"Father in heaven,” he began, his voice rolling across the green. “We have gathered here today to weigh the guilt of two women who have sinned against this community."
My lord was very patient with the man—but then he usually was when it came to priests. He sat quietly in his chair and used the opportunity to examine the crowd. He paid particular attention to the group of jurors. The accused, of course, were not yet present. The bailiff had set two members of Sir Gerald's household to wait out of sight until my lord sent for them.
The priest finally concluded his prayer and returned his gaze to Lord William and Sir Gerald.
"Thank you, Father Stefan,” Lord William said. “And now, Sir Gerald, I would like to meet the jury."
Sir Gerald gestured to his bailiff, who stepped up beside the group of jurors. “Step forward, state your name to the lord, and step back,” he told them.
I had warned them that they would have to do this when I met with them the day before. I was never certain if the warning was a kindness or not. They all looked very nervous.
The first man stepped forward. Like the others, he was dressed in his festival best. “Hodge, my lord,” he said, before awkwardly stepping back in line.
"Brett, my lord,” the second man said, then realized he was still standing in the group. He stepped forward and repeated himself. For the first time this morning, the crowd snickered.
My lord watched these men closely as they declared themselves to him, studying their faces with care. For all that the outcome of the trial was a foregone conclusion, Lord William took his responsibilities very seriously. The jurors caught a sense of the true earnestness of the situation from him and stepped back impressed with the graveness of their responsibility.
When the last man had introduced himself, my lord addressed a question to the bailiff. “Are all of these men farmers?"
"Yes, my lord,” the bailiff answered. His voice came out swallowed, much softer than I think he had intended, but with Lord William speaking, no one thought to laugh.
Lord William rose to his feet and addressed the crowd. “Good people of Alving, we are gathered today to perform one of the most solemn responsibilities we Christians ever face. A great wrong has been committed—a sin against God, our king, ourselves and Garrick, the deceased. Our king has charged us to identify the ones who killed him and punish their bodies for their crime that their immortal souls might still find a chance of salvation."
Not a whisper reverberated within that crowd. I had felt certain that at least one or two would call out the accused names when my lord mentioned the murders, but I was wrong. Lord William held them spellbound, listening intently to his every word.
"Our great king has charged the fine men of this jury to investigate this crime. They have already gone among you seeking a full understanding of what has happened. Today they will report to me their findings, call witnesses if they have them, and summon oath helpers if need be to swear to the character of those involved.
"Next we will allow the accused to speak and explain if they can where the jury has gone wrong."
Heads were shaking now, rejecting the very idea that the accused mother and daughter were not responsible for the crime.
"They, too,” Lord William continued, “will have the chance to summon oath helpers on their behalf. But when all is said and done,” my lord's voice boomed anew, “the responsibility for determining the verdict in this trial is mine! Mine to judge. And mine to render. And whether you agree with my verdict or not, whether you love these accused women or hate them, you will accept my verdict, for justice will have been done!"
Lord William let his steely gaze sweep the crowd once more, cowing these lowly villagers with the intensity of his glare. Then he stepped back to his chair and sat down. “Bailiff, call the prisoners."
The bailiff found his voice, shouting out his order at the top of his lungs. “Bring the prisoners!"
The crowd turned in excitement to see the women approach, but I turned my attention away from them. I had learned long ago that these were the moments that things went wrong. These were the moments—when attention was all focused in one direction—that evil crept in from behind. And while I didn't really believe I'd find an assassin with a knife, I had long ago trained myself to look for the unexpected problem.
So for that reason, I was positioned to see my lord's eyes as the prisoners were escorted through the crowd. They were solemn and serious, then suddenly tight with concern.
I twisted back to face the prisoners, wondering what had happened but could see nothing at all out of the ordinary. Most of the crowd was silent, knowing full well that these two women were condemned. Others jeered or hissed at them, including, I was sad to see, two members of the jury. But none of this was out of the ordinary. In fact, Alving was calmer facing its accused than many of the places we had visited.
I turned back to my lord, but his face was calm again, with only a slight tightening at the corner of his eyes to hint that something still concerned him. I might have been the only person present who could read that sign, but read it I did.
I returned my attention to the soon-to-be condemned. I had met them both the day before and there was nothing at all unusual about them. Peta, the mother, must have been pretty in her youth. She was dark as our shared Saxon roots, except that gray now streaked her hair. She looked much older than I judged her to be, but life was hard for all in these times. She would have been born early in King Stephen's reign, when anarchy ruled and armies fought back and forth across the land. The years since might have been more peaceful, but from the look of the village and Sir Gerald's manor, Alving had not been prospering.
Anna, the daughter, was a different story. She too had been damaged by the cares of the world, but those hardships had not yet destroyed her beauty. Almost blue eyes stared out behind a tangle of auburn hair, suggesting that Sir Gerald, or his father, had spent a few enjoyable hours with the mother. It was not an uncommon occurrence between a lord and his peasants.
"You stand accused,” Lord William began with no hint that anything was troubling him, “of murdering the good man, Garrick, your husband and father."
"He wasn't that good,” the older woman muttered.
"Keep your mouth shut, murderer!” someone shouted from the crowd.
"That is advice,” Lord William continued, “that you would all do well to follow. I am a justice of King Henry and this is his court. Show respect and keep silent unless I speak to you."
Wisely, none of the peasants sought to challenge my lord's words. He continued, but instead of asking the prisoners if they pled guilty or innocent, he turned to face the jury. “Bailiff, have the jury present its evidence."
The bailiff pointed to the man who had first introduced himself. “Hodge, present your evidence."
The man stepped forward more timidly this time, the weight of his responsibility bearing down upon him. “If it pleases your lordship, we have all questioned the people involved and agree that Peta and Anna killed Garrick."
"I'm sure you did,” my lord said, his voice even more gruff than usual, “but what I want to know is how you know this. Bring forth your witnesses, and let them tell their tales."
This procedure was a little bit out of the ordinary. Normally, in the interests of time, my lord had the jury narrate events and then asked the witnesses to affirm or deny the parts they knew about. It was the way I had prepared the jury for, and Hodge now turned to me in confusion as to what to do.
I shrugged.
"The witnesses, man,” Lord William said. He made no attempt to conceal his irritation at the delay.
"Yes, my lord, but ... she's a woman."
"So are the defendants, in case you haven't noticed,” my lord said. “Does this woman have a husband or father or grown son to stand by her side?"
"Of course, my lord,” Hodge turned and gestured to one of the men in the jury, who stepped forward and called out, “Teale."
A woman about the age of
the older defendant stepped forward and stood beside the man who called her.
"Just tell us what happened,” my lord prompted her.
"I was working on the evening meal,” she began. There was no hesitancy in her voice. She, at least, was not cowed by my lord's presence and the formal proceedings. “It was early still, and I didn't expect Edan or my sons back from the fields for quite a while yet. Then I heard screams—a man's screams—crying out for help from Garrick's house. So I ran next door and raised the hue and cry when I saw what had happened."
"And what was that?” my lord asked.
Teale shuddered as if in horror of the memory, but I could see by the expression on her face that she relished the opportunity to retell her story in such a public setting.
"They were all three covered in blood,” she said, “Garrick, Peta, and Anna. Peta held the knife in her hands. Garrick wasn't quite dead yet, but I didn't try to save him lest they turn on me. I just backed away and raised the hue and cry and waited for the village to arrive and help me."
And that was just about everything the village knew about what had happened to Garrick. My lord heard several more witnesses—much of the village in fact, but they added very little to that original testimony. When the others arrived the mother and daughter were sitting over Garrick's dead body. Both women were crying. Both were soaked in the dead man's blood. Peta still held the knife.
The first attempt to question them was interrupted by Garrick's two brothers, who beat both women senseless with their fists. It was probably something of a miracle that they hadn't killed the women then and there and saved the need for this trial.
My lord, however, did not appear satisfied with this testimony. A thin sheen of perspiration brightened his forehead, which suggested ... what? I was troubled that I couldn't be certain. Was he concentrating? Fevered? Worried?
"And no one can offer me a reason for this crime?” Lord William asked.
"Lord William,” Sir Gerald spoke up from beside him. “I don't understand the difficulty. Surely it is clear these women murdered my villager."
My lord turned to face the knight, eyes glowering at the interruption. “It certainly appears that way, Sir Gerald. But I am entrusted to administer the king's justice, and I am troubled that this jury provides me neither a confession nor a witness to the crime. Why would this woman stab her husband? Why would this girl help kill her father?"
"Because they hated him!” someone shouted from the crowd.
There was a general murmur of approval at these words.
"Now we are getting somewhere,” my lord announced. “Why would these two women hate Garrick?"
This triggered another series of mostly worthless anonymous comments.
"Because they're evil!"
"Women don't need an excuse!"
"The devil works through women!"
When the crowd had quieted, the bailiff stepped forward. “If it pleases your lordship, Garrick was always known to be a bit freer with his fists at home than are most men in this village."
"Ahhhhh,” my lord said, “so Garrick liked to hit his womenfolk, did he?"
"There's nothing wrong with that,” one of the jurors shouted. His face was bright red with fury. “Sometimes you have to hit your women to keep them in line."
Several of the village men nodded in agreement. The law supported them as well. Short of killing, there was very little a man could not do to his wife or children. Of course, the wife's brothers might take an informal interest long before it came to that, but Peta didn't appear to have any brothers living in the village. Her relations were all more distant—and apparently less interested in her and her daughter's welfare.
"Indeed?” Lord William asked, giving the clear impression that he had never found it necessary to hit his own wife. “But I think we might all agree that, necessary discipline or not, regular beatings might be the cause of some resentment."
"It doesn't mean she had cause to stab him,” the juror insisted.
"Indeed?” Lord William asked again. “Do you mean to say that if one of your neighbors were to soundly thrash you, you would not feel justified in using a knife to defend yourself?"
"Well, of course I—"
The juror stopped talking and glared at Lord William.
"It's not the same thing!” a villager shouted. Clearly the majority of the village men agreed with him. And so did the law.
"Indeed it is not,” Lord William said, “but it is instructive nonetheless. Here is my problem. We have a dead man. Two women of his family are found over the body, soaked in his blood and holding the presumed murder weapon. Yet no one saw the actual stabbing, and the women were beaten into silence before they could tell what they knew of the crime.
"I am not satisfied. If they killed Garrick I might expect them to be found over the body. But if they discovered him stabbed and bleeding to death I would expect to find them there too."
"They were holding the bloody knife,” Hodge exclaimed.
"But is that because they stabbed him with it or because they pulled the killing weapon out of their husband and father's back?"
The villagers were astounded, but no more so than I was. We had hung men on less testimony than we had against these women. Yet here Lord William was not only casting doubt on the evidence, he was handing the women a line of defense.
"They were found standing over the body,” Hodge reiterated.
"And only they appear to know how they came to be there,” my lord said.
"Why don't you ask them?” Sir Gerald intervened.
"Indeed,” my lord said. “Why don't we?"
He turned to face the two accused women. “So what do you have to say for yourselves?"
They looked at each other for a moment and then the mother stepped forward. “It is as you say, my lord. We found Garrick bleeding to death and tried to help him."
"Oh, of course!"
Sir Gerald spat out the words in disgust, but I almost didn't hear them for the village had erupted in outrage, and one of the dead man's brothers leapt forward to strike the accused wife.
I intervened.
I didn't draw my sword, although perhaps I should have done so. Instead I charged forward and rammed the palm of my stiffened left arm hard into the man's collarbone.
He spun about, missing the women with his fist and opening himself to a blow of my own. It drove him back into the crowd and left me standing between the women and the villagers.
Their surprise at my actions began to turn to anger, but Lord William preempted any further action on their part.
"Enough!” he shouted. He was out of his chair, his face alive with rage. “With each act and every word you convince me that something is wrong here. Sir Gerald, I am most disappointed in the efforts of this jury."
Sir Gerald was on his feet as well. “Disappointed? There's nothing wrong with this jury's investigation. Find the women guilty and be done with it!"
"I will not be rushed to judgment!” Lord William shouted. “I will conduct my own investigation if I must!"
"Your own investigation?” Sir Gerald sputtered. “You don't have the power—"
"I am King Henry's justice of the peace. I have all the power I need!"
"The king will hear—"
"The king will approve!” Lord William insisted.
He turned his back on Sir Gerald and faced the villagers. “Go back to your homes,” he said. “My man Edgar will be around to talk to many of you. Answer his questions or face my wrath!"
The people sullenly stood their ground, staring back at my lord and me.
"Edgar,” my lord said. “Walk with me. We have a mystery to resolve and I will have the solution."
* * * *
"I don't understand what's disturbing you, my lord,” I confessed. I didn't like to admit this inadequacy. Lord William could be quite hard on men who failed him. But in this case I would certainly fail if I couldn't follow my lord's reasoning.
"Just find me another
murderer,” he said. There was a hint of weariness in his voice that did not seem to fit with the man who had just raged against Sir Gerald and the village. Where was the certainty that the jury was wrong? Where was the passion that drove him to stand up for justice?
"I believe the jury has found the murderer,” I told him quietly. “It found two of them, in fact."
"It cannot be them,” Lord William insisted.
"My Lord, I don't mean to be difficult, but will you explain to me why not? It is true that no one saw them stab Garrick, but is it reasonable to think that someone else committed the crime?"
Lord William turned to face me squarely and clasped me firmly by both shoulders. “It must be someone else, Edgar. Do you understand me? Find me another murderer for this crime."
"I—” I began to repeat that I did not understand, but suddenly I believed that I did. “Of course, my Lord,” I assured him. “You can leave everything to me."
I left him on the edge of the wood and immediately began to trek back to the village, wishing only to know why Lord William wished to have an innocent man die to save these two women.
* * * *
John the Bailiff was waiting for me at the end of the green, falling into step beside me as I strode toward the village houses. “Did Lord William explain the weakness in the jury's evidence?” he asked.
John was going to be a problem for me. How much of a problem re-mained to be seen.
"My lord William is not in the habit of explaining himself to me,” I told the bailiff. “He gives instructions and I carry them out."
"And your instructions are?” John asked.
There was no way that I could tell him my actual orders. “To satisfy him as to whether or not the actual murderers have been caught."
"And why doesn't he think that Anna and Peta are the killers?” John asked, making no attempt to conceal his intense frustration.
"I don't know,” I confessed. “My lord did not share that with me. Perhaps he is not actually certain that the women did not commit the deed. From my perspective, it does not matter. My lord has instructed me to reinvestigate the case."
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