The Hero's Lot (2 page)

Trapped. He was trapped as surely as if Antil had locked him in the stocks. What did they want with him?

The doors opened, and a voice from within announced his presence before the archbenefice and the Judica.

“So summoned, the accused, Errol Stone, has presented himself before the Judica.”

A chorus of voices, hundreds strong, replied, “Judica me, Deas.”

Accused?

What had he done?

 2 
A Necessary Sacrifice

T
HE GUARDS BEHIND HIM
shouldered their pikes after a trio of church soldiers with bared swords came forward to escort Errol between the raised seats of the amphitheater to present him to the head of the church. A sea of implacable faces regarded him—some young, most old, all without a hint of acknowledgment or recognition.

The meeting place of the Judica was an enormous half-circle composed of raised seats focused on the dais where sat Bertrand Canon, archbenefice of Erinon and mediator of the Judica. In front of each of the seven sections of the half circle a blue-robed reader waited, the implements of his craft and a stack of blanks ready for carving on a simple table next to him.

Errol searched for Martin, found him up and to the left. Yet when they locked gazes, the benefice showed no recognition, no gesture of support. The planes of his broad bluff face were closed to human emotion. Errol's stomach hollowed as his gaze drifted across the mass of scarlet and purple and came to rest again on his supposed friend.

By the three, what was the charge?

His breath came in short gasps as he surveyed the blue-robed readers and saw no sign of Luis. He knew each and every one of the men chosen to cast lots if the need arose, but he could not count any of them as friend. Watchmen, officers all, guarded the doors and the archbenefice, but Cruk was not among them.

Someone—one of the church guards—prodded him into motion, steering him toward the raised dais. The archbenefice acknowledged him with a grave nod, the barest inclination of his head. His captors guided him to a simple wooden chair on the floor to the right and below the archbenefice, where he endured the scrutiny of the Judica.

“Who would speak?” the archbenefice intoned in a cadenced singsong.

A withered benefice with thin, bloodless lips rose. “I would speak.”

“Approach, Benefice Kell. Speak no word before the Judica that is untrue. Make no statement that is incomplete. You are adjured by Deas.”

Benefice Kell gave a perfunctory nod. “Judica me, Deas,” he said. Whispers of hair framed his head like the remnants of a halo as he approached the dais. When he gestured his accusation at Errol, the sleeve of his robe slid up to reveal a desiccated arm. His flesh hung slack on his body and parched face, yet his eyes burned in his skull. They burned.

“From his own mouth,” the benefice said, “Errol Stone has admitted traffic with herbwomen, those foul beings who consort with evil spirits.”

Mutters ran through the Judica. Some sounded reproving while others verged on exasperated. Confusion rocked him. Hadn't this been discussed and resolved already?

“I would speak.” A younger benefice popped up from his seat.

The archbenefice held up a hand, forestalling the new speaker. “Patience, Benefice Kerran.” He regarded Benefice Kell with a sigh. “Have you any other accusation to bring?”

Kell's face mottled with indignation. Red blotches marred his waxy complexion and he lifted a finger that quivered with
rage to point at Errol. “Any other? What else could be required? That fiend among us has defied the law of this body and must be punished.”

The archbenefice looked like a man trying not to roll his eyes. “Benefice Kell, the Judica will weigh your charge, so please restrain your zeal and answer the question. Do you have any other charges to bring against Errol Stone?”

Benefice Kell looked on the verge of launching another tirade but instead shook his head and reseated himself with a growl.

Bertrand Canon addressed the body. “Who would speak?” he inquired again.

A benefice with red hair and white soft-looking hands rose with a delicate clearing of his throat. “Hmmm, yes, well, I would speak.” He ducked his head as if the sudden attention of the Judica embarrassed him, and he gave a coy smile to the benefices seated to his right.

“Approach, Benefice Dane. Speak no word before the Judica that is untrue. Make no statement that is incomplete. You are adjured by Deas.”

The benefice minced toward the stand. “Oh, yes, yes, of course. Judica me, Deas.” The benefice stood in the accuser's box without speaking until the archbenefice sighed and prompted him.

“Your charge, Benefice Dane?”

“Hmmm? Oh my. Well, it's not a charge so much as a concern.”

The archbenefice rubbed his temples. “The Judica is met, my dear benefice, to hear charges of a clerical nature against one of the nobility. So far, Earl Stone is accused of trafficking with herbwomen.”

“And evil spirits,” Benefice Kell yelled from his seat.

“Yes, yes, and evil spirits,” the archbenefice said in a resigned tone. “Now, Benefice Dane, do you have a charge to bring?”

The benefice looked on the verge of returning to his seat, but at the last minute some inner resolve seemed to embolden him. He straightened and his voice strengthened. “I accuse Errol Stone of conspiring with Benefice Martin Arwitten and Secondus Luis
Montari to cast lots for the next king without authorization from the Judica.”

Stunned silence covered the assembled. Men too dismayed to gasp stared at Errol as if he'd committed regicide while they slept. Errol tried to catch the eye of the primus, but Enoch Sten, pale and motionless, refused to look his way. Benefice Dane threw back his shoulders and preened at the effect of his words.

Then the hall erupted. Men old enough to be Errol's father or grandfather started out of their seats to voice their shock and disapproval. Whether the target of their ire was him or Benefice Dane, Errol couldn't tell—the cacophony of voices defied order. Many of those assembled turned to face Martin, their looks horrified, supportive, or dumbstruck. The archbenefice rose from his seat, yanked the metal-shod staff of office from its holder, and struck the floor, calling for order, but the din drowned his efforts. He signaled the guards, who drew swords and crossed blades.

The sound of steel did what the staff could not. By twos and threes, the benefices quieted, and the archbenefice's voice rose above the din. “Sit down! Is this college nothing more than a collection of excitable boys that we should react so? My benefices, where is your self-control? Where is your sense of decorum?”

The head of the church gestured to the guards. “Seal the chamber.” The archbenefice's order silenced throngs of benefices who moments before had threatened to riot within the dome. The muffled boom of the giant doors being barred echoed from the stone walls like a knell of Errol's doom. His fingers made seeking motions, twitching at the ends of his hands as they sought the comfort of a staff they no longer held. Dane's charge brought spots of darkness to his vision. Errol was innocent, but somehow the benefice had learned of Martin and Luis's cast.

How?

Splotches of emotion colored the archbenefice's face as he raised a finger to address Errol's accuser. “Benefice Dane, conspiring to usurp the authority of the Judica is a serious charge.
Understand that you will be asked to provide corroboration to this charge. Perhaps your recent elevation to the orders of benefice has given you an undue enthusiasm for these proceedings?”

The archbenefice regarded Benefice Dane, and silence settled like a blanket over the hall as the Judica waited for its newest member to respond.

“Hmm? Oh my. Perhaps I've erred, Archbenefice. Does the Judica not have the right to examine any noble, including the king?”

It seemed some hint of danger or intent warned the archbenefice. Errol watched the man's eyes narrow as his hands dropped to cradle his staff of office. He nodded assent before answering. “As much is written in our law. However—”

“And does not each member,” Benefice Dane interrupted, “have the Deas-given right to pose a question, any question, to the accused?”

Bertrand Canon took a moment to resume his seat before answering. With fastidious care he arranged the fold of his robe and replaced his staff of office in its holder with a soft clank. Whispers filled the hall with expectancy in the silence of the archbenefice's consideration.

“My compliments, Benefice Dane. Seldom do new benefices come to us with such . . . confidence in their ability to navigate the intricacies of church law. Yes, you do have the right to question the accused.”

Benefice Dane leaned forward, his eyes sparkling and his manner sharp. “Thank you, Archbenefice Canon. I would like to begin by—”

“However,” the archbenefice interrupted, “I am sure you are aware that we must take the charges in order. Benefice Kell's charge of consorting with spirits must be heard first. And we have yet to hear from other esteemed members of the Judica who may wish to speak.”

A glimmer of hatred flashed in the look Dane directed at the archbenefice, but a moment later he fumbled with his stole of office, looking distracted and subservient once more. “Hmm?
Of course, of course. Your pardon, Archbenefice.” He retreated up the stairs to resume his seat.

The archbenefice surveyed the hall before again offering the now-familiar intonation. “Who would speak?” Every line of his posture seemed to warn the remainder of the benefices against speaking. A moment passed that Errol measured in the still-panicked beat of his heart before the archbenefice spoke again. “The Judica has spoken. The charges have been set before this body. Let none seek to swerve the arm of Deas from its quest for the truth.”

Three raps of the archbenefice's staff upon the floor interrupted Benefice Kell's approach toward the questioner's box. Disappointment wreathed his features, and he chewed his lips in obvious frustration. The assembly rose as one. “The Judica will resume at the third hour after dawn tomorrow. The accused, Earl Errol Stone, is remanded to the watch until such time as the charges are disproven or penance prescribed.”

The archbenefice scribbled a note before beckoning a pair of guards from the back of the chamber and passing the scrap of parchment to them. Two members of the watch, men whose names and handclasps were known to Errol, came forward to lead him away. Vladic, tall and dark-haired, made a gesture for him to follow without lifting his gaze above Errol's chest. Itara, short and bluff faced, fell in behind.

The crowd of benefices and their assistants thinned as the watchmen made their way toward the exit that would take them away from the church's compound and back toward the squat rectangular building that served as the quarters for the watch.

Behind Errol, Lieutenant Itara snorted. “Right waste of time this is. Takin' an honorary captain of the watch into custody on the say-so of some pampered little church toadie.”

Vladic's and Itara's unrelieved black clothing comforted Errol. For too many years the red and purple of the church meant the stocks or another beating at Antil's hands, punishment for trying to drink away the memory of the death of his adoptive father, Warrel. Though his situation remained unchanged from
that of an accused prisoner, his removal from the benefices and their signature colors served to calm him. Now, if only he could devise some way to get his staff back, he would feel almost normal.

He slowed. “Lieutenant, would it be possible for us to retrieve my staff? The church guards stripped it from me on the way to the Judica. It's nothing special, but I've had it a long time now and I'd hate to lose it.”

Vladic's eyes clouded at the request, but Itara merely shrugged and changed direction at the next corridor. “Can't see as that should be a problem, milord. This is all foolishness, anyways, far as I can see. I can't let you hold it, of course. The fellows in the Judica would have a frothing fit, they would.”

Errol clenched his jaw and nodded. It had been a slim hope that Itara would let him have his staff—and slimmer still that it would have done him any good—but now any chance of escape was denied him.

Moments later, removed from the Judica and back in the familiar environs of the watch, Errol followed the lieutenant, who walked two paces in front of him with his staff tucked under one arm. He sighed. The church needed a scapegoat, and they would vent their collective wrath on whomever they wanted.