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the eye and a pig's ear, comin' right up!"
    In less than two hours Nicholas saw his horse being led into the sale ring, and was about to press closer into the gathered crowd to listen to the comments and the bidding, when two large constables in their Robert Peel uniforms came up to him.
    "Are you Nicholas Peacock?"
    He looked the policeman in the eye and answered evenly, "I am."
    "And did you put that horse up for sale today?"
    "I did." Nick felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.
    "In that case, I'll ask you to come along quietly," said the large man, casting a wary eye at Nick's wide-shouldered, powerful build.
    "What is the charge, constable?" Nick knew well what the answer would be.
    "Horse theft," said the man in threatening tones.
    At that precise moment, Nicholas raised his eyes and saw Edward, Prince of Wales, watching him. For a split second he felt a relief at the presence of his influential acquaintance whom he'd played cards with only a few nights back. Then his hopes were dashed as the prince deliberately turned his back on him. Amusement glittered in Nick's eyes. "Put not your trust in princes," he muttered.
    "What's that?" asked the Peeler.
    "Nothing, gentlemen, nothing at all. I am unfortunately at your disposal." He bowed formally.
    They handcuffed him and led him outside to a police wagon affectionately called a Black Maria.
    Nicholas felt anger. This is some insane vindictiveness cooked up by that bitch, Lady Pamela and her greedy paramour. He'd left behind two of his own horses that together were worth ten times what the nag he'd taken was worth. Nick questioned his own wisdom as he bumped along in the wagon with the barred window. Perhaps he should not have come along quietly. Perhaps it would have done him a good deal better to have bolted, but he still clung to the ideals that justice would prevail, and a man was innocent until proven guilty.
    The buildings of Newgate Prison formed a four-sided square The House of Session and Newgate Street abutted the College of Physicians and The Old Bailey. Nicholas found himself in Lord Shraftsbury's beloved prison for the night until he could be taken before a magistrate in the Old Bailey the following morning.
    He was unceremoniously thrown into the common cell at Newgate, where the gaoler patrolled on a catwalk high above the cell. Nick realized it was a necessity. Any guard would have been killed by the rabble that resided in that befouled hole before the night was out.
    The room was already crowded, and Nick surmised that by nightfall they would be packed in like rats. Drunks, prostitutes, thieves, and cut-throats were tossed together in the 'common cell'. An apt name, indeed. He knew it would feel like a lifetime before morning arrived and he was taken before the judge.
    All his cunning came to the fore as one word drummed in his brain. Survival! Nick pushed his way into a corner and slid down with the wall against his back. All eyes were upon him, as he was obviously well-to-do and likely had money lining his pockets.
    The sights of these dregs of humanity bothered Nick not at all, nor did he mind overmuch their touch as they brushed shoulders. The hardest thing for him to stomach was the stench. The cell was permeated with eons of urine and excrement, and the bodily odors of the great unwashed rose in a miasma that almost brought tears to the eyes.
    The people about him smelled like rotting vegetables. He watched what happened to the weak ones. Young frail women were immediately stripped by older, larger and coarser members of their sex. Drunken men were instantly stripped and searched by those who had their wits about them, and men who found themselves here for the first time were cowed enough to submit to the hardened types who spent most of their lives passing in and out of the place.
    Nicholas braced himself for the first assault, which he knew wouldn't be long in coming. A burly, thickset male, with no neck, and the look of a dockside