The Baroque Cycle - The System Of The World Part 66

"You didn't go to h.e.l.l? I had you p.r.i.c.k'd down as a straight-to-h.e.l.l man."

"As I once told you in a moment of weakness, my status was, and is, ambiguous."

"Ah, yes-your devious cousine cousine muddied those waters, did she not-I had forgotten." muddied those waters, did she not-I had forgotten."

"Not even St. Peter can sort the matter out," said the ghost of de Gex, "so I must wander the earth until Judgment Day."

"What do you do to pa.s.s the time, then, Father Ed?"

Father Ed shrugged. "I seek to redeem myself, by giving good advice, and steering others, who still have some prospect of reaching Heaven, into the path of righteousness."

"Haw! You You of all people?" of all people?"

De Gex shrugged. "Since you're chained to the floor, you have no choice but to listen to, listen to, but it is your choice whether you shall but it is your choice whether you shall heed, heed, my advice." my advice."

"And what is your advice? Speak up, you are fading."

"I do not fade," de Gex explained. "The gaolers have heard you shouting at me, and opened the door of your cell; voila, it's morning, the windows of Newgate Prison have been opened to admit fresh air, light floods in to the place. I remain here with you. Ignore the gaolers; they are confused, they see me not, they suppose you to be not in your right mind."

"Ha! Fancy that! Me, not in my right mind!"

"You have accepted the proposal that was tendered by Daniel Waterhouse...why?"

"Oh, I adjudged him the most capable of bringing it off. Charles White is a powerful man, but in a precarious spot, liable to be chased out of the country at any moment. I dared not gamble all on him him. Newton I simply could not fathom. Waterhouse, though...he's dependable, he is, and was in touch with Saturn, and had every incentive to see the matter through. He has already sprung the boys out of the Fleet-that explains why Sir Isaac was so furious yester evening..."

"That was three three evenings ago, Jack," said de Gex, "and they put you under these weights two days ago, on the eighteenth." evenings ago, Jack," said de Gex, "and they put you under these weights two days ago, on the eighteenth."

"Stab me, that's a h.e.l.l of a long time, I had quite lost track."

"You have held out longer than anyone; word has leaked out, through the windows of Newgate, into the streets, and the Mobb have begun to sing songs about you: "Put another Weight on the Stack Said the Vagabond Half-c.o.c.ked Jack Said the Vagabond Half-c.o.c.ked Jack For the night is still young For the night is still young I've got air in me lungs I've got air in me lungs And I don't think I'm ready to crack." And I don't think I'm ready to crack."

"Is that that what they were caterwauling? I had wondered. It is not so bad, I suppose, for a s.n.a.t.c.h of Mobb doggerel. And very touching. But I trust that the Mobb can improve on it. Perhaps take up a collection and hire a proper Poet, with some taste. I'd fancy something in heroic couplets, iambic hexameter perhaps, and capable of being set to music..." what they were caterwauling? I had wondered. It is not so bad, I suppose, for a s.n.a.t.c.h of Mobb doggerel. And very touching. But I trust that the Mobb can improve on it. Perhaps take up a collection and hire a proper Poet, with some taste. I'd fancy something in heroic couplets, iambic hexameter perhaps, and capable of being set to music..."

"Jack! Has it occurred to you to wonder why you can hear me, a departed spirit, while none of the gaolers knows I am in here?"

"No, but it has occurred to me to wonder why you leave me alone here for two whole b.l.o.o.d.y days-then show up to trouble my repose with ghastly Advice." show up to trouble my repose with ghastly Advice."

"The answer is the same in both cases. You are standing before the threshold of the portal that joins your world to the next."

"Is that a poetickal way of saying I'm about to croak?"

"Yes."

"Well, I shall see you in a minute or two, then, I can feel myself going...I can hear the bells of Heaven ringing..."

"Actually, those are the bells of Westminster Abbey, carrying down the river on the morning breeze."

"Why? Someone died?"

"No, it is the tradition to toll the great Bell of the Abbey as the carriage of the new Sovereign draws up before the west door. That Bell is calling all England to the Church, Jack, to celebrate the Coronation of George."

"Did they reserve a seat for me?"

"Try and concentrate, Jack, or the ringing of that bell will be the last thing you ever hear."

"I would like to remind you that the alternative alternative is for me to plead. No matter how I plead, I'm bound for Tyburn, where I'll die a much worse death than is for me to plead. No matter how I plead, I'm bound for Tyburn, where I'll die a much worse death than this this. h.e.l.l, this is practically painless!"

"Are you not forgetting an important part of the plan?"

"What? The plan of Daniel Waterhouse?"

"Yes."

"Oh, no. I know where you are leading me now, Father Ed, and it's not a place to which I will be led. You did this once before: forged a letter from her, her, to draw me in to a snare!" to draw me in to a snare!"

"You are spread-eagled to the floor of Newgate Prison with three hundred pounds of weight on your chest and you have sixty seconds to live. It strikes me as funny funny that you are so wary, at such a moment, of being drawn in to a that you are so wary, at such a moment, of being drawn in to a trap trap!"

"I just don't wish to be made a fool of again, is all. That's all I ask for, is a bit of pride."

"Pride is not what you are wanting. You've plenty. Has it got you what you desired? No. You don't want is not what you are wanting. You've plenty. Has it got you what you desired? No. You don't want pride pride. You want Faith. Faith."

"Oh, Jesus Friggin' Christ!"

"All right. Barring that, wouldn't you like to stay on another nine days, just to see how it all comes out in the end?"

"If dying means that I end up on the same plane of existence with you, and must suffer more of your prating, then nine days here begins to sound pretty good."

"So-?"

"Oh, all right. What the h.e.l.l. I'll plead."

"Say it louder!" de Gex implored him. "They can't hear you! They are hearkening to the fanfare of distant trumpets!"

"Funny, so am I-I phant'sied I'd died, and that was angels blowing golden horns for me!"

"It is the trumpeter of the Household Royal announcing the entry of George Louis to Westminster Abbey. And those are the drums of his solemn procession!"

"I'll friggin' plead!" Jack shouted, "now take this s.h.i.t off of me, already, and eject yonder Ghost."

Westminster Abbey 20 OCTOBER 1714.

LATER, THE Q QUALITY who had witnessed it (as well as many who only wanted people to who had witnessed it (as well as many who only wanted people to think think they had) would swear that the villain's lips had parted, baring his teeth, and that a hungry and feral look had come over his face. For Charles White had been a great man in the land, and it was no small matter to bring him down. He had to be made over, first, in people's minds, into a kind of beast. they had) would swear that the villain's lips had parted, baring his teeth, and that a hungry and feral look had come over his face. For Charles White had been a great man in the land, and it was no small matter to bring him down. He had to be made over, first, in people's minds, into a kind of beast.

It happened before the west front of Westminster Abbey. All of the great persons of Britain, as well as Amba.s.sadors and other guests from other realms, were standing about, a little bit dumbfounded from several hours of Church. For the Coronation of George was nothing more or less than an uncommonly tedious church-service, spiced up, here and there, with trotting-out of the gaudiest Regalia this side of Shahjahanabad. Through diverse Processionals and Recessionals they had sat, or stood, and every time the King had shooed away a fly it had been answered by a fifteen-minute Fanfare and a solemn Incantation. The Archbishop, the Lord Chancellor, the Chamberlain, and everyone on down to the Bluemantle Pursuivant had all checked in with one another to verify that George Louis of Hanover was the correct chap, and then they had double- and triple-checked, and run it by various phalanxes and bleacher-loads of Bishops, Peers, n.o.bles, et cetera, et cetera, who could never affirm anything with a quick nod or thumbs-up but must bellow out pompous circ.u.mlocutions in triplicate, bating whenever the trumpet-section, organist, or choir got a whim to break out in half an hour of joyful polyphony. A busy traffic in Bibles, Faldstools, Chalices, Patens, Ampoules, Spoons, Copes, Spurs, Swords, Robes, Orbs, Sceptres, Rings, Coronets, Medals, Crowns, and Rods had cluttered the aisle, as if the world's poshest p.a.w.n-shop were being sacked by a Mobb of under-employed Clerics and Peers, and not a jot or t.i.ttle of this swag could ever be moved from Point A to Point B without several prayers and hymns pointing out what a splendid and yet frightfully solemn event it was. Paeans flew thick and fast. Prayers were a penny a pound. The name of Our Lord was just about worn through. Christ's ears burned. Everything was pretty resounding. Spit-slicks sprawled between trumpeters' feet. Bellows-pumpers were sent down with busted guts. The boys' choir grew beards. who could never affirm anything with a quick nod or thumbs-up but must bellow out pompous circ.u.mlocutions in triplicate, bating whenever the trumpet-section, organist, or choir got a whim to break out in half an hour of joyful polyphony. A busy traffic in Bibles, Faldstools, Chalices, Patens, Ampoules, Spoons, Copes, Spurs, Swords, Robes, Orbs, Sceptres, Rings, Coronets, Medals, Crowns, and Rods had cluttered the aisle, as if the world's poshest p.a.w.n-shop were being sacked by a Mobb of under-employed Clerics and Peers, and not a jot or t.i.ttle of this swag could ever be moved from Point A to Point B without several prayers and hymns pointing out what a splendid and yet frightfully solemn event it was. Paeans flew thick and fast. Prayers were a penny a pound. The name of Our Lord was just about worn through. Christ's ears burned. Everything was pretty resounding. Spit-slicks sprawled between trumpeters' feet. Bellows-pumpers were sent down with busted guts. The boys' choir grew beards.

When finally the new King had lumbered down the aisle in his purple robe and left the building, the congregants had scarce believed their eyes-as when the world's most tedious and tenacious dinner-guest finally exits at four in the morning. There had followed a supplemental half-hour of programmed recessionals as the various guests had retreated, and gone outside to stand, blink, mingle, and chat. All the church-bells in London were pealing. The King, and the Prince and Princess of Wales, had long since gone their separate ways.

It was then that the person of Mr. Charles White had been violated by a hand that had clapped him on the shoulder. As Captain of the King's Messengers, he was dressed for the occasion in a glorious and out-moded get-up. But even through his ta.s.seled epaulet, he felt the hand on his shoulder, and knew its meaning. It was then-some said-that the hungry look came over him, and his lips parted.

He rounded on the fellow who had dared touch him. But then he was dismayed, and stopped. He had been looking for an ear to bite. But the man who stood before him-middle-aged, solid, well-dressed, in a yellow wig-did not have an ear on the right side of his head, just a lumpy orifice. And this so flummoxed Charles White that he quite lost the moment. He looked around to notice that he had been discreetly surrounded by several gentles and n.o.bles, notorious Whigs all, and that they were ready to draw their swords.

"Charles White, I arrest you in the name of the King," said the man in the yellow wig. And it was then that White knew him: this was Andrew Ellis. White had bitten his ear off twenty years ago, in a coffee-house, as Roger Comstock, Daniel Waterhouse, and a roomful of Whigs had looked on. Ellis was a Viscount or something now, and in and out of Parliament.

"I do not recognize the usurper King," White announced-a rather impolite thing to say, under the circ.u.mstances-"but I do do recognize the threat of those weapons you are so eager to draw, and so I shall go, under duress, as a man being kidnapped by Black-guards." recognize the threat of those weapons you are so eager to draw, and so I shall go, under duress, as a man being kidnapped by Black-guards."

"You may name it kidnapping or any thing else," said Ellis, "but make no mistake, it is an arrest, upon the authority of the Lord Chancellor."

"And am I allowed to know the charge?"

"That at the behest of the King of France, you did conspire with one Jack Shaftoe and edouard de Gex to trespa.s.s upon the Liberty of the Tower and adulterate the Pyx."

"So Jack Shaftoe has broken," White muttered, as he was being walked, in the midst of this knot of armed Whigs, across the Old Palace Yard, toward the Stairs where a boat waited to take him down to the Tower.

"He has denounced you, denounced you," Ellis returned. "No one knows whether he is broken, broken, or pursuing his own ends." or pursuing his own ends."

"His own," said White, "or someone else's."

But the men who were arresting or abducting him were merely amused by that, and so to any pa.s.ser-by who had stood on the bank of the Thames to watch them bundling their catch into a waiting river-barge, they'd have seemed a merry band of Englishmen, pleased to have a new King and to have survived his Coronation.

The Court of the Old Bailey 20 OCTOBER 1714.

"GUILTY!" SAID THE MAGISTRATE.

"That's what I said," said Jack Shaftoe. He worried that the magistrate had not heard his plea. His voice was enfeebled, as his breathing-musculature was fashed from having worked against three hundred pounds of resistance for days. And the other people sharing this patch of dirt with him were making a lot more noise than he was capable of.

"This court finds you, Jack Shaftoe, Guilty of High Treason!" the magistrate said, in case it had been missed in the uproar.

"This court doesn't have have to find me Guilty, as that is how I pleaded!" Jack protested, but it was useless. to find me Guilty, as that is how I pleaded!" Jack protested, but it was useless.

He was a bit giddy from the removal of the weights, and from the light and food and water that had been lavished upon him when he had cried uncle, and owned up to invading the Tower of London, and blamed the whole thing on Charles White, and agreed to come down here and plead. So he saw things in an odd way, like a traveler from China to whom everything is impossibly strange. Some sort of judicial proceeding had been underway here, involving him. But he had paid no attention to it at all. He just could not bring himself to attend to the wigged chap up on the balcony. Of much more interest was the scene down here.

Court was a good English word meaning a yard. A slab of earth. A patch of dirt. Some courts, such as those on the Isle of Dogs when Jack had been a boy, were surrounded by sc.r.a.ps of wood, and full of pigs and of pig-s.h.i.t. Other courts were surrounded by stone walls with arrow-slits in the top; people on the insides of such courts tended to have a better time of it than those who shared their courts with swine. The Queen had a court. No, scratch that, the Queen was dead. Long live the King! The King had a court. It was infested with courtiers. The theatres of Southwark were a particular type of court. There were countless other specialized types, e.g., tennis courts, forecourts, and the Court of Directors of the East India Company. One entire category of Courts was devoted to inflicting punishment on bad men. This, the Old Bailey, was one such. was a good English word meaning a yard. A slab of earth. A patch of dirt. Some courts, such as those on the Isle of Dogs when Jack had been a boy, were surrounded by sc.r.a.ps of wood, and full of pigs and of pig-s.h.i.t. Other courts were surrounded by stone walls with arrow-slits in the top; people on the insides of such courts tended to have a better time of it than those who shared their courts with swine. The Queen had a court. No, scratch that, the Queen was dead. Long live the King! The King had a court. It was infested with courtiers. The theatres of Southwark were a particular type of court. There were countless other specialized types, e.g., tennis courts, forecourts, and the Court of Directors of the East India Company. One entire category of Courts was devoted to inflicting punishment on bad men. This, the Old Bailey, was one such.

Jack had familial ties to the Irish nation and knew that Baile Atha Cliath Baile Atha Cliath was their name for the city of Dublin. Bailey, it seemed, was just another word for Court. The bailiff brought you to the bailey and put you in the bail-dock, and you dasn't stray from his bailiwick until you posted bail. was their name for the city of Dublin. Bailey, it seemed, was just another word for Court. The bailiff brought you to the bailey and put you in the bail-dock, and you dasn't stray from his bailiwick until you posted bail.

During this mental divagation of Jack's, on the subject of Courts and Baileys, the magistrate up on the balcony had been washing the place down with a spate of legal mumbo-jumbo, as well as a homily about the error of Jack's ways, and the error of his mother's ways, and his father's, and their mothers' and fathers', all the way back to the progenitor of their race, presumed to be one Cain. Little of this reached Jack's ears, because of the uproar, and none of it penetrated his head, because he was not paying attention. He knew what the magistrate was saying: that Jack was a bad man-beyond bad, if truth be told-so surpa.s.singly and transcendently bad that it was necessary for him to be put to death by the most gruesome and, hence, entertaining means that the English mind could conceive of.

The Old Bailey employed a man called a crier, whose chief qualification was that he could engrave his own words on a pane of gla.s.s, simply by shouting at it. He was deployed, from time to time, to quell the uproar. For the groundlings in this court cared naught for the words of the Justices. But the crier they respected for his loudness. He put it to work now: "Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! My Lords, the King's Justices, strictly charge and command all manner all manner of persons to keep silence while Sentence of Death is pa.s.sing on the prisoner at the bar, on pain of imprisonment." By the time he was finished, the crowd had actually heeded his words. No one was talking except for a few daft and/or deaf stragglers tucked away in the corners, who were quickly shushed by the others. Silence was a rare thing around Newgate, and fragile; but this was a different kind of silence altogether, it was contagious as smallpox. of persons to keep silence while Sentence of Death is pa.s.sing on the prisoner at the bar, on pain of imprisonment." By the time he was finished, the crowd had actually heeded his words. No one was talking except for a few daft and/or deaf stragglers tucked away in the corners, who were quickly shushed by the others. Silence was a rare thing around Newgate, and fragile; but this was a different kind of silence altogether, it was contagious as smallpox.

The magistrate was on his feet, treading heavily up to the railing of his balcony. Clearly he was in a foul temper. He'd rather be at the Coronation festivities, drinking the health of the fresh-minted King. Really, the whole country ought to count this a holiday. It was extraordinary that a Judicial Proceeding was underway here on such a day! What could account for it? Certain Powers must have reached into a courtly revel with a long shepherd's crook and fetched this magistrate out by the neck.

"The law is," he bellowed, "that thou shalt return from hence, to the Place whence thou camest, and from thence to Tyburn Cross, where thou shalt hang by the neck, but not unto Death; that thou shalt thereafter be drawn and quartered, till the body be Dead! Dead! Dead! And the Lord have Mercy upon thy Soul."

Those milling shades in the dimness behind the magistrate's belcony must be those selfsame Powers, practically hopping from foot to foot in their eagerness to run back to Westminster and proclaim the news: Jack Shaftoe was broken by the peine forte et dure, peine forte et dure, he came to the court, he pleaded, and even now lies in chains in the Condemned Hold! That was the preordained Moral of the Morality Play being enacted in this place, which looked more like a theatre the longer Jack stood here. There were even extras, or, in Theatrical cant, spear-carriers. For the Justice's kind final words, he came to the court, he pleaded, and even now lies in chains in the Condemned Hold! That was the preordained Moral of the Morality Play being enacted in this place, which looked more like a theatre the longer Jack stood here. There were even extras, or, in Theatrical cant, spear-carriers. For the Justice's kind final words, and the Lord have Mercy upon thy Soul, and the Lord have Mercy upon thy Soul, were nearly drowned out by the humble-b.u.mble of many boots on the stairs within the building, and before the audience could even consider launching a riot, they found themselves surrounded by a company of Guards brandishing half-pikes. were nearly drowned out by the humble-b.u.mble of many boots on the stairs within the building, and before the audience could even consider launching a riot, they found themselves surrounded by a company of Guards brandishing half-pikes.

Some might welcome the new King with toasts, medals, statues, or concubines. But there were men in London who could not think of any better party favor to present to their new Sovereign than Jack Shaftoe's head on a platter. At an earlier stage of his life he'd have strained his eyes to resolve the faces lurking back there in the shadows behind the balcony, perhaps shouted something of a defiant nature. But he really could not care less about them now. Truth be told, he hadn't heard a word the magistrate had uttered (aside, that is, from the terrible Sentence) in the last quarter of an hour. It was all because of the noise of the people who were down here in the dirt-the Court-the Old Bailey-with him. His people.

Something got crushed down atop his head. His knees buckled in alarm for a moment. But he was not being a.s.saulted from behind. Someone had bestowed a hat on him. By the time he turned round, that someone had been chased back into the chanting rabble by a furious corporal of the Guard. But the rabble were very pleased by what they saw. A chant formed of the roar: "G.o.d save the King! G.o.d save the King! G.o.d save the King!"

The magistrate had stood up to make himself heard, his face was red, he was bellowing with such force that his wig was shuddering, but nothing reached the court. A bailiff s.n.a.t.c.hed the thing from Jack's head and flung it down. Before his boots crushed and treaded it down into the mud of the Bailey, Jack saw what it was: a makeshift crown, sporting a letter V in the middle. Not that Jack knew much about letters; but he recognized that one, because the same symbol was burnt into the brawn of his right thumb, and had been there for most of his life. For Jack had first been branded Vagabond when he'd been a young man.

It was a common designation. King of the Vagabonds, however, was a high t.i.tle indeed, and one that had not been attached to his name until he had, through inconceivable exertions, earned it.

The Tower of London LATE AFTERNOON, 20 OCTOBER 1714.

"SO-NEAR-AND-YET-SO-FAR. That what you've been thinking all this time?" said Charles White. He spoke with remarkable aplomb for a man whose elbows were bound together behind his back with rope. He was displaying those elbows to the whole room, almost as if it was the latest fashion from Paris. For he had turned his back on Newton, and on the Beefeaters who were now guarding him, so that he could gaze out a window that overlooked Mint Street. That what you've been thinking all this time?" said Charles White. He spoke with remarkable aplomb for a man whose elbows were bound together behind his back with rope. He was displaying those elbows to the whole room, almost as if it was the latest fashion from Paris. For he had turned his back on Newton, and on the Beefeaters who were now guarding him, so that he could gaze out a window that overlooked Mint Street.

As Master of the Mint, Newton could have claimed whatever s.p.a.ce he'd taken a whim to. But he'd always been a most practical Master, keen to better the productivity of the place, and so he had situated his personal atelier so as not to impede the coiners' work. It was about forty feet on a side, divided into several closets, a wee chamber that communicated with the interior of Brick Tower and thence to the Inner Ward, and a single great laboratory-c.u.m-office that commanded a view up, and down, and across this leg of Mint Street. Scarlet late-afternoon sun was angling in through rents in northwestern clouds, setting White's left cheek and shoulder aglow, but only because they were elevated above the ground here; below them, Mint Street had already fallen into twilight, being over-shadowed by the glum row of casemates that lined the near surface of the outer wall. The casemate situated across from Newton's laboratory and a bit off to the right was at once the best and the worst of these. Its sole practical function, lately, had been to enclose the Vault that housed the Pyx. As such it had been guarded round the clock by men identifying themselves as Queen's, and more recently King's, Messengers. Which amounted to that they wore silver-greyhound badges and had bits of paper bearing the signature and the seal of Charles White.

This view of the house-which was to say, Sir Isaac Newton's view-was one that Charles White had never had the opportunity to enjoy until a few moments ago, when the Yeomen had frogmarched him in to the laboratory. He was making it clear now that he was well pleased with the picture his hand-picked Messengers made, standing there as a finely dressed and heavily-armed barrier between Newton and his magic box. When the Messengers spied White up in the window, lit up by the sun, they took to hip-hip-huzzahing him, perhaps not realizing that he was under arrest, and on a serious charge indeed- "High Treason," Newton was saying. He was seated at a vast table, which had turned black from hard employment. He was still wearing the crimson robes he had donned, this morning, for the Coronation. "I cannot think of any other word to describe what you stand accused of doing."

"Accused!?" White asked merrily, and now, at last, tore himself from the window, and turned in to the room to face Newton. The sunset-light filled the laboratory like a refulgent gas, making all dull-colored things, such as the table and the faded beams of the low ceiling, even dimmer than they were. But anything that had an iota of shine or of color gleamed out of the dark like colored stars: Newton's robes, the ribbons trapped between pages of his fat, ragged, ancient books, the bra.s.s and gold of his many scales and balances, samples of gold and silver piled here and there. "Who has accused me?" White asked merrily, and now, at last, tore himself from the window, and turned in to the room to face Newton. The sunset-light filled the laboratory like a refulgent gas, making all dull-colored things, such as the table and the faded beams of the low ceiling, even dimmer than they were. But anything that had an iota of shine or of color gleamed out of the dark like colored stars: Newton's robes, the ribbons trapped between pages of his fat, ragged, ancient books, the bra.s.s and gold of his many scales and balances, samples of gold and silver piled here and there. "Who has accused me?"

"Jack Shaftoe."

"Don't suppose that has anything to do with your putting three hundred pounds of lead on his chest?"

"I do not suppose so," said Newton, "for I suppose that you are quite guilty. But I do admit that an adroit barrister could build a case that Jack Shaftoe is an unreliable witness to begin with, made more so by the torment of the peine forte et dure peine forte et dure."

White now, for the first time, seemed taken aback. He had not expected Isaac Newton, of all people, to lend him a hand in erecting his legal defense. "You care not what happens to Jack-whether he is believed, or no!" White tried.

"I care not whether he was your puppet, or you his, or both of you de Gex's."

"But you need to establish that the Pyx was adulterated by someone, by someone, so that you'll not be held responsible for what is found there. And Jack's testimony, perhaps, is not deemed reliable enough to prove that beyond doubt. You need so that you'll not be held responsible for what is found there. And Jack's testimony, perhaps, is not deemed reliable enough to prove that beyond doubt. You need my my word on it." word on it."

"You shall have adequate time to develop that and other theories in your new lodgings," said Newton, who stood up abruptly, and nodded to the Beefeaters. He had heard some sort of commotion down below, and wanted to go have a look. As did White; but, obeying gestures from Newton, the Yeomen laid hands on the prisoner and dragged him back before he could get near Newton, or the window. White became agitated for the first time, and cursed and made unrealistic demands, then fanciful threats as the Beefeaters dragged him back to the inner chamber, and thence into Brick Tower; from there, it would be a short march across the Parade to one of the Yeomen's houses where White would be an involuntary guest from now on.

A Letter 20 OCTOBER 1714.

Charles White, Esq. The Tower The Tower Dappa Dappa The Clink The Clink Mr. Dappa, Mr. Dappa, It has been brought to my notice that in the press have appeared diverse libels, broadsides, essays, &c., supposed to have been written by you, in which my name is dishonoured. I demand satisfaction of a kind that may only be achieved if you and I come together in the same place for a short time: preferably an open field, removed from crowds and habitations. You will, I am certain, take my meaning. It has been brought to my notice that in the press have appeared diverse libels, broadsides, essays, &c., supposed to have been written by you, in which my name is dishonoured. I demand satisfaction of a kind that may only be achieved if you and I come together in the same place for a short time: preferably an open field, removed from crowds and habitations. You will, I am certain, take my meaning.I am unable to set foot beyond the Liberty of the Tower without in so doing sacrificing my honour as a Gentleman; consequently, I must beg your indulgence in a small favour, viz. that you might pay a call on me here, that we may settle the thing in these precincts.This cannot be achieved while you remain imprisoned on charges of thievery. As you will remember, I preferred these charges against you some months ago, but the prosecution has been delayed and stretched out by the machinations of the diverse lawyers retained on your behalf by your notorious Benefactress. Know then that I shall tomorrow (21 October) inform the Magistrate that no further efforts shall be made to advance your Prosecution and that you should be released forthwith. Accordingly, I shall look for you at the Tower of London at dawn of the 22nd instant.It is a tradition that when one gentleman challenges another in this wise, the challengee shall have the privilege of choosing the weapons to be used. As you are no gentleman, you might not have been aware of this; and one must rate it as unlikely that you shall possess the mastery of the art of Defensing that would be required in order to contend with one such as me. It is my expectation, therefore, that you shall elect to try the matter with firearms, at such-and-such number of paces. If your estate as a recently freed prisoner, your blackness, or your poverty render it infeasible for you to lay hands on two suitable weapons, pray inform me and I shall see to it that they are provided.I am, until daybreak of the 22nd, Your Humble & Obedient Svt., Your Humble & Obedient Svt., Charles White, Esq. Charles White, Esq.

Mint Street, the Tower of London DUSK, 20 OCTOBER 1714.

SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR, White had said; but emerging from the sally-port stairs into the purple shades of Mint Street, Isaac Newton was nearer yet, and yet more far than he had been half a minute ago. A lot of men had arrived at once, and they had come in two distinct blocs: the first, which he had spied from his window, was a posse of half a dozen n.o.blemen, generally young, and all of them mounted: at a glance, most likely cavalry officers, still in their Coronation plumage. These had ridden up to, and surrounded, the knot of King's Messengers who guarded the door of the Warden's House. The latter were at a prohibitive disadvantage, being on foot. But they all possessed a little of their master's bl.u.s.ter, and were making a terrific show of thrusting their chests in the air and nudging their swords out of their scabbards, and letting it be known, in an oratorio of sonorous vowels and a rush of trilled R's, just what a grievous and unsconscionable and actionable affront this all was. White had said; but emerging from the sally-port stairs into the purple shades of Mint Street, Isaac Newton was nearer yet, and yet more far than he had been half a minute ago. A lot of men had arrived at once, and they had come in two distinct blocs: the first, which he had spied from his window, was a posse of half a dozen n.o.blemen, generally young, and all of them mounted: at a glance, most likely cavalry officers, still in their Coronation plumage. These had ridden up to, and surrounded, the knot of King's Messengers who guarded the door of the Warden's House. The latter were at a prohibitive disadvantage, being on foot. But they all possessed a little of their master's bl.u.s.ter, and were making a terrific show of thrusting their chests in the air and nudging their swords out of their scabbards, and letting it be known, in an oratorio of sonorous vowels and a rush of trilled R's, just what a grievous and unsconscionable and actionable affront this all was.

But this hubbub was dying away at the moment Newton emerged from the sally-port and came out into the Street-where, for the first time in a while, no one paid him any note. All eyes had collected on one of the mounted n.o.bles: a young man, well-but not extravagantly dressed, who had remained silent through all of the insults and the bluff of Charles White's Messengers. In the moment before the man moved or spoke, there was a caesura; and during it, one could hear the m.u.f.fled tromp tromp of ma.s.sed boots coming up Mint Street. The second, larger bloc of men was marching this way. of ma.s.sed boots coming up Mint Street. The second, larger bloc of men was marching this way.

The leader of the riders peeled back his cloak to reveal a prodigious Doc.u.ment sealed by a swingeing ruby of wax.