The Black Chalice

Thirty-One

More than a month had passed with no-one tending to the law of the land, but that did not mean that the disputes of the people under Sir Lowick's protection ceased, merely that they simmered, slowly building to the boil.

Without the knight there to dispense justice and keep the peace, neighbours grew fractious: conversations which would normally have been civil took on an undercurrent of spite, and arguments came to blows. It was not some dark magic that gripped the people. It was nothing more mysterious than fear. Word of the raids had spread. While they might not know of the fall of Medcaut, they each knew or claimed to know someone who had lost family to the reivers that winter. They were not cowards. They were as brave as the next man. All any of them wanted was to feel safe in their own homes.

It was Gwen who suggested he should preside over the Assizes.

Despite his misgivings, she convinced him that the people needed to see that they hadn't been abandoned. In his uncle's absence it was his responsibility to see to their needs. His father, she said, would have expected no less of him. They had been his people not so long ago. Alymere could not argue with her reasoning and so took the seat in the great hall and listened to the endless procession of petitions from frightened people. He could remember watching his father in the same seat, dispensing justice. Firm but fair, his father had always maintained. They came to the knight's seat looking for justice — if they left having discovered fairness then it was a day in which Albion itself triumphed.

He did not feel comfortable sitting in judgment.

As he had said not so long ago to Gwen, it was not yet his lot in life to be wise, but when he had said that he had no way of knowing just how few of his foolish days were left to him. In those five long days that the Assizes ran, listening to petition after petition deep into the hours of darkness, he learned something of the nature of people — good people in the main — that he would never have thought true: it didn't matter how rich, how poor, how humble or ugly or beautiful or bitter, how clever or cunning, how hardworking, how venal or base or scheming, how dishonest or desperate, how noble, how proud, people were all inherently the same, and that similarity boiled down to simple self-interest. It turned his stomach. Just once he wanted to hear of a man bringing claim for the betterment of his neighbours, not to redress some perceived loss to himself or his property. Was it so hard to find a man who cared more for the wellbeing of those around him than he did for himself? It was all just so… petty.

Alymere kept the realisation to himself. It was, he decided, just one of the many things that separated a true man from a common one.

He shifted in the seat. The muscles of his lower back ached and no amount of fidgeting seemed to lessen the pain.

He rested his sword across his thighs, as though the blade might lend some gravitas to his decisions.

"Speak," he said, looking down at the woman and the two men on their knees before him. None of them would look at him as they spoke. It was hard to make out some of their mumbling over the whispers of the onlookers and other petitioners crowded into the house's great hall.

Justice had become a spectacle. He fingered the hilt of the sword.

"My lord," said the first of the men, a balding, overweight wretch with the grease of more than one meal marring the front of his shirt. He coughed, and somehow even that little sound succeeded in sounding obsequious. "This man, Isaiah, who I used to call my friend, has wronged me gravely and I come before the court seeking redress. Only what is right, nothing more."

"Now there's a surprise," Alymere said wearily. "How, pray tell, were you wronged by your friend, and why should it warrant my intervention? What is it? Money? Land? Crops? Did he steal from you or, no, I see a woman between you, perhaps he cuckolded you? Is that the crime for which you would have him punished? Enlighten me as to why two grown men need me to sort out their differences."

"We had a deal, my lord. A bargain struck in good faith. I delivered upon my side, but when it came time for him to honour his word, he broke faith. I am an honest man. A decent man. I do not understand why it should have to come to this, but there is no reasoning with him. I only want what is rightfully mine. As I said, nothing more."

"All well and good. What was the nature of this bargain of yours? Would either one of you care to explain?"

The woman looked up then. There was a look of weariness in her eyes that spoke of fear so blunted it had faded into resignation. She was not pretty, but neither was she ugly. Her face possessed an almost masculine strength, with a sharp jawbone, narrow cheeks and aquiline nose, but it was her eyes that fascinated Alymere. They were where the woman lived.

She did not say a word.

Beside her, the second man stood. Where his accuser was both corpulent and slovenly, he was a spindle of a man, all slack leathery skin and protruding bone. His clothes were threadbare with wear and patched in several places. Alymere could see a thousand wrinkles in the wattle of his neck and found himself thinking that if it were possible to age a tree by the rings of its trunk it ought likewise be possible to age a man by the wrinkles of his neck. "Master," he said, his voice as thin and reedy as his frame, "Craven speaks true in that he paid a fair price for my daughter's hand, I can't dispute that, but I have offered every coin back and more. He simply refuses to take it."

"Because I want what's mine, Isaiah. I want the girl."

"Ah," Alymere said, understanding. "You traded away the hand of your daughter, the price was paid, and now you seek to change the terms of your arrangement? Is that it?"

"No, my lord, I would simply give my friend back his coin and let my daughter be free of my foolishness. I am an old man, I let fear rule my heart instead of love."

"What does love have to do with business, Isaiah? I met your price and you were happy enough to take my pigs, were you not?" The fat man interrupted.

"You sold your daughter for pigs?" Alymere asked, barely able to keep the smirk from his face.

"Aye, and goats too. A dozen sows, three nannies. Plus coin. More than a fair price," the fat man said.

"I am sure it is," Alymere agreed. "So why the change of heart?"

"My daughter came to me and begged me to free her of the deal."

"She has you wrapped around her finger, you old fool. I will give her a good home. She will want for nothing. And I say again, a deal is a deal."

"But will she be loved?" The thin man challenged.

"What has love got to do with anything? You get enough pigs and goats to keep you fed into your dotage and I get a brood mare for fine healthy sons to take over the farm when I'm done," the fat man said, shaking his head in disgust. "That was the bargain and well you know it."

"Let me think on this," Alymere said, raising his hand to forestall any more outbursts. Both men lowered their heads, but the woman looked at him. He found himself unable to think as he met her gaze. "There is a moral root to the petition as well as a fiscal one. A man should be held to a bargain he has made. If a man can break a pledge, what then is the value of his word? Where is the honour in such a man?"

"Exactly," the fat man muttered.

"Silence!" Alymere bellowed, pushing himself up out of his chair. "I have little love for you, fat man. One more word and I shall have your tongue cut out so I don't have to listen to any more of your bleating. Understood?"

The fat man's bloated face had gone a sickly shade of white. He said nothing.

"Good." His outburst over, Alymere sank back into his seat. He felt the blood pounding in his temples. He ran a hand across the rough stubble of his beard. "On the other hand, he has offered full recompense, returning the animals and the coin so that neither party is worse off than when the bargain was struck, and surely there are other brood mares out there that can bear you children, because, as you so rightly advocated, love has nothing to do with it, after all. She does not need to be comely, only fertile. When you open your mouth I find that I am of a mind to throw out your petition, Craven, and tell you to go back to your farmstead with your pigs and your goats, but, and this is the only thing that may save your case, when I think of a world in which a man's word is worth naught my blood curdles. Are you familiar with the Oath to which knights swear?" he did not wait for the man to answer. "A true man must never do outrage, nor murder. There has been no murder here, at least. A true man must flee treasons of all kind, making no room for treachery in his heart. Treachery? Could the breaking of faith be considered treacherous? Perhaps. One could certainly argue so.

"A true man must by no means be cruel but rather give mercy unto him who begs it. If a daughter goes to her father and begs mercy, should he not give it if it is his to give? Again one would think so. But as his chattel a man is free to sell his daughter for pigs should he think it is a good trade. That is the law of the land whether I like it or not, and more pertinently, whether you like it or not.

"A true man must always give ladies, gentlewomen and widows succour, and never must he force himself upon them. And whilst Craven has bought this woman it is no different to the bartering of station and binding of families that goes on all over Albion. He has offered a good match, promising that the daughter of Isaiah will want for nothing. He has fulfilled his obligations in good faith. So how can she refuse his offer without bringing dishonour upon her father?

"A true man must never take up arms in wrongful quarrels for love or worldly goods. Both of you, I suspect, should be commended for bringing this fight to me rather than killing each other.

"And for my part, never will a true man stand by idly and watch such evils perpetrated by others upon the innocent, for a true man stands as last bastion for all that is just. A true man is the last hope of the good and innocent. A true man must hold fast to the Oath above all things. Only then might a true man do honour to Albion and stand as a true knight.

"The question is, should a commoner be held accountable in the same manner that a knight would? I think it is unfair to assume so, or all men would be knights, would they not? Still, this is no easy decision. Before I make it, I think I should like to hear from the girl, as she is the prize in this dispute."

She met his gaze full on.

Already he had become used to people looking away from his scars, but she did not. The challenge in her eyes brought a smile to his ruined lips.

"I should be most curious to hear a single good reason why you should not be wed, assuming you have a tongue?"

"Aye, my lord," she said. "I have a tongue,"

"Excellent. Then let us hear from you on this matter. This court is nothing if not fair, so speak. One good reason is all I ask, and let's have no talk of love. As has been argued already it has no place here."

"Very well, my lord," she said, rising to her feet. "But if I am to level accusations against the character of Craven, I would do so in private, not with the gawpers looking on." She gestured towards the ranks of onlookers crowded into the chamber. "I would not needlessly destroy a man's good name by turning his life into gossip for his neighbours."

"I think you've already done that, madam," Alymere said.

"Then I would not cause undue damage beyond what has been done. I beg your indulgence, my lord. Just a few moments' privacy, then I will heed whatever decision you see fit to make."

Alymere rose from his chair and stepped down from the dais.

"Come then, miss."

He led her behind a sun-faded tapestry that hid an alcove and afforded some little privacy.

"Speak your piece."

They were close, uncomfortably so. He could feel her breath against his neck. There was nowhere to hide from the intensity of her eyes. The dark around them made it seem as though they had no whites. He had been wrong on two counts. She was beautiful, he realised, and her fear had not faded into resignation. She was resigned, yes, but that did not blunt the fear one iota. It was only then that he recognised the spectre lurking behind them for what it was: death.

"My lord, it is simply this: I have heard tell that Craven's first wife, six years in the ground, was helped there by her husband's hand."

Her words had the ring of sincerity to them, but that did not mean for a minute that they were true, only that she believed them. "A serious accusation indeed," Alymere said, thoughtfully. "I can see why you would not want to say this before all and sundry. You told your father this, and obviously it was enough for him to break off the betrothal. I understand now. What father would knowingly send his daughter into the bed of a killer? But that in itself would make this a perfect lie for someone looking to escape her fate without destroying an old man's honour, wouldn't it? After all, who is going to punish a father for protecting his child? So, you are either a very cunning creature or a very desperate one. Tell me, which is it?"

"I am not a liar, my lord. I believe Craven murdered his first wife, Elspeth, because she was barren."

"Then do you have any evidence to substantiate such wild accusations?"

"None, save that when I look into his eyes I see the truth of it."

He found it difficult to think with her so close. He could smell her hair and found his eyes drifting down to the nape of her neck, where the smallest trace of sweat had begun to gather. He felt his body stir and loathed himself for such human frailty. He wanted to touch her.

"So you would have me spare you the same fate based upon some flight of fancy? An imagined evil behind the eyes? With evidence I would have no hesitation. Hellfire, I would rain righteous vengeance down upon his head, believe me. The fat man's screams would be heard all the way to France. But without it, my hands are tied. I do not know what else I can say."

She reached up and placed her palm over his heart. "Then do not say anything. Look into his eyes, my lord. The soul cannot be hidden. You will know the truth. That is all I ask. Look into his eyes and ask him about Elspeth."

He drew back the curtain and returned to his seat to offer judgement, although what that judgement might be he still did not know.

Every eye was on him. Expectancy hung in the air. The two men watched him, each desperate for the verdict to go their way. Craven was sweating. It clung to the front of his shirt, leaving a dark stain beneath his pits and across his belt.

"I have one question for you, Craven, answer it and I shall offer my decision."

"Ask anything, my lord. I have no secrets."

"Good. Then my question is this: is this to be your first union?"

"No, my lord. I was married once before, to my beloved Elspeth. She was taken by the sickness some six years gone and there isn't a day I do not think of her. There is not a night that I do not lie awake and mourn her loss, and wish that I had some small part of her to live on, a son to labour side by side with me on the farm, a daughter to welcome us home after a hard day's graft. I loved her with all of my body, which is why I will not marry for love again. I could not bear the loss."

The words were smooth, but they were not glib. He had not rehearsed them, so perhaps they came from the heart? Whatever the truth, Alymere could not see the lie in Craven's eyes. So for all the woman's protestations there was no glimpse of the man's blackened soul to make the decision for him. And, as he looked down at her on her knees before him, the surge of lust he felt all but made his mind up for him. A true man must be pure of heart and free of earthly desires, and that meant unpicking the knot of these temptations and teasing out the lies, the suspicions, the falsehoods and misdirections and getting to the core of it.

He lowered his head, trying to imagine what his father would have done in his stead. Roth would no doubt tell him he could not damn a man for what he might do, and lacking any evidence of what he had done, his only choice was to enforce the betrothal.

When he raised his head again, he saw a line of crows had gathered upon the window ledges high above the benches, adding their beady eyes to the gawping crowd. He counted two dozen of them, but only one of them held his gaze for more than a second. It had a streak of white in its feathers, and neither preened nor primped but merely watched. He thought of the red hart he had chased into the forest and how he had taken it as a sign. Could this too be a sign?

"I have weighed the evidence presented by both parties and find no compelling reason to dismiss the man Craven's claim, as much as I might want to, and so with heavy heart I must find in his favour. I take no joy from this decision, save that it is a fair one." He turned his attention to the fat man, whose delight was evident on his ruddy features. "I would urge you not to wed merely to sire sons but risk your heart once more, for that is the great triumph of man, our ability to love again and again. The old wounds hurt, but new loves can heal them better than any unguent. But if your mind is set on this course, then so be it. It is not for me to change it. If you cannot love, then at least you can fulfil your husbandly duties and provide for this woman so that she does not want, and in that be the best husband you can be to her. This is my verdict. Do you agree to abide by it?"

"Aye, my lord," Craven said. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me. A life without love is no life worth living, as far as I can tell." He turned to Isaiah. "And what of you? Do you swear to abide by the judgement of this court?"

"Yes, my lord," the tall man said. Where he had seemed like a spindle as he first shuffled towards the chair, now he seemed like reed broken in the wind. His back bowed, the strength gone from his spine. There could be no doubting the fact that he truly believed his daughter's claims and took Alymere's judgement to mean she had just been condemned to death. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but the when of it was not important. It took what little strength remained to him to walk away from the seat without having to lean upon the bailiffs for support. He maintained that much dignity, at least, though he could no longer look at his daughter.

The woman spared no such thoughts for dignity. She cried out: "No!" struggling against the hands that reached for her. And he realised he did not even know her name. Like the two men she stood between he had treated her as nothing more than a chattel to be traded. The realisation made him sick. To her he said, "You do not deserve this, and I feel that I have failed you. For that I am truly sorry. I can only hope that you find happiness." And to the men, "I do not want to see either of you before me again. The pair of you sicken me to my stomach. Think on what has happened here. Do right by each other, I implore you." To the galleries, he called, "The court is ended. I need to scrub the taint of this decision from my skin."

As one, the four and twenty birds took flight, the flurry of their wings against the glass turning every head. Only the white-streaked crow remained. It did not fly away until Alymere left his seat and the Assizes came to a close for the day.