Roger stood back, looked at Kit, and laughed.
Kit said: ‘What is it?’
‘You don’t know what you look like. Your face is black with smoke, there’s blood on your uniform, and one leg of your trousers seems to have gone.’
Kit looked down. ‘I wonder how that happened?’
Roger laughed again. ‘You must have had quite a day.’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Kit. ‘Did we win?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Roger. ‘We won.’
*
Jarge Box’s case came up at the summer assize court. Sal stood beside him in the council chamber of the Guild Hall. When the judge came in she was dismayed to see that it was the beak-nosed vulture who had hanged young Tommy Pidgeon eight years ago. She almost gave up hope there and then.
If Tommy had lived he would be a young man now, she thought sadly. He might have turned out a decent citizen, given a chance. But he had not been given a chance.
She prayed that Jarge might be given a chance today.
As the jury was sworn in she looked at the men’s faces – well fed, confident, self-righteous – and realized they were all masters in the cloth business. No doubt Hornbeam had bullied Sheriff Doye into making sure of this. These were the people who had most to fear from Luddism, those who would be most eager to make an example of someone – anyone – in the hope of scaring the Luddites into giving up.
Then she saw that Doye had made a mistake. One of the jurors was Isaac Marsh. His daughter was married to Howard Hornbeam, and Doye had probably presumed that Marsh would be a hard-liner. However, he was a dyer, in a branch of the cloth industry that had not been mechanized, so he had less of a motive for convicting. On top of that, he was a Methodist, and might hesitate to condemn a man to death.
It was a faint ray of hope.
The evidence from the quarter sessions was repeated. Maisie Roberts claimed she had seen Jarge in the street while bells were ringing, and Marie Dodds said that Sal could have rung the bells, but Sal swore that Jarge had not left the rope room while the bells were ringing – thereby perjuring herself a second time.
The judge, summing up, did not pretend to be even-handed. He told the jury they had to weigh the evidence of two people, Mrs Roberts and Mrs Dodds, who had no reason to lie, against that of one person, Mrs Box, who might be lying to save her husband’s life.
The jury, the only people sitting down except for the judge, began to confer, but they did not reach a quick conclusion. It was soon obvious that eleven of them were in agreement and there was one holdout: Isaac Marsh. He was not saying much, but as the others talked he sometimes shook his head solemnly.
Her hopes rose. The jury had to return a unanimous verdict. If they could not, there would be a retrial, in theory. In practice, she had heard, the jury sometimes tried for a compromise, such as finding the accused guilty of a lesser crime.
After a while they all started to nod and sit back, as if they had arrived at a resolution.
Then one of them stood up and announced that they had reached a unanimous verdict. ‘Guilty, my lord, with the strongest possible recommendation for mercy.’
The judge thanked him, then reached for something below the table. Sal knew instantly that he was about to put on his black cap and sentence Jarge to death despite the jury’s recommendation. ‘No,’ she murmured, ‘please, Lord, no.’
His hands, holding the cap, appeared above the level of the table in front of him; and then Amos Barrowfield stepped forward and said in a loud, clear voice: ‘My lord, the 107th Kingsbridge Foot Regiment is fighting the French in Spain.’
The judge looked irritated. Such an intervention at the sentencing stage was unusual, though not unknown. He said: ‘What has that to do with this trial?’
‘Many Kingsbridge men have died in the cause, and the regiment needs recruits. I believe you have the power to send a man into the army as an alternative to the death penalty. Then it is up to God whether he lives or dies. I urge you to take this course with Jarge Box, not out of compassion, but because he is a strong man who would be a formidable soldier. I thank you for letting me speak.’ He stepped back.
Amos had spoken unemotionally, as if he had no care for Jarge personally, but just wanted to help the army. Sal knew this was a pose: Amos had taken the line most likely to persuade the judge, who was evidently not much troubled by compassion.
But would it work? The judge hesitated, sitting there with his black cap held between his two hands. Sal’s breath came in gasps. The room was silent.
Finally the judge said: ‘I sentence you to join the 107th Foot Regiment.’
Sal felt weak with relief.
The judge said: ‘If you fight bravely for your country, you may go some way towards atoning for your crimes.’
Sal murmured to Jarge: ‘Don’t say anything.’
