The Lascar's Dagger (30 page)

He glanced at Ryce as he left the witness’s podium, but the Prince ignored him. He felt ridiculously hurt by the testimony; he’d thought Ryce had known him well enough to know he would never have raped anyone, let alone Mathilda.

Celandine must have spun a good story.
That betraying bitch; she was more rat than grey mouse.

The voice of conscience whispered inside his head:
But you did betray your position, Rampion. Mathilda was in your charge and you took her to bed
…

Even Juster’s rubies wouldn’t save him now. He’d guessed that any attempt to bribe his jailers with them would result in their confiscation, so he’d decided to see what he could achieve using the gems after the trial. Now he wondered if he’d left it too late.

On entering the courtroom, he’d seen Lord Juster in the seats reserved for people of rank, the only person present in that section. In contrast, the roped-off area for the clergy was full, as if every cleric within miles of the courtroom had been ordered to attend.

He wondered if the Prince would join Lord Juster once he’d completed his evidence, but Ryce turned the other way, to the spiral staircase that led up to the royal gallery. It was only then Saker realised several other people were seated above. One was a nun, her affiliation to a cloister made obvious by her cornette coif. She was seated beside a veiled woman, dressed all in grey.

Celandine
…

He felt sick. Had Mathilda sent her to find out what happened? Did she realise Celandine must have betrayed the two of them? So many questions he couldn’t answer.

It was my fault. I was the older one. The cleric. I should have been her guide, her mentor. Not her lover. Never her lover
.

And now, how she must be suffering for it! How could that bitch of a grey widow have done this to her? Maybe
he’d
deserved it, but Celandine should have kept Mathilda’s secrets. She’d known the Princess had planned a tryst, and instead of using her influence to stop her, she’d betrayed her.

Perhaps she’d been Fox’s spy all along. Perhaps she was now Mathilda’s guard.

The insufferable hellion
. He’d always thought that folk granted witcheries were chosen for their virtuous piety and dedication to Va, whether through the Way of the Oak or the Flow. How did she ever come by a glamour? He looked away, face schooled to calm.

The Prime was calling the next witness. A young witan cleric with a Shenat name: Chub Saxifrage. Saker had never seen him before, yet there he was, recounting another conversation that had never taken place.

“And what did Witan Rampion tell you about your faith?” Fox asked him.

“He said we were both Shenat, both witans, and that meant more than being an ordinary cleric of Va. He said it was time the Shenat returned to their roots, to the old faith.”

“Did he suggest you do that?”

“No, not exactly. He gave me some tracts to read and suggested I think about the contents as they portrayed a fundamental truth.”

“And what did you do with those tracts?” Fox asked, his voice deceptively gentle.

“I gave them to you, your eminence.”

“Are these the ones?” Fox approached the man where he stood and showed him a couple of sheets of flimsy bark paper.

The young witan glanced at them. “Yes, your eminence.”

“Thank you. That will be all.” Fox handed the papers to the Earl, who read them slowly, then handed them to the other two judges. Saker thought of asking to see the papers, but there wasn’t any point. He could guess their message; he’d seen such writings before, usually poorly penned by semi-literate folk from some backwater village in the northern mountains. It would be a beautiful spot where the villagers hated to see the woodcutters come with their contracts from city merchants to fell the big forest oaks on Crown lands. Ignorant peasants, if you listened to people like Fox. Saker pitied them, and sympathised. But he didn’t believe a return to the old Shenat ways would solve their problems.

His anger was building at the way he was being maligned, but he’d agreed to keep silent for Mathilda’s sake. He had to find another way out of this mess, and accusing the witnesses of lying was not it.

The next piece of so-called evidence came from a report written by the arbiter of the ward where Saker had been born. Fox read out the relevant part of it with relish. It included a list of names of known Primordials in the area – and one of them was Gromwell Rampion.

“Your brother, I believe?” Fox asked him calmly.

“Half-brother,” he amended, without comment. He had no doubt the report was accurate. There seemed no point in mentioning he had not spoken to Gromwell in seven or eight years.

The next witness was another surprise. Penny-cress, from the King Oak shrine. How did they know he’d been there recently?
Oh, of course. Tonias Pedding, Fox’s secretary
. Va above, why had they dragged the ancient shrine-keeper all the way across the city to the court? One thing was for sure, they could never persuade her to utter a lie.

The Prime was solicitous, ordering one of the clerics to bring her a chair and a mug of water. While she was being settled, Penny-cress gazed around at the panelled walls in displeasure. Saker guessed she didn’t like to see dead oak.

“You keep the witan shrine at a place called King Oak on the Throssel river, is that correct?” Fox asked gently.

“Ay. For more years than ye’ve been born.”

“And five days ago, Witan Rampion came to the shrine, is that right?”

“Ay, he came to pray.”

“What did you notice about one of his hands while he was there?”

“The black shadow was on his fingers.”

“Black shadow? And in your opinion, what was that?”

“The mark o’ A’Va as made by his minions, the devil-kin. Seen it too many times in my lifetime to have a doubt. Step into the shadow of the oak, and A’Va’s mark will shine if a devil-kin’s laid his hand on you.”

“And you saw this mark on Witan Rampion.”

“Ay. A black smear across his fingers.”

“Thank you, mistress. One of the guards will escort you back to the shrine, unless of course Witan Rampion wishes to dispute your account?”

Saker looked towards the Earl. “No, but I’d like to ask the shrine-keeper a question, if I may, my lord.”

“That is your right.”

“Is the black shadow a sign of the evil of the man who wears it on his skin, or of the evil of the man who gave it to him?”

“Why, the man who gave it to him, to be sure.”

“Thank you, mistress.”

Penny-cress frowned, as if she didn’t understand why all this was happening. He moved his hand in a gesture of calm, telling her not to worry, and she was escorted from the room.

“I would like to point out to the court,” Fox said, “that the mark
is
proof that the recipient keeps the worst of company. I’ve even heard it said that it is A’Va himself that puts the mark there.”

You slithering snake. So that’s it. Twisting the truth to paint me as tainted by A’Va!
He felt a wave of nausea. Penny-cress was far too canny to volunteer knowledge of his black mark, but if asked if she’d seen it, she’d never tell a lie. Fox had sent someone to ask because he knew about it beforehand, and he knew the black mark would appear under the canopy of the oak.

Fox. It always comes back to Fox.

You were
warned
, you fool. Fritillary warned you. Gerelda warned you. Juster warned you. Pus and pustules, maybe even the lascar’s
dagger
warned you! But no, as a witan, you wanted your Prime to be above suspicion.

If they find me guilty of A’Va worship, I’ll be hanging from a noose before the day ends. I have to fight this accusation.

The Earl frowned so deeply his eyebrows met in the middle of his brow. “Prime Fox, please explain to me this business of a devil-kin. Is it not just a mythical tale to scare children?”

“I fear we now have sufficient evidence that devil-kin exist,” Fox said. “They’re the human servants of A’Va in this world of ours, doing his bidding. The Pontifect has recently asked all clerics to watch for signs. I believe the black mark, which manifests itself to us only under the canopy of a sacred oak, is one indication that someone has had some kind of contact with one of the devil-kin. Or even with A’Va. Its precise significance is, alas, less clear.”

“Ah. Proceed, then, your eminence.”

“I have no fewer than five more witan clerics who are willing to present evidence against Witan Rampion. They all have the same story to tell – that the witan tried to influence them away from Va to the earlier form of the Shenat faith, the Primordial, now recognised as a heresy—”

“Your honour,” Saker interrupted, “let me save the court some time. I am willing to plead guilty to all charges of blasphemy. Indeed, I shall plead guilty to apostasy too, while stating that I have made a sincere and humble return to the Faith, for Va has had the grace to show me the error of my ways.” He had a slim hope his capitulation might be sufficient for the court, although he doubted Fox would be so lenient.

The Earl conferred briefly with his fellow judges, then turned back to Valerian Fox. “I think, under those circumstances, we do not need more evidence on the blasphemy and apostasy charges.” His frown had lightened a shade as he addressed Saker once more. “Your repentance or otherwise does not change the nature of the crime, or its punishment.”

Saker bowed. “I know, my lord. And I will take my punishment for blasphemy, and for flirting with apostasy.”

“But the mark of the devil-kin? That is a much more serious matter,” Fox protested.

“It is indeed,” Fremont agreed. “I am assuming there is no such mark on the witan’s hands now.”

“No,” Fox said, “but Saker Rampion is not under a sacred oak, either. We could take him to a shrine…”

Saker brightened. Outside in the open, he’d have a chance to escape. To bribe someone with Juster’s rubies.

“No one would ever accuse Mistress Penny-cress of a lie,” Fremont pointed out. “My family has supported her shrine ever since I remember, and I have known her since my childhood. She is renowned for her honesty and plain speaking. If she says she saw the mark, then she did.” He glanced at his fellow judges, who both nodded in agreement.

Damn. No chance of getting outside, then.
He said quickly, “My lord, if I may defend myself on this more serious charge…?”

Fox opened his mouth, obviously wanting to interject a protest, but the Earl held up his hand. “Go on, witan.”

“The idea that I would countenance A’Va worship is baseless and deeply offensive to me. Moreover, it is contradictory to the very argument the Prime has been making: that I advocate a return to the pre-Va-Faith belief of the group called Primordials. No Primordial, or anyone else who believes in the importance of shrines and the Way, would ever voluntarily accept the taint of the devil-kin. A’Va is not just the antithesis of Va; he is also anathema to unseen guardians.” He indicated the bark papers on the bench in front of the judges. “You have only to read those tracts.”

“That’s true,” the Earl agreed, looking at his fellow judges once more to assess their accord.

“Do you accuse Mistress Penny-cress of lying, then, witan?” Fox asked him, mocking.

“It is my belief that the wearer of such a black mark has been targeted by evil. A victim, not a perpetrator. However, in my case I believe Mistress Penny-cress was mistaken, not lying,” Saker said. “And with the court’s approval, I will call a witness to prove that.”

Fox shot him a disbelieving glance.

A-ha, you thought by denying me an advocate, you had me by the balls. Well, we will see, you slimy pulpiteer…

“And this person is in the court?” the Earl asked.

“Yes, your honour. There will be no delay.”

“Then proceed.”

“I would ask Lord Juster Dornbeck if he would answer a question or two about the day I visited the shrine. He will remember it well enough; it was the day of his celebration aboard the
Golden Petrel
.”

Juster scrambled to his feet, startled. “Of course, if I can be of aid to the court…”

“Come forward, Lord Juster,” the Earl said, “and reply to the accused’s questions. Remember that all who give evidence here are under oath.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Lord Juster, thank you,” Saker said as Juster took his place before the court. “I think you’ll find my questions easy enough. On that day, you and I were up in the rigging of your ship. Now, for the sake of the non-nautical people in the room, would you tell us the difference between the stay ropes – those ropes that anchor the masts – and the ordinary rigging?”

“The stays – well, they stay put, under tension. And they have to be stronger because they help to anchor the masts.”

“Thank you. Now how do you ensure that a stay rope remains in good condition?”

“Why, we coat it with pitch. Tar.”

“So the stays on your ship were tar-coated. Quite recently, I suspect?”

“Of course. The ship and the ropes are new.”

“So the tar is not so very old and hard. And when two foolish men chose to slide down the stays from the mast to the deck – one of those men being myself – they were likely to get tar on their hands or clothes?”

“Yes, indeed. And elsewhere.” Juster sounded rueful, and there was a titter around the court.

“Is it easy to remove?”

“No, it’s the very devil. I feel certain you still had dirty hands by the time you reached the shrine.”

“Thank you, my lord. That’s all.”

“Do you have any questions, your eminence?” Fremont asked Fox.

“Yes, just the one. I believe you met with a painful accident on that day, Lord Juster.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“So may I assume you knew nothing of what happened to Witan Rampion after you were injured?”

Juster gave an amiable grin. “Yes, you may assume that.”

The Earl sent Juster back to his seat, and Fox shot Saker an angry look before saying, “Penny-cress would know the difference between tarry hands and the mark of the devil-kin. Perhaps we can ask her to return…”