by Kate Forsyth
As he held up the small golden medal, with its device of a child’s hand radiating lines of light, a woman sobbed aloud. Turning his head, Lewen saw it was Johanna the Mild, sitting up in the witches’ box. Her hands were clasped together and her face was harrowed with tears. Lewen saw she wore the same golden medal pinned to her long green robe. Finn the Cat was sitting next to her, looking almost as distressed, with Dillon, Captain of the Yeomen, on her far side, his arm about Johanna’s shoulders, his face grim. Jay the Fiddler sat next to his wife, holding her hand. They also wore the golden medal prominently, being the only other surviving members of the famous band of children who had helped Lachlan win his throne. Isabeau sat with them, listening intently, occasionally frowning and biting her lip.
Aidan the Brave had gone on inexorably. ‘And those few precious belongings o’ Connor that he carried with him always, the music-box he was given by His Majesty as a reward for his help, the goblet that belonged to his dear friend Parlan …’
As Aidan held up the silver chalice with the crystal in its stem, Isabeau stifled an exclamation and leant forward in interest. Lewen himself had to choke back a flood of memories evoked by the sight of the cup. Rhiannon, drinking thyme tea from it, firelight flickering over her bare shoulders. Himself, drinking cold water from it the next morning, trying to wash away the great lump of horror and misery in his throat that Rhiannon’s confession of guilt had brought. He clenched his jaw and looked down at his fists pressed tightly between his knees. He felt Olwynne’s hand rubbing up and down his arm and had to repress the urge to shake it off.
‘Satyricorns do no’ have such precious and beautiful things as these, do they? Ye would have coveted them, and by claiming them as yours, ye would have gained kudos in the eyes o’ the herd, wouldna ye?’
‘I’m sorry, I dinna understand,’ she faltered.
‘Is it no’ true that weapons such as these, forged o’ true steel, are very rare among wild satyricorns and therefore precious? Is it no’ true that ye had no such weapons o’ your own?’
Rhiannon did not speak, and the Duke of Ardblair asked her, not unkindly, to answer the question.
‘The herd had a few knives,’ she answered reluctantly. ‘No’ many. Most o’ the women made their own clubs, from stone and wood, or sharpened sticks into spears. I had my bow. It was my father’s.’ There was a trace of defiance in her voice and Lewen drew his brows together, thinking she would do better to moderate her tone. She glanced at him, so that he wondered if she heard his unspoken thought. He looked away.
‘Your father was human?’ Glenwys asked.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Rhiannon replied. ‘I never kent him. He died when I was a bairn. I think they killed him when he tried to escape.’
‘So ye admit ye had no weapons like this?’ Aidan cried, turning the silver dagger so it glittered in the light.
She turned back to him. ‘Nay, sir.’
‘But a sharp dagger like this would’ve been o’ great use to ye, wouldn’t it?’ he demanded. ‘And it would have greatly raised your standing within the herd.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘No’ even a dagger could do that, sir,’ she answered. ‘Without horns like the other satyricorns, I was considered a nothing, a nobody.’
Clever lass, Lewen thought, and again she glanced towards him. She was deathly pale.
Aidan tried again. ‘But with weapons such as these, sharp, steel weapons, even a nobody could hold her own with the herd, is that no’ so? With weapons like these, ye’d be one o’ the best hunters …’
‘But I was already a good hunter with my bow,’ she protested. ‘I had never used a dagger, I would no’ ken how to hunt with it. And I would never be as fast as the others without hooves, I’d never get close enough to the prey to kill it with a dagger.’
For a moment Aidan seemed stymied, but then he laid down the knife and picked up her bow. ‘So ye were a good hunter with this bow?’
‘Aye, sir,’ she said, lifting her chin.
‘And a good killer,’ he said, and dropped the bow as if it disgusted him.
There was a short silence. The crowd sighed.
‘Perhaps we should hear from Berget, the First-Horn o’ the Royal Satyricorn Squad,’ the Duke of Ardblair said. ‘I feel we really need to understand more o’ the prisoner’s background.’
The First-Horn got up and strode to the witness stand. She was very tall, and wore a short blue kilt under a leather jerkin. Her thick, muscular legs ended in cloven hooves and a tufted tail hung from beneath her kilt. Her face was broad and somehow bestial, with a squat nose and large mouth. Her head was covered with short, stubby horns which had been filed to sharpness. Round her neck hung many necklaces of teeth and bones.
‘I see ye wear bone necklaces,’ Glenwys said. ‘So it is true that this is the usual custom o’ satyricorns?’
Berget jerked her head. ‘Aye. True.’ Her voice was deep and guttural.
‘The necklace is made from the teeth and bones o’ the creatures ye have killed?’
‘Aye.’
‘But does it have human teeth strung upon it?’ Aidan cried.
She grinned at him. ‘Aye. Many. Enemy soldiers.’
The Blue Guard frowned and sat back in his chair.
‘Why? Why do the satyricorn make such necklaces?’ Gwilym the Ugly asked.
Berget shrugged. ‘Warn away dark walkers. Tell them we strong, we brave. Dark walkers no like noise.’ She clattered the bones together.
‘And dark walkers are evil spirits?’ Gwilym asked.
The satyricorn shrugged. ‘Dark walkers live in shadows. In caves and cracks and in our footsteps. Want blood every day. Must have blood. Without blood will come to feed. May come anyway. Wear necklace, show how much blood ye’ve spilt, show how brave ye are.’ She shook her necklace and roared, causing many in the audience to scream and shrink back.
Listening to her, Lewen was reminded strongly of how Rhiannon had spoken when he first met her. There was little left of that curt, guttural accent in her voice now. He marvelled at how quickly she had learnt the formalities and intricacies of their language. Berget had grown up among humans and she still had a very strong accent. Perhaps it was because the satyricorns kept very much to themselves, even when at court. There were none at the Theurgia, even though many others of faery blood were there, and Lewen had only ever seen them in their ceremonial function as guards at the Rìgh’s table. Towering over all the men and women, they stood stiffly against the wall, as solid and silent as statues. After his initial curiosity, when he had first been appointed as a squire, Lewen had barely noticed them. He wondered now what sort of life they led, when not away fighting on the Rìgh’s behalf.
‘Tell us, Berget, is it true the satyricorns o’ the prisoner’s herd would’ve killed her for aiding the Yeoman to escape?’ asked Claude, the fat judge of the merchant-class.
The satyricorn flashed Rhiannon a contemptuous glance. ‘Kill her anyway.’
Everyone stirred and whispered, and Aidan sat up and turned his hawk-like gaze back to the witness.
‘Ye mean, the satyricorns would have killed the prisoner anyway? Why on earth?’
‘Kill no-horns.’
‘Satyricorns kill those born without horns?’
‘All born no horns. Horns come when woman. No horn come, useless. Kill then.’
‘So the prisoner would’ve been killed by her herd as soon as it was clear she was no’ growing horns?’
‘Aye.’
‘But she looks a woman grown now, why was she no’ killed?’ Aidan ran his eyes over Rhiannon in such a way that Lewen felt himself grow hot. His nails cut into his palms.
Berget shrugged. ‘She escape in time?’
Aidan leant forward, his gaze intent. ‘So if the prisoner had no’ left the herd when she did, she would most likely have been killed?’
‘Aye.’
Aidan turned back to the other judges. ‘Surely then, Connor’s things must’ve been o’ import to her?
She must’ve wanted them to aid her escape! His weapons, his clothes, his saddle and bridle, his horse –’
‘The herd ate his horse,’ Rhiannon interrupted angrily. There was a shocked mutter from the crowd. Aidan shot her a look of intense dislike.
‘Please only speak when ye are asked a direct question,’ the Duke of Ardblair said gently.
Rhiannon bowed her head. ‘Aye, Your Worship. I’m sorry.’ She cast a quick glance at her attorney, who was sitting behind his table, frowning at her and looking dour.
‘It seems clear to me that the prisoner killed Connor to conceal her part in his escape, and to get hold o’ his belongings, to aid her in her escape from the herd,’ Aidan argued. ‘She shot him in the back, and then stole his saddlebags …’
‘I dinna steal them,’ Rhiannon said indignantly. ‘They were mine, by blood-right.’
Lewen bit his lip, entreating her silently to be quiet. The Duke told her the same, rather shortly, and again she apologised and bowed her head.
‘It seems to me a question o’ intent,’ Gwilym the Ugly said. ‘If she did indeed shoot Connor in order to save her mother’s life, without kenning who he was or that he rode on the Rìgh’s business, well, that is a far different matter to murdering him with malice aforethought.’
The other judges nodded thoughtfully, all except Aidan, who cast up his eyes to the star-embossed ceiling as if unable to understand the sorcerer’s gullibility.
The crowd’s murmur was rent by a sudden scream from the gallery. Johanna had leapt to her feet, her face distorted in a howl of grief and rage.
‘No! Hang her!’ Johanna screamed. ‘She killed him, she admits it! She should die too. Hang her, I say!’
The cry was taken up by the crowd and, despite the loud banging of the gavel, the whole room rang with the chant. ‘Hang her!’
‘She killed my brother, she admits it!’ Johanna cried. ‘Let her swing for it!’
‘Order in the court!’ the Duke bellowed, until at last the room quietened, and all eyes turned back to Rhiannon, who was looking white and frightened.
Gwilym took a deep breath.
‘Apart from Connor’s death, we must also consider the question o’ treason,’ the sorcerer went on. ‘Can it truly be possible that a herd o’ wild satyricorn ken naught at all o’ the Rìgh o’ Eileanan and the Far Islands? The satyricorn signed the Pact o’ Peace, they are vassals o’ the crown and owe allegiance and loyalty to it. And if they do ken naught o’ the law, does that give them the right to flaunt it? To waylay and murder one o’ the Rìgh’s own officers, riding in His Majesty’s service?’
Aidan nodded his head gravely, and looked at Gwilym with new respect, as if he was a man who had at last spoken sense.
‘These are weighty issues,’ Gwilym said. ‘The penalty for such crimes is death by hanging, drawing and quartering, as we all ken.’
‘Aye! Hang her!’ Someone in the crowd shouted. ‘Hang, draw and quarter her!’
Gwilym turned to look at the rows of upturned faces. ‘It is a cruel and pitiless punishment,’ he said. ‘Those so condemned are hung by the neck till near death, then cut down while still alive so that they can be disembowelled and torn into four. We must be sure o’ the accused’s guilt afore we inflict such a sentence upon her.’
Lewen swallowed, and pressed his hands together. He could hear Fèlice’s sharp indrawn breath beside him. He dared not look at Rhiannon.
‘I think we should call upon Lewen MacNiall now,’ the Duke of Ardblair said.
Lewen wiped his sweaty palms down his breeches. His breath was like a sliver of glass in his throat.
‘He was the one who had first contact with her, perhaps he can shed light upon the extent o’ her ignorance, and her true motivations,’ the Duke of Ardblair went on. ‘I think that is what we must try to grasp the truth o’ here, what drove this young woman to raise her bow against the Yeoman Connor. Lewen MacNiall, will ye come to the witness stand?’
Lewen got up. He felt as if a thousand eyes were staring at him. He went up to the witness stand and swore by the Creed of the Coven of Witches to speak only what he knew to be true in his heart. He only wished he could be sure of this himself.
The judges began by asking him to explain to the court who he was and how he had found Rhiannon, tied to the back of the black winged horse, both exhausted and hurt, after her flight from the herd. Lewen responded awkwardly. He did not like to remember his first meeting with Rhiannon. It tugged too sharply on the chain strung between them.
After a while, describing Rhiannon as he had first known her, Lewen grew more fluent. ‘She had never even seen a house afore, she’d never slept anywhere but on the ground,’ he said. ‘We had to teach her how to use a knife and spoon …’
‘By all accounts, she certainly kent how to use a knife,’ the Duke of Ardblair interjected dryly.
Lewen was thrown off his stride. He heard laughter from the crowd, and a few hisses. After a moment he went on, ‘She dinna even have a name. They all called her “No-Horn”, which is a term o’ contempt. My parents and I named her, for we could no’ go on calling her “lassie” all the time, which was the only other name she kent …’
‘That’s something that has puzzled me all along,’ Glenwys said. ‘If this young woman is indeed born o’ a wild satyricorn herd, how is it she speaks our language so well? Does she no’ claim to have been brought up in the wilds o’ Ravenshaw far from any human civilisation? The First-Horn o’ the Royal Satyricorn Squad, who was born and brought up here in Lucescere, does no’ speak so fluently.’
Lewen flushed. ‘She was no’ so fluent when we first met her,’ he said. ‘Her language was quite broken. She’s learnt quickly.’
‘Amazingly quickly,’ Aidan said pointedly.
‘But how was it she kent any o’ our language at all?’ Glenwys persisted, pushing her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose so she could look at Rhiannon, standing straight and still at her stand. Lewen could not answer. His cheeks burning, he tried to think of something to say.
Rhiannon answered for him. ‘My father was human, remember,’ she said coolly. ‘Although I do no’ remember, he must’ve spoken to me as a bairn. And there was another human there, named Reamon.’
Involuntarily Rhiannon looked towards the rows of witnesses and Lewen followed her gaze. He saw an old man sitting nervously on the edge of his seat, dressed in what was obviously a borrowed suit. He was all lines and angles like a skinny plucked chicken, with a halo of straggly grey hair and beard, and great startled eyes. At the sound of his name he jerked wildly, then hunched down as if dreading the eyes that turned to stare at him.
Rhiannon turned her gaze back to the judges and went on steadily. ‘Reamon was the one who taught me how to use my bow. He always talked to me in his own language. He was the one who called me “lassie”. It was the only soft word I ever kent.’
The judges muttered among themselves for a while, then Glenwys directed another question at Rhiannon.
‘And did this man, Reamon, did he never tell ye about the Rìgh, or the Yeomen o’ the Guard?’
Rhiannon dropped her gaze, fidgeting with her skirt. Then she recollected herself, raising her head and saying, ‘Nay, no’ really. I mean, he might o’. He may have mentioned them but … no’ so I understood. It was all … like make-believe … and we couldna talk much, ye ken, for they … my mother … they dinna like it when I acted like a human. I tried hard to be as much like a Horned One as I could. So when he talked o’ such things, I dinna really listen …’
The judges nodded in understanding, and Lewen breathed a little easier. He looked towards his seat, wondering if he would be allowed to sit down now. They had not finished with him yet, however. Gwilym the Ugly bent forward and picked up a folded sheaf of papers from the table.
‘Lewen, do ye recognise this handwriting?’
Lewen took the papers held up to him by the court herald. ‘Aye,’ he said in surprise. ‘’Tis my mother’s.’
/> ‘Who is the letter addressed to?’
‘To Aunty Beau … I mean, to Is … to the Keybearer.’
‘Your mother is an auld, dear friend o’ the Keybearer’s, is she no’?’
‘Aye,’ Lewen agreed.
‘This letter was found in the pocket o’ the coat the accused was wearing when taken into custody. She claims your mother gave it to her, to give to Isabeau upon arrival in Lucescere.’
‘Aye,’ Lewen answered, baffled. ‘Mam said she would write.’
‘Would ye read aloud the marked paragraphs for the court?’
Lewen began to read aloud. ‘I hope I have done the right thing in sending this lass to ye. I am greatly troubled about her. It seems clear to me she has been mistreated by her family, for she flinches when one comes too close, and looks at everyone with suspicion. If that was all, I would have no hesitation in sending her to ye, for I ken ye o’ all people would be gentle and loving with her. I fear there is more amiss, however. I canna read her at all, she guards her thoughts very carefully, so carefully her mind is like a locked casket. This may be naught more than a desire not to betray her feelings to those who are cruel to her, but I fear she hides a darker secret. She wears the clothes and weapons o’ a Yeoman and I fear she may have killed him for them. She says she did no’, but I do no’ trust her to tell the truth. She is quite wild, and as far as I can see has no understanding o’ the values we hold dear. She almost killed Niall at the breakfast table, and all because he told her she could no’ keep Connor’s things! Indeed, I’m afraid I’ve sent ye a lass as wild as a snow-lion and quite as dangerous. I only hope ye can tame her.’
Somehow Lewen got to the end of the letter and looked up, swallowing hard. The crowd was murmuring to each other, and the judges looked grave.
‘A lass as wild as a snow-lion, and quite as dangerous. One that canna be trusted to tell the truth. One that draws a knife on her host at the breakfast table,’ Aidan said. ‘A pretty house-guest indeed.’