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 thank 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?"