arms against the King ... Is this your solemn oath?"
I couldn't make out the confused murmur from within, but the man nearest the window jumped up onto a barrel to see into the courtroom.
"He refused. He's refused it. On pain of banishment," he reported down to us.
A woman standing by me cried out, "Well done, George my man! The Lord is with you!"
Then she fell sobbing into the arms of another.
I listened with every nerve straining to hear my uncle's name.
"William McMillan. Peter Russell. Robert Young..."
The crowd by the window was shifting. Those whose relatives had refused the Test and been sentenced to banishment had already drifted away. They stood by the edge of the quay, talking quietly.
"Was that Hugh Blair? Did they call out Hugh Blair?" I called up to the man at the window.
He waved a hand to silence me.
"Shhh. I can't hear. No, it's John Blackburn. He's broken! He's taken the Test!"
A man emerged from the courtroom a few moments later, rubbing his wrists from which the manacles had been struck off.
"Bessie!" he called out. "Are you there? Bessie! I can't—I couldn't—Oh,G od helpm e!"
A woman ran up to him. As she passed the others, they turned their backs on her.
"You should be ashamed," a man called out. "You have betrayed your Savior!"
The woman called Bessie turned on him fiercely.
"Hold your tongue, Simon Ballingall! Hasn't the man suffered enough? Come away, John. The children are waiting for you."
Hostile muttering broke out as she led him away. He was weeping uncontrollably, like a child.
I twisted my hands together. Which was the worse fate? Banishment and slavery, or shame? I couldn't bear the thought of either for Uncle Blair.
The long afternoon wore on. Several more distraught men and a few women slunk out of the courtroom and hurried away to freedom. One or two, with rich friends behind them, paid for a bond and were freed with honor, but it was clear that most of the prisoners were refusing the Test and accepting their fate with defiance.
They must have called him, I thought. I must have missed hearing his name.
In spite of myself, I felt a surge of pride. Only those who had taken the Test had been let go. He must be one of the brave ones.
There were only a few of us now, under the window. The man on the barrel had gone. I scrambled up in his place and could at last see inside the courtroom.
The judge, under his heavy robes with a great wig on his head, was red-faced and sweating in the heat of the close-packed, stuffy room. He was taking frequent gulps from the wineglass by his elbow and was clearly tired and impatient with the slow proceedings. Below me, the prisoners who had already refused the Test were standing under close guard, but their backs were turned to me and I couldn't see their faces, or tell if Uncle Blair was among them. The ones still to be tried were out of sight.
In front of the judge's great chair was a row of clerks sitting at a table. Some were scratching away with their quills, but the one at the far end was holding what looked like a list. And leaning over him, stabbing at a name on the list with his forefinger, was Musketeer Sharpus. The clerk was shaking his head. Musketeer Sharpus whispered in his ear. The clerk hesitated, then picked up his quill and drew a line through one of the names. Musketeer Sharpus stepped back, and as he did so he glanced up at the window and saw me. A tight smile creased his pitted cheeks, which he quickly suppressed, but then he gave me an unmistakable wink.
I didn't dare to interpret what I'd seen, but a flower of hope burst open in my chest.
"What's happening in there? Have they called Janet Holm yet?" a man below me asked.
"Look for yourself if you like," I said, hopping off the barrel.
A quarter of an hour later, my uncle suddenly appeared at the courtroom door, chafing his wrists as the others had done.
He broke. He said it, I thought, my heart illogically dropping with disappointment.
Then I saw that Musketeer Sharpus was pushing him forward.
"I keep telling you, man. Your name's not on the list. You're free to go," he was saying.
Uncle Blair was shaking his head, bewildered.
"But the Test! I haven't been called yet. How can I be free?"
Musketeer Sharpus prodded him sharply.
"That's enough. You're wasting the court's time. Get