upon him.’ And there’s the crux of the argument. Magna Carta was a consensual limitation on the power of the Crown. (Never mind how the Crown’s consent was extracted.) It is the Crown which is prohibited to punish a freeman for a serious crime, without first giving him either a trial by a jury of his peers or judgment according to the Common Law.

  “In the City of London, by whose authority is a Court of Oyer and Terminer created? Why, by the Privy Council, of course, whose members are appointed by the Queen to serve at her pleasure. And who does the Privy Council appoint as Commissioners?” The panel leans in carefully to hear this, and not one of them is smiling. “Why, the most highly appointed men in the land, some of whom are themselves members of the Privy Council! Are they likely to be the smartest men in the land? Yes! Are they best able to reason? Yes!

  “But are their positions independent of the good will of the Crown and its Privy Council?” Noah pauses to ensure he has their undivided attention. “NO!” he shouts. His voice thunders off the rafters, driving home his point. Dissension is now brewing on the dais.

  Noah continues. “We are all familiar with the ancient wisdom that ‘he who takes the Queen’s shilling is the Queen’s man.’ Gentlemen, like it or not, you are the Queen’s men! Yet, your commissions say that you shall try this freeman as his jurors, although you are no peers of his, and you shall try him according to procedures and customs other than the Common Law. As we have just seen, such a trial would violate Magna Carta, plain and simple.”

  An uproar ensues, but less than Noah expected. He looks over to Coke, who’s taking copious notes. His expression … ah, his expression betrays a heavy conscience. Noah has scored a major point with his adversary, who is a known champion of the Common Law.

  “The simplest solution is to transfer the case to Queen’s Bench,” he suggests. The Lord Chief Justice peers down at Noah with a quizzical, ambivalent smirk, as it’s his court that would receive this politically explosive case if it were to be transferred. Noah relaxes the pitch and volume of his voice. “And, you know, over there, we try cases like this all the time. A case of high treason in Queen’s Bench is not, and never has been, a field day for the prisoner. I assure you that the path from Westminster to Tyburn is far more thoroughly worn than that from Guildhall to the same awful destination.”

  Noah begins sidling left toward the Earl of Essex. “But at Queen’s Bench, as distinguished from this Court, the judge exercises great discretion. He may permit the participation of counsel for the accused. He may compel the Crown to produce documentary evidence and eyewitness testimony, and subject it to the scrutiny and cross-examination of the accused and his counsel.” Noah’s voice is growing louder again, and he now looks Essex straight in the eye. He makes sure everyone sees it, too.

  “At Queen’s Bench, unlike this Court, the accused has a greater role to play than to be shouted down by the best lawyer in all England. There, it is a contest! A contest of truth! Yes, a court is a place that should inspire the awe of every subject! And it should be a place of terror … but only for the subject who is guilty of the very crime of which he stands accused! For all others, it should be a place of acquittal … of justice … even of mercy. I know as well as every other Englishman that there is not a Commissioner on this Court who has ever run away from a fair fight. Let this be a fair fight!”

  If Essex were a keg of gunpowder, he would have exploded by now. The look in his reddened eyes is nothing short of bloody murder. Noah returns to the center of the well, and looks to Burghley instead.

  “If this Court denies our motion to transfer the case to Queen’s Bench, then we now make the following motions in this Court: First, that all peers of the Crown and titled persons be required to resign their commissions, their appointment having violated Magna Carta. Second, that all members of the Privy Council be required to resign their commissions, their appointment having violated Magna Carta.

  “Third, in the event that any Commissioner remains after such resignations, the accused hereby invokes his right to question every remaining Commissioner on grounds of possible interest in the outcome of the case according to the ancient form known as voir dire. Such right has been recognized by Common Law for more than a century. It applies in every court in the land empowered to try felonies, and this Court is no exception!”

  “Fourth, we move to dismiss this case on grounds of diplomatic immunity under the Law of Sovereigns, in that the accused has been expressly received by Her Majesty as an ambassador of a foreign Sovereign, namely, Portugal, and that the unequivocal written consent of such Sovereign to the prosecution of the accused has not been received by Her Majesty. And, as the identity of the Sovereign of Portugal remains in doubt, no such consent is likely to be forthcoming.”

  It’s just as well Noah has finished, as he would no longer be heard over the general clamor. Several Commissioners have risen from their seats and begun talking to others excitedly.

  This last argument was directed hard at Coke, and his eyes went wide with it. He glances over his shoulder, not at his political master, Lord Burghley, nor at his political critic Essex, but at the master of his profession, the Lord Chief Justice of England, who returns his gaze wit
h eyes wide and lips pursed and then rests his chin thoughtfully on his hands. Burghley raps his hand on a Bible in a futile attempt to bring the room back to order.

  There is a tap on Noah’s shoulder. It’s Jonathan, who hands him a small stack of sundry items. While the room remains in tumult, Noah examines them, and at first finds them confusing. They’re a series of playing cards: a queen of hearts, five aces, and a deuce. Someone must have raided more than one deck to cull these. On the deuce, the numerals and the suit have been obliterated, so as to be unreadable. He turns it over, and sees that the deck design is a black horse rearing up on its hind legs, looking remarkably like Bucklebury. Noah looks to Jonathan, and sees that they share an understanding.

  The message is that, outside Guildhall, agents of Essex have gathered to arrest Noah immediately upon his departure, and that, arrayed against them are Marie, the four jesters, one more jester whose identity Noah cannot even guess at, and Noah’s faithful steed Bucklebury. Noah looks up at Burghley, who is engaged in a heated discussion with two knights on the panel.

  No one is paying the least attention to Noah any more. He walks up to Burghley, and waits in the well beneath him to be recognized. It’s the arguing knights who first grow silent and look down at Noah; then Burghley does the same, while the rest of the hall remains in a commotion.

  “M’lord,” shouts Noah above the din, “may we go without awaiting decision on our motions?”

  Burghley looks at him in complete exasperation, as though he’d like to throw the Bible at him. “By all means, Master Ames. Please, go. Please.” His eyes shoot heavenward. “Go!”

  “Thank you, m’lord.” Noah bows.

  He and Jonathan never look back. As the two robed barristers run like madmen through the vestibule, the doorkeeper’s jaw drops, and he flees into the hall to escape them.

  Just before swinging open the outside door, Jonathan says, “Bucklebury is right outside. Ride north as fast you can, turn right at the wall, and left up Bishopsgate. We’ll regroup as soon as we’re clear, but we must get out of the walled city first, or we’ll be trapped! Don’t look back. We’ll be right behind you. I’ll count to three. Ready?” Noah nods apprehensively. “One, two, three!”

  Jonathan twists the knob and rams the door open with his shoulder, applying enough force to hurl anyone on the other side into the street.

  Noah bursts out into the bright afternoon light, and there stands Bucklebury, sleek and black in all his glory. As Noah leaps onto his back and prods him forward, he catches sight of something unexpected. Three horses in Essex’s livery are lying in the street, as though struck by a runaway cart. But before Noah can turn to look, Bucklebury shoots like a cannonball from a dead stop to frightening speed, forcing Noah to struggle to stay in the saddle.

  “Go, go, go!” cries a woman’s commanding voice a short distance behind him. It’s Marie, using a vocal timbre Noah has never heard before. With every tiny maneuver, she shouts a new command to her mount. After only a few seconds, he learns to distinguish her horse’s footfalls from those of the others further behind. She’s gaining on him slightly, although remaining carefully back of him, preparing to pull up on his right as soon as he reaches the outer wall of the old city and turns right along it.

  Bucklebury has not yet attained a full gallop, but already the buildings of London fly by at a dizzying pace. People shout and scramble out of his way, and he hears hooves, more hooves, thundering behind him, keeping up with his every shift and turn. Good lord, how many are there? And how many are hostile?

  Both exhilarated and terrified, he turns right at the wall, and Marie remains in formation with him, as though demonstrating a routine maneuver on a parade ground. With the old city wall now on his left, Marie pulls next to him on his right, wearing form-fitting black riding clothes, her hair tightly bound at the nape of her neck in sportsmanlike fashion.

  As they rapidly approach Bishopsgate Road, in the distance ahead of them appear two horsemen in Essex’s livery approaching the same gate in the opposite direction, riding hard on a course designed to cut them off before they can reach the gate. At their current speed and direction, Noah expects they’ll collide with him and Marie disastrously, just before they can escape.

  But, in a split second, Marie is passed on her right by two young horsemen in masks, riding even harder than she, each wielding a heavy sandbag in his right hand.

  “Keep going!” shouts one of them.

  To Noah’s astonishment, the two young horsemen drive straight at Essex’s men and, without slowing down, smash their sandbags into the men’s faces, unseating them both, and knocking one clean off his horse, while the other is dragged by a stirrup. One of the sandbags must have burst open, as sand flies everywhere.

  Marie shouts over the wind. “Here comes the gate! Turn left when I say so. Wait … wait … NOW!” She drops back. Noah tugs the reins left, and Bucklebury hurtles through the gate with no diminution in speed. Once again, Marie maintains her relative position like an instructor in horse. Clearing the gate, he wonders how odd it must be to see a man dressed in the sedate garb of a barrister hurtling down the road at such speeds.

  As they leave the walled City of London behind, the road quickly broadens. Instead of slowing down, however, Marie prods her horse to a full gallop and pulls into the lead, ensuring that their breakneck pace will not relent until all sign of Essex’s men has receded into memory.

  Having caught the enemy unawares, they have escaped an insurmountable force. But they may not have escaped every pair of eyes and ears in his pay.

  Chapter 27

  ABOUT FIVE MILES north of London, with Noah at her side, Marie pulls to the left edge of the road, stops, and looks back. Evidently satisfied that those following them are all on Noah’s side of the dispute, she steers her mount off the road and trots a few hundred yards into a churchyard, where she dismounts and leads her horse around to the back, out of sight. There’s nothing there but grass, a few ancient grave markers, and a babbling brook.

  “This is the rendezvous point,” she says. “We must await the others here.” She goes to the brook to fetch water for her horse, and Noah follows. Bucklebury seems happy to have a drink. In fact, he seems playful, as though he would have enjoyed running much farther than he did.

  “That was a narrow escape,” Noah declares. “Thank you for assisting with your expert horsemanship. Tell me. How did the boys persuade you to come along?”

  She smiles and kisses his cheek. “When it became obvious they know less about horsemanship and self-defense than I do, I insisted.” She glances around uneasily. “We’re not out of the woods yet. In fact, we’re not even in the woods yet. And I wish we were.”

  In a few moments, the stragglers lead their mounts into the churchyard, chatting in good spirits.

  “Where are we headed?” asks Noah.

  Arthur answers. “Oxfordshire. But I’m afraid Essex will guess that.”

  “How?” asks Noah.

  Arthur brings a water bucket up to his horse’s mouth. “We’re north of London. Doesn’t leave us many alternatives, and he knows it. If we turn east, we end up in his own County Essex amidst his henchmen, who would, incidentally, like to kill us all about now.” He takes the empty pail away from his horse. “Straight north would get us into Buckinghamshire, which would be a highly efficient way to trap ourselves on this side of the Great Ouse River. Not smart.”

  “Although Essex’s wealth and support are not in County Essex,” says Noah, “we can’t be sure what we would encounter there. You think Essex will conclude that northwest is all that’s left us?”

  “That, and he knows you’re familiar with Oxford, having spent a few years at Merton.”

  “But he didn’t,” says Noah. “He’s Cambridge.” Overhearing this, the others hiss, as though at a stage villain. “Tsk! That’s not why I said it!” He realizes that the fifth jester also hissed Cambridge through his mask.

  “So you’re an Oxford man, as well?”

/>   “I thought we established that some time ago,” says the fifth jester, removing his mask and revealing himself to be Stephen Rodriguez.

  Noah smiles. “Oh, yes, over cognac in your dear mother’s parlor.” He turns to Marie. “Who’s running the store?”

  “No one, but we’ll be back tomorrow, I hope.” Marie turns to Stephen. “Better put your mask back on, señor. We can’t afford to be recognized later.”

  “Once Essex suspects we’re Oxford-bound,” says Arthur, “he can either track us or send men there to await intelligence.”

  “Judging from what I’ve seen,” says Jonathan, “if his morons are awaiting intelligence, they’ll be waiting a long time. It would take an Act of God.”

  Arthur resumes impatiently. “He’s sure to have help from some of his faithful followers. That’s why we’re probably better off passing through forest.”

  Marie holds her hand up to her eyes, and gazes at the horizon. “That’s true only so long as the light holds. It will be getting dark soon, and the forest will be completely impassable on horseback. Besides, doesn’t it feel as though there’ll be a mist tonight?” There is general agreement that a thin fog will descend around dusk. “Mist is fine for concealing us. Unfortunately, it can also hide our path from us, confound our horses’ footing, and provide equal aid to the enemy. We’d best get started.”

  They remount. Before emerging from the churchyard into view of the road, they line up on horseback behind the church, and choose Salazar to spy for any sign of Essex’s men. He returns a short while later.

  “No sign,” he assures them. They move out in single file, and take a northwest route toward Oxfordshire.

  They haven’t gone far when Jonathan, who’s assumed a position at the front, drops back to talk to Noah. “We’d better break into smaller units. We’re just too conspicuous this way. A farmer’s unlikely to remember seeing three or four traveling together on horseback, but he may well remember eight.”