by Ana Seymour
It was not just a deathbed oath. War brought no good to anyone. He genuinely wanted Normans and Saxons to live together peacefully in this land, to see it grow once again into a happy, prosperous place where young men could live long enough to dandle their grandchildren on their knees.
The thatched door rustled, and Werrold peered cautiously inside. “Milord?” he asked in a whisper.
Connor stood, brushing the rusty flakes of iron off his hands. “Not milord to you, lad. Call me Connor, if you like.”
The slender young soldier slipped inside. He looked nervous, as if he wanted to deliver his information quickly and be gone. “Master Brand, then,” the boy said, refusing to be less respectful than that.
“How are things in the castle?” Connor asked. “Is Phippen still threatening to storm the abbey to get the lady Ellen back?”
“My lord Wakelin will hear none of it,” the soldier answered. “But Sir Sebastian still rages. In truth, there are times I think the man unbalanced. The other day he beat a poor castle guard unmercifully because the man did not immediately offer to see to Sir Sebastian’s mount, which was not, after all, the guard’s place to do so.”
Connor scowled. “I’ve had my own doubts about the man. ‘Tis a wonder Wakelin cannot see his nephew’s shortcomings.”
“Some say ‘tis because the lord had no son. He makes excuses for his nephew because he has no other heir to depend on.”
Connor snorted, “He has as worthy an heir as any man should ever wish for.”
“Aye,” the man agreed politely, but did not look convinced.
Connor had no intention of spending more time extolling Ellen’s virtues. “How’s the boy faring?” he asked.
Both knew that he referred to the castle’s now closely guarded prisoner, John Cooper.
“Well, Master Brand. I’ve seen that he’s fed well, as you asked. He’s nervous about the trial.”
“Aye, as are we all. What is the word on it among the castle folk?”
“In truth, sir, they talk more of the market fair that accompanies the assizes than poor John’s fate.” The man’s face became animated. “You’ve heard that there’s to be a chase.”
“Aye.” Connor rolled his eyes. Back when his family ruled Lyonsbridge, he and his brothers had often ridden in the traditional obstacle race. It had been an annual event in his youth, along with the market fair. The fact that, at the same time, trials were being held sentencing poor thieves and miscreants to gaol or to have their hands chopped off or worse, had never seem to dampen the festivities.
There had not been a chase these several years past, and Connor had been surprised to hear that Lord Wakelin was reviving the custom in the midst of all the turmoil over John Cooper.
“They say ‘tis Sebastian who planned the event,” Werrold said. “Odd, since he doesn’t strike me as much of a horseman.”
Connor, too, found it odd. “Is he planning to race himself?” In past years the chase had typically been an event for foolhardy lads who were too young to have any fear of hurtling their horses over obstacles at breakneck speed.
“Not only he, but Lord Wakelin, too. Sir Sebastian said it would show that Normans and Saxons could compete peacefully.”
This struck Connor as even more odd. Since when had Sebastian Phippen become concerned about fostering Norman-Saxon relations?
When he made no comment, Werrold continued, “I thought about giving it a run myself. The purse is five gold sovereigns.”
“A princely sum,” Connor observed, but his voice was distracted. “Lord Wakelin is putting up the amount?”
“Nay, ‘tis said Sir Sebastian made the offer personally.”
After a few more questions, Connor sent the young man on his way, then slipped out of the castle grounds and started walking, taking care to stay out of sight of the road. The news about Sebastian’s promotion of the chase stayed with him all the way back to the abbey. Werrold had been right; Sebastian was not a horseman, nor was he a champion of Norman-Saxon peace. Something was wrong here. It appeared that John Cooper’s trial might not be the only concern at tomorrow’s fair.
Chapter Eighteen
In the days of Connor’s parents, the chase had been a competition waged for honor and glory. The only prize had been a battered brass lion that had passed from champion to champion. The trophy had been lost since the days of the war.
Now that the stakes had been raised, the contest took on a more serious vein. For two days, knights and some freemen from neighbouring shires had been arriving, joining peasants from surrounding villages who had come for the annual fair. The grounds around the castle were filled with colorful tents and awnings that billowed in the March wind like sheets flapping on a gigantic laundry line.
The assizes were to begin at dawn so that the proceedings could end before the scheduled entertainment of the afternoon, which traditionally included jongleurs and acrobats, and which, this year, would culminate with the chase.
Connor had spent a restless night on the floor in his brother’s cell. Martin had refrained from asking why he did not go to Ellen’s chamber as usual. Instead, the priest looked at the sadness in his brother’s eyes and tried to cheer him with stories of how the Cooper twins had turned the normally austere abbey into a topsy-turvy playground.
Connor had forced a smile to reward his brother’s efforts, but his thoughts were on Ellen, alone in her cell only a few feet away.
Not wanting to miss a minute of the day’s events, they’d set out for the castle before dawn, joined by streams of others coming from Lyonsbridge and nearby villages.
Ellen had insisted on walking with the Coopers, though Brother Augustine had offered her one of the abbey’s horses to ride. She walked along the road in the predawn darkness, holding a twin’s hand in each of hers and carefully avoiding Connor’s eyes.
Their only exchange of the morning had been when they first set out. “Won’t they arrest you if you show yourself openly at the castle?” she asked, her concern forcing her to break her silence with him.
“My supposed crime is aiding John. If they find him innocent today, my misdeed should no longer matter.”
Like the three women, he refused to speculate on what would happen if John was not found innocent.
The children skipped along gaily beside Ellen, unaware of the importance of the day to the future of their family.
Sarah had been joined by Rolf. The page was taking some risk by exposing himself at the castle, but he’d arrived yesterday from Baintry and had insisted that he was going to be by Sarah’s side during the proceedings, come what may.
Wooden stands had been constructed to the north of the castle: It was here that the trials would be conducted in the morning, and from here that spectators could view the afternoon’s competition. The grounds in front of the structure were already full when the. Coopers, Rolf, Ellen, Connor and Father Martin arrived. It appeared that the earlier trials were already underway. Ellen looked at the crowd with dismay.
“How will we get through to the front?” she asked. “Sarah has to be able to tell her story.”
“We have plenty of time,” Connor assured her. “There’s no point in going forward until John’s trial begins. Then they’ll call for witnesses.”
Ellen looked around uncomfortably at the jostling crowd, made up mostly of serfs and villagers.
“Mayhap you’d like to go up with your father so that you won’t have to stand with this throng,” he said. “I’ll clear a way for you.”
She looked at his face to see if there was derision there, but his expression was impassive. “I’ll stay with the Coopers,” she said firmly. “I want to stand with them at the trial, and I want my father to see me there.”
Connor gave her a look of approval. “Good girl,” he said, then he turned from her and resumed his talk with Father Martin and some. of the villagers.
By midmorning, the sun had burned through the mist, and some of the onlookers had wandered off to view the wares
of the merchants in the tents, but Ellen still stood patiently with the Coopers. By now the twins had claimed her as their special playmate, and every time they made a discovery or attempted a new kind of trick, their first move was to run to Ellen to call her attention to it and receive her words of encouragement or praise.
Karyn was no longer remotely shy with her. In fact, the little girl seemed more attached to Ellen than to her own sister and mother, a fact that bothered neither of these two women. Sarah was much too occupied with her suitor, and Agnes confided to Ellen that it warmed her heart to see the shine her daughter had taken to the noblewoman.
“There was a time I thought never to see a smile on her face again, milady,” she said, gazing fondly at the little girl as she tumbled on the ground with Abel and some of the other village children. “Now if we could only persuade her to talk again, my blessings would be complete.”
“Is there no clue as to why she stopped talking?” Ellen asked. She’d broached the question before, but Agnes had always seemed strangely reluctant to answer.
“’Twas a wicked day,” she said, shaking her head and avoiding Ellen’s eyes. “There was evil abroad. And since that day my baby has not uttered a word.”
“When was this wicked day?” Ellen persisted.
“Almost a twelvemonth past, milady. ‘Tis best not spoken of.”
If something sinister had happened the day that Karyn stopped speaking, just over a year ago, Ellen wanted to learn of it. She was no authority on sicknesses of the mind, nor in spell-making, if indeed ‘twas a spell that had struck the child dumb, but she had the feeling that uncovering the secret that the Coopers seemed to want hidden might be the child’s only chance to recover.
“I think you should speak of it, Mistress Cooper, for Karyn’s sake.”
But before she could pursue the subject further, Connor came up beside them, his face tense. “’Tis time,” he said. “They’re bringing John out now.”
It broke Ellen’s heart to see John’s slender arms and legs weighed down with shackles, metal ones this time. His face was pale and his usually bright eyes were dull.
Karyn and Abel stopped their laughter at the sight of their brother. Karyn crept up beside Ellen, and she lifted the girl in her arms with a whisper of reassurance.
The crowd parted to let the party through, and a number of people reached out to give the two Cooper women gentle pats of encouragement. Ellen’s attention was suddenly diverted as she was spied by her father, seated next to Sebastian up on the dais. As liege lord, her father had been conducting the morning trials, but he stood now with an exclamation and walked quickly toward his daughter.
He made a move to embrace her, but stopped uncertainly as he eyed Karyn, still in her arms. Ellen drew herself up and said, “Good morrow, Father. This is my little friend Karyn. ‘Tis her brother who stands falsely accused here today.”
Lord Wakelin smiled at the little girl, then leaned forward and kissed Ellen on the forehead. “We’ll hear what the boy has to say, my daughter, and justice will be served. Would you sit up with me?”
“I’ll stay with my friends,” she answered stiffly.
Without further comment, he spun around and climbed back up into the stands, leaving her standing alongside Agnes. Ellen turned her head, looking around the crowd for Connor, but he seemed to have vanished.
From up on the stands, Sebastian glared openly at his cousin.
The captain of the guards led John, shuffling in his chains, to the front of the dais and spun him around to face Lord Wakelin. “Defendant John Cooper, accused of the foul murder of milord’s reeve and faithful subject, Sir William Booth.” The captain’s voice boomed out the dead man’s name, and immediately Karyn’s arms tightened in a stranglehold around Ellen’s neck. She struggled to loosen the little girl’s grip and looked at her in surprise. Big tears had begun to roll down her face, and her tiny body quaked.
“Don’t be frightened,” Ellen whispered to her. “The man has a big voice because he’s a captain.”
Karyn shook her head, and the sudden panic in her eyes seemed to be more than fear over the captain’s shouting. Ellen had no time to wonder at the cause, however, since the charges were being read by a clerk. Her father sat leaning forward on one elbow, listening intently.
Ellen made circular strokes on Karyn’s back, hoping to calm the girl. She had not thought it wise for the two younger children to attend the trial today, but for some reason Agnes had insisted on bringing them.
As castellan of Lyonsbridge, Sebastian was to present the case against John. Sweat dripped from his forehead and dampened the back of his heavy wool surcoat as he stood in the hot sun, gesturing toward John and accusing him with thespian dramatics.
“In short, milord,” he ended with a piercing gaze at John, “you have the word of two young Saxons, who lied to cover up what was undoubtedly a wicked robbery that went amiss, against the reputation of an upstanding Norman, loyal servant to his king.”
Father Martin had requested permission to speak for the defendant. His manner was in stark contrast to that of Ellen’s cousin. The crowd had grown bored with Sebastian’s harangue, but when the priest stepped quietly to the front, a hush fell and the cleric’s quiet words reached to the outermost limits of the throng.
“My lord,” Father Martin began, his blue eyes riveted on Lord Wakelin’s face, “you have a unique opportunity today. By your decision here this morning, you will be able to show the good people of this shire once and for all that Norman justice is not just for Normans, but is for the good of everyone, Norman and Saxon alike.”
Ellen noted that her father straightened up with interest at the priest’s words, whereas Sebastian’s frown grew deeper.
“You may proceed with your evidence, Father,” Lord Wakelin said. “And be assured that justice will be rendered impartially, as charged by the liege lord of us all, King Henry.”
With a quiet nod, Father Martin briefly told the Coopers’ story of what had happened the night of Booth’s death. He then called in quick procession four girls from the village, none older than Sarah. Each told in halting, small voices of being accosted by Sir William Booth. To Ellen their accounts were utterly convincing, and it almost made her sad that the weaselly little man was dead. She would have enjoyed seeing him in shackles like the ones weighing down John.
After the fourth young woman had spoken, Sebastian jumped up from the bench he’d occupied opposite the defendant and said, “I must object, my lord. Sir William Booth was a man whose honor had never been impugned until these Saxons came here today in an attempt to besmirch it. Obviously they’re in a conspiracy to protect one of their own.”
To Ellen’s horror, her father appeared to be giving credence to her cousin’s words. She broke away from the crowd and walked to the front of the judging stand. “Father, I’d also like to testify,” she said.
Her father looked down in surprise. “What do you know of this thing, Daughter?” he asked.
She made a motion to put Karyn down on the ground, but the girl clung tighter to her neck, her body still trembling. So Ellen continued to hold her close as she walked up the three steps to stand on the platform in front of her father.
“I was riding with Master Brand that evening,” she said. “I was there when John came to tell him of what had happened. And I saw how shaken Sarah Cooper was shortly after the event. ‘Twas no madeup tale.”
“My cousin’s head has been swayed by too close an association with these people, Uncle,” Sebastian said, walking closer to Lord Wakelin so that his words wouldn’t be heard by the crowd. “She’ll say whatever Brand tells her to say. She knows nothing that can be counted as solid evidence in this trial.”
Lord Wakelin turned to his Daughter, “You saw Sir William on several occasions, daughter?” he asked gently.
Ellen nodded, “Aye, but—”
“And did you ever see the man making improper advances to the Cooper girl or anyone else?”
Elle
n hesitated before she reluctantly admitted, “Nay.” Then she lifted her head and said loudly, “I believe every word these girls are saying. And I hope Sir William Booth is this moment roasting on a spit in hell.”
Karyn pulled on Ellen’s head and suddenly said in a childish lisp, “Shure Willem bad man.”
Ellen was so startled she almost dropped the girl, but when she fully realized what had just occurred, she whirled around to find Agnes, whose hand had flown to her mouth. “She spoke,” Ellen gasped.
As if in a trance, Agnes moved to the dais, then slowly climbed the stairs, her arms reaching for her daughter, who let go her grip on Ellen and went to her.
Agnes spoke with difficulty, her voice raspy. “Sir William tried to bother her, too, just like he did Sarah. We didn’t want anyone to ever know.”
Ellen felt sick in the pit of her stomach. “Booth molested this angelic child?” she gasped.
Agnes continued, “We caught him afore he could do aught to her, but he swore he’d seek revenge if we ever spoke of it.” Her voice cracked. “We told my poor baby that she must never talk of it, and from that day to this, she refused to say anything at all.”
Ellen turned toward her father, who looked confused. Sebastian flailed his arms and said, “Enough of these histrionics. They’ve worked up some kind of a play to try to free their kin.”
“Willem bad man,” Karyn said again.
Ellen reached over to put her hand on the child’s cheek. “Did Sir William do something bad to you, sweetling?”
Karyn nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Ellen’s tears were flowing, too, as she turned to her father, her voice shaking with rage. “Are you going to believe that this innocent child is part of a conspiracy? How much longer will you listen to Sebastian’s lies?”
One of the Norman soldiers who was guarding John stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Beggin’ your lordship’s pardon, but it galls me not to speak. ‘Tis true what the lassies are saying. Sir William was ever after them, the younger the better. ‘Twere well known among us.”
