by Peter Telep
Once free, Christopher took a moment to rub his ankles and wrists. “It’s good to get them off,” he said.
“This is not unlike combat, Christopher. Do not think, just act. And the truth will come,” Orvin advised. “Now go.”
Christopher stepped toward the center of the clearing, and he felt as if his heart were beating in triplets. The path between his mouth and stomach was tight and dry. For a moment, the sun flashed in his eyes and blinded him. He found a spot that was slightly off-center and out of the glare.
He regarded the brambles, and simply began. “The bolt came from there. Woodward had tossed me a sword, but I didn’t pick it up. He came at me with his own blade.” He cleared his throat and tried to gather spit; there wasn’t much to be had. “You see, it was he who wanted to rid his life of a problem. Yes, I had betrayed him, and he wanted me to pay for that. Had that bolt not struck him down, there is no doubt in my mind that I would be dead.” He turned around to face the battle lords behind him, their incredulous looks set ting off all of his nervous twitches, the eyelids, the shaking leg, and a new one, the incessant rubbing of his wrists where the manacles had been. “After Woodward was shot, I fell to the ground myself, thinking I, too, would be hit. I waited for a long while. Then finally I got up. I didn’t know what to do. I ran. And as you already know, I went to Sir Orvin and Lord Merlin. I told them what had happened. And as you also already know, I was forced to leave because Marigween put her self in danger—and I had to help her. She’s lost now. But I had to try. That is the only reason why I left Shores.”
“My lord, may I question him?” Uryens asked Arthur. “You may.”
As he turned to face the battle lord, the knight asked, “Couldn’t you have asked Marigween to go to Blytheheart, thus giving you a reason to run”?
“I could have, but I did not. And I have the word of Lord Merlin to rest on.” Christopher looked to the druid.
“He speaks the truth,” Merlin said.
Uryens folded his arms across his chest in frustration. “Then tell me, Christopher, if we’re to believe your story, then who is going to pay for the crime of Lord Woodward’s murder?”
“The real murderer,” Christopher answered, and that brought a volley of laughs from the crowd, as it was all too obvious to them. “I believe one of two things. I believe the person who murdered Lord Woodward wanted him dead—or simply was trying to save me from being murdered, and is now too scared to come forward.”
“You’re wrong!” The shout came from the direction of the group of squires.
Christopher turned his head and saw Robert of Queen’s Camel, squire of the body, shoulder his way past his peers to step between Sirs Cardew and Bors, and then come to rest in the clearing.
What is this dolt up to? Does he want to see me hang? Was he the one? Had Neil been wrong?
“Robert, why have you interrupted us?” Arthur asked him annoyedly.
“Because Christopher is wrong, my lord. The murderer is not too scared to come forward. I am the murderer. I shot Woodward with my crossbow.”
The gasp that had followed Uryens’s announcement that Christopher had fathered a child out of wedlock with Marigween was nothing compared to the one that shot through the crowd at the moment.
Another shout resounded above the growing cacophony, “No, my lord! He’s wrong”! Neil charged forward and brandished his loaded crossbow. He whirled around with the weapon and swept its business end past the heads of the council members, who ducked and raised their arms for cover. He went on, “This is the very bow I used to save my friend Christopher from being murdered by Lord Woodward.”
“Don’t listen to him!” a woman screamed. Just as it dawned on Christopher whose voice it was, Brenna ran into the clearing and tore the crossbow out of Neil’s hands. “He only wants to save me from punishment! I shot Woodward to save Christopher!”
9
Doyle had spent the week after Christopher left Blytheheart questioning as many sailors from as many ships as he could. He had spread the rumor that he would pay handsomely for some information on a red-haired woman who might be living in Ivory Point, or even farther north. Most of the Saxons who dwelled in Caledonia were dark-haired and of a much rougher complexion than Marigween. It had seemed to Doyle that if she was alive, perhaps living as Seaver’s servant and or prisoner, she should be easy to spot.
And then Doyle had met two sailors who had accurately described Marigween. But what had been more, they had also described Seaver. That night, Doyle had sent word by way of carrier pigeon to Merlin.
Now, three days later, he and Montague walked down St. Thomas Lane toward the inn. Doyle could no longer hold back his frustration. “Why haven’t we heard from them yet?”
“Calm yourself, laddie. You heard what the man said. The carrier pigeon probably just got there—if it did at all.”
“He promised us it would. He gave us his best bird. It made it—and I know Christopher will come, no matter what the cost.”
“He’ll come, all right. But how can we be sure those sailors are right? How can we really be sure that red haired woman up in Ivory Point is Marigween?”
Doyle narrowed his brow in thought. Then it struck him. “We’ll have to go up there—to be sure.”
“Oh no, we’re not. I’m not riding all the way—” “We’ll sail this time. The weather’s agreeable.” Montague huffed incredulously. “And who’s going to take us? Or should I ask, whose cog are we going to steal this time”?
Doyle pressed on. “’We will catch a ride on the same Celt cog that brought us the information. She’s been docked for a while and will probably be shoving off soon. She’s headed up there.”
Montague shook his head, tsking a half dozen times. “Laddie, laddie. You want us to go up there and rescue her for him?”
“We could do that.”
“What if he doesn’t want us to? You saw the way he was with us. He’s not fond of help; it makes him feel guilty. And what if I don’t want to? Aye, it’s not our business is it? And speaking of business, what about ours? I’ve a revised proposition to offer to the abbot …” Doyle crossed in front of his partner, then placed a palm on Montague’s beefy chest to halt the man. “If Christopher could get here before the cog shoves off, we could all go together.”
Montague shot a look to the northeast where the cog was docked. “He’d have to leave soon to do that. And that still will not guarantee—”
“If he got the message on time, I’m sure he’s already preparing to leave,” Doyle said, breaking in, feeling his anxiety build over the idea of finally getting Marigween back at Christopher’s side.
Montague pushed past Doyle’s palm and forged on. “You forgot about that murder. What about that?”
Doyle turned and rushed to catch up with the brig and. “If he’s not here by the time the cog draws anchor, then we’ll go without him.”
“You might be going alone,” Montague said out of the comer of his mouth.
“You’ll say that as you’re boarding the ship, Monte.
You just want to be appreciated.” “And what’s wrong with that”?
“Nothing.”
They reached the inn and found Jennifer in the door way, waving them forward. “Come on! Hurry!”
Doyle ran ahead of Montague. “What is it?” “Come see for yourself”! Jennifer cried.
10
Arthur bolted to his feet. “You three! Hold your tongues!” he screamed at Robert of Queen’s Camel, Neil, and Brenna, whom he pointed to and then gestured that she set down the crossbow in her hands. She did. “And the rest of you,” he said, calming down, “will hold your tongues as well.”
Christopher was dumbfounded over the spectacle which had just taken place. Here he was accused of murdering Lord Woodward, and now the squire of the body, Neil, and Brenna were fighting over who really committed the crime. Never before had he heard about or witnessed for himself criminals who bickered over credit. The average sane person wo
uld not fight over the chance to swing from a gallows tree. What were they up to? Was Robert the true criminal and Neil was trying to save him? Or was Brenna the true criminal and Neil was trying to save her? Or was Neil the true criminal and Robert was trying to save him?
If he continued asking himself these questions, he would become as insane as they were.
Arthur waved the three disrupters forward. They stood in a line before the king, and Christopher circled behind Arthur so that he could look at their faces.
“Would you like me to question them, my lord?” Uryens asked.
“No,” Arthur said, peering over Robert’s shoulder to the battle lord. “Just listen.” He regarded Robert. “Robert of Queen’s Camel, am I to understand correctly that you are admitting to the crime of murdering Woodward of Shores?”
The squire’s features were hard, set. “You are, my lord.”
“And what of their claims?” the king asked, turning his gaze upon Neil and Brenna.
“What they say is not true.”
Neil shook his head negatively. Arthur noticed this. “You disagree?”
“I do, lord. I, Neil of Shores killed Woodward. But in defending my friend’s life.” Christopher could hear the tremor in Neil’s voice.
“My lord, if I may?” Brenna asked, and the tremor in her voice was even more noticeable than Neil’s.
Arthur nodded.
“I have not kept my feelings toward Christopher a secret during past moons. I have always watched him. The night he went to meet Lord Woodward, I knew he was in danger. I followed him to this place and hid in those brambles over there,” she said, pointing toward the bushes. “When I saw Woodward about to strike Christopher down, I had to shoot him. I had no choice.”
Uryens sprang to his feet, stepped toward the middle of the clearing just behind the three suspects, turned back to the battle lords who were watching him, and then shouted, “This is preposterous! And all it really is, is a clever diversion by these three to confuse us, to take our eyes off of the real criminal—Christopher there—and make us doubt that he did it, when, in fact, he did.”
Merlin, who had been leaning against a tree trunk, intently watching the proceedings, came forward. “A word if I may, King Arthur.”
Arthur cocked his head to look at the druid. “Merlin, your wisdom has guided us for many moons now. If you’ve something to say that will throw a bit of light on all of this confusion, go ahead! Do so!” While Arthur had been keeping his temper in check, now it clearly threatened to explode.
“Lord Woodward is dead. And—”
“We know that, wizard!” someone shouted, and Christopher eyed the council to see if it had been one of the battle lords who had interrupted Merlin. They all stared innocently at the druid.
“To the stocks with the next person besides Merlin who opens his mouth,” Arthur barked.
Merlin’s soft, almost musical voice was given ample room. “What we have seen and heard is most confusing—even without these three coming forward and admitting their guilt. It seems to me that Lord Woodward had as much reason to kill Christopher as Christopher had to kill him. Would all agree to that?”
A few of the battle lords nodded, a few voiced their “ayes,” while a few sat motionless and silent.
“Whatever you are getting at, I suggest you chargetoward it,” Arthur said.
The druid raised his palm, as if to ask for more time. “Christopher told me that he thought that the person who killed Woodward wanted Woodward dead or simply wanted to save Christopher. So we have two reasons why the murder occurred. But the truth of the matter is this: if the person who pulled the trigger on the cross bow did so because he or she wanted Woodward dead, then we have a murder. If not, if it was to save Christopher, then I believe we have something else.”
“My liege,” Uryens said, “if I may speak”? But the battle lord did not wait for Arthur’s nod and quickly added, “The only people who know what happened in this clearing on that night are Christopher and Woodward. We may never know what truly happened.”
Merlin stepped past Arthur, past the three suspects,and walked up to Uryens. The druid stared at the much younger man, who appeared to feel the heat of his gaze. Merlin began, “You speak the truth, Uryens. That is why if the council does not choose to accept Christopher’s word, then it also cannot punish him.”
“But what about these three?” Uryens asked, tossing a look to Robert, Neil, and Brenna. “If one them is the murderer, then I am wrong. Then there is another witness.”
“And how are we to decide which of the three speaks the truth?” Merlin posed. “All of them seem equally capable of the act, and all them have a reason to help Christopher or each other.”
Uryens wrung his hands, then stared at his boots. Finally, he looked up at the other battle lords, then he regarded Merlin. But the druid had already turned away and was headed back to his tree.
Lancelot rose from his seat. “My lord. How can this crime go unpunished?”
“Was it a crime?” someone cried from behind the knight.
The king’s champion swung around and searched for the shouter. “A man is dead, shot in the neck.”
“Lancelot,” Arthur called to the knight, who turned around, “philosophy aside. Be seated.” The knight com plied as Arthur turned to the council. “If we believe Christopher’s word, then he is only guilty of lying to us about what had happened and there is a killer—whom we may never find—among us.” He moved in front of the trio of admitted killers. “It could be one of these three, or not. The question as I see it will remain unanswered for now. We came here this day to decide the fate of this young man,” Arthur said, pointing an index finger at Christopher, “and this young man alone. It started here for him. And it will end here for him. That is the kind of justice I want in our new realm. If you doubt whether Christopher killed Woodward, then you must accept his account of what happened here as true. If there is no doubt in your mind that he killed Woodward, then likewise you know what to do. Those council members who believe Christopher did not kill Woodward please rise.”
Christopher looked upon the scene as if it were a dream. He had managed to detach himself so far from this reality that he felt as if he were floating among the boughs overhead and looking down on the whole affair. Yet, there was, underlying all of the false detachment and glazed-eyed viewing, the very real notion that his fate was about to be decided.
Here and now.
One by one some of the battle lords rose, each mustering a murmur from those watching. Lancelot, Leondegrance, and—surprisingly—Uryens stood. After a long moment, when it appeared no other knight would rise, Christopher counted the men standing
Six. A tie.
Of the six men seated, Christopher knew that four had been close personal friends of Woodward’s.
“Gentlemen. Are you sure about your decisions?” Arthur asked the council.
The battle lords exchanged glances, and some nod ded.
“Will not one more man rise with us?” Lancelot asked. “Are you that sure of his guilt?”
Lord Nolan huffed. “Lancelot. You were the one who could not believe this crime would go unpunished.”
“It will not go unpunished,” the knight corrected. “But we must punish the right person.”
Arthur drew in a deep breath. “If no other man will stand, then I cannot base my ruling on this council’s suggestion, but on my own judgment.”
Here it comes.
Christopher looked at Brenna. She tried to smile, but could not. He looked at Neil, who winked. He turned his head and spotted Orvin, who nodded. He returned his gaze to the king.
“I cannot find Christopher guilty of this crime with three others standing here wanting to admit to it. Their presence makes me doubt his guilt. But not only that, if they are here only to save him and they had nothing to do with the murder, then it makes me admire them and Christopher all the more. They are willing to give their lives for their friend. And any m
an who keeps such friends is worthy of my admiration.” Arthur crossed to Christopher. “You will be punished, but not for this crime. I will decide later what that will entail.” He looked to the group. “This council is adjourned until the morrow. At that time, we will question these three.”
The battle lords who were seated rose, and the crowd shuffled into the clearing, perhaps thirty people all told. Christopher bowed politely to the king and began to tum toward Orvin, but Arthur stopped him with his hand. “What is it, my lord?”
“You’ll be leaving Shores immediately,” the king said. “Do you believe one of the battle lords will try to kill me?” he asked.
“That is still a possibility, but not the reason I want you to leave. Merlin told me he received word from Blytheheart. A message from your friend Doyle. They request your presence. They believe they’ve found Marigween.”
For a moment, Christopher’s breath vanished. And that moment was followed by an immediate decision. “With your permission, my lord.”
“Once again, your timing is most inopportune, but you may go. You must,” the king said.
Christopher bowed again, and this time he was able to leave the king. As he moved toward Neil and Brenna,who were on the opposite side or the clearing, Clive came up to him. “You told the truth, Christopher. And it worked.”
“Never forget. We’re true servants, you and I.” He smiled at the junior squire, then left him behind. As he neared Neil and Brenna, he shouted, “They found her. Doyle thinks he’s found Marigween. I have to go to Blytheheart right away.”
“Not again, Christopher,” Neil said skeptically. “I have to,” he argued.
“God be with you,” Brenna said softly.
He looked at her, at the sudden pain in her eyes. “There is no way I could ever thank you for this.”