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breath.
    “Very well. Have you anything to add to your defense?”
    Kit opened his mouth, then apparently thought better of it. “No, sir.”
    “You may step down, then.” One of the yawning clerks wrote the plea into the court record as Kit stepped down and returned to his place, taking care to look at no one.
    Henry Condell leaned forward as the bailiff called another name. “Will, what is this about? What did he do?”
    I was eager to learn this myself and inched closer as Master Will turned his head. “I know scarcely more than you, but—”
    He was interrupted by an emphatic “
Not
guilty, Your Honor!” from the dock. Immediately after came a screech like a hog being killed.
    The noise came from somewhere behind us, and heads jerked up all over the courtroom. A stout woman in working- class garb rose from her bench, pointing a finger that quivered with rage, directly at the man in the dock. “He
lies
, Your Honor! There never was such a bold-faced blistering liar as—”
    “Sit you down, madam!” the judge rapped out.
    Instead the woman strode forward, her outstretched armlike the prow of a ship, in perfect disregard of the judge's calls to order: “He promised to marry me, Your Honor!” (“We have heard your testimony, madam—”) “So when he shows up at my tavern with two knaves who claim to be churchmen, what was I to think but he was making good on his pledge?” (“Sit
down
!”) “And so he says, only we must have a proper wedding dinner before we proceed to the church, where this knave” (she knocked Kit on the back of the head) “—will serve as witness, while the other knave” (waving her arm in a vague circle) “will marry us.”
    “Bailiff! Remove this woman!”
    “And then, after they've eaten and drunk enough to stuff a regiment of Dutchmen, all at my expense, he denies he promised anything.” The bailiff did his best, but even after he wrapped his arm around her ample waist and began dragging her toward the door, she would not be silenced. “So what could I do but set my two grown sons on them? The brawl was not my fault, Your Honor—he's the one who brought it on. He's guilty as Lucifer! Guilty, guilty—” The door slammed on a last, high-pitched
“Guilty!”
    In the abrupt silence, I heard a snicker from Robin and saw Master Will's face twitching. Most everyone else looked as sober as our judge, but the courtroom gravity had been stretched very thin. I stared at the defendant, who had brought about this change by denying his guilt.
    He almost filled the dock: as tall as Richard Burbage andat least as thick, with the bearing and presence of a military man and the complexion of a drunkard. His face might have been handsome in a rough-hewn way, but for the swollen nose, fiery as a live coal.
    The judge sighed, rubbing his eyes. “As you see, Captain, we have witnesses to the matter and your companion has admitted his guilt. What hinders you?”
    “Simple justice, my lord,” the defendant replied forth- rightly. “'Twas evil companionship that started me on last night's ill-favored venture. I meant to visit the sick, or attend to my prayers, but in spite of good intentions I was prevailed on to leave my humble lodging and take to the streets instead. Company, villainous company, hath been my downfall, honored sir—”
    “Go to!” snapped the judge impatiently. “You are the worst corrupter of youth in all of London.”
    “My lord!” cried the man, holding up a hand that showed a gap where the two middle fingers should be. “I am as virtuous as any man needs to be and as valorous. Was I not maimed in the Spanish Wars?”
    “Put down your hand. I have seen it before, and for all I know, you lost those fingers when they got stuck in the bung- hole of an ale barrel.”
    Titters broke out all over the courtroom, as the so-called captain cast down his eyes. “If you please, Your Honor. You wound my good name.”
    “As if I could do more hurt to that name than yourself.