{"id":252649,"date":"2026-07-13T02:15:12","date_gmt":"2026-07-12T23:15:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/a-dangerous-justice-john-pilkington\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T02:15:12","modified_gmt":"2026-07-12T23:15:12","slug":"a-dangerous-justice-john-pilkington","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/a-dangerous-justice-john-pilkington\/","title":{"rendered":"A Dangerous Justice – John Pilkington"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"<\/figure>\n

He had never been a man who was easily surprised, but at sight of me when I emerged hungry, shoeless, bedraggled and filled with shame, his eyes widened. \u2018By all that\u2019s holy, Belstrang\u2026 What in God\u2019s name has become of you?\u2019 I made no reply; I could have kissed him as if he were a brother, but I merely shook my head. \u2018Your feet\u2026\u2019 He looked down, as I made my way towards him over the cobbles in my stockings. \u2018This is cruel usage indeed.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018But it\u2019s over,\u2019 I said, attempting a smile. \u2018Thanks to you, in your goodness\u2026\u2019 I put out my hand. \u2018I\u2019m in your debt, John Druett, in more ways than you know.\u2019 \u2018I\u2019m curious to hear about it,\u2019 he said as we shook hands. \u2018But that can wait. Will you come to my house, where my servants will attend you?\u2019 \u2018Most gladly,\u2019 I answered. \u2018If you\u2019re not too troubled by my slowness of pace.\u2019 I indicated my stockings, filthy from my walk through the prison and now soaking wet.<\/p>\n

\u2018Perhaps we might find a fripperer\u2019s stall, and buy a cheap pair of shoes\u2026\u2019 \u2018I\u2019ll not hear of such,\u2019 Druett said at once. \u2018My horse is nearby \u2013 you\u2019ll ride, and I\u2019ll walk beside you.\u2019 He indicated the grim frontage of the Compter. \u2018Let\u2019s get ourselves away from here.\u2019 Which we did, and despite the cold rain that fell, it was a most welcome ride on Druett\u2019s good roan horse.<\/p>\n

Within the half hour we had made our way by Lad Lane and Catte Street, past Basinghall to crowded Lothbury and then into Coleman Street, to his house near the Armourers\u2019 Hall. Here, still weak from my brief ordeal, I was brought indoors and made welcome by Frances Druett; at sight of her, I almost sagged with relief.<\/p>\n

\u2018Robert\u2026?\u2019 Her smile fading, she looked me up and down. \u2018What\u2019s this \u2013 have you been robbed?\u2019 \u2018I have, dear Frances,\u2019 I answered, \u2018yet of nothing that can\u2019t be replaced. As for my pride, and a good deal of my trust: those, I fear, will not be so easily restored.\u2019 Seeing her come forward to embrace me, I confess I wept a little.<\/p>\n

That is how low I\u2019d been brought: to fall like a milksop onto a woman\u2019s shoulder and stain her gown with my tears. Still, it was a blessed day, which lifted my spirits greatly.<\/p>\n

\n

I cannot rest until I have told of my Year of Astonishment. There is a need in people, I find, for certainty. Many seek it in their faith, for which they will fight to their last breath. For myself, having passed my three-score years, I have come now to believe only one thing of certainty, apart from death which comes to all: that the essence of life is movement.<\/p>\n

All is in motion: the heavenly spheres, the seasons, the migrating birds, the seas, even the land. Do we not hear of hills rearing up and breaking apart, in the land of the Great Turk? And that our very blood is in flux about our bodies, so that when we expire it ceases to flow? Hence, movement is all; when you stop moving, you begin to die. By such logic, some might say that in my autumnal years I have condemned myself, living a sedentary life at my late father\u2019s house.<\/p>\n

And yet, who can truly foresee anything? Martin Luther, I heard, foretold that the world would end in the year 1600, and plainly it did not. Certain sages, in the time of Henry VIII, predicted an apocalypse in 1624, and since that year is yet to come, a cautious man might take heed. Myself, I was seldom cautious, or temperate, and lacking in those qualities desirous in a magistrate, it is a wonder I ever found myself appointed to such a position.<\/p>\n

Away with your puff and pedantry, the younger Robert Belstrang would say \u2013 I\u2019ve no tolerance for such. Mark my alliteration: I could have been a poet, as some fawning flatterer who stood before me once said. I lack the patience, was my reply. And the fine is five shillings.<\/p>\n

But those were my days of certainty. And I must come now to my purpose, which is to speak of the upheaval of 1616: my Year of Astonishment. It began on a chill March day, when at a late hour a visitor arrived at Thirldon, the Belstrang house a short ride west of Worcester.<\/p>\n

Childers, having lit candles and departed, returned to my private parlour with news that a neighbour was come, in a pitiable state, asking to see me on a matter of urgency. The neighbour, who lived only four miles away but was seldom seen, was John Jessop, a known recusant; or, as some might say, a wretched and impoverished papist.<\/p>\n

\u2018A pitiable state? What do you mean?\u2019 I enquired. \u2018In distress\u2026 agitated\u2026 Forgive me, I\u2019m short on synonyms today,\u2019 my steward said. His insolence, in recent years, had come to a point where another master might have thrown him out of service, notwithstanding his age and the fact that he had served my father loyally for many decades.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

\n
\n

Table of Contents<\/p>\nToggle<\/span><\/path><\/svg><\/svg><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/a><\/span><\/div>\n