That brought another swell of cheering, though this one had no order to it.
Outside the hall they wished each other a good night and went to their separate quarters.
Once in their chambers Bain made it obvious why he had remained sober.
“My love, I have dreamed of this since the moment we parted.” He pulled her into a tender embrace, freed one hand and began to take down her hair.
Phaera, while in no way inebriated, had drunk just enough wine to relax. Soon they lay beside each other on the sheepskin in front of the hearth, the small fire there the only light. The shadows made by the flames sent enchanted shadows dancing over their skin.
Phaera was pleased that Bain seemed in no hurry. He explored every inch of her, played with her hair, and planted feather-light kisses wherever a shadow danced on a different part. Phaera soon found herself returning the playful gestures. She noticed his scar again when she stroked his arm and looked more closely to examine it, frowning at the rough, puckered ridge.
“This was not stitched by a woman, that is certain.”
Bain laughed. “My battle wound. No, the medic was busy with another so I instructed a young soldier. It has healed. No matter.”
“I did not know you were wounded.”
“Tis nothing.” He followed with a suggestive wink. “But if it concerns you perhaps you can kiss it better.”
Phaera made a show of doing just that, then shook her head in mock dismay. “I fear I have no magic, my love.”
He rolled her over with a laugh, his body half across hers and held her gaze. “Oh, but you do … most irresistible magic.”
As does he. Those eyes … my love, how can I resist …
Their first joining bloomed in a heat of passion. The second was slow and enchanted, allowing no thoughts of fear or pain to interfere. They were alone, in a cocoon of peace that would not be broken. They lay together afterward, complete and languid. Only when the fire died to embers, bringing a light chill, did Bain rise, lift her, and place her on his bed. He slipped in beside her where she snuggled close and rested her head on his shoulder, the blankets covering their twined bodies.
They woke in that same position with rays of sunlight on their pillow and in their eyes, and made love again before rising.
It was only as they dressed that Phaera remembered she had not drunk her tea the night before.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
TRIAL
The morning after the banquet Lord Makin convened a hasty meeting with Lord Danza, Bain, Captain Reynce, Captain Raskir, and his four other top advisors.
“May I suggest we invite Phaera to be present?”
Bain’s suggestion met with a round of raised eyebrows and quick shakes of most heads.
“This is a matter of state, Son.”
Bain almost protested but decided the better of it. She need not be exposed to such matters. What if she has already conceived? This would be too stressful in that condition. He could not help but smile at the memory of their love-making. In spite of their fatigue and the lateness of the hour she had responded without hesitation to his advances. Phaera had looked so beautiful when she woke, her face still rosy, suffused with sleep, hair tumbled across the pillow. She had looked into his eyes then. Without either saying a word, they had made love again. No, Father is correct. This is no place for her.
“Mathune has gone completely mad.” Lord Makin’s brow furrowed. “I am concerned about what he will say, in his ravings, about Lady Phaera – and whether it will affect her reputation. I fear some will have doubts. Such speech has a habit of growing, once heard.”
Lord Danza nodded. “And he rales in his madness about not being affected by death, even that he will return more powerful. Some people are superstitious and may see their misfortunes as signs of his revenge.”
“Yes, this is one of those times when I would prefer the public not be present.” Lord Makin sighed.
Raskir looked surprised. “Surely we cannot consider that. This trial must be public, as must Mathune’s execution.”
Nods followed around the table.
Raskir settled back into his chair looking uncomfortable about his outburst.
Lord Makin gave a rueful shake of his head. “Indeed, Captain. Though I wish it were not so. I also regret that it will be necessary for Lady Phaera and Lady Flor to witness both the trial and the execution. We cannot ignore protocol on such an important occasion. The people would see it as weakness – or even disapproval.”
“My daughter will not be pleased with that, but I understand. If she objects let me speak with her.”
Bain tried to keep his voice level. “That is my concern, now, Lord Danza.”
Bain held his gaze a moment before Lord Danza gave him a small nod.
“As you wish, Lord Bain.” He seemed to be hiding a smile behind one hand, though Bain could not be certain.
Lord Makin brought them back to the matter at hand. “We must bring Mathune out for the people to see. And custom dictates that he be allowed to say something in his defense but we must be ready. As soon as he begins to rant we must gag him.”
Bain was relieved when all were in agreement.
“I think he ought to be beheaded.” Reynce was the first to suggest the method of execution.
Raskir nodded agreement but Lord Makin shook his head. “It has been so long since anyone has witnessed a public beheading. It is a brutal and bloody death. While I do not doubt that Mathune deserves such, my concern is for our ladies. Nurias will join us as well, I am certain. She and Lady Phaera are both healers. Lady Flor has a tender nature. As a mercy to them I suggest hanging.” When this was followed by an uncomfortable silence he added, “We have lived in peace for many years, now. Public executions have been very rare. I would avoid encouraging a lust for revenge. The more peacefully we can accomplish what must be done the better.”
The room fell silent. Bain could see the struggle on each man’s face as he warred with himself. And what do I want? What is best? He cleared his throat for attention.
“Gentlemen, there is no doubt that Mathune deserves beheading. I also understand the argument for hanging. Our first duty is to our people. They must view the sentence as just. On the other hand, as Lord Makin has pointed out, most have never witnessed an execution of any kind. I believe that hanging will be enough of a shock. If there are those who protest we may say that losing his life is all the same to him, no matter the method.”
Lord Danza shot him a pointed question. “Is this the healer or the heir speaking?”
“I speak as a leader who wishes our people to desire peace over vengeance, Milord. Our duty is to remove the threat to our peace and safety, not to provide a spectacle for the bloodthirsty.”
Lord Makin gave him a long look, then a slow approving nod. “Good. It is settled then. Mathune shall hang.”
Overnight a dais had been erected in the market square, a canopy over it to shield the lords and ladies from the sun, which could still be bright even at this early stage of autumn. Across from it they had built a platform where the trial and execution would take place. On one side of it stood a scaffold, at the other the block and axe for beheading. The sentence would not be declared until the end of the trial.
They all went out to examine the preparations. No one spoke.
After a few moments Bain said, “May I suggest that the block and axe be removed. It will prevent a cry for beheading.”
Lord Makin turned to Captain Raskir. “Have your men remove them, Captain.”
“Right away, Milord.”
Bain saw that the square had already begun to fill with onlookers. Some had brought children, which made him shudder in disgust. Have we learned nothing from the cataclysm, from this war? But he knew he had no authority to send them away.
Around the perimeter food vendors had set up shop, no doubt hoping for a brisk trade. Bain could not blame them, though it lent a carnival air to the event that would detract from its solemnity. Here and t
here he spotted individuals he thought he remembered following the prison caravan home. He wondered if Phaera would recognize some arrivals from Kinterron, come to witness on behalf of that region. How would they see the choice to hang instead of behead? Would they see justice being carried out?
With the inspection complete and last minute orders given the men returned to the castle to join the women for a light meal.
Bain could not read the expression on Phaera’s face as Lord Makin explained the proceedings. She had taken on a blank look, which he took to be a fight for composure. It revealed nothing about how she felt, both about the need for her to be there or about the decision to hang Mathune. He had been such a personal threat to her. Did she want to see him beheaded? Or did she abhor the very idea of watching a man hang?
“I am sorry, my love, that you will have to witness this.”
“It is necessary,” was her only response, her face remaining a mask that gave nothing away. When he grasped her hand under the table it was ice cold. Nor did she return his clasp.
There was no time to speak with her alone. As soon as their meal finished Lord Makin gave the signal to Raskir that it was time to assemble. They all rose in silence and followed him out to the dais where they were shown to their respective chairs.
Bain looked at Nurias and saw her study Phaera with a concerned expression as well.
By now the square was packed with spectators, some sitting on the cobbled stone of the courtyard, the rest standing around the perimetre. The rise and fall of conversation reminded him of the annual Harvest Festival, though at that time the people would have been milling about rather than sitting in one place. No, it is not the same. There is no joy in this. The hubbub had almost gone silent when the party ascended the dais. Then it resumed, but with a different, more watchful, expectant tone.
When Raskir and Reynce took their places facing the dais, one at each end of the gallows platform, the crowd hushed. At a nod from Lord Makin both men marched off in the direction of the dungeons. Bain noted that four more guards had taken up posts at the back of the platform and that the hangman stood ready to one side of the gallows, feet planted apart, black hood in his hands.
When Reynce and Raskir reappeared with Mathune held between them a murmur passed over the crowd and people pointed them out to friends and children.
Bain saw Phaera shudder and look down at her hands, which she held tightly clenched in her lap. Nurias, on his other side looked almost as stressed. Lady Flor had gone dead white and kept her hands secured between her knees. Lord Makin took worried glances at her but Bain knew he could do nothing to help her, not even take her hand. It would be seen as weakness. Why must we watch this? He needs to die. That is certain. Why can we not have the trial and pronounce sentencing without having the hanging public? What good purpose can it serve? Perhaps this is something I can change when I am Lord.
The head magistrate took the platform. The guards turned Mathune so they stood face-to-face in the center. At a nod from Lord Makin the magistrate listed Mathune’s offenses and the evidence against him. He had clearly been trained for this as he hada voice that carried over the crowd.
Mathune had stumbled up with his head down, but as he listened to the charges his head rose, his shoulders straightened, and Bain could see both pride and rage come over him. He tried unsuccessfully to shake off the guards holding him but his stance made it plain he had no regrets.
At the end of the litany the magistrate asked the formal question. “Mathune of Belthorn, have you anything to say to these charges?”
“LORD Mathune! You have no right to accuse me.” He began to shake, and managed to get one arm free long enough to raise an accusing finger at Phaera. Spittle foamed at his lips and he struggled to get words out of his mouth. “She….she…witch…whore…need to purify…”
Lord Makin did not give the signal to gag him. Bain approved. Mathune’s speech was unintelligible and incoherent so there was no need. The people would see no power in it. They would see nothing amiss.
After allowing Mathune to rave for several minutes, leaving no doubt as to both his guilt and his madness, the magistrate signaled to the guards to pull him back. Mathune continued to sputter but the magistrates ringing declaration drowned him out as he pronounced sentence.
“Mathune of Belthorn you have been found guilty of the crimes charged. The penalty is death by hanging, to be carried out forthwith.” He turned to salute Lord Makin. “May we proceed, Milord?”
“Proceed.”
The rapt crowd heard that single word. The only other sounds were Mathune’s strangled squeals of protest as the executioner pulled the hood over his head, tied his arms behind his back, and placed the noose around his neck. He was lifted onto the tall block and held in place while the noose was tightened. The executioner looked at Lord Makin. On receiving the signal to proceed he kicked the block from under Mathune’s feet.
Bain stared in morbid fascination as he watched Mathune jerk and twist. A dark stain spread across the poor dun breeches that were his only garment.
Only then did the crowd erupt into cheering. The sound sickened Bain and shook him out of his trance. A look across the dais showed Lady Flor covering her face. Phaera’s was white as alabaster, seeming sculpted from that stone. She stared straight ahead, eyes wide and expressionless. Nurias looked ashen as well, and he watched a single tear track down the crease beside her nose.
The two lords watched, grim but unflinching, until the last twitches ceased. Lord Makin turned to Lord Danza and the two rose as one to stand at the centre front of the dais.
Lord Makin took a deep breath before declaring, “It is finished. Justice has been served. Let all our peoples return to peace.”
Lord Danza saluted him. “Let it be so.”
Lord Makin gave a signal to the executioner. “Cut him down and bury him outside the city in an unmarked grave. Let him be remembered only as a lesson to those who would flout the laws of the lands and pervert them to their own purposes.”
With that the two lords turned their backs on the crowd. They approached the women to lead them from the dais. Lord Danza escorted Nurias.
Bain offered Phaera his arm. She rose and took it as though in a trance. At the thud of the castle doors closing behind them she jerked as though struck.
Chapter Forty
CLASH
“You have betrayed me!”
Bain stormed out of her chamber. The crash of the door slamming shut behind him drowned out the last of her, “No, I have not…”, and left her staring mutely at the space Bain had just occupied.
Stunned, she whispered to herself, again, “No I have not.”
The ten days since Bain’s return had gone so smoothly. Phaera was finally beginning to relax into her married status. Her feelings for Bain had settled, leaving her content in the knowledge that he loved her, that he would not discourage her from her healing work, that she had time … and that she did love him as well.
The niggling doubt she had suppressed about what Bain’s reaction would be when he discovered her tea drinking habit resurfaced. Had she betrayed him? The answer remained unclear. While she had not hidden the habit from him, neither had she brought it to his attention, or sought his opinion. Was that betrayal? A frisson of anger arrived to accompany her doubt. What right had he to demand that she try to conceive immediately? How could he expect her to stop her work so quickly? Surely he knew it would take time to fill and establish her apothecary, time for people to begin to come to her in larger numbers, time to gain a reputation and trust in this land where she was still so much a stranger. Was Bain the betrayer – not she? That thought fuelled her anger for only a few moments, then died with the honest scrutiny she turned on herself. No, Bain had done nothing to stop her work. In fact he had encouraged her, even accompanied her to help with gathering some plants and roots. But why was he so furious? Why had this revelation shocked him so? I ought to have told him, made him aware instead of waiting for him to di
scover it on his own.
She sank into her chair, miserable, lonely, and afraid this rift would haunt them forever. Would he rethink his reaction? Would he come back with an apology? Would he remain angry? Would he insist she stop drinking the tea? If he did, what would that do to her feelings for him? Could she refuse him her bed? Could he demand it? Would they grow to hate each other? With each moment her thoughts became more dire, more hopeless. What could she do?
She decided, for the moment, to do nothing. This was partly because she was numb, but partly because she could not think of any action that would make things better. The prospect of conceiving and then dying in childbirth haunted her. On the other hand the thought that Bain, and likely the others she had come to rely on, would see her as a traitor paralyzed her. There was no one she could turn to, no one who would understand, who could make Bain understand.
His accusation echoed in her mind, over and over. “You have betrayed me!”
A light knock made her look at the door. She heard herself say, as if from somewhere else, “Enter.”
Mira poked her head in. “Milady, Kort is wondering if all is well. He expected you at the apothecary some time ago.”
“I lost track of time.” She rose and straightened the apron in front of her skirt. “I am on my way.”
The quizzical look Mira gave her as she held the door for her barely registered … Kort. Would he listen? Would he understand and remain loyal to her? No, he will never die in childbirth. He will never wed. How can he begin to understand?
She got through the rest of the day as in a trance, speaking only when spoken to, answering with only one or two words, avoiding eye contact.
Towards the end of the afternoon, Kort asked, “Milady, what is amiss? Perhaps I can help.”
That brought her up short. Of course he had noticed. She turned to him and said, “It is nothing important. It will pass. Thank you.”
Altered Destinies- Earth Reborn Page 24