Except for Gregory, Diarmid, Alain, their fathers—and, most amazingly, Geoffrey! He darted quick glances at her, yes, but also kept glancing at the Duke, at his sister, at Their Majesties, and at Quicksilver. She marvelled that he had managed to escape the witch's spell, then suddenly understood how—he saw the whole event as a battle, and his love for a good fight was greater than his lust for beauty! She felt her admiration for the warrior kindled anew, even as her bitterness over his betrayal increased. Unless ...
No! How cruel he had been to kindle a spark of hope within her, there on the stairway landing, and how that spark had burned and twisted in her heart, even as she had scolded herself for a credulous fool, to be tempted to believe in him again! She would not think well of him, she would not!
Moraga was done, bowing her head demurely and clasping her hands. Duke Diarmid nodded judiciously. "There is far more to this than Count Nadyr knew of—I trust." He cast a keen, penetrating glance at the Count, then turned away even as the nobleman was pulling himself together to look offended. "She verifies the few facts he did present, though her motives seem diametrically opposed to those he attributed to her. Master Gregory, is there proof as to which of them spoke more truly?"
"Aye, my lord." Gregory lifted his head, calling out, "Wee Folk, will you speak?"
A buzz of shocked conversation broke out, then cut off abruptly as an elf jumped up onto the arm of the Duke's chair. "Why did you not simply ask me at the outset, mortal man?"
Duke Diarmid inclined his head gravely toward the mannikin. "It is our way, Wise One. Each must have his say. Now we ask that you have yours."
"Why," said the elf, "what the woman says is true, for there were those of our people who saw most of it." Moraga blushed furiously.
"She was always a good-hearted soul," the elf went on, "and would not believe us when we told her she was being duped. But when that louse of a knight betrayed her and spurned her, she wept for the whole of a day and into the night, until she slept. We were minded to touch her in the night, to bring her forgetfulness, but our chief bade us withold yet awhile—and in the morning, when she came out of her forest hut, she was a different woman quite: no longer meek, but defiant; no longer forgiving, but bound on revenge; no longer mild, but a Fury incarnate. We cannot truly blame her for what she did, for the knight deserved every bit, and more." He turned to dart a sinister glance at Count Nadyr. "And so did the Count, for he knew of his knight's perfidy, and did naught to stop him. Indeed, he demanded one part in five of the knight's treacherous gain!"
Moraga whirled toward Count Nadyr, enraged, but Gregory's hand on her arm witheld her. "We are in the Duke's court, damsel, where you may demand redress, rather than inflicting it yourself." He turned back to the Duke. "My lord, this woman calls down your justice upon those who have wronged her!"
The whole Court burst into amazed chatter. The accused had suddenly become the accuser!
Duke Diarmid waited it out, chin on fist, unblinking, unmoving. One by one, his courtiers glanced at him, looked again, stared, and fell silent. When the whole room was still, King Tuan stirred and said, "What is your justice, my lord Duke?"
"This is my verdict," Diarmid said, in a voice that carried to every corner. He sat up straight, hands on the arms of his chair. "The woman is wronged, and nothing can ever restore what she has lost, either in body or in heart. Yet she has taken her revenge by herself, and needs to see no more suffering in the treacherous knight." He turned, fixing Sir Gripardin with a severe glare. "I, however, do. I cannot have a knight who is untrue to his vows, here upon my land. Your belt is forfeit, Gripardin, and you are a knight no longer."
The room burst into incredulous clamor again. It was unheard—of for a knight to be stripped of his rank!
Diarmid waited till they were done, then called out, "Take you to a monastery, and pray for a year's space, for forgiveness and enlightenment—and if you do not, you shall hang!" He waited for the next hum of conversation to ebb, then went on. "In a year's time, you may come forth from the cloister, and seek for a knight who will take you as his squire. If you are sufficiently fortunate in that regard, and prove yourself worthy, you may again rise to knighthood."
"What ... what of my house and goods?" the knight stammered.
"Your house and land are your lord's, given to you to hold in trust for him. They revert to him now, to assign to one more worthy."
The room was ghastly quiet now; he had just hit every aristocrat and gentleman where they really lived—in the living.
"Your personal goods you may take away with you," Diarmid allowed, "save the gold you did wring from a gullible woman's work. That shall be restored to her." He swung about to glare at Count Nadyr. "Every penny! Even the fifth part that you kept, my lord!"
Count Nadyr glared in fury at the boy half his age who was suddenly in authority over him.
"As for yourself," Diarmid went on, "you are guilty of complicity in defrauding the woman Moraga—but of complicity only. You shall therefore comply in your knight's punishment, ensuring that he goes to the monastery, and does remain there one full year. You shall also ensure that none who were forced to serve the woman shall be punished therefore."
He fell silent. Count Nadyr stood glaring at him, hand on his sword—but after a minute or so, he bowed stiffly. "You are gracious, my lord."
"I am glad you realize that." Diarmid's voice was still severe. "I shall punish you no more than this. Get you gone, my lord, to govern your people with justice and kindness." The way he said it made it no empty formula, but a command, and an implied threat.
Count Nadyr stood stiffly in outrage, then forced himself to bow and turn—but he could not hold it; he spun back, crying out, "Is the woman to be punished not at all for her rebellion and theft?"
"All that she stole from you has been restored already," Diarmid answered, "and she was punished mightily for her rebellion before it ever took place. Indeed, had she not been so abused, I doubt she would ever have risen against you. In her sudden conquests, my lord, you reaped only what you had sown."
"Shall she go free, then?" the Count blared in exasperation.
"She shall—but she shall go to Runnymede, there to speak with the Queen's Witches and discover if she may become one of their number. If they and she decide that she may, she shall apply to the Queen, to enter her service."
Moraga could not restrain a cry of delight, clasping her hands together, eyes shining.
Count Nadyr gave her a black look. "Is this justice?"
"It is," Diarmid said, in a voice like granite.
Count Nadyr glared at him—but could not escape seeing the older man behind him, the one with the crown on his head. It seemed to remind him of something; he glanced at Diarmid's brother, which was unfortunate, because that made him also aware of the pretty young witch who stood at Alain's side, and her parents who stood behind her—as a family, probably the most powerful single force in the land. He bit down on gall, swallowed it, managed a last, curt bow, turned on his heel, and strode away. The crowd parted for him, then closed again after the ex-knight who followed him numbly.
There was no conversation, no talking at all. Every person of privilege was shaken by the new Duke's version of justice.
"Go your way," he told Moraga, "and never break the law again. Master Gregory?"
Why only "master"? Quicksilver wondered. Why not 'my lord,' or some other exalted title?
Gregory stepped forward. "Lord Duke?"
"I shall ask this of you," Diarmid said, "that you escort this woman to Runnymede. That much I will concede that she be taken to meet the Royal Witches, not sent there on her own recognizance. Damsel, you are not to think of yourself as free of the law's shadow until the Queen has accepted you into her service, or given you some other obligation, however it shall serve her."
Moraga stared at him, wordless, until Gregory leaned next to her and murmured something. Then she came to herself with a start and dropped a curtsy. "I thank you, my lord. I tha
nk you from the bottom of my heart! You are merciful, more merciful than I could have hoped."
"Well said." Diarmid nodded with approval, but he still seemed to see her only as a subject, not as a woman. "I have great hope for your reformation. Master Gregory, I thank you."
Now the hum of conversation broke forth as the courtiers relaxed a bit, relieved.
Diarmid turned to look back at his parents. "My liege! Does this justice meet with your approval?"
King Tuan only nodded, for it was the Queen who was the true sovereign here—but she nodded, too, and said, "It is meet indeed, and meted well. We concur in your judgement, Duke."
"I thank Your Majesties." Diarmid inclined his head, then turned back to the crowd. Now his gaze sought out Quicksilver, and she braced herself against the chill of that glance—but hope burst loose in her heart. The Duke might be merciful—if Geoffrey did not fully betray her!
If...
Duke Diarmid nodded at the herald.
"Let the bandit Quicksilver stand forth!" the herald cried.
"Why, here stand I!" Quicksilver felt her temper rising again, and fought to restrain it—but they had no right to pillory her like this, no right!
"Damsel Quicksilver," the herald orated, "you stand accused of theft of land and goods, of rebellion against Count Laeg, and of murder most foul, murder of Count Laeg the elder, murder of his knights and footmen!"
"I slew Count Laeg in defense of my virtue," Quicksilver snapped, not waiting to be told to speak. A pox on their rules! "Any others I slew, I slew in self-defense, for they would have taken me to hang!"
"Nay," said Duke Diarmid, "they would have brought you to the Count for justice."
"As I said, to hang!"
"Nay, for you could have appealed to me."
"Appealed?" Quicksilver's lip curled, never mind how coldly he looked upon her. "l, a simple squire's daughter, appeal to the Duke for judgement against a lord? Even if the law allowed it, how would you have heard my cry?" The courtiers were dead silent, aghast at her impertinence—but Duke Diarmid only nodded gravely. "There is truth in what you say. But you fled to the greenwood. Could you not have fled to me?"
"Aye," she said, "but could I have come to you alive? Or would I have been taken and slain ere I could find my way to this castle?"
"Why, I know not," Diarmid said, with deceptive mildness. He turned to Geoffrey. "How say you, Sir Geoffrey?"
"She could have come here to you, if you had been here when she was first beset," Geoffrey agreed readily, "and if she had known it—and if no one had sought to stop her." He turned to young Count Laeg. "Did you seek to stop her, my lord?"
"Of course I did!" the young man cried. "Of course I sought to avenge my father's death! Was not that my right? Was not that my duty?"
"I shall judge that," Diarmid said, with a hint of irritation, "when I have heard what happened. Sir Geoffrey! Can you make any sense of this wrangle, sir?"
"I can, but only because I have heard the whole of the tale." Geoffrey turned to Quicksilver with a grateful sigh. "Now, maiden!"
An incredulous murmur swept the court.
"I am a maiden!" Quicksilver cried in anger. "He who would give me the lie, let him come with his sword to try me!"
"Lies are not tested with swords, but with proof." Diarmid's voice cracked like a whip, and his glare seemed to pierce through her. "It is truth I demand of you, maiden, not blows! Speak clearly now, and to the point—and do not waste my time with challenges or threats!"
She stared at him, quite taken aback, then began to rally, but Geoffrey stepped close and murmured, "He is like my brother—the only thing that really angers him is poor logic. Tell him your history, I beseech you, gracious one—tell it as clearly as you told it to me."
She gave him a narrow glance, but decided he was making sense, and turned back to Diarmid. "Well, then, milord Duke, the tale truly begins when I was newly come to womanhood." She paused, expecting him to stop her, to tell her she was filling his ears with useless chatter, that she should begin the tale with the Count's murder—but Diarmid only nodded and said, "Go on."
Quicksilver glanced at the face of his mother, above and beyond him, and what she saw there gave her heart to continue. "The boys of the village would not leave me alone..."
It was hard at first, in front of so many people—hard to admit, to speak openly, of the stolen caresses, the touches from behind, and she began to realize just how sympathetic and sensitive a listener Geoffrey had been. But when she had managed to speak of them once, she found she could speak of them again, and her voice gained force and clarity as she went on to tell of Sir Hempen's harassment, of her father's death, of the old Count's summons—and of her defense that had left him dead. But once begun, she found she could not stop—nor was there need, for Duke Diarmid waved aside every attempt to interrupt or to stop her. She rolled on, explaining how her only chance of survival had been to establish her own rule over the bandits of the forest, how she had stolen back the household goods that Sir Hempen had robbed from her mother, how she had taken his cattle and horses in punishment. Then she went on to relate how she had stolen from his tax collectors and from rich merchants, yes, but had given much of the money to the poor folk who had been ground down to yield every penny they could. Then she explained how it was defeat the shire-reeve and defeat the Count, or die.
Finally, she ran out of breath, ran out of anger; finally, she could let the story lie. She lowered her eyes, amazed to discover how much lighter she felt, as though she had put down some great burden. Had she been carrying such a weight all this time?
The Court stood in silence, spellbound.
Then young Count Laeg erupted. "She lies! My lord, she lies and wrongs my good father's memory!" Quicksilver's head snapped up, a denial hot on her lips, but Geoffrey was already speaking, quietly but firmly. "She speaks only truth."
"Oh, and how shall you prove that?" Count Laeg demanded. "Where is your elfin witness now? The Wee Folk cannot come within our castle, for it is hung about with Cold Iron!"
"Wherefore?" Geoffrey said simply.
Count Laeg stared, taken aback. "Why ... because ... because..."
"Because you want no witnesses to what you do?" The Count could only stare, tongue-tied.
Diarmid nodded. "It is well asked. For myself, I have always found that they who seek to bar the Wee Folk are not to be trusted, and have wickedness in their hearts."
Count Laeg swung to him in outrage, but Diarmid snapped, "We shall proceed. Sir Geoffrey, what proof can you offer?"
"The testimony of Quicksilver's mother and sister," Geoffrey answered. "You have heard how they figure in the tale. Let us confirm this much of it, at least. I have asked the Wee Folk to summon them."
Quicksilver spun to stare at him, amazed. He gave her a little nod, then turned to look at the woman and girl who were stepping forward from the midst of the crowd. He gazed at them for a moment, then turned to Quicksilver with an impish smile. "Have I met all of your family I now?"
"Aye," she said. "You have even met my horse."
"Perhaps I should summon her to bear witness." Geoffrey turned back to Maud and her daughter. "Good woman, have you heard the story this young lady had to tell?"
"I have indeed, Sir Knight," Maud said with dignity, while beside her, Nan's eyes danced with excitement. "And is there truth in as much of her tale as you have witnessed?"
"Aye, and I do not doubt the rest! I assure you, Sir Knight, that if I had known of the effronteries of those village swains, they would all have borne fat ears!"
A ripple of amusement passed through the hall, and Nan turned beet-red. "Mother!" she hissed, in an agony of embarrassment.
"You have taught your daughter well," Geoffrey told her, "and I thank you for your testimony."
Maud took that as as dismissal, gave him a little bow, and stepped back, hauling Nan with her, who lingered to give Geoffrey a mischievous glance before she hurried after her mother.
"That
much, then, is so." Diarmid nodded. "As to the elves, they may have been excluded from the castle, but I mind me that they were probably throughout the village and the greenwood." He raised his voice. "Wee Folk, if you would be so kind, we would be glad of the benefit of your witness!"
The crowd murmured uneasily; traffic with the Wee Folk was quite unpredictable. They might help, but they might also bring disaster.
An elf-wife hopped up on Diarmid's chair arm. "Twice in one day! Canst thou not ask all thy questions at one time, Lord Duke, so that we need not be troubled twice?"
"I thank you for your troubles and courtesy." Diarmid bowed his head gravely. "Tell me, goodwife—have you heard this woman's tale?"
"Aye, twice now—first when she told it to the knight who doth accompany her."
Now it was speculation in the murmur that went through the hall. Diarmid hurried on. "Is there truth in all that she has said?"
"Every word," the elf-wife said firmly, "and she has told all that she knows—up to her meeting with this bawcock of a Gallowglass."
Rod Gallowglass looked up, interested.
"But she has spoken little of her life after he defeated her in their duel, and began to ride the road here," Diarmid inferred.
"Exactly." The elf-wife fixed Quicksilver with a stern glance. "She has not."
"She is not on trial for any deeds done while we travelled here," Geoffrey said quickly.
"Oh, is she not?" the elf-wife said airily. "Well, mayhap not in this court." She turned back to Diarmid. "Is there aught else thou wouldst know, Lord Duke?"
"Much, but nothing else regarding this case." He bowed his head again. "I thank you, goodwife."
"Thou art welcome, my lord." She hopped down and disappeared.
Diarmid lifted his head. "The facts are spoken, then. I hold the woman innocent of the death of Count Laeg, by virtue of self-defense."
Quicksilver's Knight Page 23
