Prydae hardly even realized that he was rubbing his hands with anticipation as he moved out into the warm summer night.
Whatever he might feel while witnessing this particular form of punishment, it would surely be exciting.
He noted that the brothers of Abelle were already at the clearing. Old Father Jerak and the others stood and sat off to one side, many with their heads bowed and hands folded in prayer. Not far from them stood Rennarq. Prydae knew that the man had come out here, though Rennarq was not acting as an official of the laird this night. Prydae's father wouldn't allow that, for where the Samhaists were concerned, he didn't consider Rennarq to be possessed of objectivity.
Most of the townsfolk were in attendance as well, even many of the children. That surprised Prydae for a moment, but then he realized the point of it all. Harsh justice demonstrated civilization, of course, and reinforced societal expectations of behavior. Let the children learn these lessons young, and learn them well, and perhaps fewer of them would find themselves in the same situation as the guilty woman.
The guardsmen set the chairs they had brought from the castle in the proper place at the left side of the large, flat stone that old Bernivvigar would use as his dais, the customary spot for the Laird of Pryd to bear witness. When Prydae took the chair center and forward of the others, the customary seat of his father, the gathering predictably began to murmur and whisper among themselves.
Prydae stood up and stepped forward. "Laird Pryd is taken ill this night," he said loudly, silencing them all, then he offered a reassuring smile and patted his hands in the air to calm the gasps and fearful exclamations. "A minor case of the gripe, and nothing more. Laird Pryd has bidden me to serve as the voice, the eyes, and the ears of Castle Pryd this evening."
Nods of assent and even some scant cheering came back at Prydae, and he took his seat once more. He recognized the importance of this night then, all of a sudden. He was the obvious heir to Pryd Holding, as his two older siblings were female. There were rumors of half brothers, but they were all by women Laird Pryd had never formally recognized as wives, and so had no claim to the throne. No, it was Prydae's to hold, and soon, too, he believed. Often of late he had seen the weariness in his father's face when the formalities of the day had ended. Prydae's exploits in battle were helping to smooth the way to his ascent but presiding over so important an event as this, he realized, was no less vital. The people of the holding had to believe in him as their protector and as their adjudicator.
Only then did Prydae understand the significance of his father's advice to not reveal his amusement at the spectacle.
The crowd stirred and went quiet as the minutes turned to an hour. The bonfire marking the clearing before the stone-the signal from Bernivvigar of the significance of this night-burned low, casting them all in dim shadows.
Finally, a tall, lean figure made its way down the forest path and out onto the flat stone. The Samhaist did not bend with age, as did Father Jerak and even Laird Pryd. And Bernivvigar was taller than almost any other man in Pryd, standing above six and a half feet. He had wild, almost shaggy, gray hair and a long, thin beard that reached halfway down his chest. He wore his simple light green robe, the Samhaist habit, and sandals that revealed his dirty feet and his red-painted toenails. He carried an oaken staff that was nearly as tall as he, with a knobbed end that made it look more akin to a weapon than a walking stick. A necklace of canine teeth framed his beard and clacked when he walked or when he turned quickly to settle his sharp gaze on one or another of the onlookers.
He looked at Prydae only once, gave a slight nod, then squared up to face the general gathering and lifted his arms high.
"Who claims grievance?" he called. The crowd went completely silent, all eyes turning to the left of the stone, near where the monks were sitting.
A young man, his face covered in snot, his cheeks streaked with tears, stepped forth from that area and staggered up before the stone and the Samhaist, which put his head about level with Bernivvigar's feet. "I do," he said. "I seen them." He brought his arm up and wiped it across his dirty face.
"Bring forth the accused woman," Bernivvigar commanded.
The crowd parted and a group of men-soldiers of the Laird all-forced a young man and woman forward, prodding them with spears and slapping them with the flat sides of bronze swords. Another man, a commoner, bearing a sack in one hand and a pole ending in a small noose in the other, came out after them and moved toward the low-burning fire.
Prydae gave a profound sigh at the sight of the accused. He knew them, the woman at least, and understood that they were young-younger than he at eighteen by two or three years. Callen Duwornay was her name; he knew her family. Startled, Prydae realized that Callen was the daughter of one of Castle Pryd's stablemen.
She was quite a pretty young thing, and Prydae had many times thought of taking her for a night of his pleasure, as the laird and his offspring were wont and legally entitled to do. Her soft hair was the color of straw, and it hung below her shoulders, cascading from her face in silken layers. Her eyes were not the customary blue of the folk but a rich brown hue-not dark, but true brown. Her smile was bright and even, and often flashed-there was a life and lustiness about her, a scent of womanhood and enthusiasm that all fit together, in light of these charges, to Prydae.
Such a waste, he thought, and he worked earnestly to keep his expression impassive. He was bearing witness and not passing judgment. Some traditions overruled even the desires of the son of the laird.
As soon as her hands were untied, Callen brought them up to brush back the hair from her face, but since she was looking down, it fell right back.
"And the other?" Bernivvigar instructed.
A young man, barely Prydae's age, his blue eyes darting about like those of a terrified animal, stumbled through, jabbed hard by a spear and off balance because his hands were tightly tied behind his back. He seemed as if he could hardly draw breath or as if he were about to burst into tears at any moment.
"Are these the two?" Bernivvigar asked the cuckold.
"Aye, that's the one," said the wronged husband. "Oh, I seen him. Right on top o' her! And I paid good money for her. Silver coin and three sheep."
"Which will be repaid in full-nay, thrice-of course," Bernivvigar said, aiming his words and his glare at the cheating young man. "Thrice!" he repeated strongly.
"Y-yes, yes, me lord," the man stammered and he tried to bow, but tumbled against the hard facing of the stone that served as the Samhaist's platform, then fell. The crowd began to laugh and taunt, but the monks kept praying, and Prydae did well to keep his composure.
"You will be working for years to pay off the debt, you understand," Bernivvigar said.
"All me life, if need be!"
"Then you admit your crime?"
The man, up on his knees now, chewed his bottom lip, then looked from the old Samhaist back to Callen.
Prydae watched him with great interest, noting the emotions tearing at him. The man obviously loved that young woman, and he knew of course what his admission would do to her. He would be branded and indebted, but that paled beside Callen's fate.
A long minute passed.
"We will need two sacks this evening," Bernivvigar said loudly, and the crowd cheered.
"Yes, I did it!" the accused man suddenly blurted, and he started to cry. "We did. Oh, but she bewitched me with her charms." He fell forward, facedown on the ground. "Pity, me lord. Pity."
On a nod from Bernivvigar, a pair of guards moved over and roughly pulled the groveling man aside.
"Have you anything to say, woman?" the Samhaist asked.
Callen didn't look up.
She knew she was doomed, Prydae observed. She had gone past hope now, had settled into that resigned state of empty despair.