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~Blackthorn~
It was over. The whole gruelling account. I had wept as I told of the fire that took Cass and Brennan from me, and the cruel hands of Mathuin’s men, holding me back as the screams of my dear ones tore me apart. My voice had shaken with rage as I told of that year of hell in the lockup. When I told the tales of the abused women, I had spoken calmly, holding Mathuin’s gaze. Hoping to see some flicker of remorse, some small sign of understanding there. But there was nothing. We were scum. He was a chieftain. He could treat us any way he pleased. He was entitled.
For a little, after I finished, the chamber was completely silent. Perhaps Mathuin understood that another outburst would lose him the right to respond.
‘Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn,’ said Oran. ‘You may step down. I commend your courage. That cannot have been easy.’
‘Wait a moment.’ Mathuin spoke now. ‘Don’t I get the right to question her? What kind of joke is this?’
‘You will have the opportunity to speak,’ Oran said. ‘And to ask questions. A limited number of questions. It may be wiser if Master Bress speaks on your behalf. I will give you a little time to confer with him now.’ He turned to me again. ‘Step down, Mistress Blackthorn.’
I did as I was told. My legs got me as far as the stool, where I sat, shivering. The last time Mathuin had questioned me, I had been publicly mocked and humiliated. I had been scorned and spat upon and worse. And then I’d been thrown into the lockup. I did not want questions now. I had told the truth, and it had hurt more than anyone could understand. I had been brave. Somewhere, deep down, I felt proud that I had spoken up. But I did not want to go back there, I did not want to go back to that day when Mathuin had made me the lowest of the low, when he had stripped away the last of my dignity, when he had shown me that sometimes all a person’s courage is not enough.
‘You did fine.’ Grim was crouched beside me again, holding the cup. ‘Take a sip or two. Should steady you a bit. Nearly over.’
I took the cup, but it shook so violently in my hand that Grim took it back. He held it for me while I drank. ‘I don’t think I can . . .’ I whispered.
‘Do it together, right?’ said Grim. ‘Team, aren’t we?’
I attempted a smile. Up by the long table Master Bress was speaking to Mathuin in hushed tones. Trying to convince him, perhaps, that it might be better if he did not ask his own questions. And failing, since Master Bress now turned toward the prince and said, ‘Lord Mathuin wishes to question Mistress Blackthorn himself, my lord, as in the matters she has raised it is only her word against his. I believe that should be allowed. I have advised him to moderate his language.’
It felt like a bad dream. I stood up, moved forward again. Grim walked beside me.
‘Bonehead!’ exclaimed Mathuin, as if he had not noticed my companion before. ‘You useless lump of horse shit, you’re still alive!’
‘If that’s your idea of moderating your language,’ said Oran, ‘you’ll be out of here before I can count to ten. If you have questions, ask them. With at least a modicum of courtesy.’
‘I only need to ask one. Mistress Blackthorn.’ Mathuin made the title into an insult, and I cringed despite myself. ‘You know you’ve told a pack of lies, just as you did when you stormed into my council chamber back in Laois and accused me of all manner of foul things. Quite an imagination, you have. That’s about all you do have. You may have provided a testimony, setting out names and times and more disgusting details than any man would have the stomach for. But where are your witnesses? You haven’t produced a single one. That makes these proceedings a total sham. A nonsense. A waste of everyone’s time. No accusation will stick on the word of one person alone. Especially if that person is of dubious character, and a woman.’
Grim took a deep breath. I waited for him to shout a furious response. But he spoke quietly, not to Mathuin but to Prince Oran. ‘I’m a witness, my lord. Not to all of it. But that time in the lockup, I was there. What she saw, I saw. Folk beaten and abused. Folk tortured to death. Men smashing themselves against the walls because they couldn’t go on. Guards ordering folk to hurt each other. Folk doing it so they wouldn’t get hurt worse. Some prisoners in there hadn’t done anything wrong. Like her. Blackthorn. Stood up for people with no voice, that’s all she did. Spoke out against that man you see there. Risked her own neck doing it. Should be more like her. Me, I stopped that man’s thugs from beating a lad to death. So Mathuin threw me in the lockup. Doesn’t like folk to challenge him. Doesn’t like folk to speak up. I’m speaking up today. Never been good with words. Not like her. But I know how to tell the truth.’
It felt as if everyone in the chamber let out a breath.
‘Thank you, Grim,’ said Prince Oran. ‘Mistress Blackthorn, do you wish to speak further?’
‘Everything Grim said is true. Both of us have told only the truth. I have nothing more to say, except that I trust this assembly to see justice done.’
‘Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn. You and Grim may leave the chamber now if you wish, and wait in the other room. Master Saran? Master Bress? Do you concur that the question Lord Mathuin posed has been adequately answered?’
The lawmen nodded. No need for discussion.
‘Very well. Master Bress, does Lord Mathuin wish to question Lord Cadhan on the other matter? Or will you speak for him?’
We allowed Cúan to usher us out of the chamber. If I heard one more word of poison from Mathuin I thought I might be sick. And I did not want to be sick in front of such an august gathering. In the smaller chamber, Cúan stayed with us while another of the Island men went off to fetch a platter of oatcakes and a jug of ale. The ale was welcome. The food, I could not touch.
‘Better eat something,’ said Grim. ‘You still look shaky.’
‘I didn’t say thank you.’
‘To me? No need. It’s what we do, isn’t it?’
‘Stand up for each other?’ Save each other over and over again.
‘Mm-hm. Didn’t think I’d be saying anything. Not in front of kings and chieftains and the like. But it felt good. It felt right, for the fellows who didn’t make it out of that place. And the ones who got out but never . . .’ He stumbled over the words. ‘The ones who saw the open sky and then died. Strangler. Poxy. Dribbles. Poor bastards.’
He’d never told me the full story, and I didn’t ask for it now. Whatever had happened, it had wounded him deep. Another scar to bear.
‘How long do you think they will be, Cúan?’ I asked.
‘I don’t suppose they will debate it long. Determining the penalty might take a while.’
I remembered with some horror that in another case, when a young woman had been abducted and abused, Prince Oran had asked Grim and me to join the discussion of an appropriate penalty. I wanted no part of it this time. There was too much hate in me. I had seen in Mathuin’s face that he could not change; that he had no will to become a better man, no understanding of what that meant. I did not want him exiled, for an exile can break a promise and return covertly. I did not want him banished for a term, perhaps to some monastic island. A man like him would break the rules without a moment’s hesitation. I did not want him working off his debt, even in the furthest corner of Erin. He would be walking the same ground as I was. He would find a way back. I wanted him gone. I wanted him dead. And for a wise woman to think such a thought was deeply wrong. Was not my craft to mend the broken, heal the wounded, cure the sick?
‘Funny,’ observed Grim. ‘Remember that wretch Branoc? Thought I recalled the prince saying something then about unofficial execution.’
He was reading my mind again. ‘Not a remark Prince Oran would want shared,’ I said, glancing at Cúan. ‘Who will make the decision?’
‘I believe all those present in the council will discuss the matter and reach a conclusion by consensus. That will include determination o
f the penalty if the accused man is found guilty.’
We waited, and waited some more. Tight-strung though I was, I could feel myself dropping off to sleep. If we had not travelled Conmael’s way, this would have been the middle of the night. Without thinking about it too hard, I leaned my head on Grim’s shoulder and closed my eyes.
A knock at the door. I started, sitting upright. I might have been asleep for a moment or an hour. ‘Sorry,’ I murmured vaguely as the door opened to admit a number of men. Donagan, Prince Oran and the two lawmen, Cionnaola, followed by . . . Now I was wide awake. Followed by Conmael. Cúan shut the door behind them. I rose to my feet. Beside me, Grim did the same. He was stifling a yawn. Perhaps we had both been asleep.
‘Be seated, please,’ said the prince. ‘There’s a matter I wish to discuss with you, Mistress Blackthorn, and with Grim, since you are both injured parties in this case. The hearing is concluded but for delivery of the determination and the penalty. Because of the need to keep the conduct of this secret, I asked those present to give me their decisions and their reasoning in private, one at a time. We are unanimous in finding Lord Mathuin guilty on all charges. As for the penalty, that has caused us some difficulty. We have the means to make him disappear. Permanently.’ He glanced at Cionnaola. ‘But that could give rise to awkward questions. The man has family, lands, influence. Besides, it might not serve justice well. It might, in effect, be too easy an ending for him, and too difficult for those of us left behind. Exile would seem more appropriate.’
‘He would come back,’ I said in a croaking whisper, then cleared my throat and tried again. ‘Anger would bring him back from the end of the world. We would never be free of him.’
‘Man’s got a couple of grown-up sons,’ said Grim. ‘Way I see it, they’ll step in and be just like him. Same thing all over again.’
‘Lord Mathuin will forfeit his entire holding,’ said Master Saran. ‘It will be passed into the stewardship of the High King for disposition elsewhere. The land is lost to Mathuin’s heirs. If we could banish his sons along with him, be sure we would do so. But that lies beyond even the widest interpretation of the law.’
‘Lord Cadhan’s holding at Cloud Hill will be restored to him,’ Oran said. ‘Sadly, there can be no restoring the lives lost in that raid.’
I was trying not to look at Conmael, who stood quietly beside Cionnaola. What in the name of the gods was he doing in here?
‘Mistress Blackthorn,’ said the prince, ‘we had not realised that your friend Lord Conmael of Underhill was to be part of these proceedings. I have been advised that he rode here with you, under the protection of my guards, but chose not to be involved in the hearing itself. He has, however, offered a solution to the current difficulty. That solution fits the requirements of the law. And by its nature it will be somewhat easier to keep from public knowledge.’
So they could see him now. Lord Conmael of Underhill. It had an impressive ring. Only Prince Oran, I thought, could be approached by one of the fey under such circumstances and be prepared to listen and take notice. I’d bet a bag of silver that every other man of standing present for the hearing would have called the guards to throw the interloper out. But Oran knew about magic. He knew about the fey. So did Donagan. We had shared a very odd experience with them not long after we first came to Winterfalls, an episode all of us had kept secret. Oran was a man who loved ancient tales, a man who was open to the strange and uncanny. To most folk, the fey existed only in those tales; they were either a product of the imagination or something from the distant past, long dead and gone. As for Cúan and Cionnaola, they had travelled here by Conmael’s path. His presence would be no great shock to them. They had probably been the means of his gaining the prince’s ear.
‘Will you explain, my lord?’ I spoke to Conmael direct, using the title he’d given himself for the occasion. Or maybe he really was Lord of Underhill, who knew?
‘You know what I am, Mistress Blackthorn.’ His voice was full of authority, as if he stood so far above any human king or prince that there could be no comparison. This was not arrogance. It was an acceptance of what he was. As if, in knowing him as Cully, I had given him back his true self. ‘I have the power to exile your offending chieftain not only beyond the borders of Erin, but beyond the borders of the human world. I can take him to a place from which there can be no returning home. The choice is not mine to make; I play no part in the workings of human law. I understand exile to be an appropriate penalty for these offences. I know, perhaps better than most, what an impact exiling Lord Mathuin anywhere within your own world would have on his victims. They would be forever fearful of his return. Forever living in dread. So I offer to do this for you. I will take him away, and you will never see him again. Within my world, he will be appropriately punished.’
‘Holy Mother of God,’ murmured Grim.
It wasn’t hard to imagine what that punishment might be like. I only had to think of Bardán, a master craftsman with scattered wits and ruined hands. Brígh in that hole, beset by tormenting voices. It would be worse than the lockup. Far worse. It might go on and on until Mathuin died of it. I felt as if my veins had turned to ice.
‘Mistress Blackthorn?’
Prince Oran had said something and I’d missed it. ‘I’m sorry, what was that?’
‘Lord Conmael is genuine in his wish to help us. His offer may be a little difficult to explain to the others, but I will word it carefully. It may be best, Lord Conmael, if you are not present when the verdict and penalty are delivered.’
‘Could just say, exile to a far-off land,’ suggested Grim. ‘For life. Under the supervision of Lord Conmael.’
Oran smiled. ‘Nicely put,’ he said. ‘Mistress Blackthorn, I need only your approval for this. The penalty is severe, though perhaps not quite as severe as you might have wished.’
Maybe not. The Island men were entirely capable of performing an unofficial execution. A swift killing, an equally swift disposal of the body in some lonely corner of the land. But then, Conmael offered an exile from which there really would be no return. An exile in which Mathuin would endure a punishment such as his victims had endured, should Conmael decide that. And from the look on his face, I suspected he might. In the stinking hell of the lockup, we’d believed our torment would not end until the day we died. Mathuin would learn the weight of that burden. ‘You have my approval,’ I said. ‘And I thank Lord Conmael for offering this.’
‘Very well,’ said the prince. ‘We will proceed.’
It was quick, after that. The prince and his lawmen went out to speak to the assembled nobles, and then we were called in to join them. Conmael did not come with us. The guards brought Mathuin in again, silent now. He still had his wrists bound.
I had wondered why it was Prince Oran who’d led this from start to finish; why his father, the king of Dalriada, or the still more influential King Lorcan of Mide had not been asked to speak or to deliver the verdict. But it was obvious now. There were the plain clothes they all wore, the sort of garments a farmer might put on for feast days. There was the fact that none of them had said much, despite their status as leaders. It was to limit the risk and preserve the secret – a secret that went right up to the High King.
We stood at the back, beside the guards. Now that it had come to this, now that it was almost over, I felt no sense of triumph, no joy, no vindication. Instead, I felt tired and confused and a little sad. The wrongs Mathuin had done, or had caused to be done, could not be put right. I was glad he would be gone from the human realm. But this was not the only man in Erin to misuse power, to trample on those he believed to be lesser beings, to grab what he wanted and care nothing for the consequences. This was not the only man – or woman – to let entitlement blind him to a knowledge of good and evil. And if I was everything Grim and Conmael and Prince Oran believed me to be, I’d be fighting that until the day I died.
‘Mathuin o
f Laois.’ As Oran spoke, I did not see the young man of four-and-twenty but a leader who would one day be king of Dalriada, and likely a very fine one. I hoped his father, looking on in silence, was proud of him. ‘With due attention to the evidence brought forward, this hearing has determined you guilty on all charges. For the unprovoked assault on Lord Cadhan’s household, the loss of life, the damage to property and your consequent seizure of his lands, we pronounce this penalty. You are henceforth stripped of your chieftaincy. Your lands are forfeit to the custodianship of the High King, who will distribute them as he sees fit. Your heirs will have no future claim to title or land. Lord Cadhan’s property is restored to him from this day forward. Any attempt by you or yours to dispute this decision, or to take up arms in order to retain or reclaim land or goods, will result in severe consequences.’
Mathuin said not a word. His face showed no feelings at all. Had he expected this, or something like it? If so, his earlier performance had been remarkable. Perhaps he was so shocked he was beyond a response. Or maybe he had anticipated something worse.
‘For your offences against Mistress Blackthorn and against the many other innocent victims whose tales she has told today, Grim included, the penalty is exile for life.’
Mathuin opened his mouth to say something. Now, for the first time, Oran’s words seemed to have sunk in.
‘Do not speak,’ warned Master Bress.
‘You will be delivered forthwith into the custody of Lord Conmael of Underhill, who will convey you to the place of exile. It is far from here. I do not imagine we will meet again, Mathuin of Laois.’
‘Now wait a moment –’ Mathuin began.
‘These proceedings are concluded.’ Oran’s quiet voice cut through the protest like a knife through soft butter. ‘I thank you all for your attendance and cooperation.’
‘Guards,’ said Donagan, ‘take the prisoner out. Lord Conmael is waiting.’
‘Underhill?’ Mathuin was talking now, all the way to the door and out. ‘Where in God’s name is Underhill? This is a travesty! You’ll never get away with . . .’ He was gone.
Den of Wolves Page 45