Perhaps the Pharisee’s expression had looked like that.
Ridmark walked to the dais. A single wooden chair had been placed there, a U-shaped wooden seat with no back and four legs. It was called a curule chair, and in the time of the Empire of the Romans, magistrates had sat in such chairs when issuing their judgments. The custom had carried over to Andomhaim all these centuries later, much to Ridmark’s annoyance. The damned chair was uncomfortable. But maybe it was supposed to be uncomfortable. Perhaps a lord never ought to dispense justice while in comfort or at ease.
He stopped atop the dais and turned to face the crowd in the hall, and the murmur of conversation ceased.
“We shall begin,” said Ridmark. “Bishop Belasco, if you would lead us in a prayer?”
The monks looked offended that Ridmark had not asked them. Though if pressed, he could always say that he did not know if any of the monks were ordained. Belasco stepped forward and raised his hands, and in a stentorian voice recited a prayer, asking God to turn His eyes towards this court, that the innocent would be validated and the guilty found out. He closed by adjoining all men to truthfulness and reminding them that God was the shield of the widow and the orphan and the bane of the perjurer and the malefactor.
The bishop finished his recitation, and Ridmark seated himself. The curule chair was just as uncomfortable as it looked.
“Let us proceed,” said Ridmark, looking at Flavius. “Praefectus, bring forth the petitioners.”
Other than the business with the monastery’s cattle and the men of Ebor, fifteen cases required the attention of the Comes of Castarium. Most of the time, the men of the town governed themselves and resolved their own disputes through the town curia, the council of the oldest and richest men in Castarium. But when they could not decide matters themselves, or when they came into conflict with one of the villagers or freeholders outside the town walls, they brought the problem to Ridmark’s attention.
Most of the fifteen cases were disputes about land ownership. Two freeholders had quarreled about the placement of a boundary stone and had almost come to violence. Flavius produced charters and documents proving the original location of the stone, and that both freeholders had moved the stone to their advantage at various times. Ridmark fined them both and ordered the stone returned to its current position. A fisherman brought a claim against the town’s shipwright, accusing the shipwright of shoddy work, while the shipwright countered that the fisherman had been negligent and drunk. Testimony from carpenters proved that the shipwright hadn’t sealed the fishing boat’s hull correctly, so Ridmark ordered the man to repair the boat for no charge. The shipwright, fearful of his standing in the small community, agreed with only a token amount of protestation.
There was one capital case, but it had resolved itself before Ridmark arrived. A journeyman mason had been sleeping with his master’s daughter. When discovered, he had panicked and stabbed the master to death, and then fled into the street with his master’s sons in pursuit. Witnesses claimed that the journeyman had tripped and landed on his own dagger. Ridmark was reasonably sure that the journeyman’s death hadn’t been accidental, that the sons had killed him, but the man had murdered his master. The daughter, for her part, wept copious tears and claimed that the journeyman had stolen her virtue and her virginity with threats of violence. Ridmark was also reasonably sure that wasn’t the truth, either. Still, the guilty man had died, and there was nothing else to be done, so Ridmark confirmed his eldest son in possession of his father’s property, and that was that.
It was almost noon by the time the last of the fifteen cases were settled. From time to time, Ridmark glanced at Joachim, impressed that the boy had watched the proceedings without fidgeting or demanding to leave. Perhaps he did not want to look weak in front of Carlon. As the last of the cases concluded, more people filtered into the hall. They wanted to see the dispute with the monastery and the men of Ebor. To judge from the ragged dress of some of the newcomers, quite a few of them were the men of Ebor.
This could go badly.
“My lord Comes,” said Flavius. “We have one final petition for the day, from Abbot Caldorman of the Monastery of St. Bartholomew.”
Ridmark nodded. “Has the abbot come in person to present his petition?”
“He has not,” said Flavius, “but he has sent Prior Simon to speak on his behalf.”
“Let him approach,” said Ridmark.
He watched as one of the monks stopped before the dais and offered a polite bow. The man was tall, almost cadaverous looking, with gaunt features and iron-gray hair that would have come to a sharp widow’s peak on his pale brow had it not been cut in the traditional monastic tonsure.
“My lord Ridmark of the Arbanii,” said the monk, “Comes of Castarium and Shield Knight of Andomhaim, I, Prior Simon of the Monastery of St. Bartholomew, greet you and offer the greetings of the gracious Abbot Caldorman. Once I was Simon of the Andrii, of the noble House of the Andrii, the ruling family of Calvus, but I put aside my family name and became only Brother Simon of the monastery, devoted to the work of God.”
The mixture of pride and piety in his voice grated on Ridmark.
“As I recall,” said Ridmark, “Dux Septimus Andrius of Calvus sided with Tarrabus Carhaine during the civil war and turned his back on the church of Andomhaim to worship the shadow of Incariel. It seems you chose to join the monastery at a good time, Prior.”
The prior offered a thin smile that did not reach his eyes. “Indeed, my lord. I…”
A flicker of movement caught Ridmark’s eye.
A blond woman stepped through the doors to the forum and stood against the far wall, watching the assembly. Ridmark was certain it was the woman he had seen yesterday in the stable of the Salty Fish Inn. Again, he had the overwhelming feeling that he had seen the woman before, that he ought to recognize her, but the matter at hand demanded his attention. Ridmark forced himself to pay attention as Prior Simon prattled on with his oration.
“The abbot has a matter he wishes brought to my attention?” said Ridmark when Simon stopped for breath.
“Yes, my lord,” said Simon. “A crime has been committed against our abbey. Our property has been stolen by those who have no right to it. This is not just a crime against mere men. This is a crime against God and the church, for we monks are sworn to poverty and do not hold any property ourselves. Rather, we are mere stewards of what belongs to God. My lord, I ask the most severe punishment for this egregious crime. Hang the perpetrator from the gallows as a warning to any malefactor who would think to lift his hand against God’s church.”
“And just what was this egregious crime?” said Ridmark.
“The theft of property, as I have already said.”
“Precisely which property?” said Ridmark. “The law, as I am sure you know, is a matter of details.”
“Two sheep and a pig,” said Simon.
“And what became of these animals?” said Ridmark.
“They were slaughtered and eaten,” said Simon, “by those who have no right to them.”
“By the men of Ebor camped outside your walls, I take it?” said Ridmark.
“By those masterless men and vagabond miscreants,” said Simon. A brief angry rumble went through the hall. Simon shot a quick glance to the side as if expecting someone to fall upon him. It was clear that the sympathies of the townsmen were not with the monks.
“That is a serious crime,” said Ridmark. “Especially since your monastery, in keeping with your duty, was already distributing alms of food to the men of Ebor. For them to steal from you after you had already fed them? That is indeed treacherous.”
Simon hesitated. “That…is not precisely what happened.”
“Then you did not distribute alms to the men of Ebor and their families?” said Ridmark.
“The charter of our monastery clearly states that we are to provide charity to the town of Castarium,” said Simon. “It says nothing about vagabonds from other lands.”
<
br /> “I see,” said Ridmark. He looked at Flavius. “Refresh my memory, praefectus. Does not the charter say that the monks are to provide hospitality for travelers?”
“It does, my lord,” said Flavius, his voice and expression neutral.
Simon scowled at the praefectus. “Such things are beyond the concern of secular officials.”
“Which is why, I am sure, you have petitioned a secular lord for justice,” said Ridmark. A low chuckle went through the hall, and Simon shot a glare at the townsmen. “Well, this is a serious matter, so we shall investigate it thoroughly. Praefectus, do we have the thief in custody?”
“We do, my lord,” said Flavius.
“Then bring him here, so that we may question him,” said Ridmark.
Flavius murmured instructions to one of the men-at-arms, and the soldier strode off, vanishing through a side door. A woman pushed her way to the front of the crowds. She was tall and whipcord-thin, the sort of thinness that came from heavy labor and a long illness. The woman wore a faded dress of brown, and her hair hung in an iron-colored braid across her chest. Unless Ridmark missed his guess, this was Niall’s aunt, Rhiain.
He glanced again to the back of the hall and saw the blond woman watching the proceedings with a blank expression. Once more, that strange feeling of recognition tugged at him, but he could not seem to place her.
The soldier returned, leading a young man with his hands tied before him, and Ridmark took his first look at Niall of Ebor.
He was a young man, no more than twenty at the most, with vivid blue eyes and brown hair cut in a ragged shock. He wore a rough tunic, trousers, and leather shoes, and all his clothes were worn and patched. Niall seemed like a vigorous lad, the sort who could put in a full day of work on a farm, though like his aunt he looked underfed. He exchanged a look with Rhiain, her face full of fear, his with grim resolution, and he stopped before the dais and faced Ridmark.
“You are Niall of Ebor?” said Ridmark.
“Aye, my lord,” said Niall, speaking with a thick Cintarran accent. There was nothing disrespectful in his voice or stance, but neither did he look away from Ridmark.
“Prior Simon of the Monastery of St. Bartholomew has accused you of stealing two sheep and a pig from the monastery’s pastures,” said Ridmark.
“Aye, my lord, I’m no liar,” said Niall. “I did it. I took the animals, butchered them, and gave the meat to my neighbors from Ebor.”
“He admits it!” said Simon, leveling a finger at the younger man. “My lord, you have heard his confession of guilt, and I demand that you put him to death at once!”
“Do not presume to make my decisions for me, prior,” said Ridmark. Simon glowered but had the wit to remain silent. “Well, Niall of Ebor, you admitted your crime knowing full well that the monks would demand your head for it. Tell me what happened in your own words.”
“I acted alone, and without consulting anyone or telling anyone of my intentions,” said Niall. Rhiain’s lips pressed together, pain flashing over her expression. “I alone bear the guilt for my crimes, and I…”
“Yes, that’s very gallant, but that doesn’t answer the question,” said Ridmark. “Tell me what happened.”
Niall blinked, and for the first time, he looked unsure of himself. “Well…my aunt Rhiain was sick. It was a long journey from Ebor, and times were bad before that. I thought if she had some meat, some nice red meat, it would help her recover her strength. The bishop of Castarium has been giving us alms, bread and dried vegetables. It’s kept us from starving, but it’s not fare to help a sick woman recover her strength.” He took a deep breath. “I looked to see if anyone would sell us meat, but none would. We have no money, after all. I offered to work off whatever I took, but no one would listen.” Another deep breath. “So, I thought…well, once something is done, it’s done. I figured if I took some animals, and then offered to work off my debt, that would be better. I took two sheep and a pig from the pastures of the monastery. I slaughtered them and gave the meat to my aunt and the other sick people from Ebor, and I didn’t tell them how I had gotten the animals. When the monks’ shepherds came in pursuit, I told them what I had done, and offered to work as an indentured servant to pay of the value of the animals. The monks refused, and I think they wanted to kill me then and there. But the praefectus came with his men-at-arms and calmed everyone down, and he said I would have to wait for your judgment.”
“I see,” said Ridmark, looking at Simon. “Is he telling the truth? Did he make an offer to work for the monastery until the animals’ value was repaid?”
“What use was that offer?” said Simon. He was getting angry. Perhaps he had not expected Ridmark to speak with Niall. “These scum of Ebor are like locusts. If we let one of them take food, the others will descend upon us and strip our larders bare.”
Another angry rumble went through the townsmen.
“There are only fifty or sixty people camped outside the walls,” said Ridmark.
“Fifty-seven,” said Rhiain. Ridmark glanced at her, and she looked at the floor. “My lord. Fifty-seven of us. That’s all that is left from the two hundred who once lived in Ebor, till we were driven off our lands.”
“What happened to the rest of your people, Mistress Rhiain?” said Ridmark.
She met his gaze. “Some died of illness, or of the strain of the travel. Quite a few of the young men went to the city of Cintarra in hopes of making their fortune. And the red orcs killed some.”
Ridmark saw both Antenora and Calliande look at Rhiain, and Valmark frowned.
“Red orcs?” said Ridmark.
“Another rumor and a lie,” said Simon. “We…”
“Be silent, prior,” said Ridmark. “Mistress Rhiain, please elaborate.”
“Aye, we were attacked by red orcs on the road from Cintarra, my lord,” said Rhiain. “I’ve seen orcs from Rhaluusk and Khaluusk, and they’re friendly enough, so long as you show them no disrespect. But the orcs from the baptized kingdoms all have green skins. And I’ve never seen orcs with red hides before.”
“Were they truly red?” said Ridmark. “Or were they wearing war paint or perhaps tattooed, as the Mhorite orcs are?”
Rhiain shook her head. “No, they were red, my lord, red from head to toe. When they bled, their blood was this strange greenish-black color, like it was half-clotted already.”
“You fought them, then?” said Ridmark.
“My nephew can tell it better,” said Rhiain.
“There were a half-dozen of the red orcs,” said Niall. “They came up on the road about…aye, it was four days after we left Cintarra. They didn’t say anything, they just attacked. They killed eight good men, but I think they underestimated us. We managed to overcome them, and we went on our way. I kept one of their daggers since I lost my axe in the fighting.”
“The thief was found with a strange dagger,” said Simon. “Proof that he was consorting with pagan orcs. Or maybe even with raiders from the Deeps.”
“Unlikely,” said Ridmark, making no effort to keep the dry note out of his voice. “If Niall was consorting with raiders from the Deeps, we would have far more serious problems than missing sheep. Do you have this dagger?”
“Aye, my lord,” said Flavius. He murmured an instruction to one of the men-at-arms, and the soldier disappeared and returned a few moments later with a dagger. Ridmark took the weapon and looked it over.
He had never seen anything quite like it.
It was black and curved, almost like the claw of some beast. A strange, angular symbol that almost looked like a sunburst was carved into the blade just above the crosspiece. Ridmark did not recognize it. Perhaps it was a maker’s mark, but no smith in Andomhaim used a mark like that. He glanced at the soulblade hanging from his belt, but the weapon did not stir. There was no dark magic in the weapon.
“Calliande,” said Ridmark, looking at his wife. “Is there any magic in this weapon?”
“None,” said Calliande. She wore the mien of
the Keeper now, calm and composed. “There is no magic of any kind in the blade.”
“Lady Antenora,” said Ridmark. “You are learned in many secrets of lore. Please examine this weapon and tell me what you think once we have finished here.”
“Of course, Shield Knight,” said Antenora. She crossed to the dais, and Ridmark held out the dagger hilt-first. Antenora took the weapon and returned to Calliande’s side, turning the blade over with a look of intense concentration on her face. Ridmark had never seen a dagger like that, but Antenora was fifteen hundred years old, and she had delved deep into the lore and history of Andomhaim in the years she had resided on this world. Perhaps she had learned something that would let her identify the dagger.
“This is not relevant to the matter of dealing with the thief,” said Simon, scowling at Niall. “I have no doubt these commoners have concocted some fantastical tale of red orcs to justify their crimes.”
Ridmark felt a wave of irritation, which he kept from his voice. “Perhaps it is not a concern of yours, prior, but the Comes of Castarium is sworn to defend the town. And Niall of Ebor is not the first man to tell me a tale of red-skinned orcish marauders. If some new nation of orcs has found its way to Andomhaim or emerged from the Deeps, I doubt fear of either the church or God will stop them from sacking the monastery and slaying all the brothers within its walls. But you are right. It is not relevant to the matter of the theft. I have come to a decision on the matter.”
Silence fell over the hall. Ridmark saw Rhiain go as rigid as a statue.
“Niall of Ebor,” said Ridmark, “you have confessed to stealing two sheep and one pig from the monks of the Monastery of St. Bartholomew.”
Simon smiled. “Abbot Caldorman demands the execution of this thief to deter others…”
“I find that excessive,” said Ridmark. Niall blinked in surprise. “Niall of Ebor did not lie and made no attempt to conceal his act. Nor did he harm or injure anyone. The monastery has suffered a loss. Therefore, I will compensate the monastery for the lost animals. Niall of Ebor will enter my service until he has done sufficient work to pay off the debt.”
Dragontiarna: Knights Page 5
