"A true man must by no means be cruel but rather give mercy unto him who begs it. If a daughter goes to her father and begs mercy, should he not give it if it is his to give? Again one would think so. But as his chattel a man is free to sell his daughter for pigs should he think it is a good trade. That is the law of the land whether I like it or not, and more pertinently, whether you like it or not.
"A true man must always give ladies, gentlewomen and widows succour, and never must he force himself upon them. And whilst Craven has bought this woman it is no different to the bartering of station and binding of families that goes on all over Albion. He has offered a good match, promising that the daughter of Isaiah will want for nothing. He has fulfilled his obligations in good faith. So how can she refuse his offer without bringing dishonour upon her father?
"A true man must never take up arms in wrongful quarrels for love or worldly goods. Both of you, I suspect, should be commended for bringing this fight to me rather than killing each other.
"And for my part, never will a true man stand by idly and watch such evils perpetrated by others upon the innocent, for a true man stands as last bastion for all that is just. A true man is the last hope of the good and innocent. A true man must hold fast to the Oath above all things. Only then might a true man do honour to Albion and stand as a true knight.
"The question is, should a commoner be held accountable in the same manner that a knight would? I think it is unfair to assume so, or all men would be knights, would they not? Still, this is no easy decision. Before I make it, I think I should like to hear from the girl, as she is the prize in this dispute."
She met his gaze full on.
Already he had become used to people looking away from his scars, but she did not. The challenge in her eyes brought a smile to his ruined lips.
"I should be most curious to hear a single good reason why you should not be wed, assuming you have a tongue?"
"Aye, my lord," she said. "I have a tongue,"
"Excellent. Then let us hear from you on this matter. This court is nothing if not fair, so speak. One good reason is all I ask, and let's have no talk of love. As has been argued already it has no place here."
"Very well, my lord," she said, rising to her feet. "But if I am to level accusations against the character of Craven, I would do so in private, not with the gawpers looking on." She gestured towards the ranks of onlookers crowded into the chamber. "I would not needlessly destroy a man's good name by turning his life into gossip for his neighbours."
"I think you've already done that, madam," Alymere said.
"Then I would not cause undue damage beyond what has been done. I beg your indulgence, my lord. Just a few moments' privacy, then I will heed whatever decision you see fit to make."
Alymere rose from his chair and stepped down from the dais.
"Come then, miss."
He led her behind a sun-faded tapestry that hid an alcove and afforded some little privacy.
"Speak your piece."
They were close, uncomfortably so. He could feel her breath against his neck. There was nowhere to hide from the intensity of her eyes. The dark around them made it seem as though they had no whites. He had been wrong on two counts. She was beautiful, he realised, and her fear had not faded into resignation. She was resigned, yes, but that did not blunt the fear one iota. It was only then that he recognised the spectre lurking behind them for what it was: death.
"My lord, it is simply this: I have heard tell that Craven's first wife, six years in the ground, was helped there by her husband's hand."
Her words had the ring of sincerity to them, but that did not mean for a minute that they were true, only that she believed them. "A serious accusation indeed," Alymere said, thoughtfully. "I can see why you would not want to say this before all and sundry. You told your father this, and obviously it was enough for him to break off the betrothal. I understand now. What father would knowingly send his daughter into the bed of a killer? But that in itself would make this a perfect lie for someone looking to escape her fate without destroying an old man's honour, wouldn't it? After all, who is going to punish a father for protecting his child? So, you are either a very cunning creature or a very desperate one. Tell me, which is it?"
"I am not a liar, my lord. I believe Craven murdered his first wife, Elspeth, because she was barren."
"Then do you have any evidence to substantiate such wild accusations?"
"None, save that when I look into his eyes I see the truth of it."
He found it difficult to think with her so close. He could smell her hair and found his eyes drifting down to the nape of her neck, where the smallest trace of sweat had begun to gather. He felt his body stir and loathed himself for such human frailty. He wanted to touch her.
"So you would have me spare you the same fate based upon some flight of fancy? An imagined evil behind the eyes? With evidence I would have no hesitation. Hellfire, I would rain righteous vengeance down upon his head, believe me. The fat man's screams would be heard all the way to France. But without it, my hands are tied. I do not know what else I can say."
She reached up and placed her palm over his heart. "Then do not say anything. Look into his eyes, my lord. The soul cannot be hidden. You will know the truth. That is all I ask. Look into his eyes and ask him about Elspeth."
He drew back the curtain and returned to his seat to offer judgement, although what that judgement might be he still did not know.
Every eye was on him. Expectancy hung in the air. The two men watched him, each desperate for the verdict to go their way. Craven was sweating. It clung to the front of his shirt, leaving a dark stain beneath his pits and across his belt.
"I have one question for you, Craven, answer it and I shall offer my decision."
"Ask anything, my lord. I have no secrets."
"Good. Then my question is this: is this to be your first union?"
"No, my lord. I was married once before, to my beloved Elspeth. She was taken by the sickness some six years gone and there isn't a day I do not think of her. There is not a night that I do not lie awake and mourn her loss, and wish that I had some small part of her to live on, a son to labour side by side with me on the farm, a daughter to welcome us home after a hard day's graft. I loved her with all of my body, which is why I will not marry for love again. I could not bear the loss."
The words were smooth, but they were not glib. He had not rehearsed them, so perhaps they came from the heart? Whatever the truth, Alymere could not see the lie in Craven's eyes. So for all the woman's protestations there was no glimpse of the man's blackened soul to make the decision for him. And, as he looked down at her on her knees before him, the surge of lust he felt all but made his mind up for him. A true man must be pure of heart and free of earthly desires, and that meant unpicking the knot of these temptations and teasing out the lies, the suspicions, the falsehoods and misdirections and getting to the core of it.