The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [249]
‘With the help of a guide named Thomas.’
‘Where is he? Let him stand up.’
To Betty’s astonishment, William Furzey stood up. So this was the mysterious Thomas. But what did it mean?
Judge Jeffreys was in full flood, now, pausing for nothing. Dunne was asked a question, then immediately cross-questioned. Within minutes it was clear he was getting confused. Trying not to incriminate Furzey, whom he had not yet understood to be the one who gave him away, he foolishly said that Furzey had not brought them to Moyles Court the second time and was soon lost in a quagmire of contradictions.
‘Alack-a-day!’ cried Jeffreys with cruel sarcasm. ‘Come, refresh your memory a little.’ As the unhappy baker’s watery eyes grew desperate, it seemed to Betty that the judge was like a cat, playing with a mouse. Increasingly confused, Dunne contradicted a tiny detail of something he had said before.
Jeffreys pounced. ‘Wretch!’ His voice thundered so that the whole courtroom seemed to shudder. ‘Dost thou think the God of heaven not to be a God of truth? ’Tis only His mercy that He does not immediately strike thee into hell! Jesus God!’ And for two entire minutes, glowering at the poor baker, the most powerful judge in the kingdom, with life and death in his hands, raved and bellowed at him until he was shaking so much it was obvious that nothing more could be got from him.
Betty herself was white. She glanced at Peter.
His mouth was open in astonishment. But he did lean down and whisper in her ear: ‘He still has no evidence that could convict.’
Furzey was called, but only briefly, to relate what he saw. One thing he said seemed to interest Jeffreys.
‘You say Dunne told you that Dame Alice asked him if you knew what business he had come upon?’
‘That’s right.’
It was poor Dunne’s turn to be questioned again – if that was what the process could be called. For the baker was now in a state of such fear and confusion that he was hardly coherent. What was the business, demanded Jeffreys. What business? The baker looked uncertain. Again and again the judge pounded, shouted, cursed. Dunne stuttered, finally fell silent. For long minutes he seemed to fall into a kind of trance.
The light from the windows was dimmer now, the great hall shadowy. A clerk lit a candle.
Then at last Dunne seemed to recover a little. ‘The business, my Lord?’
‘Blessed God! You villain. Yes. The business.’
‘It was that Mr Hicks was a dissenter.’
‘That is all?’
‘Yes, My Lord. There is nothing more.’
Betty felt Peter touch her arm. ‘Our friend Dunne has beaten this judge,’ he whispered.
But not, it seemed, without a fight.
‘Liar! You think you can banter me with such sham stuff as this?’ He turned to the clerk. ‘Bring that candle. Hold the candle to his brazen face.’
And poor Dunne, quaking again, cried out: ‘My Lord, tell me what you would have me say, for I am cluttered out of my senses.’
Betty watched in horror. This was not a court of law. It was an interrogation. What would they do next? Torture the baker in public? She looked across at her mother.
And looked again, in astonishment.
For in the midst of all this, Dame Alice had fallen asleep.
Not asleep. Not really. But Alice had lived too long, seen too much. She remembered the Civil War, the trial of King Charles, so many other trials, her husband’s fate. She knew already which way this business must end.
She would not show her fear. She was afraid. She wanted to tremble; she could have screamed at the terrible, cruel stupidity of it all. But there was no point. She already knew it and she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear. So she closed her eyes.
They brought Colonel Penruddock on next. He was brief and factual. He said how he’d found the men hiding. He also said that Furzey had told him Dunne had hinted that the men were probably rebels. So they hauled the baker on to the stand again and asked him what he meant. But he stuttered now so hopelessly that he didn’t even make sense. They had nothing.
They