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fears,' he whispered. 'Perhaps we are wasting your time, Sir Jack, but I think we should go in. This case is drawing to a close. We can discuss matters afterwards. I am sure it's nothing but idle threats! We will soon be back in Mistress Vestler's tavern to broach its best cask of malmsey.'
    Hengan had a word with the tipstaff at the door and, putting his finger to his lips as a warning to walk quietly, they went along the hallway, up some wooden steps and on to the hard, narrow benches. Athelstan quickly surveyed his surroundings. Above the justices a broad canopy displayed the arms of England; a great sheet at the back showed a mailed gauntlet clenching the sword of justice. At the tip of the sword rested a silver crown with the golden leopards of England on either side.
    The five justices looked solemn: old men, they lounged in their chairs listening to the clerk read back some of the testimony given. The one in the centre was different. Athelstan guessed this was Sir Henry Brabazon, a large, florid-faced man, cleanshaven, his cheeks glistening with oil. Deep-set eyes were almost hidden by rolls of fat. He sat like a hunting dog, now and again lifting a sprig of rosemary to sniff noisily as if he found the odour from the prisoners offensive. The accused, chained to the bar, looked most unfortunate. They were dressed in rags, their hair and beards dirty and matted. The clerk finished his testimony.
    'That is all, my lord.' He bowed low as if he were before a tabernacle.
    Sir Henry consulted his colleagues on either side.
    'Members of the jury.' Brabazon raised his head, his voice rich and sonorous. 'Do you need to retire to consider the evidence?'
    The leader of the jury jumped up so quickly, in any other circumstances Athelstan would have found it amusing.
    'Er, no, my lord.'
    'Good heavens,' Athelstan whispered. 'Brabazon is not going to waste much time with these.'
    'Good!' Sir Henry's face broke into a smile. 'And what is your verdict?'
    The leader of the jury took this as a sign to consult his fellows. There was a great deal of muttering and whispering. The three prisoners chained to the bar looked despondent. Sir Henry sat tapping his foot.
    'Well?' he barked.
    Up stood the weasel-faced leader of the jury.
    'My lord, we have a verdict.'
    'On all three counts of murder?'
    'On all three counts of murder, my lord.'
    A young attorney standing at the bar with the prisoners raised his hand. 'Yes, what is it, man?'
    'My lord, one of the prisoners,' the lawyer tapped a young man, no more than sixteen summers, 'he was drunk as a judge when the crimes were executed.'
    The lawyer realised what he had said and raised his hand to his mouth to hide his consternation as giggling broke out among both the jury and spectators.
    Sir Henry leaned forward, gesturing with his hand for silence.
    'Would you like to re-phrase that, sir?' he snarled.
    'I, I… meant as drunk as a lord, er, my lord!'
    Guffaws of laughter broke out in the court. Sir Henry banged the heel of his boot against the floor. Tipstaffs, waving white wands, moved threateningly towards both spectators and jury.
    'We have heard the evidence,' Sir Henry bawled. 'Members of the jury, look upon the prisoners. Do you find them guilty or not guilty?'
    'Guilty, my lord.'
    'On all three counts?'
    'All of them, my lord, on all three counts. But, my lord…'
    'We recommend mercy for the youngest.'
    'I'll show him mercy. Tipstaffs, bailiffs, take the prisoner named,' he pointed to the youngest, 'away from the bar. He is to be exiled from this kingdom within a week. He is not to return for seven years on pain of forefeiture of life and limb!'
    The fortunate prisoner was unmanacled and pushed to one side of the court. The young lawyer was profuse in his thanks; hands clasped, he kept bowing in Brabazon's direction. Everyone found the proceedings amusing but, when one of the clerks brought out a black silk cloth for the judge to place over his skullcap, a deathly hush fell on the court.