Twisted

charges?”
    “That they, my good lord, be erroneous. Sir Murtaugh’s death was but a tragic accident.”
    “Accident?” a privy council member said with a laugh. “How say thou ‘accident’ when thou attackeda man with thy sword and he fell to his death? Perchance the instrument of his death was the rocks upon the embankment but the instigating force was thy thrust, which sent him headlong to embrace the unyielding stones.”
    “Aye,” offered another, “I warrant to say, had the unfortunate Mr. Murtaugh not fallen, thou would have skewered him like a boar.”
    “I respectfully submit, lord, that, nay, I would not have harmed him in any way. For we were not fighting; we were practicing.”
    “Practicing?”
    “Yes, my lord. I have aspirations to be a player in the theater. My profession, though, as thou have heard, is that of vintner. I was at Temple wharf to arrange for delivery of some claret from France and, having surplus time, thought I would practice a portion of a theatrical role, which chanced to involve some swordplay. I was so engaged when Sir Murtaugh happened by, on his way to Whitehall palace. He is—sadly, was, I should say—quite an accomplished swordsman and he observed me for a moment then reported to me what, alas, is true—that my talent with a blade be quite lacking. We fell into conversation and I said that if he might deign to show me some authentic thrusts and parries I would inquire about getting him a small part on the stage. This intrigued him greatly and he offered me the benefit of his considerable expertise at dueling.” The prisoner cast his eyes toward the constable. “All would have gone well had not that man disturbed us and caused Sir Murtaugh to lose his stride. I merely tapped him on the doublet with my sword, MostHigh Chancellor, and he stepped back against the rail, which tragically was loose. For my part, I am heartsick at the good man’s demise.”
    There was some logic to this, Prosecutor Bolt thought grimly. He had learned something of Cooper in the hours before the trial and it was true that he frequented the theaters south of the Thames. Nor could he find a true motive for the murder. Cooper was a guildsman, with no need for or inclination toward robbery. Certainly much of London would rejoice at the death of a lout like Murtaugh. But, as the nobles wished the case prosecuted swiftly, Bolt had not had time to make a proper inquiry into any prior relationship between Cooper and Murtaugh.
    The knight, for his part, as everyone knew, had been vain as a peacock, and the thought of getting up on a stage and preening before members of the Court would surely have appealed to him.
    Yet even if Cooper were telling the truth, the nobles would want Murtaugh’s killer punished, whether his death was an accident or not, and indeed the five men on the bench seemed little swayed by the prisoner’s words.
    Cooper continued. “Those words of anger and threat reported by the lackey there? Sirs, they were not mine.”
    “And whose be they, then?”
    Cooper glanced at his lawyer, who rose and said, “Prithee, sirs, we have a witness whose deposition shall bear on the events. If it please the bench, may we have William Shakespeare step forward.”
    Ah, yes, Bolt thought, that is who the witness is: the famed playwright and director of the LordChamberlain’s Men troupe. Bolt himself had seen several of the man’s plays at the Rose and the Globe. What was transpiring here? The playwright stepped to the front of the courtroom.
    “Master Shakespeare, thou will swear oath to our holy Lord that thy deposition here shall be honest and true?”
    “I so confirm, my lord.”
    “What have thou to say that bears on this case?”
    “I pray thee, Lord Chancellor, I am here to add to the deposition thou have previous heard. Some weeks ago, Charles Cooper did come to me and say that he had always been a lover of the player’s craft and had hoped to try his hand upon the stage. I bid him attempt some recitation for me and observed that he performed several passages, of my own creation, with exceeding grace.
    “I told him I had no place for him just then but I gave him portions of a draft of the play I am presently writing and told him to practice it. When Court returns in the fall, I assured him, I might find a part for him.”
    “How exactly doth this bear on the case, Master Shakespeare?”
    The playwright withdrew from a leather pouch a large sheaf of parchment with writing