Women of Wasps and War

by Madeleine D'Este

  'Don't look so maudlin, my Lord. Your people will talk. You should be enjoying yourself. Remember the year when we got so drunk you climbed--'

  'They are already talking,' the Duke said.

  'Do not concern yourself with their prattle,' Kalin replied. 'You have shown courage and commitment to the rule of law, and the Fatherhood. Stand tall.'

  The Duke shrugged. If he had acted in the right way, why did his insides churn so much?

  'I know the answer. Another drink.'

  'Tomorrow...what will I do?' The Duke leaned heavily on his elbow. 'How can I look at her?'

  'It's the Spawning Festival for the Father's sake. Drink up. The Father will take care of tomorrow.' Kalin charged his glass into the air. 'You. Boy.'

  In the past, the Duke would have swept the cobwebs from his head with dancing. The townswomen would queue to take a turn and he'd dance until the sun rose and his soles were worn through. But tonight he chewed his lip and averted his gaze from his empty hose. Another pleasure taken from him.

  Why did the Father test him so? The Duke had always been a loyal follower, treated his people well, loved his wife. The Scion would say there was always a lesson to be learned but the Duke struggled to understand what it could be.

  Wladek popped up at the Duke's side and his heart flipped. The Duke glanced at Kalin but his friend was busy, chiding the squire for spilling good wine.

  'Is it done?' he whispered.

  'She would not come,' his valet said, his voice low, his serpentine eyes darting back and forth.

  'She is still there?' he sighed and rubbed his forehead.

  His manservant nodded. 'She panicked and called for the guards.'

  Sucking down a long draft of wine, the Duke wiped his chin on his sleeve and shook his head. 'Pay the captain off. Easy coin for him. Then join the festivities.'

  'As you wish, m'Lord.' Wladek bowed and ducked away.

  The Duke flopped into his chair, his eyes fixed on a plank of wood on the stage. 'It is out of my hands,' he mumbled as he slumped once more and glumly raised his tankard for a refill.

  PART THREE

  THE TRIAL

  Chapter Fifty-four

  'The Great Hall is ready, m'Lord,' Wladek said.

  The Duke lifted his head from his hands and rubbed his sandy eyes.

  'Have you eaten, m'Lord?'

  The plate of golden bread, white cheese and plum jam lay untouched in front of him.

  'For the third time, I am not hungry and you are not my nursemaid, Wladek!' The Duke scraped his chair along the brick floor, grabbed his iron crutch and eased himself to his feet with a grunt.

  Wladek swooped forward to smooth his surcoat and straighten his emerald-encrusted belt. The belt was heavy and cumbersome but the Duke hoped the jewels would bring him the strength and wisdom of his forebears. He needed every scrap of help he could muster.

  'I guess I should go,' the Duke sighed.

  'The Father will provide you with wise counsel,' Wladek said without meeting his eyes.

  'He had better hurry,' he replied. 'Time is running out.'

  ***

  Sira shuffled from the dungeon with her head hanging low, following orders as she'd always done.

  'Wasp Woman,' the red-nosed guard hissed in her ear and Sira dropped her head even lower.

  The townsmen yelled and pushed as the guards dragged her to the centre of the room. She was guilty before she even opened her mouth, an ungrateful shrew snuffing out a brave man returned from war. But the guards and townsmen did not matter. There was only one person who would make the final judgement and it was not the Duke.

  The guard shoved her into a wooden chair. Despite the shouts and scuffles echoing around the Great Hall, a tranquillity settled over her like a warm blanket. She looked up past the thick rafters that lined the ceiling, picturing the wide expanse of sky beyond. She welcomed Him, she was ready for His judgement.

  A second woman hit the chair beside her. Her eyes hollow and unseeing. There was a red scratch across her nose and a tuft of straw stuck in her greasy hair.

  'Rabel!' Sira grabbed her hand and whispered, smiling, 'Have faith.' Her heart burned as her sister folded over herself like a crumpled leaf.

  The guard slapped Sira's hand away.

  'He knows the truth in our hearts,' Sira said.

  Rabel shook her head. 'He has already decided.'

  ***

  'Hands off me,' Froma spat. She stood taller than the redheaded boy-guard, but his grip was firm as he steered her through the jeering men.

  'Put your veil back on,' said a rough voice and Froma turned her head to find the source, her eyes as cold as icicles.

  A man with a prominent brow shuddered. 'Ugly.'

  'Watch it. She'll put a spell on you,' lisped a third man.

  Froma tossed her head back and strode towards the centre of the room. She matched any stare thrown in her direction with pursed lips. Unimportant churls. Peasant scum.

  'Sit,' said the redheaded guard.

  She sat with grace and lay her hands in her lap. The truth would come out. The Duke was far more intelligent than that fool Kalin. He would see through the deceit. Unlike the others she would be free before the sun set and would insist on a public apology. She looked forward to Kalin's embarrassment.

  Froma glanced at the empty High Table before her and studied the eel sigil on the terracotta and green tapestry that covered the wall. She busied her mind with plans for the future, what she would do once her mohair business was rightfully returned to her.

  ***

  Agata stepped into the Great Hall of the Eel to the roar of guttural male voices.

  'Wasp Women.'

  A glob of spit thwacked her cheek. With her hands secured behind her back, she couldn't wipe their disgust away.

  Her eyes ignited but she kept her jaw clamped shut.

  'Murderess.'

  Fishermen stinking of the sea, goat-herders in hessian, callous-handed blacksmiths and even merchants dressed in silk shoved and jostled her as she struggled through the crowd.

  'Filth.'

  They grabbed her hair, tore at her grubby stolen surcoat, groped at her breasts. Her breath rasped through her clenched teeth, her heartbeat pounded in her ears but she said nothing.

  The guards cut her restraints and shoved her into a chair in the centre of the room alongside the others. She grunted as the point of her elbow struck wood. She rubbed her chafed wrists, but sat tall and allowed herself a glimmer of a smile. This was her chance, they would have no choice but to listen to her speak. The Duke would finally hear her. He would understand. Wouldn't he? Her smile wavered.

  ***

  The ruckus inside the Great Hall died as a guard opened the Court side door and the guards banged their swords against their shields to announce the Duke's entrance. The deafening clang of metal rang in the air, past the candles blazing in tiered chandeliers and up into the highest corners of the vaulted ceiling. All eyes turned to the Duke as he limped towards the low stage and his Chair.

  The Duke sat down and forced his shoulders straight and even. He was no longer a man. He was the Duke of Ambrovna, head of the House of Nyvard, alone on the stage in his carved chair. The Scion sat to his left in bronze, Lord Kalin to his right, and directly in front were four bedraggled women.

  The first sat with her head hanging down as though she'd been at the wine, the second with her crooked nose high in the air. The third stared straight through him as if he were made of glass and the fourth woman met his gaze, her dark eyebrows raised in a soft questioning look. He glanced away with a gulp.

  The guards formed a wall between the accused women and the mob of townsmen who jostled for a better view. Merchants stood next to craftsmen and fisherman still in their smocks after the morning trawl. Three Cousins stood alongside men from the Brick Works, their hair coated in red dust. In the corner, the Seneschal and a grey-bearded scribe sat a table with a quill and knife at the ready. But beside the four accused, there was
not another woman in the room. Women were not permitted to attend a trial.

  With a nod to Kalin, the Duke shuffled for a comfortable spot in his chair. There was no telling how long this trial would last.

  Dressed in his ceremonial tunic, with his beard clipped as precisely as the hedges of Sulun palace, Kalin's voice boomed with all the gravitas of his station. 'Duke Gerthorn Nyvard, the thirty-fourth Duke of Ambrovna is present to hear the accusations made against these four women: Goodwife Rabel Ejvind; Singlewoman Sira Osias; Mistress Froma Plesec and the forty-first Duchess of Ambrovna, Agata Nyvard.'

  The Duke's stomach jumped when Kalin mentioned Agata's full title. Unable to meet her eyes, he tried looking beyond her but he still felt the blazing heat of her gaze.

  'By the laws of the Kingdom of the Four Rivers, I, as Master of the Shield of Ambrovna, will first state the accusations against each woman. Each accused will have their chance to confess before the Father. If they fail to confess, the trial will begin. Witnesses will be called and evidence presented, subject to permission. During the trial, no one may speak to the Duke directly. But he may ask questions. Once the evidence is complete, I will call for the Voice of the Town.'

  The crowd tittered and elbowed one another.

  'Then the Duke will make his final judgement.'

  'Hang 'em,' yelled a voice from the back and the crowd roared in agreement.

  Kalin pointed. 'Eject that man.'

  The crowd parted around the speaker. After a short scuffle, the guards dragged the barrel-chested man out the main door.

  'Take note,' said Lord Kalin. 'This is how we treat outbursts during a trial.' He scoured the Great Hall with his iron stare. No one said a word.

  Pursing his lips, Kalin continued. 'Do you have any further words to say before we begin, my Lord?'

  The Duke shook his head, almost imperceptibly. He bunched his fingers into fists, unfurled then tightened them again. Since taking the throne three years earlier, this was his most difficult matter yet, even without his wife's embroilment.

  'Thank you, my Lord. We shall begin with the Blessing of the Scion.'

  Scion Zavis stood without a single groan or cracking joint. Around the Great Hall, clothing rustled and swords jangled as the guards, onlookers and three of the women kneeled on the hard brick floor. Even Kalin dropped to his knees. Only Agata and the Duke remained seated.

  'O Father, you who watch us from beyond the Sunset,' the Scion said, his eyes stern in his wrinkled face.

  This man had been a constant presence throughout the Duke's life and perhaps his father's before him. The Duke wondered how old the man was, whether the Father had granted him immortality.

  'God of war, god of the sun, of the earth, the sea and of life itself, we offer ourselves as your servants on this land. We look to your Teaching to show us how to live a righteous life. And in turn, we thank you with our worship and love for you. We seek the blessing of your wisdom. Guide us to the truth to ensure the guilty are punished and the innocent go free. Bless the Duke. Ensure he makes true and right decisions on this day, and lets justice prevail. In the eyes of the Father.'

  'In the eyes of the Father,' the crowd repeated. Each man present traced the Father's circle on their foreheads.

  Agata joined them.

  'Thank you Scion Zavis.' Kalin bowed to the Scion and the Duke before turning to address the four women. Kalin cleared his throat. 'Now the accusations. You are all accused of three murders by poisoning, three attempted murders by poisoning, conspiracy to murder the Duke and overthrow the Duchy of Ambrovna. Treason.'

  The Duchess's maid screwed up her stained face and exchanged a confused sideways glance with Agata who returned a tight-lipped half-shrug. The scrawny Alleys woman did not even raise her head and the Plesec widow's eyes hardened further.

  'Before the trial can rightfully begin, there are two questions for the accused. On your feet, Goodwife Ejvind.'

  Sira's sister rose slowly, glancing up with skittish eyes, meek and gaunt like a stray dog.

  'Do you have any mortal enemies in Ambrovna?'

  She shook her bowed head.

  'Singlewoman Osias?'

  Sira stood, smiling as always but her blemished face seemed different. There was a light, a confidence in her eyes, an air the Duke had never seen in her before.

  'No, m'Lord,' she said without pause.

  'Mistress Plesec? Do you have any mortal enemies?'

  The large woman drew to her full height then hesitated briefly. The Duke frowned as he noticed the yellow and purple bruising around her puffy eye socket and throat. He hoped his guards were not responsible. She held her nose high and replied, loudly and clearly. 'No, my Lord.'

  'Duchess Agata Nyvard?'

  The Duke's belly tumbled as his wife rose elegantly. Her hard gaze locked with Kalin for a moment before shifting to the Scion. She licked her lips and raised an eyebrow. 'Enough for someone to accuse me of murder?'

  'Answer the question.'

  Agata seemed to chew on his words. The room was silent, every man leaning in.

  'Aside from Scion Zavis, I have no mortal enemies I am aware of.'

  The crowd booed. The loudest roar was from the younger Cousins at the back of the Hall and yet the Scion's face did not flicker.

  The Duke shifted his weight in his chair. His heart withered. His wife would never bring the people to her side with such outbursts. She was not helping herself. Or him.

  Kalin pursed his lips. 'Aside from your blasphemy, naming the Scion is of no consequence. He is not your accuser and so the trial can commence.'

  Agata curled her lip, spoiling her face with an ugly grimace.

  'One final question before the trial begins. This is your chance to confess your crimes and stop the trial. Do any of you wish to confess before the Scion and the Father? Are you guilty of three murders and three more attempted murders by poisoning and conspiracy to commit treason?'

  'I confess,' the skinny Alleys woman shrieked, collapsing from her seat and splaying out, chest down on the bricked floor. 'It was all my fault.'

  'No, Rabel,' Sira said, jumping from her chair and grabbing her sister by the arm.

  'Separate them.'

  Two guards pulled Sira by the arms back to her seat.

  'I confess, too,' she said before she could be pushed back into her seat.

  Agata's face twisted.

  'You both confess to all accusations?'

  'Yes,' wept the Alleys woman, tears and snot dribbling down her face. 'It was me. I killed them.'

  'Don't listen. She was not involved,' Sira said.

  'Do you confess, Singlewoman?'

  'Not to the murder of the Duke and treason. That's all lies. But I admit my part in the poisonings and the release of the Allotment women.'

  'Women, are you speaking the truth?' the Scion said, his voice booming around the bricked walls. 'The Father sees all. The Father knows your hearts.'

  The skinny woman lay on the ground, howling. 'Oh, Teo.'

  'Yes, Scion Zavis.' Sira nodded, meeting his gaze. 'What I say is true. And He knows. In the eyes of the Father.'

  Kalin turned to the Duke. Saying nothing, the Duke flicked his fingers for Kalin to continue.

  'Goodwife Ejvind and Singlewoman Osias, you are guilty by your own confession. The Duke will consider your punishment at the end of the trial. Put them aside.'

  The guards led the sisters away and placed them by the far wall. Agata and Mistress Plesec were now alone in the centre of the room.

  'Mistress Plesec? You heard the confessions of your fellow women. This is your last chance to confess and receive the mercy of the Duke and the Father.'

  The Plesec woman lifted her lumpy nose higher and compressed her lips until they were invisible. 'I am not guilty. It was them.'

  She pointed at Agata and then the two sisters. Agata and Sira glared back in return while the Alleys woman stared at the bricked floor.

  'Very well. My Lady? Are you ready to confess in front
of the Duke, the Father and the whole town?'

  Agata narrowed her eyes.

  The Duke's heart thumped slowly, foreboding, like a drum on the battlefield. He sat ramrod straight as he must. Restraint was the only acceptable emotion for a man in his position, no matter how he felt. His wife must know how important her answer was. If she confessed, he might be permitted to show her a little clemency.

  'I will not confess,' she said. She folded her arms and sat back down in her chair, a dark eyebrow raised. The Duke swallowed.

  'So be it.' Kalin nodded and turned back to the Duke. 'My Lord, we shall now begin the trial.'

  Chapter Fifty-five

  The Duke cleared his throat and followed the strict formalities according to the laws of the Kingdom. 'May the trial begin. I have heard the accusations brought before me. Are there more than two witnesses to the crimes?'

  'Yes, my Lord. We will hear from three witnesses,' Kalin said. 'I call forth the first witness, Master Tveldt.'

  The stumpy-legged physician pushed through the townsmen. He straightened his tunic and smoothed his few remaining hairs across his pate as he stood to the left of the High Table, the place for witnesses.

  'Master Tveldt. You were a witness to the death of Master Plesec and you are here to provide your testimony. Do you promise to the Father that all your words will be true?'

  'I do, my Lord.'

  Kalin nodded. 'How long have you been a physician, Master Tveldt?'

  'Many years, Lord Kalin. As a mere apprentice boy, I was present at the Duke's own birthing.' He smiled.

  'Tell the Duke what you observed.'

  'I was summoned to the Plesec household when the Master of the house was feeling unwell and became ill with serious vomiting. Master Plesec is a man of rude health ordinarily, a rugged constitution. And so I knew this was a serious matter.'

  'What did you find?' Kalin asked.

  'His vomit was thick with blood. At first, I thought it might be the red death. There were rumours of an outbreak in the Alleys.'