And one last burst of laughter.
Diru ploughed ahead toward the depth of the woods, not really knowing where he was going or why, filled with misery and rage. Some day he would have his revenge, on Ria and Lenar and Hirol and Acker—on all of them, the adults who had always sneered at him, the youths who had mocked him since childhood. How, he had no idea, but he would have revenge!
Then the idea struck, and he froze, staring off into the trees, realizing just how he could have that revenge—and not a year or more from now, but tomorrow! He set off through the woods again, but with a sense of purpose now, going as quickly as he could toward the river.
THEY RODE INTO the town square, a rough circle perhaps a hundred feet across, surrounded by half-timbered three-story houses, each with a shop of some sort on the ground floor—but all were shut, and the townsfolk glum as they gathered around the scaffold set in the center of the square, its raw wood rough and uneven. At its left end rose a set of bleachers, separated from the scaffold by ten feet of space and fifty men-at-arms, their spears bristling—but their liveries were not those of Loguire. They matched the rich colors of the robes of the men who sat on the board seats, fine clothing of satins and velvets that displayed their wealth and power, and the swords at their sides proclaimed not only their military training, but also their readiness to use them to start a war if they didn't like the verdict.
Rod drew breath, chilled as he realized a rebellion could break out right here—or a civil war; he saw a dozen knights sitting on their horses at the far end of the scaffold with a score of men-at-arms behind them and many more sprinkled throughout the crowd. The judge had taken military precautions, but his own armed force wasn't going to prevent a battle. Only clear thought and keen judgement could do that.
Between the judge's high chair at the one end of the scaffold and Anselm and his allies at the other, stood the gallows. The late afternoon sunlight glistened on the golden chain hanging from it.
Rod stared. "I hadn't known we had come to witness Geordie's execution!"
"Nor had I." Rowena slipped off her horse's back; several of her guards leaped down to help her, but she was already climbing the rough stairs. "I must plead for him!" She almost ran to the young man who sat in the seat of judgement and threw herself to her knees, head bowed— but Rod took one look at that young man and knew how slim her chances were. Diarmid Loguire was supremely logical, and prided himself on his ability to banish emotion in his consideration of a problem.
Rod felt a chill wind blow that did not stir the leaves of the surrounding trees and had nothing to do with the weather. If clear thinking and sound judgement were all that could prevent a war from beginning here, they could all be in deep trouble. Rod had faith in Diarmid's ability to think clearly, but he wasn't so sure about his sense of judgement. Diarmid was not a people person.
Quickly, Rod scanned the others who stood on the platform. Nearest him stood three older men, all looking grim. In their center was a lean, clean-shaven, gray-headed man with a bitter face. Rod recognized him—the King's elder brother Anselm, attainted for treason, demoted to the rank of squire, and doomed to live out his life in obscurity. Rod had heard that Anselm had wed and would have loved to have met his wife, to see the amazing woman who had married a man doomed to a life of shame. She must have really loved him.
Behind Anselm and his colleagues stood a dozen men-at-arms in his livery. Rod felt his scalp prickle.
Then, looking toward the center of the platform, he saw a young man standing bare-chested with his hands tied behind his back, beneath the golden chain—a black-haired young man who was amazingly handsome. That must be Geordie, and suddenly Rod could see why Rowena had been attracted to him. Anselm's wife must have been a very unusual woman indeed, one who could have married much better than an attainted nobleman who could give her no better life than any yeoman could—for she must have been radiantly beautiful. Geordie certainly didn't get his looks from his dowdy father.
"Mercy, kind judge!" Rowena threw her veil back, looking up at Diarmid with wide eyes that glistened with tears, giving him the full benefit of her astounding beauty. "Have mercy on my husband, I beg you!"
There was a stir and a murmur among the lords behind Anselm—and another to answer it, among the men-at-arms, even from the knights and troopers behind Diarmid. In fact, the whole crowd seemed to breathe as every man sighed with admiration and longing. Lady Rowena's beauty moved them all, and her tragic tears and vulnerability made every man there long to leap to her defense.
Every man except Diarmid. With a quick glance, Rod saw the young man's eyes widen, saw his hands tighten on the arms of the great chair—but his voice was cool and calm as he said, "Milady, he has broken the law."
"My love, do not humiliate yourself before this heartless man!" Geordie cried as though his own heart would break.
Diarmid's eyes narrowed; his hands tightened further.
"There is no shame in pleading for my husband's life!" Rowena cried. "O kind judge, give him any punishment but death!"
"I would the law allowed it," Diarmid said in a far more sympathetic voice than Rod had ever heard from him. "I would I could give him back to you, but the law is clear, and he has himself admitted to poaching sixteen of the Crown's deer."
"Deer that should have been his!" Anselm cried, as though the words were torn from him. "The great lords have always had the privilege of hunting in the royal forests, and it is Geordie who should have been duke of Loguire, not his mealy-mouthed cousin."
"So he would have, if you had not robbed him of his place by your treason." Diarmid lifted his head to give his uncle a stony glare, and his guards took their pikes in both hands.
The men beside Anselm leaned in to mutter angrily to him, and the lords behind him loosened their swords in their sheathes—but they glanced at the knights behind the young duke, who seemed to strain forward; they glanced again at the guards beside Diarmid, the others who stood to either side of Geordie, and the thirty more who stood below the scaffold, pikes and halberds ready—and Anselm could only clench his fists in impotent fury.
Diarmid turned back to Rowena. "He has stolen sixteen of the Crown's royal deer, and must be hanged for any one of them. This is the law, and he has admitted his crime. I cannot pardon Geordie."
Anselm cried out in anguish and gripped the hilt of his sword, and the man at his side leaned in to mutter more urgently—but the attainted lord only stood trembling.
"Kind lord, can you not remit the law?" Rowena cried.
"If laws are cast aside, the kingdom shall fall into chaos and all shall suffer," Diarmid told her.
"I am with child!" Rowena cried.
Anselm groaned, and Geordie let out a cry of his own.
Twenty-Two
"ALAS. THAT MY HUSBAND MUST LEARN OF IT thus!" Tears flowed down Rowena's cheeks. "But I am sure of it—I shall bear a babe in seven months' time! Must I birth an orphan?"
"Oh, my love! Geordie started for her, but the guards yanked him back. He turned on them with savage fury, bound hands or no, but one of them caught him in a wrestling hold, and he could only struggle and curse.
"I grieve for you," Diarmid said solemnly, "but so long as I am duke of Loguire, neither you nor your child shall want for anything. Go back to your estate, lady, and tend your babe."
She stood and turned away, sobbing, to Anselm, who embraced her and cried over her head, "Heartless prince! Can you show no mercy even to your own cousin?"