The bailiff and I were waiting for them together with the whole of the village from the youngest bawling infant to a blind old grandmother. We did not have to force open a path through the crowd. The peasants were good folk — well behaved — and they readily backed away from the horses to make room for their betters.
I caught the bridle of my lord’s horse and held it while he dismounted before passing the animal on to one of the man servants. John the Bailiff followed my lead with Sir Gerald and his horse.
Among the duties I handle for my lord, by far the worst is acting as his executioner.
Father Stefan, the village priest, came forward and blessed both men in Latin so garbled I could make no sense of it, but Lord William accepted the blessing as his due before seating himself with the same aplomb with which King Henry mounted his throne.
“Father,” Lord William said, “your blessing on these proceedings please. Ask the Lord to guide us to justice as we hold this trial today.”
Father Stefan smiled. This time he spoke in English and it was immediately clear that he planned to pray for a very long time.
“Father in heaven,” he began, his voice rolling across the green. “We have gathered here today to weigh the guilt of two women who have sinned against this community.”
My lord was very patient with the man — but then he usually was when it came to priests. He sat quietly in his chair and used the opportunity to examine the crowd. He paid particular attention to the group of jurors. The accused, of course, were not yet present. The bailiff had set two members of Sir Gerald’s household to wait out of sight until my lord sent for them.
The priest finally concluded his prayer and returned his gaze to Lord William and Sir Gerald.
“Thank you, Father Stefan,” Lord William said. “And now, Sir Gerald, I would like to meet the jury.”
Sir Gerald gestured to his bailiff, who stepped up beside the group of jurors. “Step forward, state your name to the lord, and step back,” he told them.
I had warned them that they would have to do this when I met with them the day before. I was never certain if the warning was a kindness or not. They all looked very nervous.
The first man stepped forward. Like the others, he was dressed in his festival best. “Hodge, my lord,” he said, before awkwardly stepping back in line.
“Brett, my lord,” the second man said, then realized he was still standing in the group. He stepped forward and repeated himself. For the first time this morning, the crowd snickered.
My lord watched these men closely as they declared themselves to him, studying their faces with care. For all that the outcome of the trial was a foregone conclusion, Lord William took his responsibilities very seriously. The jurors caught a sense of the true earnestness of the situation from him and stepped back impressed with the graveness of their responsibility.
When the last man had introduced himself, my lord addressed a question to the bailiff. “Are all of these men farmers?”
“Yes, my lord,” the bailiff answered. His voice came out swallowed, much softer than I think he had intended, but with Lord William speaking, no one thought to laugh.
Lord William rose to his feet and addressed the crowd. “Good people of Alving, we are gathered today to perform one of the most solemn responsibilities we Christians ever face. A great wrong has been committed — a sin against God, our king, ourselves and Garrick, the deceased. Our king has charged us to identify the ones who killed him and punish their bodies for their crime that their immortal souls might still find a chance of salvation.”
Not a whisper reverberated within that crowd. I had felt certain that at least one or two would call out the accused names when my lord mentioned the murders, but I was wrong. Lord William held them spellbound, listening intently to his every word.
“Our great king has charged the fine men of this jury to investigate this crime. They have already gone among you seeking a full understanding of what has happened. Today they will report to me their findings, call witnesses if they have them, and summon oath helpers if need be to swear to the character of those involved.
“Next we will allow the accused to speak and explain if they can where the jury has gone wrong.”
Heads were shaking now, rejecting the very idea that the accused mother and daughter were not responsible for the crime.
“They, too,” Lord William continued, “will have the chance to summon oath helpers on their behalf. But when all is said and done,” my lord’s voice boomed anew, “the responsibility for determining the verdict in this trial is mine! Mine to judge. And mine to render. And whether you agree with my verdict or not, whether you love these accused women or hate them, you will accept my verdict, for justice will have been done!”
Lord William let his steely gaze sweep the crowd once more, cowing these lowly villagers with the intensity of his glare. Then he stepped back to his chair and sat down. “Bailiff, call the prisoners.”
The bailiff found his voice, shouting out his order at the top of his lungs. “Bring the prisoners!”
The crowd turned in excitement to see the women approach, but I turned my attention away from them. I had learned long ago that these were the moments that things went wrong. These were the moments — when attention was all focused in one direction — that evil crept in from behind. And while I didn’t really believe I’d find an assassin with a knife, I had long ago trained myself to look for the unexpected problem.
So for that reason, I was positioned to see my lord’s eyes as the prisoners were escorted through the crowd. They were solemn and serious, then suddenly tight with concern.
I twisted back to face the prisoners, wondering what had happened but could see nothing at all out of the ordinary. Most of the crowd was silent, knowing full well that these two women were condemned. Others jeered or hissed at them, including, I was sad to see, two members of the jury. But none of this was out of the ordinary. In fact, Alving was calmer facing its accused than many of the places we had visited.
I turned back to my lord, but his face was calm again, with only a slight tightening at the corner of his eyes to hint that something still concerned him. I might have been the only person present who could read that sign, but read it I did.
I returned my attention to the soon-to-be condemned. I had met them both the day before and there was nothing at all unusual about them. Peta, the mother, must have been pretty in her youth. She was dark as our shared Saxon roots, except that gray now streaked her hair. She looked much older than I judged her to be, but life was hard for all in these times. She would have been born early in King Stephen’s reign, when anarchy ruled and armies fought back and forth across the land. The years since might have been more peaceful, but from the look of the village and Sir Gerald’s manor, Alving had not been prospering.
Anna, the daughter, was a different story. She too had been damaged by the cares of the world, but those hardships had not yet destroyed her beauty. Almost blue eyes stared out behind a tangle of auburn hair, suggesting that Sir Gerald, or his father, had spent a few enjoyable hours with the mother. It was not an uncommon occurrence between a lord and his peasants.
“You stand accused,” Lord William began with no hint that anything was troubling him, “of murdering the good man, Garrick, your husband and father.”
“He wasn’t that good,” the older woman muttered.
“Keep your mouth shut, murderer!” someone shouted from the crowd.
“That is advice,” Lord William continued, “that you would all do well to follow. I am a justice of King Henry and this is his court. Show respect and keep silent unless I speak to you.”