by Adrien Leduc
acted on behalf of another...dare I suggest, your brother, John.”
Patrick shook his head and then, without warning, swept his mug of ale from the table so that it hurtled through the air and crashed to the floor, but not before spraying ale in all directions.
“My lord - ”
“Don’t!” Patrick hissed, moving to Henry and sticking his index finger in his face, “accuse my brother. I know he is a foul creature, but he is not guilty of fratricide.”
Henry nodded, swallowing the newly formed knot in his throat as more sweat appeared on his forehead.
“Now, tell me, has Thomas confessed?”
“No, my lord.”
Patrick shook his head with obvious disappointment. “Without a confession, Henry, we have no case. How do you expect to execute a man without a confession? And furthermore, how are we to extract the nest of vipers within this castle? Someone tried to kill me. I want to know who.” He stepped once more towards the chamberlain and stuck his finger in his face. “You find out who. You find out who and I shall double your salary.”
Henry nodded as the earl stared at him through murderous eyes. “I will, my lord. I will find the persons responsible...and I will not stop until I have.”
Patrick smiled, retracting his finger and taking hold of Henry’s mug of ale. “Very good. Go on then and leave me to my drink, you have much work to do.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the chamberlain, bowing as he retreated to the door and pulled it open.
“And I want an update each day,” Patrick called after him. “None of this waiting three days for news. Is that understood?”
Henry bowed once more. “Aye, my lord.”
“Very well.” Patrick waved a hand as though to shoo the chamberlain away. “Get to it.”
SCENE 15 – HENRY EXTRACTS A CONFESSION
Castle dungeons. Half of an hour later. Henry has gone straight from his meeting with Earl Patrick Stewart to the dungeons. His pride offended, and feeling slightly humiliated, he’s on a warpath. John Stewart has just finished speaking to Thomas and is making his way back to the dungeon entrance.
“Right then!”
Henry’s voice carries through the dungeon, echoing forcefully off the walls as he shoulders the heavy metal door open. The door clangs against the wall, sending an even louder echo along the walls and down the corridor.
“Sir!”
The two jailers, obviously startled by his sudden and brusque appearance, leap from their chairs.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Henry demands upon seeing the expression on their faces.
“Well...sir...you did say you would return tomorrow...” mumbled Gerard, keenly aware that if Henry came upon John he would be made to suffer.
Henry sniffed. “I said I would return tomorrow and then I spoke to the earl and he would like a confession. And so I have returned,” his breathing grew heavy as his temperature began to rise and his pulse quickened, “today to get that confession.” He took a step towards Gerard so that he was close enough to see the droplets of sweat on his face. “Are you going to help me? What the hell do you get paid for if you can’t get a confession – from a servant no less!?”
“Henry.” John’s voice was quiet yet commanding as he stepped into the pool of light cast onto the stone floor by the pair of lanterns on the wall.
The chamberlain turned and glared at the man. “And just what exactly are you doing here?”
John smiled. “Am I not allowed to pay a visit to my own dungeons?”
Henry’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “You would be wise to remember that these are still your brother’s dungeons.”
“I disagree. As Master of Orkney, the dungeons of Kirkwall Castle are as much mine as they are my brother’s.”
Henry glared at him, but said nothing. Gerard and Otis meanwhile, wanting no part of this conversation, shrank into the shadows.
“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am, Henry that after an entire day, not only has my brother’s would-be murderer not been found, my servant has remained in your custody. So now I am without a servant and my brother is without his attempted murderer. Do you find such exemplary work befitting of a chamberlain?”
“I have just been to see your brother,” Henry snarled, “and he assured me that he wants a confession as soon as possible. And he shall get one.” Henry now took a step towards John who, unlike Gerard, did not shrink away. “Furthermore, I shall be most satisfied when he admits to acting on your orders.”
“My orders? Just what are you inferring? If I were you, I would my tongue on such matters. Allegations such as that one are taken very seriously.” John’s tone was threatening.
“Allegations are often based in fact,” said Henry in a low growl.
John smiled, but said nothing. “Either charge my servant with something and get a confession or return him to me. That is an order. I shall give you three more days.”
“You shall have him back when we are through with him,” said Henry softly, his eyes flickering.
John knew he had gone too far...they would torture poor Thomas to death. If not because they believed him guilty, then because Thomas was his servant and Henry would take the opportunity to settle a personal score. But then, at least his secret would be buried. With Thomas’ death, there would be nothing connecting him to the vial of poison.
“Do as you will. But rest assured, if you are unsuccessful in finding those who would do harm to my brother, I will see to it that you are stripped of your office and title.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed to slits once more. “We shall see about that.”
John made a show of having smelled something truly revolting and, with an expression of sheer scorn, shouldered the chamberlain aside and exited the dungeon.
“He’s not happy...” said Otis with a chuckle.
“I’m not happy!” Henry roared, rounding on the heavy-set jailer and boxing him on the ear. “You were not to admit anyone to see the prisoner!”
“But...but...he paid us, sir!”
Henry’s eyes bulged and Gerard knew it was his turn next to receive a box on the ear...or worse. “He paid you!” He turned to Gerard now. “He paid you? How much did he pay you? You violated a direct order because John Stewart offered you a few coins!?”
“Not a few coins, sir,” said Otis eagerly, “two silver pieces!”
“You idiot!” Gerard roared, aiming a kick at Otis.
The heavy-set man let out a cry.
“You’re both idiots,” said Henry thickly. “You.” He pointed at Gerard. “When this is through, I’ll have you whipped.” He turned to Otis. “And you. You shall be put into a cell and starved for two weeks.” He looked at both of them. “Now I need a confession from Thomas and you two are going to witness it.”
“But how, sir?” asked Otis. “He keeps saying he’s innocent and that he doesn’t know anything.”
“I have my methods...”
SCENE 16 – THE ARREST OF ALISON BALFOUR
December 10, 1594. The following Saturday morning in the village of Stenness at the Balfour household. Saturday is market day in Kirkwall, and the Balfour family are preparing to make the journey to Kirkwall as William is now working for the butcher Isaac Rendall at the market and must arrive by six thirty to begin his shift.
“William – your porridge is on the table. Wake your father, he’s napping again. And Anna, hurry and get dressed already! We can’t make your brother late for work!”
“I’m getting dressed, mum!”
Well hurry!”
“William – did you wake your father yet?”
The boy shook his head. “You wake him, mum. He’ll get cross with me.”
Alison let out a frustrated sigh. “He won’t be cross with you. He has to take us to the market and he knows it. You start work in an hour. Now go and wake - ”
Rapping on the door.
The woman stopped short at the sound of the three hard raps on the door. Whoever could that be at this time
on a Saturday?
Abraham, startled by the knocking at the door, nearly jumped out of his chair.
“There, well your father’s up now, at least,” Alison mused, moving to the window and drawing back the curtain so that she could look outside.
“In the name of Earl Patrick Stewart, Laird of Orkney, I order you to open at once. If you do not admit us, we shall break down the door. You have until the count of ten. One...” bellowed a voice from outside the door.
It was still dark out (the sun had only just begun to poke above the horizon) and the air was thick with fog and this made it difficult for Alison to make out the faces of the men standing outside. Her eyes adjusted after a moment and she was able to count four men wearing what appeared to be the Earl’s tartan.
“Who the bloody hell is that at this hour?” Abraham demanded, climbing out of his chair. “It’s not half five in the morning!”
“It’s the earl’s men,” said William fearfully from beside his mother as he too peered outside.
“Not to worry,” said Alison gently, belying her own fear, “let’s open the door before they break it down and we can see what all the fuss is about.”
“...eight, nine...”
“Yes, yes, we’re opening the door,” said Alison, her usual calm composure starting to waver.
She unlatched the door and pulled it open.
“About time,” Henry snapped. He studied the four Balfour’s as they stood amassed on their threshold. “Are you Alison Balfour?”
Alison swallowed the knot in her throat. “I am.”
Henry smiled, but the smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “I am here to announce