The Shining City (49 page)

The other judges nodded thoughtfully, all except Aidan, who cast up his eyes to the star-embossed ceiling as if unable to understand the sorcerer‟s gullibility.

The crowd‟s murmur was rent by a sudden scream from the gallery. Johanna had leaped to her feet, her face distorted in a howl of grief and rage.

“No! Hang her!” Johanna screamed. “She killed him—she admits it! She should die too. Hang her, I say!”

The cry was taken up by the crowd and, despite the loud banging of the gavel, the whole room rang with the chant. “Hang her!”

“She killed my brother—she admits it!” Johanna cried. “Let her swing for it!”

“Order in the court!” the duke bellowed until at last the room quietened, and all eyes turned back to Rhiannon, who was looking white and frightened.

Gwilym took a deep breath.

“Apart from Connor‟s death, we must also consider the question o‟ treason,” the sorcerer went on. “Can it truly be possible that a herd o‟ wild satyricorns ken naught at all o‟ the Rìgh o‟

Eileanan and the Far Islands? The satyricorns signed the Pact o‟ Peace; they are vassals o‟ the Crown and owe allegiance and loyalty to it. And if they do ken naught o‟ the law, does that give them the right to flaunt it? To waylay and murder one o‟ the Rìgh‟s own officers, riding in His Majesty‟s service?”

Aidan nodded his head gravely and looked at Gwilym with new respect, as if he was a man who had at last spoken sense.

“These are weighty issues,” Gwilym said. “The penalty for such crimes is death by hanging, drawing, and quartering, as we all ken.”

“Aye! Hang her!” someone in the crowd shouted. “Hang, draw, and quarter her!”

Gwilym turned to look at the rows of upturned faces. “It is a cruel and pitiless punishment,” he said. “Those so condemned are hung by the neck till near death, then cut down while still alive so that they can be disemboweled and torn into four. We must be sure o‟ the accused‟s guilt afore we inflict such a sentence upon her.”

Lewen swallowed and pressed his hands together. He could hear Fèlice‟s sharp indrawn breath beside him. He dared not look at Rhiannon.

“I think we should call upon Lewen MacNiall now,” the Duke of Ardblair said.

L
ewen wiped his sweaty palms down his breeches. His breath was like a sliver of glass in his throat. “He was the one who had first contact with her. Perhaps he can shed light upon the extent o‟ her ignorance and her true motivations,” the Duke of Ardblair went on. “I think that is what we must try to grasp the truth o‟ here, what drove this young woman to raise her bow against the Yeoman Connor. Lewen MacNiall, will ye come to the witness stand?”

Lewen got up. He felt as if a thousand eyes were staring at him. He went up to the witness stand and swore by the Creed of the Coven of Witches to speak only what he knew to be true in his heart. He only wished he could be sure of this himself.

The judges began by asking him to explain to the court who he was and how he had found Rhiannon, tied to the back of the black winged horse, both exhausted and hurt, after her flight from the herd. Lewen responded awkwardly. He did not like to remember his first meeting with Rhiannon. It tugged too sharply on the chain strung between them.

After a while, describing Rhiannon as he had first known her, Lewen grew more fluent. “She had never even seen a house afore, she‟d never slept anywhere but on the ground,” he said. “We had to teach her how to use a knife and spoon—”

“By all accounts, she certainly kent how to use a knife,” the Duke of Ardblair interjected dryly.

Lewen was thrown off his stride. He heard laughter from the crowd and a few hisses. After a moment he went on. “She didna even have a name. They all called her „No-Horn,‟ which is a term o‟ contempt. My parents and I named her, for we could no‟ go on calling her „lassie‟ all the time, which was the only other name she kent. . . .”

“That‟s something that has puzzled me all along,” Glenwys said. “If this young woman is indeed born o‟ a wild satyricorn herd, how is it she speaks our language so well? Does she no‟ claim to have been brought up in the wilds o‟ Ravenshaw far from any human civilization? The First-Horn o‟ the Royal Satyricorn Squad, who was born and brought up here in Lucescere, does no‟

speak so fluently.”

Lewen flushed. “She was no‟ so fluent when we first met her,” he said. “Her language was quite broken. She‟s learned quickly.”

“Amazingly quickly,” Aidan said pointedly.

“But how was it she kent any o‟ our language at all?” Glenwys persisted, pushing her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose so she could look at Rhiannon, standing straight and still at her stand. Lewen could not answer. His cheeks burning, he tried to think of something to say.

Rhiannon answered for him. “My father was human, remember,” she said coolly. “Although I do no‟ remember, he must‟ve spoken to me as a bairn. And there was another human there, named Reamon.”

Involuntarily Rhiannon looked towards the rows of witnesses, and Lewen followed her gaze. He saw an old man sitting nervously on the edge of his seat, dressed in what was obviously a borrowed suit. He was all lines and angles like a skinny plucked chicken, with a halo of straggly grey hair and beard, and great startled eyes. At the sound of his name he jerked wildly, then hunched down as if dreading the hundreds of eyes that stared at him.

Rhiannon turned her gaze back to the judges and went on steadily. “Reamon was the one who taught me how to use my bow. He always talked to me in his own language. He was the one who called me „lassie.‟ It was the only soft word I ever kent.”

The judges muttered among themselves for a while, then Glenwys directed another question at Rhiannon.

“And this man, Reamon, did he never tell ye about the Rìgh, or the Yeomen o‟ the Guard?”

Rhiannon dropped her gaze, fidgeting with her skirt. Then she recollected herself, raising her head and saying, “Nay, no‟ really. I mean, he might o‟. He may have mentioned them but . . . no‟

so I understood. It was all . . . like make-believe . . . and we couldna talk much, ye ken, for they .

. . my mother . . . they didna like it when I acted like a human. I tried hard to be as much like a Horned One as I could. So when he talked o‟ such things, I didna really listen. . . .”

The judges nodded in understanding, and Lewen breathed a little easier. He looked towards his seat, wondering if he would be allowed to sit down now. They had not finished with him yet, however. Gwilym the Ugly bent forward and picked up a folded sheaf of papers from the table.

“Lewen, do ye recognize this handwriting?”

Lewen took the papers held up to him by the court herald. “Aye,” he said in surprise. “ ‟Tis my mother‟s.”

“Who is the letter addressed to?”

“To Auntie Beau . . . I mean, to Is—to the Keybearer.”

“Your mother is an auld, dear friend o‟ the Keybearer‟s, is she no‟?”

“Aye,” Lewen agreed.

“This letter was found in the pocket o‟ the coat the accused was wearing when taken into custody. She claims your mother gave it to her, to give to Isabeau upon arrival in Lucescere.”

“Aye,” Lewen answered, baffled. “Mam said she would write.”

“Would ye read aloud the marked paragraphs for the court?”

Lewen began to read aloud. “ „I hope I have done the right thing in sending this lass to ye. I am greatly troubled about her. It seems clear to me she has been mistreated by her family, for she flinches when one comes too close and looks at everyone with suspicion. If that was all, I would have no hesitation in sending her to ye, for I ken ye o‟ all people would be gentle and loving with her. I fear there is more amiss, however. I canna read her at all. She guards her thoughts very carefully, so carefully her mind is like a locked casket. This may be naught more than a desire not to betray her feelings to those who are cruel to her, but I fear she hides a darker secret. She wears the clothes and weapons o‟ a Yeoman and I fear she may have killed him for them. She says she did no‟, but I do no‟ trust her to tell the truth. She is quite wild, and as far as I can see has no understanding o‟ the values we hold dear. She almost killed Niall at the breakfast table, and all because he told her she could no‟ keep Connor‟s things! Indeed, I‟m afraid I‟ve sent ye a lass as wild as a snow lion and quite as dangerous. I only hope ye can tame her.‟ ”

Somehow Lewen got to the end of the letter and looked up, swallowing hard. The crowd was murmuring to each other, and the judges looked grave.

“A lass as wild as a snow lion, and quite as dangerous. One that canna be trusted to tell the truth.

One that draws a knife on her host at the breakfast table,” Aidan said. “A pretty house-guest indeed.”

Lewen did not know what to say. He glanced apologetically at Rhiannon, and said, “She didna ken . . . she didna mean . . .”

“By all accounts, your mother is a woman o‟ great insight with an uncanny ability to read minds,” Gwilym said gently. “The Keybearer Isabeau has always trusted her intuitions greatly.”

“Aye, but—”

“Elsewhere in that same letter, your mother says the accused attacked your father with a pitchfork. Is that true?”

“Aye.”

“And she bit ye till she drew blood.”

“Well, aye.”

“And fought so viciously it took both your father and ye to subdue her.”

“Aye, but—”

“And she threatened some o‟ your mother‟s guests with violence, drawing her knife upon one?”

“She didna mean aught by it,” Lewen stammered.

“Drew her knife upon some young lady at the dinner table and meant naught by it?” Aidan asked sarcastically.

Lewen went red. “Nay,” he said stubbornly. He did not dare look at Rhiannon.

“I see,” the fat merchant Claude said. “Very well then. Let us move on. Now, ye were present when the body o‟ Connor the Just was recovered at Barbreck-by-the-Bridge and so was the accused. Did she admit then that she was the one responsible for his death?”

Numbly Lewen shook his head.

“Ye must answer „aye‟ or „nay,‟ lad,” the duke said impatiently.

“Nay,” Lewen muttered.

“Can ye please answer so the court can hear ye?”

“Nay,” Lewen shouted, and then blushed hotly.

“Did ye no‟ wonder if she had been involved, given that she was wearing the clothes o‟ a Yeoman, clothes that show the passage o‟ an arrow through back and breast?” Glenwys asked.

“Well, aye,” he admitted.

“Did ye no‟ ask her?‟

Lewen gritted his teeth.

“Please answer the question. Did ye, or did ye no‟, ask the accused whether she had been in any way involved in the death o‟ Connor the Just, whose clothes she wore and whose weapons she carried?”

“Aye,” Lewen said stiffly.

“So ye did ask her?‟

“Aye, I asked her.‟

“And what did she answer?‟

Lewen paused for a long time, then said unwillingly, “She said she had no‟.”

“So she lied?”

“I suppose so.”

“This is an question that can only be answered with an „aye‟ or a „nay.‟ Did she lie?”

“Aye,” Lewen said through stiff, white lips. He felt an insane desire to leap forward, to declaim on Rhiannon‟s behalf, to let his clamoring instincts run away with him. He fixed his eyes on Olwynne, leaning forward in her seat, and tried to keep his voice and manner cool and

considered.

“So how did ye come to discover that the accused was, in fact, the one who so callously murdered our brother-in-arms?” Aidan asked coldly.

Lewen looked at him angrily, hating the way he spoke. “It wasna like that,” he said.

“Oh, ye were there, were ye, and saw it all?”

“Nay, I was no‟, and neither were ye!”

Aidan gripped his lips together and stared at Lewen with such intense dislike he was dismayed.

Aidan was a man Lewen had always admired and dreamed of being like one day. It hurt him to realize how much of a pariah he now was to the Blue Guards.

“Please just answer the question,” the Duke of Ardblair said wearily. “How did ye realize she had killed Connor, after she told ye she had no‟?”

“I found the necklace,” Lewen said. “It was in her bag. As soon as I saw it, I . . .”

“Ye what?”

“I realized what she had done.”

“What did ye do?”

“I . . . I . . .”

The judges waited. Lewen made a big effort and said, “I left her . . . I left her alone.”

“Ye did no‟ call for the reeve or take her into custody? Ye did no‟ tell anyone?” Aidan‟s voice expressed utter scorn and amazement.

“It was wet, stormy. We‟d taken shelter at the Tower o‟ Ravens. It was night. Later, the next day, I told Nina, through the Scrying Pool. Then I told His Majesty.”

“Also through the Scrying Pool, I presume?” Gwilym said with a faint smile.

Lewen could not smile back. He nodded his head, then muttered, “Aye.”

“And where was the accused then?”

Lewen stared at the wooden stand before him. “She‟d gone.”

“She had tried to escape?”

“I suppose so.”

“Please answer—”

“Aye,” he cried.

“The men o‟ Fettercairn Castle had to ride out and hunt her down, did they no‟? Afore she could be taken into custody.”