A Sense of Duty - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 4)

by Shea,Lisa

  A wiry boy went scurrying for the coach, and Barnard walked Constance out to the main steps. The coach was brought around, and Constance boarded it first, followed by Vera. Barnard and Frank mounted their horses and rode alongside as they covered the short distance to the main town square.

  Constance’s heart tripped in tense panic as they drew near. Yes, there were the covered stands Barnard had spoken of, with ten chairs lined up beneath a canvas awning. It had an almost carnival-like gaiety to it, with the burgundy curtain and the pillowed chairs.

  Her eyes turned to the right. There, before the stand, was a large, square wooden platform. Fourteen ropes hung from a pair of long wooden beams, seven in front and seven behind. A squat wooden box waited beneath each rope. Constance forced herself to breathe, to take in, to release, to keep going. He was not dead yet. There was still time.

  The carriage pulled to a stop by the covered stands, and in a moment Barnard came around to help her out. The small crowd of onlookers turned to watch as the foursome made their way up to the raised seating area, taking seats near the center. The platform was a mere ten feet away, facing out into the center of the town square.

  “They should be bringing the men out shortly,” promised Barnard with a smile, settling himself into his chair eagerly. “Still, it will be an hour yet before the main event begins. They want to give the crowd time to properly examine the culprits, of course.”

  “Of course,” echoed Constance, her heart pounding. She wanted this moment to freeze forever. Gabriel was safe now; he was alive. At the same time, she wanted this time to speed through in an instant. She wanted to get past the uncertainty, past the waiting – to see Gabriel’s face, to tell the world the truth.

  People drifted into the square in ones and twos, standing to stare at the platform. To Constance’s surprise, most did not seem the rough children and zealous clergy she normally associated with these types of events. Many seemed to have come from far away, judging by their dress, and seemed somber and serious. She recognized the innkeep from her flight to the nunnery, as well as Pete from the local tavern. Both men nodded quietly at her before resuming their solemn vigil. Many others in the crowd seemed here to honor, rather than malign, the men who stood accused.

  A glimmer of hope shone into Constance’s soul. Maybe this audience would not be as hard to convince as she had feared. Maybe others also felt that the Angelus had been unjustly accused.

  There was a movement to one side, and the crowd stirred, murmuring. Five soldiers were escorting a red-headed man toward the square platform. His hands were tied behind his back, and his feet were shackled so that he could only shuffle slowly. The guards carried drawn swords and swept alert glances around them. They carefully helped the man up the stairs to the central platform, then worked him around to the furthest rear rope. With his hands and feet still tied they boosted him to mount the high box. Once he was steady, one of the soldiers expertly tied a noose in the rope. He looped it around the man’s neck, cinching it tightly in place. Then he stood back, admiring his work.

  Constance stared at the condemned man’s face for a long moment. She did not recognize him, but she knew this man had laid his life on the line for her several times. She nodded, and prayed, honoring his past actions solemnly in her heart. He had been there for her when no others had lifted a hand. She would be there for him now.

  Barnard smiled. “Ah, so it is beginning,” he commented, sitting back and stretching. “This will be quite enjoyable.”

  Constance ignored him, all of her focus on the square. Two of the guards remained on the platform while the other three headed back out. In a short while they made their way back, prodding along another prisoner. Again, he was a stranger to Constance, but she stared at him as he moved, memorizing his face, gazing at him with compassion.

  An aura of respectful silence descended over the square. Her heart filled with resolve as she looked around the courtyard. Apparently she was not the only one grateful to these accused. Judging by the reaction of the spectators, she was sure that several others in the courtyard had also been protected by these brave men.

  The square began to fill with more watchers, and it became a mix of those who gazed quietly at the condemned men, and others who exhibited a more raucous attitude. Her ears caught their voices - there was a stir of motion near the grand stands. Constance looked up as her brother neared her chair, coming up to sit alongside Vera.

  “I brought that list you requested,” he offered Constance quietly by way of a greeting. He handed her a rolled up scroll of parchment, tied with a blue ribbon.

  “Thank you,” breathed Constance gratefully, taking the scroll and quickly opening it.

  Barnard peered over her shoulder. “My, those bandits were industrious indeed!” he whistled, grinning widely. “Look at all the valuables they made off with! That is quite an achievement, I should say.”

  Constance scanned the list rapidly. There – a third of the way down the list - a gold necklace, featuring the head of a lion. It had been taken from an elderly Crusader. Her eyes scanned further. The taloned cane top belonged to a priest in the next town over, a man Constance knew well by reputation. The rosebud comb was the wedding present from a mother to her only daughter. That had been stolen six months earlier.

  Constance hoped that the three victims would be in the crowd, but even if they were not, she now had the proof that the items had been stolen by the bandits. The location of the stash made clear that the group was led by Barnard.

  She carefully re-rolled the scroll and tucked it into the small bag at her hip. Taking in a deep breath, she looked back out at the main square. The back row of seven nooses was now full, and the guards began bringing in the front group. More guards filtered in to stand along the edges of the platform, and a few moved among the growing crowd, keeping a wary eye on the more rambunctious members.

  Constance’s heart thumped even louder as the soldiers slowly began to bring in the remaining members of the troop. The crowd became more full, more somber, as the minutes passed. A dark haired man, thick and burly, was brought out. A sallow man with a thin, wiry build. There were only four spots left … then three …

  Constance’s hands gripped the arms of her chair. The trio of guards were making their way through the crowd with Ralph at their center. He blinked in the bright sunlight, shuffling along carefully, focusing on the ground before him. Only when he got to the platform did he look around him, look over to the row of chairs. His gaze skipped past Barnard’s and met with Constance’s, his look tender and sad. Constance felt Barnard turn to watch her, and she steeled her emotions, pressed her lips together until they formed a flat line of concentration. She could not falter now, could not give Barnard any reason to distrust her, to drag her away from the proceedings.

  Ralph held her gaze for a long moment, then looked down again, his feelings hidden from view. In a moment the guards were helping him onto his own box. It seemed only seconds before the noose was fitted around his neck.

  Constance looked out across the platform. Only one empty box remained. Thirteen men … thirteen brave, strong men … stood resolutely, without complaint or outcry, waiting for their leader. The crowd quieted to an expectant hush, and all eyes turned in the direction of the town hall. Constance felt as if her heart would burst …

  There was a movement, and she could not help herself. She vaulted from her chair, pressed herself against the railing at the edge of the seating area, her eyes glued to the figure being guided toward the execution area. There were five guards around this man, as well as Tristan who moved immediately at the prisoner’s right side. Gabriel was blinking in the light, much as Ralph had, and then his eyes swiveled around through the crowd.

  They went immediately to Constance, standing on the raised dais above the crowd, and he stopped instantly, his eyes caught on hers. The entire crowd tensed, looking between the two, watching for any sign of emotion, any signal or word. Constance could not betray her intentions, not yet
, not before all was ready. Still, without thinking, her hand moved of its own accord to press against her chest, to press the hollow spot where the pendant had hung for so many years. She held her hand there for a long moment, taking in a deep, steadying breath.

  Gabriel’s hands were tied firmly behind his back, but she saw the acknowledgement in his eyes, the steady resolve. Then he started moving again, his feet shuffling at a slow, regular pace, his eyes never leaving hers. Even as they fitted the noose around his neck, he soaked her in with his eyes, drawing in every last moment he could.

  Tristan stepped forward to ensure the noose was properly tied, being gentle but firm with the rope. He nodded to the guards, then turned and strode toward the viewing stage. The remaining local officials had filed into their empty seats, and the courtyard was overflowing with spectators. Constance retreated to her chair as Tristan came to the center of the platform. He nodded in a quiet greeting to her and Barnard before standing against the railing, raising both hands. It was hardly necessary. Every eye in the place was glued to him.

  “Today is a somber day,” he began without preamble. “You see assembled before you the members of Angelus. The men are named as follows.”

  “Gabriel, of High Newton by-the-Sea. Distinguished in two separate campaigns in the Holy Land.”

  “Ralph, formerly of Swinhoe. Served with Gabriel in the Holy Land. Distinguished service.”

  “Richard, of Ellingham. Served with Gabriel in the Holy Land during both campaigns. Distinguished service.”

  Constance’s eyes moved from man to man as their name and accomplishments were read. Each man had served with Gabriel; each man stood proudly at his side, his back straight, his eyes clear. Pride welled up within her, and she saw appreciation from most in the crowd as well.

  Beside her, Barnard shifted his weight. “Is this an execution or a parade?” he muttered beneath his breath.

  Tristan had finished with the roll call. “Now to the charges,” he announced to the throng. “Evidence has been provided by Barnard of Swinhoe” – Tristan motioned with a hand toward the man sitting behind him – “that Gabriel and his Angelus guard are responsible for the bandit attacks. These attacks have led to numerous injuries, loss of possessions, and loss of life over the past few years. For these crimes, the men have been sentenced to hang by the neck until dead.”

  A cold shudder ran through Constance, and the crowd muttered and shifted. Several members of the throng stared at Barnard with open dislike. He tossed his head back with relish, wrapping an arm around Constance’s shoulder with pride.

  “Maybe it is time for you to speak, my dear,” he encouraged with a grin. “That will help silence the crowd.”

  Tristan turned, holding her eyes with his own, his creased face neutral. “Yes, I am very interested to hear what you have to say, Lady Barnard,” he agreed. “Are you ready to speak?”

  Constance’s legs wobbled, but she took in a deep breath, steeling herself. This was her only chance to stop the atrocity which was about to occur. If she fainted, if Barnard managed to pull her away, the brave men before her would be put to death. There would be none left to stand in the way of the bandits, none left to protect the weak and innocent.

  Tristan moved back as she approached the railing. Hundreds of eyes were upon her, and a sense of panic swept through her. Then she turned her gaze to the platform and felt the strength, the trust, flow from the men who watched. In the center of them all stood Gabriel, his eyes steady, his face almost serene. She realized suddenly that he would not blame her if she failed. He had accepted his fate. She had only to do the very best she could.

  She smiled, almost, then turned to the crowd.

  “Good people, you have come here today to see justice for the atrocities practiced by the bandits over the years. I speak to you as one who has witnessed and experienced these heinous acts. My name is Constance. What I am about to say, I swear to you is the whole truth.”

  She let her eyes sweep across the crowd, connecting with each person in turn. “Several weeks ago I was abducted from the very inn in this town by the bandits and held for ransom. I was locked in a dark cell, beaten, cared for poorly, and a precious medallion of mine was stolen.” Her eyes went to meet Gabriel’s. “It was only due to the valiant efforts to this man here, Gabriel, that I was freed. He came for me – he and his band of Angelus mercenaries. They fought their way into my prison and took me out to safety.”

  Barnard’s voice shot out. “Lies!” he called, leaping to his feet. “They only played at that to gain your trust!”

  Tristan firmly held him back. “You may have an opportunity to speak after,” he warned Barnard. “It is Constance’s chance to be heard.”

  Constance did not turn, but kept her gaze on the crowd, on the men. “When I traveled to visit the nunnery, to visit my aunt, again it was the Angelus who came to my aid, to ensure I arrived at St. Francis unmolested.”

  She heard mutterings behind her, but apparently Tristan was actively suppressing them – none came forward to hinder her. Still, Constance had the sense that if she gave him the opportunity, Barnard would find a way to silence her. She quickly pressed on.

  “When evidence of a few trinkets was found, and it was put forth that these had been stolen by the Angelus, I asked myself where the rest of the wealth was. Hundreds of items have been taken over the years. Only a few tiny objects were found in the ‘Angelus cache’. I therefore did some research of my own this past week. I will show you just a small sample of what I discovered.”

  She took the knife from her waist belt and bent down. With a smooth motion she sliced open the hem of her dress, removing the three items secreted there. She stood again, putting two into her left hand. She held the remaining item up before the crowd.

  “A lion’s head necklace, made of solid gold. This belonged to a brave crusader who -”

  An aging voice filled the air. “That – that is mine!” The crowd looked about, muttering in surprise. Slowly a way parted down its center. A white-haired man staggered carefully through the crowd, his eyes misting with tears. He spoke as he drew near the seating area.

  “The bandits took that necklace from me, and killed my faithful servant of twenty years! It was given to me by my commander when I departed from the Holy Land. I had never thought to see it again.”

  Gentle hands helped him walk up to the edge of the railing, and Constance handed the necklace down to him. He held her hand for a long moment, pressing his lips against it in gratitude.

  “I never thought to see this pendant again before I died,” he breathed quietly. “Now I can pass it down to my son, and know he has his inheritance.”

  Hundreds of eyes swiveled up to meet Constance’s, bright curiosity burning in them.

  “The bandits were responsible for that thievery and murder,” she reminded the throng in a ringing voice. She looked down for a moment, selecting the larger item for display.

  “Next,” she called out, holding up the silver cane top, its gleam catching in the light. “In the shape of a hawk’s talon, this is -”

  A man’s voice rang out. “Thank the Lord!” Again, the crowd eagerly parted and made way as a middle-aged priest moved quickly forward, his face alight with joy. “My mentor gave that to me when I became a priest and took on my first assignment!” he called out with pleasure. “After the bandits ran off with it, I was sure it had been melted down and used to fund who knows what illicit activities! To think that it is safe …”

  He reached the railing, and Constance carefully placed it into in his hands. He gave both of her hands a squeeze, then crossed himself and looked up to the sky.

  The crowd was eager now, and looked to see what other wonders she would reveal. “I only have one more item with me,” she called out to them. “However, the storage cache I discovered was full to the brim with the rest of the objects. These are but a few tokens as proof of my story, evidence that what I say is true.”

  She held up the ivory comb. “This
hairpiece is made from ivory, and is engraved with a cascade of rosebuds. It is also identified on the lists as having been taken by the bandits.”

  After the first two dramatic results, she half expected screams of delight to follow this unveiling as well. The crowd looked around with expectation, waiting for a grateful woman to come forward and claim it. Yet, a long minute passed, and there were no shouts.

  “I will make sure Tristan returns this object to its rightful owner,” began Constance, turning.

  A woman’s voice cried out, “Wait!” The crowd turned with a murmur, and Constance saw that a young, pregnant woman was slowly being helped through the throngs by an older lady. The ensemble made room for them, waiting patiently as they shuffled up to the railing.

  The young woman reached up for the comb, tears filling her eyes. “This was given to me by my mother, on my wedding day,” she explained, turning the piece over in her hands. “When the bandits came to rob us, my husband tried to stop them. They beat him within an inch of his life, laughing the whole time. Even now my husband is not fully healed and cannot walk well.”

  She turned to gaze at the men on the platform. “I came to see the bastards who had ruined our lives, to look them in the eye, to watch them die. I wanted that satisfaction.” She let her eyes run along the line of men, then turned back to Constance. “However, studying their faces, I cannot believe these men are the ones who did such a thing to me and my family. Tell me, where did you find my comb?”

  This was the moment. All eyes were focused on Constance, and her skin tingled with nervous energy. What would happen once she spoke? There was only one way to find out.

  “I found all of the stolen bandit goods in a hidden room in my home in Swinhoe.”

  Her words echoed around the courtyard, and for a long moment there was shocked silence. Then there was a roar of anger from behind her, and Barnard was suddenly at her side, calling out to the crowd.