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To the point: Did you promise to marry Mistress Oxenbridge, as she claims?”
    “If I did, 'twas only in words. Spoken words, things of shaped and polished air that flash but once, then flicker away—”
    “Do you intend to marry her, now or ever?”
    The defendant looked up, eyes wide. “
Marry
that harpy? By the Mass, no! Would you?”
    The courtroom came undone then, as its occupants could hold back their laughter no more. One of the clerks went so far as to crack a smile, as the other bent his head, writing very diligently, shielding his eyes with one hand while his shoulders quivered. Master Will had taken out his table book and was making notes, his eyebrows raised with the eagerness of a huntsman on the track of quarry. Only two people seemed unmoved: John Heminges and the judge.
    The latter waved the defendant back to his place. “The destruction of property and breaking of the peace are no matters for mirth. You both stand guilty as charged. Captain Peregrine Penny, stand forth.” The large man with the mottled cheeks did so. “You will repay one half the damage assessed and serve thirty days in Fleet Prison.”
    Captain Penny raised his mutilated hand again. “Your Honor, I protest. 'Tis a poor return for faithful service to my country—”
    “Enough! Bailiff, bear him away.” I saw Penny's good hand fall on Kit's shoulder and give an affectionate squeeze before he was led away.
    “Christopher Glover, stand forth.” Kit rose from the bench, as the judge fixed him with a baleful eye. “Your conduct makes all too plain the weaknesses and pitfalls of your profession. Playacting has worked many ills upon this city, but one of the greatest is shiftless fellows who have not enough honest work to fill their days….”
    He went on a little longer about the scourge of plays and players, as I felt Master Condell grow rigid beside me. The senior members of the Company were sensitive to the common charges hurled against their profession and made every effort to conduct themselves as law-abiding, church-supporting, respectable family men. Even Master Will's pleasant face had turned to stone by the time the judge was done. For that matter, I might have lodged a protest against the notion that players had too little to do.
    “… As it is your first offense, I shall release you on bail.” Raising his voice, the judge addressed the courtroom. “Is there any present to stand bail for Christopher Glover?”
    John Heminges stood, clearing his throat. But before he could speak, a voice sounded from the back of the room. “So please you, Your Honor. His bail is secured.”
    Heads turned again as an elderly fellow came forward. His blue coat marked him as a servant, but without anydistinguishing signs to indicate his house. He stopped at the railing and handed the bailiff a sealed letter, which the bailiff in turn passed to the judge. That gentleman broke the seal and read slowly, while John Heminges sank back on the bench, as mystified as the rest of us. Kit glanced back at us, his expression undeniably smug.
    “I see.” The judge looked up with an impassive face. “Very well.” As the servant bowed and left the courtroom, the judge looked our way. “Do I understand the youth's guardian to be present?” John Heminges stood again, red-faced, as the judge continued. “Christopher Glover, you are free on bond, but I pray you take this experience to heart….” With a few more words of exhortation he waved us out of the courtroom and shuffled the next case from his stack of papers.
    Once outside, Master Heminges turned on Kit as though ready to settle the issue then and there. But he decided against it, shook his head angrily, and led the way to Fleet Street. Master Will excused himself, claiming some errand. Master Condell caught up with John Heminges, and we boys fell in behind, as always. Robin's curiosity had long since overcome his apprehension. “You must have some well-placed friends,” he