HealingPassion (14 page)

“What?”

Ralf blushed and looked embarrassed. “I hope someday I’ll
meet a lady as beautiful and…good as she is, who’ll like me as much as Lady
Juliana likes you.”

“You will,” Thomas said. “You already attract ladies like
flowers attract bees. You’re tiring.”

Ralf had started to slide down, and his eyelids drooped as
he reached the end of his energy.

“Rest now,” Thomas said. “I won’t be going anywhere in the
next few days. It’s snowing, and there’s a deep coat on the ground already.”

Ralf nodded but was half asleep by then.

Thomas retired to a corner of the room where a small writing
desk provided work space. Since he could do little else, he wrote several letters
to friends and family, telling them where he was and in a general way, what he
was doing. He would take them with him when he left and find a messenger later
to deliver them.

Since most people had eaten heartily earlier, only a light
dinner was served. With the snow outside, there was little else to do, so most
people attended, though conversation was subdued in deference to Lady Juliana’s
feelings. The lady was quiet as well, and somewhat distracted.

When it was over, Thomas started to follow her to her
quarters, but changed his mind before she had time to notice his intent. He
knew what he wanted to do, but needed to put more thought into how to present
and organize it. The day had been long, and his exhausted mind required sleep
and more time to sort out his thoughts. He went into the quarters he’d shared
with Ralf. Bertram was there, sitting with the squire, who slept quietly. The
man helped Thomas prepare for bed and settle onto the cot again.

The snow had slowed by the time he woke the next morning,
but it hadn’t stopped completely. As he made his way down the corridor to the
great hall, he stopped at a window to look outside. A few tardy flakes still
floated serenely down, adding to the thick white blanket already coating the
ground, bleaching the roofs of buildings, and decorating trees with white
fluff. The world looked clean and fresh, reborn into purity, yet it was an
illusion. The trash and dung remained beneath its white coat, ready to emerge
when the snow melted off it.

He reined in his fanciful imagination and went in search of
food.

He didn’t see Lady Juliana for most of the morning. Two
servants he asked hadn’t seen her or heard where she might be. One of the men
he’d worked with on the training ground invited him to work out with them in a
basement chamber they used for the purpose during poor weather. Since his body
felt stiff and rusty with disuse, he agreed gladly.

A bell sounding called a halt to the exercises several hours
later. Thomas stopped and looked around in surprise. It couldn’t possibly be
time for dinner.

“‘Tis summoning us to the hall for a meeting,” one of the
guardsmen told him, seeing his confusion.

Along with the others, Thomas wiped sweat from himself and
cleaned his sword before replacing it in his scabbard. He met Juliana just
outside the great hall and joined her when she beckoned him.

“I’m holding court today,” she told him. “And I would have
you beside me. ‘Tis just a couple of small domestic issues first, but then I
have to deal with Peter Randolph. As ‘twas you and your squire he injured, I’d
have you approve the fate I’ve decided for him. Though he made an attempt to
take your life, he didn’t come close to accomplishing it, so I’ll not have his
life in reparation. I intend to have him flogged, severely enough that he’ll
remember for a long time, but not so hard as to cripple or permanently injure
him.”

Thomas nodded. “I will be satisfied with it.”

Juliana smiled, but it took an effort, then she drew a deep
breath, sighed it out, and turned to enter the great hall. He followed her and
took the seat beside hers on the dais. The table had been removed.

The first item of business was a dispute between the smith
and a crofter over payment for an item the smith had made for him. Juliana
listened to both sides and rendered a compromise decision that gave both sides
some satisfaction. Though neither individual was vindicated completely, each
seemed satisfied.

The second matter involved a maid who’d been found in
possession of several items stolen from others.

After seeing the evidence of the items found in the girl’s
quarters, hearing from those who’d been with the housekeeper when she’d found
them, as well as the original owners of the stolen trinkets, Juliana called the
maid before her.

“Again, Jenna?” she asked. “Have you anything to say?”

The girl was crying hard already. “My lady, I try not to
take things. Truly, I do. But something comes over me…and I cannot resist it.”

“You must learn to resist it, Jenna. You cannot go through
life this way.” Juliana paused and sighed. “I fear that since four strokes of
the rod did nothing to teach you, we must try six this time.”

“No, please, my lady,” the girl begged, crying even harder.
She fell on her knees.

Juliana nodded to a large man standing near the side of the
room. He came forward, picked up the weeping girl, and carried her to a bench
two other men placed in the middle of the room. They tied the girl’s hands and
feet to slats in the bench. The big man picked up a branch around three feet
long and a half inch thick. Without ceremony, he raised it over his head and
whipped it down hard on the girl’s rear end. Even though the material of her
shift offered some protection, the crack made by the rod as it landed sounded
vicious. The girl bucked and shrieked. Five more strokes followed in rhythmic
order with a short pause between each. She screamed with each one.

While it was going on, Juliana leaned over and whispered to
him, “I truly believe the girl does have strange impulses she finds to
difficult to control. Yet she must learn to control them or someday she’ll face
a penalty far worse than a whipping.”

When it was over, they released the girl and helped her to
stand. She still wept hard as the lictor half-carried, half-supported her over
to stand in front of Juliana again.

“Jenna, I do not like having to punish you. I hope you learn
from it and will control yourself better in the future. Keep this in mind as a
deterrent. The next time you come before me accused of this same thing, you’ll
receive ten strokes. Do you think you can bear it?”

The girl shook her head tearfully.

“I trust it won’t be necessary. ‘Tis done now and I’ll hear
no more about it. Go now. You have the rest of the day off to recover.”

The sobbing girl curtsied, buried her face in her apron, and
ran from the room.

Juliana sighed again and said softly, so no one but he could
hear, “And now for an even less pleasant duty.” She called to the men at arms
nearby, “Bring in Peter Randolph.”

Three men at arms accompanied the prisoner. The young man
still wore the same clothes he’d had on the day he’d tried to kill Sir Thomas,
and much the same expression of outrage and anger. They marched him to stand in
front of Juliana.

She raised her voice so all in the hall could hear. “Peter
Randolph, you are charged with attempting to murder Sir Thomas Carlwick, seated
here now. As almost everyone here present also was present at the attempt, I
see no need to call witnesses to testify to the fact. Have you anything to say
for yourself?”

He looked up at her, his expression torn between anguish and
bravado. “I sought only to protect you, my lady!”

Juliana’s expression remained unmoved. “With an action I had
expressly and repeatedly forbidden! I’m sorry, but that argument carries no
weight with me.” She looked up and around the room. “Will anyone else speak for
him?”

As she’d no doubt anticipated, Peter’s father, her bailiff
William Randolph, stood up. His voice was heavy and somewhat choked. “My lady,
my son is several kinds of fool, but there’s no malice in him. He truly did
seek to protect you, though I know it was against your orders. I agree he must
be punished for it, but I do beg that you spare his life.”

She nodded to him but said nothing. Instead she looked
around the room and finally asked, “Anyone else?”

When no one else spoke, she rose to her feet and looked back
at the prisoner. “Peter Randolph, I find that you are guilty of both disobeying
your lady and of attempting to take the life of a knight of the realm. As I
agree with your father’s judgment that your only motive for both was my
protection, I do not require you pay with your life. However, I cannot let such
wicked deeds go unpunished. Though it pains me to do so, I must order that for
disobedience to your lady, you will receive forty lashes with the heavy strap.
For the sin of attempting to murder Sir Thomas, you will receive an additional
sixty.” She glanced toward the large man who’d carried out the maid’s
punishment earlier. “Martin, take charge, please.”

The young man drew a deep breath that sounded suspiciously
like a sob, but otherwise he said nothing. He straightened himself up and
didn’t resist when Martin turned him and led him to one of the pillars that
lined the sides of the room, but as he twisted away he met Juliana’s gaze with
eyes that accused her of betrayal. Juliana didn’t react, but sat down and
waited, with no expression apparent on her face. Only Sir Thomas was close
enough to see that her fingers curled around the arms of her chair with such
force the knuckles looked strained and white.

Thomas was shocked and stunned himself. One hundred strokes
was a heavy punishment, indeed. Harsher than he would have ordered.

They stripped off Randolph’s leather jerkin, but left his
shirt and breeches on, and tied his hands to a ring set in the pillar above his
head. Martin picked up the heavy strap, a fearsome looking instrument: a strip
of heavy leather four feet long by three inches wide, split along a third of
its length into two tongues. He wound a few inches of the unsplit end around
his hand to anchor it in place and let the rest hang loose until he took up his
position behind the prisoner. He flipped it behind his back and swung it around
to whip it across Randolph’s back. It struck with a loud, painful crack.
Randolph’s body jerked but he made no sound. In fact, the entire room was
eerily quiet, almost as though everyone refrained even from breathing too
loudly. It made the whack of the leather against flesh resound even more
impressively.

But after a few strokes, Thomas began to understand the
wisdom of Juliana’s sentence. The punishment was harsh and painful, no doubt,
yet in truth it both looked and sounded worse than it was. The strap hit
loudly, but it had no edge to tear flesh, and with his clothes to protect him,
its bite was blunted. The beating was impressive, painful, and humiliating, yet
for all that, it was far from the bloody savagery of some floggings he’d seen.

Nonetheless, he could see the effort it took Juliana to
watch impassively. She restrained a flinch several times when a particularly
loud crack suggested a more painful stroke. It went on for some time as Martin
paced himself, allowing a pause between each lash. One of his assistants marked
each stroke with chalk on a slate board and called out the running total after
each set of five. Before it was over, a few loud groans and one yell had leaked
past Randolph’s control. A tear she made no effort to wipe away ran down
Juliana’s cheek.

A collective sigh of relief rose from the crowd when the
assistant called out “one hundred,” and Martin put down the strap. Randolph
hung limply from his bonds by then, either exhausted or fainting. He would have
collapsed when they released him had Martin not caught him and slung him over
his shoulder.

“Take him back to the dungeon, but see he has all the care
required,” she ordered. “I cannot release him until Sir Thomas and his men are
away from the keep.”

Martin nodded and turned to carry the young man out of the
room, but she stopped him, saying, “Let someone else take him back, I have
another task for you here.”

People had begun to rise and talk among themselves,
preparing to leave, but the chatter and movement halted at her words. All
turned back toward her to find out what she meant. She waited until Martin had
transferred his burden to another man-at-arms, who carried the limp form out of
the room, before she spoke.

She stood up and drew a deep breath to steady herself. Even
so, her voice wobbled and broke when she announced, “As Peter Randolph has been
punished for his attempt on Sir Thomas, I must, in justice, also accuse myself
of some part in that crime, for it was my deception concerning Lord Groswick’s
death that led to it. Knowing the facts as I do, I confess my guilt, and
sentence myself to the same punishment Peter Randolph received for his attempt
to kill Sir Thomas. Sixty lashes with the strap. Martin, if you will do your
duty…” She stepped down off the dais and walked toward the man, ignoring the
clamor of gasps, sobs, and protests that broke out from all corners of the
room.

Even Martin seemed too shocked and stunned to move. He, as
well as everyone else in the room, looked to Thomas. It took a moment before
Thomas realized the reason: he was the only one present who could stop what
Juliana intended to do. He admired her gallantry and her sense of justice, as
she stood ready to accept a severe punishment for her crimes against him, but
he didn’t want it this way.

Thomas stood up and shouted, loudly enough to cut across the
clamor, “Nay, Lady Juliana, I protest.”

She stopped and turned toward him. “Why, Sir Thomas? What is
your objection?”

Love for her, a love that transcended her beauty and charm,
passion that rose from his deep admiration for her sense of honor and courage
as well as desire for her luscious body nearly overwhelmed him, but they also helped
him find the argument that would win her cooperation. “Peter Randolph is
your
vassal, and thus it is your right to pass judgment and sentence on his crimes.
As lady of this keep, you are the
king’s
vassal. And as I am the king’s
representative here, I claim the right to act in his place.”