“So it could go either way.”
“Exactly.”
The patrons of the inn finished their breakfasts and began to drift out, heading across the square to the Courthouse inn, where the session would be held. Soon it would be too late.
At last Wulfric reappeared. “She says no,” he said abruptly, and he turned away.
“Just a minute!” Merthin said.
Wulfric took no notice, and disappeared again up the stairs.
Ralph cursed. For a while he had hoped for a reprieve. Now he was in the hands of the jury.
He heard the sound of a handbell being rung vigorously outside. A sheriff’s deputy was summoning all concerned to the court. Merthin stood up. Reluctantly, Ralph followed suit.
They walked back to the Courthouse and went into the large back room. At the far end, the justice’s bench stood on a raised dais. Although always called a bench, it was in fact a carved wooden chair like a throne. The justice was not seated, but his clerk was at a table in front of the dais, reading a scroll. Two long benches for the jurymen stood to one side. There were no other seats in the room: everyone else would stand wherever he wished. Order was maintained by the power of the justice to sentence instantly anyone who misbehaved: no trial was necessary for a crime that the judge had himself witnessed. Ralph spotted Alan Fernhill, looking terrified, and stood beside him without speaking.
Ralph began to think he should never have come here. He could have made an excuse: sickness, a misunderstanding about dates, a horse lamed on the road. But that would only have brought him a postponement. Eventually the sheriff would come, with armed deputies, to arrest him; and if he evaded them he would be declared an outlaw.
However, that was better than hanging. He wondered if he should flee now. He could probably fight his way out of the tavern. But he would not get far on foot. He would be chased by half the town, and if they did not catch him the sheriff’s deputies would follow on horseback. And his flight would be seen as an admission of guilt. As things stood, he still had a chance of acquittal. Annet might be too intimidated to give her evidence clearly. Perhaps key witnesses would fail to show up. There could be some last-minute intervention by Earl Roland.
The courtroom filled up: Annet, the villagers, Lord William and Lady Philippa, Edmund Wooler and Caris, Prior Godwyn and his slimy assistant Philemon. The clerk banged on his table for quiet, and the justice came through a side door. It was Sir Guy de Bois, a large landholder. He had a bald head and a fat belly. He was an old comrade-in-arms of the earl’s, which might stand in Ralph’s favour; but, on the other side of the balance, he was Lady Philippa’s uncle, and she might have whispered malice in his ear. He had the flushed look of a man who has breakfasted on salt beef and strong ale. He sat down, farted loudly, sighed with satisfaction and said: “All right, let’s get on with it.”
Earl Roland was not present.
Ralph’s case came first: it was the one that most interested everybody, including the justice. The indictment was read, and Annet was called to give her evidence.
Ralph found it strangely difficult to concentrate. He had heard it all before, of course, but he should have been listening hard for any discrepancy in the story Annet told today, any sign of uncertainty, any hesitation or faltering. But he felt fatalistic. His enemies were out in full force. His one powerful friend, Earl Roland, was absent. Only his brother stood beside him, and Merthin had already tried his best to help, and failed. Ralph was doomed.
The witnesses followed: Gwenda, Wulfric, Peg, Gaspard. Ralph had thought he had absolute power over these people, but somehow they had conquered him. The foreman of the jury, Sir Herbert Montain, was one of those who had refused to shake Ralph’s hand, and he asked questions that seemed designed to emphasize the horror of the crime: How bad was the pain? How much blood? Was she weeping?
When it was Ralph’s turn to speak, he told the story that had been disbelieved by the jury of indictment, and he told it in a low voice, stumbling over his words. Alan Fernhill did better, saying firmly that Annet had been eager to lie with Ralph, and that the two lovers had asked him to make himself scarce while they enjoyed one another’s favours beside the stream. But the jury did not believe him: Ralph could tell by their faces. He began to feel almost bored by the proceedings, wishing they would be over, and his fate sealed.
As Alan stepped back, Ralph was conscious of a new figure at his shoulder, and a low voice said: “Listen to me.”
Ralph glanced behind and saw Father Jerome, the earl’s clerk, and the thought crossed his mind that a court such as this had no power over priests, even if they committed crimes.
The justice turned to the jury and asked for their verdict.
Father Jerome murmured: “Your horses stand outside, saddled and ready to go.”
Ralph froze. Was he hearing correctly? He turned and said: “What?”
“Run for it.”
Ralph looked behind him. A hundred men barred his way to the door, many of them armed. “It’s not possible.”
“Use the side door,” Jerome said, indicating with a slight inclination of his head the entrance through which the justice had come. Ralph saw immediately that only the Wigleigh people stood between him and the side door.
The foreman of the jury, Sir Herbert, stood up, looking self-important.
Ralph caught the eye of Alan Fernhill, standing beside him. Alan had heard everything and looked expectant.
“Go now!” whispered Jerome.
Ralph put his hand on his sword.
“We find Lord Ralph of Wigleigh guilty of rape,” said the foreman.
Ralph drew his sword. Waving it in the air, he dashed for the door.
There was a second of stunned silence, then everyone shouted at once. But Ralph was the one man in the room with a weapon in his hand, and he knew it would take the others a moment to draw.
Only Wulfric tried to stop him, stepping into his path heedlessly, not even looking scared, just determined. Ralph raised his sword and brought it down, as hard as he could, aiming at the middle of Wulfric’s skull, intending to cleave it in two. But Wulfric stepped nimbly back and to the side. Nevertheless, the point of the sword sliced through the left side of his face, cutting it open from the temple to the jaw. Wulfric cried out in sudden agony, and his hands flew to his cheek; and then Ralph was past him.
He flung open the door, stepped through and turned. Alan Fernhill dashed past him. The foreman of the jury was close behind Alan, sword drawn and raised. Ralph experienced a moment of pure elation. This was how things should be settled – by a fight, not a discussion. Win or lose, he preferred it this way.
With a yell of exhilaration he thrust at Sir Herbert. The point of his sword touched the foreman’s chest, ripping through his leather tunic; but the man was too distant for the blow to penetrate the ribs, and it merely cut his skin then glanced off the bones. All the same, Herbert cried out – more in fear than pain – and stumbled back, colliding with those behind him. Ralph slammed the door on them.
He found himself in a passage that ran the length of the house, with a door to the market square at one end and another to the stable yard at the other. Where were the horses? Jerome had said only that they were outside. Alan was already running for the back door, so Ralph followed. As they burst into the yard, a hubbub behind them told him that the courtroom door had been opened and the crowd was after him.
There was no sign of their horses in the yard.
Ralph ran under the arch that led to the front.