The Shining City (50 page)

“Aye,” Lewen muttered.

“But ye did no‟ ride out with them, did ye?”

“Nay, I . . . I didna. I—”

“Thank ye, that will be all, I think,” Aidan said. “Ye may stand down now, sir.”

“But I havena told ye . . . I need to tell ye—”

“I do no‟ think we have any more questions,” Aidan said coldly. “Ye may stand down now.”

His cheeks hot, Lewen went to his seat and sat down. He could not look at Rhiannon. He was acutely conscious of the murmurs of the crowd and was certain every eye was upon him in mocking judgment. All the things he had planned to say in Rhiannon‟s defense had come to naught. He had failed dismally.

Reamon was then called to the stand. He did not want to go. He had to be encouraged and then, when that failed, coerced. He looked frail and pitiful hanging between the two burly bailiffs, his eyes bulging with terror.

Lewen leaned forward to stare at him in fascination. He could not imagine what it must be like to be dragged back to civilization after so many years as the captive of a wild satyricorn herd. By all accounts, Reamon had been used like a prize stallion, forced to sire as many young satyricorns as possible on the childbearing females of the herd. The crowd had evidently heard what his role had been, by their whispers and sniggers, and Lewen‟s cheeks heated in pity for him as Reamon cringed back in mortification.

Aidan the Brave spoke gently. “Tell me, Reamon, did ye ken Rhiannon well?”

Reamon squinted at Rhiannon, standing all alone in her caged stand. Rhiannon gazed back at him with unhappy eyes. “Aye, I kent her. No‟ that she was called that. The Horned Ones, they called her „No-Horn,‟ to mock her.”

“How long have ye kent her?”

He shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Who kens? A long time. Since she was but a bairn. Ten, fifteen years? I dinna ken anymore.”

“Are ye the one who taught her to speak our language?”

“Sure I was.”

“Tell me, Reamon, what sort o‟ lass was the accused? Was she a clever girl, or rather slow on the uptake?”

“Och, she was a clever lassie,” Reamon answered fondly, relaxing under Aidan‟s gentle, courteous manner. “Sharp as a tack. Much smarter than the other Horned Ones. She was the only one to learn how to talk wi‟ me, and mostly I only had to tell her summat once or twice for her to remember.”

“So she was an eager pupil?”

“Och, aye, indeed.”

“And what else did ye teach her?”

“Och, how to shoot and how to ride. I was a gillie once, ye ken, long ago syne.”

“Did ye talk to her much about your home?”

“Aye, she loved to hear my stories. She had no‟ kent there was another way o‟ life, ye ken, other than the herd.”

“Did ye tell her any other stories?”

“Och, aye, all I could remember.”

“Stories about the city and the court? About the Rìgh and his men?”

Reamon nodded his shaggy head, and sighed and smiled, murmuring, “Och, aye,” again. Lewen felt his whole body tense.

“So the accused kent about Lachlan the Winged, Rìgh o‟ all Eileanan and the Far Islands? She understood all that ye told her, and kent it to be truth?”

Reamon gazed at Rhiannon fondly and murmured again, “Sharp as a tack, she was.”

Aidan paused for a long moment, then continued in the same gentle, cajoling tone. “Tell me about the day Connor the Just was captured by the herd.”

Reamon sighed. “A sad day that was, aye. He fought well, the young fellow, but it was no use.

They tied him up tight as a lamb going to slaughter. He begged me for help, the poor lad, but what could I do? I was a prisoner myself.”

“Did he say aught else?”

Reamon nodded earnestly. “He told me he rode on urgent business, with news for the Rìgh. He said it could mean the Rìgh‟s life, if he failed to get through.”

A loud murmur rose. Lewen felt sick with trepidation. He looked at Rhiannon. She was looking down at her hands, her face noncommittal. So he looked to the judges. Aidan was trying hard not to gloat too obviously, Craig of Glen Fernie had his thick brows drawn together in troubled thought, and Glenwys was staring at Rhiannon with her huge, magnified eyes filled with disapproval. Gwilym the Ugly looked merely sad.

“Did ye tell this to the accused?”

“Aye, o‟ course. I begged her for help, but she wouldna. She said the Rìgh meant naught to her.”

There was another even louder murmur. Rhiannon bit her lip. She looked pleadingly at Reamon, as if silently begging him to say no more.

Lewen‟s distress and confusion grew. He no longer knew if he believed in Rhiannon‟s innocence or not. Olwynne rested her hand on his shoulder, sensing his misery, and he leaned back against her, drawing strength from her.

“I told her it was treason to waylay him,” Reamon‟s reedy voice went on. “I said it meant the hangman‟s noose, to hold a Yeoman against his will.”

“Indeed it does,” Aidan said with heavy emphasis. “Thank ye, Reamon. Ye can stand down now.”

Rhiannon looked appealingly at her attorney, who sighed and shrugged. He was not permitted to address the witnesses in the court. Only the judges had that power, and unless one of them decided to interrogate Reamon further, there was nothing he could do.

Reamon shuffled back to his seat, with no idea of the damage he had done.

The rest of the hearing dragged on. Nina and Iven were called to testify and had to describe how they had seen Connor‟s water-bloated and mutilated body soon after it had been dragged from the river at Barbreck-by-the-Bridge. They were both asked if they had suspected Rhiannon might be involved in the Yeoman‟s death. Their reluctance to answer was palpable. Nina tried valiantly to tell the court how Rhiannon had risked her life to fly to Roden‟s rescue when he had been kidnapped by the lord of Fettercairn. Aidan the Brave would not allow her to continue, however, asking what possible relevance it had to the case against Rhiannon.

“The laird o‟ Fettercairn is no‟ on trial here,” he said chillingly. “Whatever is the truth o‟ the accusations against Laird Malvern, that is a separate case entirely. Here and now, we deal only with the question o‟ Connor the Just‟s death, and whether Rhiannon the Satyricorn acted with malice aforethought or no‟.” His voice made it quite clear what he felt about her motivations, and to Lewen‟s dismay, the head judge seemed to agree, dismissing the whole of that wild ride and Rhiannon‟s part of it as beside the point.

The witch-apprentices who had traveled with them through Ravenshaw were all called as

witnesses, confirming and amplifying what Lewen had said, and, willingly or unwillingly, adding many more tasty morsels to feed the crowd‟s salacious hunger. The court heard how Rhiannon had repeatedly slashed her own wrists to draw blood to feed the so-called dark walkers. They heard of fits of hysteria and fainting, of night terrors and sleepwalking and the constant talk of the sightings of ghosts. They heard of her pride and her temper and her quickness to draw her dagger.

Then Dedrie, the lord of Fettercairn‟s skeelie, was called to give evidence. Her appearance caused a great murmur and outcry among all who had known her at Fettercairn Castle. Lewen sank his head into his hands, dragging at the roots of his hair with his fingers and gritting his jaw together to stop himself from leaping to his feet and shouting at the judges.

Rhiannon was not so controlled. She cried out furiously, “She‟s a murderess, do ye no‟ ken! She tried to poison me! She should be on trial here herself! She does his will—canna ye see that?

Only one night past he tried himself to take me, and when that failed, he tried to kill me! What does she do here, walking free? She should be—”

With each exclamation, the Duke of Ardblair‟s gavel came crashing down upon the table. When that failed to quiet her, he rose to his feet, shouting at Rhiannon to be quiet. Nina was on her feet too, yelling, trying to draw the judges‟ attention to her, protesting as loudly as Rhiannon herself.

“Why do ye call Dedrie?” Nina cried. “Ye said yourselves that what happened at Fettercairn Castle is o‟ no relevance! What does the laird o‟ Fettercairn‟s skeelie ken o‟ Connor‟s death?”

“She is a trained healer,” the Duke of Ardblair said sternly, “and she had the opportunity to examine the accused closely during the period when the accused was still attempting to mislead those around her to her involvement in Connor the Just‟s death. Skeelie Dedrie believes she can help us understand the accused‟s intentions and motivations more clearly, for which we thank her.”

“But, Your Honor—”

“Please sit down, my lady, else we shall have to have ye escorted from the courtroom.”

Reluctantly Nina sat down, though her cheeks were flushed and her lips were compressed together in anger. She shot a furious glance up at the Rìgh, who was listening to the proceedings intently, his brows drawn together in a frown.

“But she kens naught!” Rhiannon cried. “She works the laird‟s will. They want me dead because I ken too much! Ye canna let her speak. She only seeks to blacken me—”

It did no good. Dedrie was escorted up to the witness stand, looking comfortable and sweet-faced in her soft green healer‟s robe. In contrast to her, Rhiannon was wild-eyed and distraught, her voice rising high in appeal. The Duke of Ardblair gestured impatiently, and the bailiffs mounted the podium and seized her by the arms, dragging her back. Still Rhiannon called to the judges, begging them not to listen to the skeelie. Dedrie shook her head in pity.

“If ye do no‟ quieten, we shall have ye gagged and bound!” the duke roared, his face purpling with anger.

Rhiannon dashed the tears from her face and was silent, though the whole chamber buzzed with excitement. The Duke of Ardblair sat down, adjusting his robes. “Proceed,” he said to the skeelie.

Dedrie‟s testimony was damning. She seemed to sense every judge‟s private prejudice and speak straight to it, all the while pricking and poking at Rhiannon until the satyricorn was driven past reason and cried out against her every comment, demanding to be heard. By the end of Dedrie‟s testimony, Rhiannon seemed, at best, highly strung to the point of imbalance. If not, she was, it was inferred, sly, ruthless, and manipulative.

Nina could not contain herself, leaping to her feet. “This is all wrong!” she cried. “That woman should be on trial for murder, no‟ Rhiannon! How can ye call this justice?”

Iven sought to draw her down, but she was beside herself with anger. The Duke of Ardblair made a gesture, and the bailiffs seized Nina and wrestled her out of the courtroom, and then Iven too, when he sought to protest and prevent them. Lewen, aghast, rose to his feet and then, when he felt Olwynne‟s hand on his arm, drawing him down again, shook her off. All the other witch-apprentices were on their feet too.

“No‟ fair!” Fèlice cried.

“How come she‟s just walking free?” Landon asked. “She was meant to be in prison!”

The Duke of Ardblair‟s gavel banged down again and again. Dedrie, shaking her head

mournfully at what her duty had forced her to do, stepped down from the witness‟s stand. Lewen saw her cast one quick, self-satisfied glance up into the gallery. Her gaze was met by Johanna, sitting forward on her bench seat, her hand clutched around her haloed-hand medal.

“Ye will all end up in prison yourselves if ye are no‟ quiet,” the duke shouted, beside himself with anger. “I tell ye now, be quiet!”

At last the noise died down. Fèlice hid her face in her arms, and Lewen wished he could do likewise. He felt sick with trepidation. He raised his eyes to Rhiannon‟s but she refused to meet anyone‟s gaze, keeping her face lowered to her interlocked hands.

The judges withdrew to consider their verdict. Rhiannon‟s attorney was shaking his head and gathering together his papers. Up in the gallery, Dillon was looking as pleased as his hard-set face would allow him, while Johanna was weeping in relief.

The judges were gone a very long time. The crowd grew restive. Some began to chant again,

“Hang her! Hang her!” while the Nisse and Nixie crowd jeered and shouted Rhiannon‟s name.

Soldiers sought to keep the mob calm.

When at last the doors swung open to let the judges back in, Lewen could not bear to look at them, so certain was he that they would decide to condemn Rhiannon to death. He heard a sharp collective intake of breath, then an outbreak of cheering and clapping, drowned out by hissing and booing. Fèlice sobbed out loud.

Lewen slowly raised his eyes.

The six judges stood in a row behind their table, their hands clenched before them. They had turned their white mantles inside out, to red.

L
ewen stood on the lawn before the palace and watched as the midsummer bonfire was built higher and higher in the center of the square. It was almost dusk. Soon the Keybearer would come and chant the midsummer rites, and the bonfire would be lit. Laughing, dressed in yellow and gold, the revelers would come and thrust the torches into its great blazing heart and carry them in a noisy procession through the palace, rekindling the hearths with the balefire.

They would feast and dance the night away, and many, intoxicated with the sparkling rose-colored wine, the warmth of the sweet-scented wind, would take their lover‟s hand and leap the fire together, pledging their troth.