“Please tell me, Lady Marguerite,” Master Pieter began, “how it is you came to our valley. Were you lost?”
Molly blinked. He had given her the perfect opening!
“No, Master Pieter, we were not lost. We were searching for Harrowsgode most particularly.”
“And why is that?”
“My grandfather, a silversmith of great renown, was said to have come from this city.” Stephen struggled with a grin as he translated this for the court. It really had been too easy. “He went by the name of William Harrows and lived his latter days in the town of Faers-Wigan, but I believe he—and I—have family here. I came with my companions to seek them out.”
There—it was done! Her foot was firmly wedged in the door.
“I rather suspected as much, my lady,” Master Pieter said. “You greatly resemble us Harrowsgode folk.”
“Please stick to the defense, Master Pieter,” said the judge.
“Of course. My apologies for straying off the topic. Now, Lady Marguerite, your friend Lord Worthington said you drove the bull away with stones. Can you tell me why you did that?”
“So Tobias could get into the enclosure to look after the boy, to see if he still lived.”
“And you couldn’t do that while the bull was near?”
“Of course not. It wouldn’t be safe.”
“But it was safe where you were, outside the enclosure?”
“Yes.”
He nodded thoughtfully as if this were a tricky puzzle. “Normally, if you saw a bull inside a pen surrounded by a strong fence, would you be alarmed?”
“I don’t understand your question.”
“Well, suppose you saw a bull walking down the street or in the fishmonger’s shop—would you be alarmed then?”
“Anyone would.”
“Because?”
“It would be dangerous.” Where was he going with this? Everything he said was so obvious it didn’t bear mentioning at all.
“Is the bull not also dangerous within his enclosure?”
“Yes, but there’s a stout fence to keep him in, whereas on the street or in a shop there’s nothing to restrain him from doing harm.”
“Very good. Now tell me—you seem a clever young lady—do you think a bull has the right to exist? Keeping in mind that he is a dangerous beast.”
“I should hope so—else we’d have no cows or calves.” There was a titter of laughter from the jury.
“Master Pieter?” said the judge, a warning note in his voice.
“Please have patience a little longer, my lord; I am about to make my point.”
“Make it soon. We haven’t got all day.”
“Thank you, my lord, I shall. So would it be fair to say, Lady Marguerite, that the bull should be allowed to dwell alongside his masters—we of the human race—so long as he is confined and can do us no harm?”
“Yes. Though in this particular case—”
“I was just getting to that. I believe we all agree that the bull, to exist at all, must have some place of his own in which to live; that place is within his enclosure. The humans who control him, and use him for their purposes, live everywhere else. Correct?”
Molly nodded, entranced.
“So the young man, by climbing into his pen, was trespassing, was he not?”
Ah. She saw where he was going now. “It was certainly a foolish thing to do.”
“No one questions that it was foolish. But had he the right?”
Molly shrugged.
“A king may not cross the threshold of the humblest man’s cottage unless he is bid to enter. Is it not so with our bull, who has no choice but to stay where he is put and no choice in his warlike nature, which was endowed by his creator? Can we truly call it murder when the bull was defending his home?”
“I . . . suppose . . .”
“That was a rhetorical question, lady,” said the judge. “You are not expected to answer.”
After that it went quickly, a mere formality. The neighbors had nothing of interest to say. The owner begged for the life of his bull, as it was a valuable animal and the loss would tax his household greatly. The prosecutor and the defense each came forward and summed up the case. Then the jury rose and the official with the staff led them across the hall to a room where they could discuss the case in private and come to their decision.
“I think,” whispered Stephen, “Master Pieter is our man.”
“I think so, too,” Molly said. “Wasn’t it amazing how he led me directly to the very thing I’d wanted to say? I was afraid I would never get the chance.”
“He did it on purpose. Whether out of curiosity or for some other reason, I cannot guess. But for sure you may safely approach him. I would not be surprised if he came to you himself.”
“Nor would I. Listen, Stephen, I think he might be more open if I speak to him alone.”
“Can you manage the language?”
“I understand a lot of what I hear now so long as the words aren’t too fancy. Speaking is harder, of course—”
“It always is.”
“But I think I can make myself clear. You and Tobias stay nearby, but not too close. I’ll nod to you if I need help.”
“All right. Have you thought of what you will say to him?”
“Stephen, I’ve thought of nothing else since we came into this place.”
The decision must have been an easy one; minutes later the door opened and the jury filed back out.
“Who is your spokesman?” asked the judge.
“I am, Your Honor,” said a heavyset man.
“Then give us your verdict, please.”
“Your Honor, we find the beast innocent of murderous intent.”
“So be it. We thank you for your service.”
The official struck the dais three times with his staff, then suddenly everyone was in motion. The jury rose to their feet, the judge and barristers stepped down, and the official headed over to the witness bench to lead the villagers out. But Master Pieter didn’t follow the others to the far side of the room, where they stood in a knot by the great double doors that almost certainly led into the city. Instead, he remained in the middle of the room, apparently waiting for her.
“Now!” said Stephen. “Go!”
Molly grabbed her saddle pack and hurried over to the barrister.
“Master Pieter,” she said. “I talk you, please?”
“Of course. I would be delighted.” He said this in flawless Westrian.
“You speak my language?”
“Oh, yes. There are many in Harrowsgode who do. We are a scholarly people.”
“Good,” Molly said. “For I am not scholarly in the least, and I’ve been making rather a muddle of speaking Austlinder.”
“Lady,” he said, brushing this aside, “I want you to know that you are welcome here. Harrowsgode is, in the truest sense, your home. And there is much I am eager to tell you—about your family, and about our people. If you’ll just wait here with me until the others have gone, I’ll take you into the city.”
“But what about my friends?”
“I’m sorry. They are not permitted.”
“Why? They traveled all this way with me so I could find my grandfather’s people; now we’re here and you say they can’t go inside?”
“Harrowsgode isn’t an open city. Only our people may enter. You are one of us; they are not.”
“They won’t do you any harm.”
“It’s interesting that you say that since you came accompanied by a knight, and all your men were armed.”
“That had nothing at all to do with you,” she said, wondering how he knew so much. “Lord Mayhew—the knight—just came along to protect us on the road. I don’t care if he stays behind now that we’re here. But I do need Winifred for propriety; she’s my lady companion. And Stephen is my translator. And Tobias—”
“We will find you a lady companion, one of your own kind. And as you will have noticed, I speak your langua
ge. You won’t need a translator here.”
She felt a rush of panic; her face went damp with sweat. She looked into Pieter’s gray eyes, her desperation unmasked, and said in a voice that was deep and urgent: “Then I must have Tobias.”
“But, lady—”
“Please believe me: I want to go with you into the city, but I will not go without him.”
“Why—are you betrothed?”
Her breath caught. She paused. She heard herself say yes.
“You are very young. Was this arranged by your father?”
She paused again.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, it was.”
Oh, how she choked on that dreadful lie—as if her father gave a goose’s fart about whom she married, or if she even married at all! Why, she hadn’t so much as laid eyes on the man since she was seven, when he’d decided it was time she earned her own bread and dragged her off to Dethemere Castle to work as a scullery maid.
“You are aware, my lady, that no maid can be compelled to marry against her will—not by her father, or anyone else. That is the law.”
“I have no desire to break my bond. Tobias is my dearest friend—and besides, we are sworn to each other.”
“Already sworn? Truly?”
The villagers had left the room by then. Now the official came back for the foreigners—Stephen, Tobias, and Molly—who seemed to be lingering.
“Not the tall one,” Pieter said to the official. “Lord Worthington and the lady will remain here. But you may take the other one out.” The official raised his eyebrows in surprise. But as no explanation was forthcoming, he did as he was told.
“Lord Worthington,” Pieter called, waving Tobias over. “Will you come and join us, please.”
Tobias had been staring dumbfounded as Stephen was ushered out of the room. Now he came forward, looking to Molly for assurance that everything was all right. She responded with something between a twitch and a wink.
“My lord,” Pieter said, “you know that Lady Marguerite is descended from the folk of this city. She testified to that effect not an hour ago.”
He nodded.
“And so, being one of us, she is granted free entrance here.”
Tobias had always been good at silence. He proved this once again. He waited for the rest of it as unmoving as a mountain, looking down at the little barrister with solemn eyes.
“You, of course, would not normally be permitted beyond this room. We’re a closed city. Our gates stay shut, our drawbridge raised, unless business is to be done with our villagers. Even then they may only come so far as this chamber and never through those doors.”
Tobias still waited. He scarcely seemed to breathe.
“However . . .”
Heaven help me, Molly thought, here it comes!
“The lady has expressed the strongest unwillingness to go unless you, her betrothed”—Tobias blanched—“should be allowed to come with her. And as we will never turn away one of our people who has returned to us, we will make an exception and allow it.”
“Master Pieter,” Tobias said, his face now transformed by a foolish grin, “as her betrothed, I am most happy, most grateful, truly honored to be admitted into the city where my future wife’s family—”
“Tobias?”
“Yes, my dearest?”
“You have said enough, I think.”
The outer gates were shut and bolted. The grinding of chains said the portcullis was down and the drawbridge was being raised. Molly glanced over at the crowd by the door that led into Harrowsgode: the judge, the prosecutor, the official, the scribe, and the jury. All were watching them with unvarnished curiosity.
“Excuse me,” Pieter said. “I must go and explain. Please don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”
“Control yourself,” Molly hissed when Pieter had gone.
“It’s very hard to do, sweetheart. Under the circumstances.”
She covered her mouth to hide a grin. “Well, you must try. This is important.”
“I know, my darling.”
“If you darling-dearest me one more time, I’ll tell him the truth, and he’ll send you packing.”
“No you won’t. But all the same, I promise to behave. I was just overcome by a wave of giddiness. I’m completely recovered now. Rather bored by it, actually.”
“Good. We’re sworn, just so you know. My father made the arrangements.”
“Your father? Really?”
“Tobias!”
“He’s coming back now, Molly. You’d best control yourself.”
The official produced a ring of keys and unlocked the door. The jury filed out, followed by the prosecutor and the scribe. Only the judge remained—standing in the open doorway, backlit by the warm light of a late summer afternoon—glaring at them. The man with the keys waited.
Something wasn’t right. Molly wondered if the barrister actually had the authority to let them in. Certainly the judge disapproved. But Pieter was standing his ground. Finally the judge shook his head, slowly and solemnly as if in warning, then turned on his heel and left.
Pieter watched him go. At last, his face flushed and his voice dark with feeling, he turned to them and spoke. “He’s old-fashioned in his views. I respect him, but in this case he is wrong. We can never, ever turn away one of our own—and a child of the Magnus line!” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “He will be gone now. No need to fear any unpleasantness. Will you follow me?”
Just as they were about to step over the threshold, Pieter paused. “My lady,” he said solemnly, “welcome home.”
8
The Tale of King Magnus
PIETER’S OFFICE WAS a pleasant chamber with a wide bank of leadlight windows looking out onto the great courtyard of the university. Everything about the room was tidy and bright, the personal space of a thoughtful man who was not lavish but who loved pretty things.
He introduced them to his mother, who sat by the window with her needlework. She was small and elegant like her son, her dark hair streaked with silver. “Mother will serve as your lady companion for now,” he said to Molly. “Later we will make other arrangements. It’s not our custom here, but I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
Molly wished like the devil that she’d never brought the whole thing up. It had just been an excuse to bring Winifred.
Pieter led them over to a pair of handsome chairs facing a large wooden desk. “Please,” he said. “Make yourselves comfortable.” Then he went around the desk and sat across from them.
“If you will excuse me for just a moment, I must make some arrangements. I promise it won’t take long. Then we will talk.”
He took several sheets of vellum out of a drawer and laid them on the desk. Then he unstopped his inkwell, dipped the point of his pen into it, and began to write, taking great pains with his swirls and loops. When he was finished, he blotted the ink, turned the paper over, and addressed it on the top edge. But he didn’t fold and seal it as was done in other places. He just rolled it up and tied it with a ribbon.
Now he took up his pen again and started on a second letter. When he was done with that one, he wrote a third. At last he flashed a smile at them that said Almost done! and rang a little brass bell that sat on his desk. An assistant popped out of an adjoining room, and Pieter handed him the letters.
“Deliver the one to the Council first, then the one to the Magnussons. After that you can go to Neargate. It’s a lot of ground to cover, so you may take the spinner.”
The boy’s face brightened.
“And, Robbin, if you damage it, I’ll take it out of your hide. You understand?”
“Yes, Master,” the boy said. “I’ll bring it back as good as new.” He hurried out, shutting the door behind him with exaggerated care.
“There,” Pieter said. “Everything is now in motion. Like the heavens,” he added with a chuckle. “Now draw your chairs closer, if you will. While we wait, I have something to show you.”
He b
rought out a much larger roll of vellum and spread it out on the table. As it wanted to curl back up again, he set little velvet bags filled with sand on each of the corners to hold it down.
They leaned forward to look at the scroll. It was covered with curvy letters, some in writing so small you couldn’t possibly read it even if you knew how. There were lines connecting one word to the next and little pictures rendered in color. Everything was embellished with gleaming gold paint.
“That’s beautiful,” Tobias said. “I never saw anything like it.”
“Well,” said Pieter, “thank you for saying so. It’s my own little project, not anything to compare with the great Map of the People that is kept in Harrowsgode Hall. But it will suffice for our purposes.”
“You made that?” Molly asked, astonished.
“Well, yes, I did. I rather fancied myself an artist in my youth, but there’s little call for such skills in my profession. So I entertain myself with a brush and pen—in my spare time, you understand. Now let me tell you about it; I brought it out for a reason.
“Here at the top you see three thrones, and upon them sit three kings. This one, whose throne is raised above the others, let us call him the Great King for the sake of simplicity. He was the father of the two below. We shall come to them in a moment.
“Now the Great King was strong in war, very powerful and clever with weapons. When he was still a young man, the crown hardly warm from the touch of his brow, he gathered an army and sailed across the waters to conquer our people. That was long ago, hundreds and hundreds of years.”
Molly loved a story. She leaned in, her elbows resting on Pieter’s desk, for a closer look at the three small images of kings on their thrones: one above, two below; two fair, one dark.
“Now the Great King married a lady of his own race, and she bore him a son, Harald—also several daughters, but they were of no account, for women could not rule. This is Harald: the fair one who sits below his father on your left.
The Cup and the Crown Page 5