Shield of Three Lions (63 page)

“Hail, Lady Alix!”

I waved back, then gathered close about me the homespun cope Margery had provided and pulled its hood over most of my face.

“Shall we pray?” Father Gerald suggested.

We dropped to our knees on the frozen ground and listened solemnly as he intoned the familiar Latin phrases invoking God’s help. Then we formed a line to begin our long walk up Crophill to the mootpit of our ancestors.

Archie Werwillie strode by my side. He carried a hunting bow and a quiver with two sharp arrows. His dark blond hair hung like bronze wires low on his forehead, and grew in an unruly crop on his eyebrows. His nose was red, a bit damp, and his hazel eyes were filled with hatred.

“This Roland got Maisry, didn’t he?” he asked without preamble. “I heard her condition when she was brought in and I figured …”

I put my hand on his arm. “Don’t think of it, Archie. Or if you must, remember that Roland was seeking me. She saved my life.”

“And today we’ll get his.”

“I pray we do.”

“His or mine,” he said laconically.

Dame Margery shuddered.

When we turned off the path to march up Crophill, we faced an earth turned to fire, for the frosted gorse was scarlet on the hills. The rectangular mootpit was set in the midst of this flaming world, and we paused on its rim to study it before descending. ’Twas carved in six tiers of earthen seats with a flat space in the middle where a trestle had been placed.

“Do you want us archers to stand on the rim or the top tier?” Gordoc the Smith asked deferentially.

I considered. “The sixth. Don’t expose your backs. Those with daggers farther down, toward the middle.”

“And what’s the middle? The third or fourth?” Clac wanted to know.

“The tiers are deep; best say the third. I doubt if you could hurl a knife with force any farther.”

Those who carried clubs or axes chose their own places. I took careful note of where everyone sat and prayed that a combination of surprise and our superior number against Roland’s single person would suffice. Finally, I sat on the first tier at the bottom of the pit, wedged between Dame Margery and Tom.

Father Gerald moved to behind the judges’ table opposite me and put the relic box from the church on the table: St. Anne’s right ear. Archie joined him, then Ralph of Cogshill, the third judge. We awaited the chief judge, Sir Roland.

“He’s coming and he’s not alone,” Clac’s wife Adelwisa called from the rim.

“How many are with him?” I shouted up to her.

“I can’t see yet. Looks to be eight or nine.”

“Armed?”

“Aye, I believe for hunting.” She gestured that she couldn’t say more.

Archie nodded to reassure me; the priest remained calm. There was a shuffle directly behind me and sharp knees pressed into my back. I glanced over my shoulder to see a taciturn Dane called Thorketil. He smiled grimly.

“Heigh, Lord Roland, is it true you’re planning to hunt the boar?” Adelwisa cried from the rim in a penetrating nasal whine.

“Aye, immediately after the trial,” the remembered voice rumbled. “Now you could keep me home if you liked, Mistress Fulltits.”

We heard the stamp and snort of horses, the rattle of weapons, as the knights dismounted.

“I’d like to very much, but what would we do with your
six
friends?”

Six
, I recorded her message. Too many but not as formidable as the eight she’d first mentioned.

“You’re a talented wench, Wisa. Certainly you can accommodate six lusty knights.”

“I’ll make a pact: I’ll take you and your company every one if you let me polish your swords during the court session, as I did last time. I could use a few pence,” she replied archly.

“What say you, men? The wench is worth a copper.”

With many bawdy japes and laughter, the men dropped their steel with a clatter for clever Adelwisa. But she didn’t get all.

Not daring to turn my head, I could nonetheless hear the clink of metal as the first knight leaped down the tiers. He came all the way to the front and crowded between Tom and me. A fleeting glance showed that it was Magnus Barefoot.

I sat like a rock, petrified. Subtle twists of his torso revealed that he was staring at me, but he said naught. I hoped he was merely curious to see the girl who had brought the plaint.

Next came Sir Roland. He, too, had kept some weapon despite his promise to Adelwisa, for I knew well that faint rattle of hilt against belt. Certainly he had no suspicions, for he took a long time descending; he stopped frequently to exchange greetings with various villagers. I marveled at how deftly they returned his japes. Zizka’s
troupe could not have performed with more conviction. The loathsome knight edged behind the judges’ table, and sat in the middle between Archie and Ralph of Cogshill. I adjusted my hood closer and stared through my fingers at his face: same predatory eyes, scarred cheek, bad teeth, patchy hair. I swore he’d not leave this pit alive.

Now the rest of the knights had found their places, all separated from one another because we had connived to leave only a few free places. I had no notion as to whether they were still armed in some way.

Father Gerald rose, spread his arms in blessing and said a prayer. Then he intoned in a loud clear voice: “The ward of Dunsmere Township is now in session. Let the plaintiff step forward.”

My moment had come. I stepped to the table and stood opposite Sir Roland.

“Place your hand on the relic box and take your oath,” the priest told me.

I laid my hand on the box.

“I entreat you as plaintiff through the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, that you do not in any manner attempt to lie or default in this court in any way whatsoever. Do you so swear?”

I thought of my mother and Maisry. “I do so swear.”

“Will you then make your accusation in the full sight of the court and point to your assailant?” He removed the relic box.

I took a deep breath and looked squarely into Rolands eyes for the first time since the inn. “By the Lord to whom this relic is holy, so do I prosecute my suit with full folkright, without fraud, without deceit, without guile. I do swear that yesterday morning in the hours after Haute Tierce that I did meet my assailant on the path west of Dunsmere, that he did there throw me to the ground and thereby disturbed God’s and the king’s peace, that he did forcibly enter me and raft my maidenhead, thereby destroying my sacred member. After he was finished and had departed, I rose and ran to the village where I did make a hue and a cry that I had been foully raped. The villagers gave the chase, examined me to confirm the truth of my claim. This do I swear.”

Roland’s eyes were both puzzled and aroused. He seemed half-convinced
by my tale, but had already forsworn justice by accepting silver from my “assailant.” He glanced around to find his benefactor.

“Excellently expressed, poor maiden,” he said. “Don’t be afraid now—point to the assailant.”

“You are my assailant.”

He turned peevishly to the priest. “The girl’s obviously been made lunatic by her experience. Explain that I’m her judge. I think she knows not the meaning of
assailant.”

Father Gerald looked to me.

I repeated firmly. “You raped me, Roland, you and you alone.”

“Nonsense,” he snapped. “I never laid eyes upon you. What is this, Father? Where’s the man with silver you spoke of?”

Father Gerald was pale but firm. “Best listen, Lord Roland. You are now the defendant.”

Roland was vexed, but still controlled. He bared his gray teeth in a travesty of a smile. “You surprise me, Father. I confess I would not have thought you capable of such a jest.”

Father Gerald repeated, “Answer the charge, or prepare to be sentenced.”

“What
charge?
From some wanton little hussy who’s been coached? Bad timing, my dear, for I was in Cockermouth yesterday and have six knights to swear it. Can you come up with the necessary thirty-six of your common oathhelpers to balance that?”

“Yes, I can.” I raised my hand.

Instantly an exultant chorus behind me shouted, “We swear!”

“Ignorant fools!” Roland blared, exasperated. “You’ve been beguiled by this wench and don’t understand the consequences. By law I could demand your lives for perjury.”

“We be telling the truth at last,
ignorant fool!”
a dame yelled back.

Roland turned to Father Gerald. “For God’s sake, Father, stop this charade. In the first place, no female can sue in a court.”

Father Gerald looked uncertain.

“Women can sue in cases of felony,” I said. “That is, homicide or rape. And you’re guilty of both.”

The knight tried to lean closer to see under my hood. “Forget your schemes, little hussy. Settle on someone of your own class, for I
assure you that you’ll not snag me. You won’t live to see another sunrise.”

“One of us won’t,” I agreed. “Father Gerald, read him the law.”

Roland sneered, and turned as if dismissing the whole affair. Nothing happened. Father Gerald picked up the parchment I had prepared and glanced at the stiff arrogant back. ’Twas obvious that Roland could no more follow the sonorous Latin phrases than the meanest villein present, but everyone was awed by the solemn authority of the words:

“Quod si impudice discooperuerit eam et se super eam posuerit, omnium possessionem suarum uncurrit damnum …”

Vexed beyond endurance, Roland stopped the priest. “It can’t apply, no matter how long you read, you oafish prelate! Whores have no rights!”

Evote croaked indignantly, “She war a virgin, you pisspot!”

For the first time, Roland seemed aware of the hostility facing him. His eyes raced from one of his knights to the other, but he shrugged brazenly and remained above the rabble.

“You have a taste for virgins, haven’t you?” Archie asked, a sinister threat in his voice. “Read
that
law, Father.”

“Et est raptus virginum quoddam crimen quod femina imponit alicui …”

“Save your breath, Father,” Roland again interrupted. “Why read Latin to apes? Besides, I see the plot at last. What is this harlot to you, Archie? Your sister? Do you believe you can
marry
your way to Wanthwaite?”

“I’ll never marry you, Roland,” I said with force.

“Good,” he snapped. “On that we agree.”

“But I’ll take Wanthwaite.” My voice shook with passion. “And your life as well.”

“You’re the ape what can’t understand Latin!” Archie hooted derisively “We want your eyes, your balls and your land!”

Sir Roland looked at the priest derisively. “Stop this mockery before I’m forced to harm you. ’Tis the last time I’ll warn you. Whatever happened to this lass, she’s still only a commoner and I’m her lord. What she’s doing is insurrection! She can’t bring suit!”

I threw back my hood. “I’m Lady Alix of Wanthwaite and I
charge you with sacking my castle, slaughtering my parents, raping and murdering Maisry of Dunsmere, killing Jimmy of the Gray Falcon …”

There was a fleeting moment of stunned recognition—then he moved. Instantly Archie and Ralph grabbed him from each side.

“To arms!” Roland shouted. “Magnus, take the girl!”

I whirled and saw Thorketil crash an ax through Magnus’s skull.

“Alix!”

I heard Archie’s warning too late. Roland had kicked the trestle and thrown his captors off balance; now he leaped to grab me. Behind me everyone screamed and struggled.

I fought against Roland like a demon for I saw he wanted to use me as a shield between him and the people. I used every trick I knew to no avail. He twisted me flat in front of him, wrenched my arms behind me with one of his hands, put a sharp dagger at my throat with the other. In that position, we faced a bloody spectacle: villagers clustered in tight circles around the flailing knights, as ears, hands and heads gave way to hacking blades.

“Swords! Swords!” Adelwisa passed the weapons to willing villagers.

“To arms! On your feet, men!” Roland shouted over the din. “What’s wrong with you cowards?”

Two knights still fought like tigers. Poor Clac received a death-slash across his red face, and a small child fell in a gush of blood and screamed frantically. Then one knight fell to an arrow, the other to a series of club blows.

Roland was now alone—except that he held me as hostage.

“One move toward me and the girl’s dead,” he warned ominously.

Panting, bleeding men and women stopped, gazed on helplessly, as we moved back in deadly quiet. Then a whiz and thud—Archie had shot an arrow! I felt the impact travel through Roland’s shoulder and knew at once that the thrust was not fatal. He tried to press his blade against me and I turned enough so that it didn’t cut deep, reached in my skirt for my father’s dagger. Pushed it hard into his chest-spoon.

Our faces were close, as if we were in embrace, and I watched the
light of life fade from his eyes. Warm blood coursed down my hand and puddled at my feet.
Benedicite
, I had killed him! I watched him slide to the ground, horrified by my own act. Then I recalled King Richards words about his own father: “It was his life or mine and he ran to the point.”

I turned to see a world gone mad.
Everyone
was killing the dead. Women pounded on inert pulpy knights with clubs and stones. Children joined the game with rocks. Men hacked at heads to rip them off their shoulders. Genitals and eyes were held high as grisly trophies. Blood spurted and ran down the tiers, turned the mud to red broth, and seven jagged draining heads finally rode aloft on long pikes.

“Up you go!” Archie and Margery lifted me together to the shoulders of waiting grinning men to be carried in triumph back to Dunsmere. I looked down on a pit of blood. Three villagers still crouched by their own dead or wounded. Dame Margery’s face was streaked with gore like a savage s, her eyes filled with uncanny light. I turned away, frightened. The crowd chanted an incoherent screaming jabber in step to the eerie bouncing heads as I held on to the hair of my human carriers.

Even at this moment, however, I was thinking ahead. Swaying under the vacant leers of the beheaded men, I cast my own eyes anxiously over the barren horizon. Empty as the desert, not even a bird. But wait, was there a sound behind all these shrieks? I strained to hear, to no avail.