Medieval II - In Shadows of Kings Page 10

  ‘Master Garyn,’ she whispered and he jumped in fright, realising she was immediately behind him.

  ‘Misha,’ he gasped, ‘you gave me a scare.’

  ‘My apologies, Master Garyn, my old skills are needed these days more than ever.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Garyn. ‘Come in to the forge, I have news.’

  ‘Is it safe to do so?’

  ‘I will take the chance this time but be quiet, I don’t want to wake Elspeth.’

  They walked quietly into the forge and Misha headed straight for the hearth to warm herself at the embers.

  ‘It is cold out there,’ she said, ‘and your fire is most welcome.’

  ‘Are you able to keep a fire where you hide?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘No. I wrap up and lay still until dark.’

  ‘It is not good, Misha and you will not survive the coming winter like this. I have made enquiries and found there are regular trading ships that ply between Bristol and France each month. They take paying passengers and as long as the purse is heavy, no questions are asked. It leaves you a thousand miles away from your home but I feel there is no other choice. If you stay here, you will either be killed by the Constable’s men or die of cold in the forest. At least in France you won’t be known and you may be able to join a supply train going south.’

  ‘It is the best we can do,’ said Misha, ‘and I appreciate your help. How do I pay for this passage?’

  ‘I will raise the money,’ said Garyn. ‘It will take a few weeks so you must be patient a little longer. I will give you warmer blankets and leave whatever food we can spare but we have to continue to be careful.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Misha. ‘Garyn, ‘she continued, ‘what of Master Thatcher?’

  ‘He is set to be judged two days hence by public trial,’ said Garyn. ‘With the death of Lord Cadwallader, the King’s court has appointed the Abbot as the hearing judge. He is not known for his fairness but luckily, Tom Thatcher is well liked in the village and the twelve jurors will be appointed from the population. Hopefully he will receive a fair hearing.’

  ‘He killed nobody,’ said Misha. ‘It was my hand that wielded the blades and it would be an injustice for him to suffer in my place.’

  ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that,’ said Garyn. ‘Anyway, you go back into hiding and I will tell you what happens the night after the morrow.’

  Misha held her hands out to the glowing embers once more before heading for the door.

  ‘Your God will thank you for this, Master Garyn. You of all people are a just man.’

  ‘Save your praise, Misha,’ he answered, ‘there is a long path ahead of us with many pitfalls.’

  ‘The effort alone blesses you, Master Garyn,’ she said, ‘and I will not forget it.’ With that she left the forge and closed the door behind her.

  ----

  Two days later, Garyn and Elspeth made their way to the village to attend the trial of Tom Thatcher. The Guild hall stood in the centre of the town and stood elevated above the market square on a stout oak frame. Despite the earliness of the hour, many people had already arrived and the hall was almost full. Garyn and Elspeth stood at the back amongst the rest of the traders privileged enough to get admittance.

  As they waited the hall filled to capacity and news came that the market square was also filling with people keen to hear the outcome. Finally a crier entered and called the room to order.

  ‘Pray silence for the Abbot of the order of St Benedict, officiating on behalf of the King in the matter of the murderer, Thomas ap Iestyn of Brycheniog. All Stand.’

  Those crowded onto the few benches got to their feet and watched as a jury of twelve men entered and took their place, closely followed by the Abbot. Everyone stayed on their feet as he blessed the gathered crowd.

  Garyn stared at the man who had arranged the death of his family yet kept control of his anger. The Abbot remained unaware of him and talked quietly with the Constable at his side.

  ‘Bring in the prisoner,’ announced the Constable and a few minutes later, the crowd gasped as the forlorn figure of Thomas Thatcher was led in chains to stand before the court.

  ‘Silence,’ shouted the Constable as voices were raised. He turned to Tom.

  ‘You are Thomas ap Iestyn of Brycheniog, commonly known as Tom Thatcher?’

  The prisoner mumbled a reply.

  ‘Speak up for the court,’ ordered the constable.

  ‘Yes, My Lord,’ said Tom.

  ‘Thomas ap Iestyn, you are accused as follows. On an unknown date, in the hills above Caerleon, you and a named accomplice of Misha ain Alsabar, a foreigner from lands afar, did deliberately do unto death, two men of Gwent, whereby you undertook to spy upon them, ambush them and cut their throats before robbing them of all possessions and hiding their bodies in the undergrowth, leaving Christian souls to rot in un-consecrated ground. How plead you?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that, My Lord,’ gasped Tom.

  ‘How do you plead?’ asked the Constable again.

  ‘Not guilty,’ he whimpered.

  ‘Bring in the witnesses,’ said the Constable.

  All heads turned to stare as a man entered the room. Tom recognised him as the attacker who had escaped from the hillside many weeks earlier.

  ‘State your name and trade,’ said the Constable.

  ‘John of Gwent, farmhand.’

  ‘And you witnessed the attack we speak of?’

  ‘I did, My Lord. Three of us were walking home from the tavern, looking after our own business with not a feeling of angst amongst us when this man and a screaming heathen fell upon us as brigands and murdered my comrades before we had chance to defend ourselves. I fought like a demon but was lucky to escape with my life.’

  ‘No,’ gasped Tom, ‘it was not so, they attacked us.’

  ‘Silence,’ said the Constable, ‘you will have the chance to speak.’ He turned back to the man and asked him to explain further.

  John of Gwent went on in detail, all of which painted Tom in a murderous light. After he was dismissed, three whores from the Tavern including Sian Buckley were called and gave sworn statements that Tom had been jealous of another customer, Guy Lambourne and pressed their view that the murder had been in a fit of jealousy. Finally Tom was allowed to give his version of affairs and though he spoke the truth, his manner was weak and he knew he was as good as condemned.

  ‘So you maintain it was the hand of the missing woman who killed the men,’ said the Constable.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I understand this infidel is but a young woman of short stature and you expect these good people to believe she killed two men, a farmhand and a farm overseer, both of whom were strong and in good health.’

  ‘She handled a knife like none I have seen before,’ said Tom.

  ‘I suggest it was you who wielded the knife and in her absence seek to lay the blame at her feet,’ said the constable.

  ‘I tell the truth before God,’ said Tom. ‘It was her hand yet I do not condemn her. She saved me from certain death at the hands of brigands.’

  ‘I say again, an unsupported claim from a desperate man.’

  The hearing went on and heard all sides before the Abbot called a break. Nobody left the room in fear of losing their position and soon the court reconvened for the verdict.

  ‘Men of the Jury,’ said the Constable. ‘You have heard the testimony of all involved. You are charged before God to deliver a verdict. How say you?’

  One by one each man stood and delivered his verdict. The results fell either way and ended equal with six on either side. The crowd broke into argument at the outcome until once more the Constable restored order. Eventually the Abbot stood up and addressed the room.

  ‘The jury is split,’ he said, ‘and by the laws of the land, it falls to me, in the name of the King to cast the final verdict.’ He turned to face the prisoner.

  ‘Thomas ap Iestyn. I have heard the evidence of these good people and find
no reason to disbelieve such law abiding citizens. I believe you and your accomplice set out that night to rob any innocent you could find and you now seek to save your neck by apportioning blame on the missing woman. Therefore, before the eyes of God and according to the laws of the land, you are found guilty of murder most foul and sentenced to be hung by the neck from the town gibbet, such sentence to be carried out immediately.’

  The room broke into shouting at the verdict and the Constable’s men had to form a line to hold them back.

  ‘This court is closed,’ said the Abbot and left quickly by the rear stair. Elspeth and Garyn joined the crowd flowing from the room and joined the hundreds outside. Thomas fletcher was thrown onto the back of a cart and driven toward the outskirts of the village. Everyone followed the cart, some hurling abuse while others proclaimed his innocence. Finally they reached the crossroads and a soldier ran to the gibbet to cut down the rotting corpse of a brigand who had been hung weeks earlier.

  ‘A new rope,’ shouted the soldier and willing hands formed a hangman’s noose before passing it up. Within minutes the gibbet was ready and as the crowd gathered around in a large circle, the cart was manoeuvred beneath the noose. The Constable secured the rope around Tom’s neck and took up the slack before securing the loose end to the gibbet post. Father Williams stepped forward and made the sign of the cross.

  ‘Thomas ap Iestyn. You go before your maker a wicked man. Admit your crime before God and gain forgiveness for your sins. By doing so you will surely find yourself in the arms of our Lord Jesus Christ.’

  ‘I am innocent,’ sobbed Tom. ‘I beg you believe me, I have not taken any life.’

  The Abbot shook his head in disappointment.

  ‘May the Lord have mercy on your soul,’ he said and nodded toward the Constable.

  ‘Wait,’ shouted a voice and everyone turned to see a girl standing at the edge of the wood.

  ‘Misha,’ gasped Garyn. ‘What is she doing?’

  ‘Something we are incapable doing ourselves, it seems,’ said Elspeth, ‘seeing justice is served.’

  ‘Who is it?’ asked a voice.

  ‘It’s the girl,’ shouted another, ‘his accomplice.’

  ‘Seize her,’ shouted the Constable.

  Rather than run away, Misha submitted to the guards and they tied her hands before dragging her up onto the wagon.

  ‘Misha,’ said Tom. ‘I thought you had long gone.’

  ‘I had,’ said Misha, ‘but will not see you die in my name.’

  ‘But you will die in my place.’

  ‘If that is Allah’s will, so be it,’ she said.

  The crowd was getting rowdy and arguments broke out amongst the people.

  ‘Silence,’ shouted the Constable as Father Williams stepped forward and faced the girl.

  ‘Are you the Muslim girl they call Misha?’ he asked.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Then you have been accused of helping this man murder two men of Gwent. Is this true?’

  ‘It is not,’ said Misha to a gasp from the crowd but as Tom turned to face her in confusion, she went on to explain. ‘It is not true because I did not help him kill them, they died by my hands only. Tom Thatcher had no part in their deaths.’

  Another gasp echoed from the crowd.

  ‘And how was this done?’ asked the Abbot.

  ‘With my knife.’

  ‘And you expect these good people to believe you killed two strong men with no help?’

  ‘My people learn the skills of the blade as soon as they are able to walk. It is our way of life and no other people are as expert as the Hashashin in the way of administering death.’

  ‘Did you say you are an assassin?’

  ‘Hashashin,’ said Misha, ‘though in your language they are the same.’

  ‘She is an assassin,’ gasped a voice in the crowd.

  ‘She condemns herself,’ cried another.

  ‘I killed them only to defend my comrade. Surely this is acceptable, even in this country?’

  ‘It is,’ shouted another voice, ‘it was self-defence.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Father Williams as soon as the noise had fallen away, ‘is it true you cut the throat of a wounded man?’

  The crowd fell silent in anticipation.

  Misha looked over at Garyn before returning her gaze to the Abbot.

  ‘It is true,’ she said and the crowd erupted in anger.

  ‘Misha Ain Alsabar,’ shouted the Abbot over the noise, ‘by your own words you have admitted murder and condemned yourself. You are hereby sentenced to be hung by the neck until dead, such sentence to be carried out immediately.’

  Two soldiers grabbed her and dragged her up to the gibbet. They took the noose from around Tom’s neck and placed it around hers before turning to face the Abbot.

  ‘I know little of your faith, Misha,’ said the Abbot, ‘so cannot promise salvation. Whatever it is that gives you succour, I suggest you turn to that place now. I will pray for your soul.’

  ‘Garyn do something,’ cried Elspeth.

  ‘Stop it,’ shouted Garyn pushing toward the cart. ‘She fought in self-defence. Surely she is deserving of leniency.’

  Father Williams looked over and his eyes widened in recognition.

  ‘Stay out of this, Blacksmith,’ he snarled, ‘you interfere with the law of the land.’

  ‘She is but a girl,’ shouted Garyn. ‘In the name of the Lord I beg mercy in God’s name.’

  ‘She is a heathen murderer spawned from the land of the infidel,’ shouted the Abbot, ‘and has condemned herself by her own words. Constable, continue.’

  The horses were urged forward and the crowd cried out as the girl fell from the cart to hang with her feet only inches from the floor. Elspeth screamed and buried her face into Garyn’s chest to avoid the scene, sobbing violently as the girl struggled at the end of the rope.

  For several moments Misha’s eyes bulged and her bound hands clutched uselessly at her throat. Her body twitched violently in its death throes but finally she hung limp, slain by people of a different faith in a land a thousand miles from home.

  ‘That poor, poor girl,’ sobbed Elspeth.

  Garyn didn’t answer. He was too busy staring into the eyes of the Abbott with mutual hatred until a voice from the crowd broke the tension.

  ‘What about the Thatcher?’

  ‘Release him,’ shouted another, ‘he is innocent.’

  ‘Quiet,’ shouted the Abbot and climbed up onto the cart. The constable’s men formed a perimeter around the cart and drew their swords.

  ‘The confession of this girl changes nothing,’ shouted the Abbot. ‘Even if she told the truth, it is still a fact that he was present at the crime and failed to turn her in to the Constable. This makes him complicit in murder and subject to the court’s sentence.’ He paused and looked around the crowd. ‘My judgement stands, he is sentenced to death.’

  ‘No,’ screamed the crowd and surged forward, being held back only by the steel of the guards.

  ‘Free him,’ shouted a man. ‘In the name of God, you cannot kill a man for no reason.’

  ‘I have no choice,’ roared the Abbot. ‘He is clearly guilty of aiding a murderer and our laws demand retribution. I am duty bound by the laws of this land. There is no other option.’

  ‘There is,’ shouted a voice.

  The Abbot turned to stare at the man who had spoken.

  Garyn also turned and was shocked as Elspeth’s father stepped from the crowd.

  ‘There is another way,’ repeated Fletcher, ‘one that meets the law of the land and will decide whether he is to die or not.’

  ‘What lies are these?’ asked the Abbot. ‘The law is clear, death begets death.’

  ‘Yes but where guilt is unproven then there can be trial by ordeal.’

  A murmur rippled around the crowd.

  ‘Trial by ordeal has been replaced by a jury of fellow men,’ said the Abbot, ‘we are not barbarians.’

 
‘I agree but in the case of unproven guilt, parishes are allowed to resort to trial by ordeal if the people so require.’

  ‘I know of no such law,’ said the Abbot. ‘You are wrong.’

  ‘The fact that it is not written down does not make it wrong, the practise is common law and is the right of the people.’

  ‘And who has poisoned your mind with such nonsense?’

  ‘A Monk once told me so,’ said Fletcher, a learned man whom I respected greatly.’

  ‘Then I suggest that he too was mistaken,’ said Father Williams. ‘The judgement is mine alone to administer in the King’s name.’

  ‘If he was mistaken,’ shouted Fletcher, ‘then I doubt your words also. The Monk was Brother Martin and he died on his journey home from the holy-land. He spent many years studying the ways of the law and did so under the roof of your own abbey.’

  Again the crowd gasped in astonishment. Not only for the explanation of the little known law but also for the fact that Fletcher was openly defying the Abbot. Father Williams scowled but turned to face the crowd again.

  ‘I am not aware of this law as I am mere man of God passing judgement in the name of the crown. However, I am also humble enough to yield to the way of the people. This man, Thomas ap Iestyn is guilty of helping a murder. I still maintain his fate lies at the end of a rope but will take your counsel. The choice is this, hang him now for the murderer he is, or subject him to trial by ordeal. Those who say hanging, let your will be known now.’

  ‘Aye,’ shouted a dozen or so voices.

  ‘And those for trial by ordeal?’

  ‘Aye,’ shouted a hundred more and the Abbot held up his hand.

  ‘So be it,’ he said and turned to face the accused. ‘Thomas ap Iestyn, you are hereby committed to trial by ordeal. Sentence will be carried out three days hence in the village square. Select your trial.’

  ‘Fire,’ shouted Fletcher before Tom could answer, ‘he chooses fire.’

  ‘The choice is his alone,’ roared the Abbot over his shoulder, ‘hold your tongue lest I hold you in contempt.’