ce was taken away, and the judges debased into mere
mouthpieces of the king's will, the weight of their judgements came to
an end. The nation had bent before their decision in favour of the
Post-Nati; it had never a thought of bending before their decision in
favour of Ship-money.

[Sidenote: Fall of Somerset.]

What an impassable gulf lay between the English conception of justice
and that of James was shown even more vividly by the ruin of one who
stood higher than Coke. At the opening of 1615 Somerset was still
supreme. He held the rank of Lord Chamberlain; but he was practically
the King's minister in state affairs, domestic or foreign. He was backed
since his marriage by the influence of the Howards; and his
father-in-law, Suffolk, was Lord Treasurer. He was girt round indeed by
rivals and foes. The Queen was jealous of his influence over James;
Archbishop Abbot dreaded his intrigues with Spain, intrigues which drew
fresh meaning from the Catholic sympathies of the Howards; above all the
older Lords of the Council, whom he ousted from any share in the
government, watched eagerly for the moment when they hoped to regain
their power by his fall. As he moved through the crowd of nobles he
heard men muttering "that one man should not for ever rule them all."
But Somerset's arrogance only grew with the danger. A new favourite was
making way at court, and the king was daily growing colder. But Somerset
only rated James for his coldness, demanded the dismissal of the new
favourite, and refused to be propitiated by the king's craven apologies.
His enemies however had a fatal card to play. In the summer whispers
stole about of Overbury's murder, and of Somerset's part in it. The
charge was laid secretly before the king, and a secret investigation
conducted by his order threw darker and darker light on the story of
guilt. Somerset was still unconscious of his peril, and the news that
some meaner agents in the crime were arrested found him still with the
king and in the seeming enjoyment of his wonted favour. He at once took
horse for London to face his foes, and James parted from him with his
usual demonstrations of affection. "He would neither eat nor drink," he
said, "till he saw him again." He was hardly gone when James added, "I
shall never see him more." His ruin in fact was already settled. In a
few days he was a prisoner with his wife in the Tower; the agents in the
fatal plot were sent to trial and to the gallows; an