Patricia Ryan - [Fairfax Family 01] (51 page)

“I am he.”

Matthew turned to the clerk. “Please note that Dr. Rankin is a physician and a teacher of the healing arts, that he received his medical education at Salerno and Paris, and that he enjoys a sterling reputation among his colleagues at the
Studium Generale
of Oxford. He has treated King Louis of France and King Henry of England, as well as many members of their royal houses.”

To Rankin he said, “My first question involves the herbal tonics that Lady Falconer gave to Edmond of Harford and Lady Estrude of Flanders. Father Simon claims they were provided to her by Satan for the purpose of causing impotence and death. The lady herself maintains that in both cases, ‘twas naught but a surgical sleeping draft. Do you know of such a draft, and its properties?”

The physician nodded. “There are several recipes for such drafts. Basically, they’re mixtures of various sedative herbs, and some are quite powerful. They can induce a very deep sleep with the right dose.”

“Is there anything demonic about such drafts, anything supernatural?”

Rankin chuckled. “Nay, Brother. They’re ordinary tonics, like any other. The medical community in Paris is well aware of them. I take it that’s where Lady Martine learned of hers.” Murmurs buzzed through the room; Father Simon scowled.

“One other matter, Master Rankin,” Matthew continued. “Do you know of any way to revive a child who has drowned?”

“Nay,” said Rankin, to Martine’s dismay. “Not if the child is truly dead. But if there’s a heartbeat, as I understand was the case with the child in question, and she isn’t dead, but merely appears so, then one can try breathing into her mouth...” His voice faded beneath the swell of exclamations from the onlookers. The bishop roared for silence, dismissed the witness, and called upon Father Simon to answer the physician’s statements.

“My lord bishop,” said the priest, “Lady Falconer’s knowledge of the healing arts and herbal potions in no way explains the charge of ligature, or impotence, against her present husband, Lord Falconer. For at no time have we claimed that she carried out such sorcery by means of a potion.”

“Then how
did
she induce this impotence?” asked the bishop. Although worded as a challenge, his slightly bored tone gave Martine the distinct impression that he already knew the answer. He and Father Simon had undoubtedly discussed these matters at length some time ago.

Simon had his answer ready. “The clever witch can tie knots in a piece of string or leather and hide it, thus hindering the vital spirit from flowing to her victim’s generative organs. In addition, ‘tis well known that demons—even minor demons such as Lady Falconer’s companion—can be employed to instill in a man an aversion for a woman so extreme as to impede carnal copulation. ‘Twas undoubtedly this second method that Lady Falconer used on her lord husband.”

Martine looked over her shoulder and saw Brother Matthew deep in whispered conversation with both Thorne and Geneva.

Bishop Lambert adopted an expression of curiosity. “Why is that?”

“Because by all accounts, the marriage in question is an unnatural union, devoid of affection of any kind—”

“By all accounts?” interrupted Brother Matthew, rising and pointing to Lady Clare. “By
one woman’s
account! Let me ask Thorne Falconer himself whether he has any affection toward—”

“Nay, my lord bishop!” Simon interjected. “She could influence his testimony with her evil eye. It mustn’t be permitted.”

“Father Simon is right,” the bishop decreed. “We couldn’t credit his statement.”

Brother Matthew strode to the front of the room. “Then let me question the Lady Geneva, Countess of Kirkley.”

“Nay!” Father Simon exclaimed. “She knows nothing of these matters.”

“Perhaps,” Matthew smoothly suggested, “Bishop Lambert would prefer to be the judge of that.”

The bishop speared the priest with a poisonous look. “Perhaps he would.” Sighing heavily, he gestured toward the prior. “Make it quick.”

Geneva came forward.

“My lady countess,” Brother Matthew began, “were you present in the great hall of Harford Castle on an afternoon shortly after Lady Falconer’s arrest, when Lord Falconer came to discuss certain matters with your brother, Bernard?”

“I was.”

“Would you describe that conversation?”

“Lord Falconer offered my brother his barony in exchange for retracting his charges against Lady Falconer.”

The room filled with excited conversation. Stunned, Martine wheeled around on her stool. Thorne met her gaze, and she saw in his eyes that it was true—he
had
been willing to give up Blackburn for her. Then he grinned, and she realized her awestruck expression amused him.

“Silence!” Bishop Lambert commanded, adding, this time with a touch of weariness, “Lady Falconer, turn around.”

Brother Matthew glanced toward Martine, then asked Geneva, “Did Lord Falconer say why he was willing to sacrifice so much so that his wife’s life might be spared?”

Geneva nodded, her eyes shimmering. “He said he loved her.” She met Martine’s eyes. “With all his heart.”

Again the room erupted in conversation, but Martine was oblivious to it. In a daze, she turned again, and found Thorne looking at her, his eyes filled with the same intensity, the same yearning, that they had held in the dream. The bishop bellowed something. Hands grabbed her and pulled her to her feet.

“Is it—is it over?” Martine asked the guard as he led her out of the room and down the hall.

“All but the formal verdict, milady. The bishop wants everyone back here tomorrow morning. He’ll announce it then.” He smiled. “Don’t you worry none. From the looks of it, they ain’t got much of a case against you. You’ll be a free woman by noon tomorrow, mark my words.”

*   *   *

No sooner had Martine taken her seat on the little stool the next morning than Bishop Lambert cocked a chubby finger at her. “Lady Falconer, rise and approach me.” She walked on quaking legs to stand before the high throne.

The bishop looked displeased, and drained. She wondered whether this was good or bad. He cleared his throat; the clerk inked his pen. “As to the offenses of ligature, raising the dead, and murder by poison, I find evidence of demonic involvement to be inadequate, and I therefore declare you innocent of the charge of heresy.”

Martine closed her eyes and breathed a silent prayer of thanks.

Many of the onlookers cheered. She turned and saw Thorne grin at her as Matthew slapped him on the back.

One voice rose above the others. “My lord bishop!” It was Father Simon coming through the doorway, his black robes flapping as he sprinted to the front of the chamber. Bernard followed at a more relaxed pace. He caught Martine’s eye and nodded; a chill crept up her spine.

“If it please my lord bishop,” Simon implored breathlessly, “we have another witness!”

The bishop scowled. “‘Tis a bit late for this, Father. I’ve just declared her ladyship innocent of all charges.”

“But we have a new charge, and this witness—”

“This is outrageous!” Thorne declared.

“A
new
charge?” Matthew exclaimed, rising. “We had no notice that there would be—”

“
Silence!
” the bishop roared. “Monk, take your seat—and see that Lord Falconer keeps his counsel. Sir Bernard, Father Simon—you may approach me.”

The three men spoke in hushed tones for some time. Finally the bishop waved them away and announced, “It appears that God’s interests would be served by allowing this witness to speak.”

Father Simon left the chamber and returned with three men, two of whom he directed to a bench; the third, he led to the front of the room. He was large and hulking, his face disfigured by boils, his gaping mouth revealing many absent teeth. Martine recognized him immediately.

“This man is named Gyrth, my lord bishop,” said the priest. “He’s the pilot of a merchant longship called the
Lady’s Slipper
. ‘Twas his craft that brought the Lady Falconer and her brother from Normandy last August.”

The bishop nodded. “Proceed with your questioning.”

“I’m afraid he can’t answer my questions, my lord bishop, except by nodding or shaking his head.”

“Very well. Get on with it.”

Simon turned to the pilot. “You are mute, are you not?” Gyrth nodded. “Were you always so?” He shook his head. “Is it not a fact that you were struck dumb shortly after transporting Lady Falconer across the Channel last summer?” Another nod. “Is it not also true that, during the crossing, the lady hexed you when you objected to the tempest she had raised? That she claimed she would use her powers to silence your tongue forever?” Again the pilot nodded.

Simon summoned the two other men, one very large, the other very small. It took Martine a moment to recognize them as the two sailors who had been wide-eyed witnesses to her unfortunate outburst on the deck of the
Lady’s Slipper
. The priest asked first one, and then the other, “Were you present when Lady Falconer cursed this man’s tongue?” Both seemed hesitant, but finally said that they were.

The big one glanced toward Martine, exchanged a quick look with the other, and then said, “Father, if I may, there’s something—”

“You may not!” shouted the bishop. “You may answer questions put to you, and that is all.”

“But I just—”

“Disrespect for these proceedings carries punishments of its own. If you want to keep your tongue, I suggest you hold it.”

The witness bowed his head and mumbled, “Yes, my lord bishop.”

Matthew stood as Gyrth and the two sailors were led away. “My lord bishop, I’d like to ask them some—”

“I’m sure you would, brother Matthew, but this trial is now concluded.”

“Concluded!”

“I’ve reached my decision. Take your seat. You, too, Father Simon.” The two clerics sat down. “Lady Falconer...” He gestured her to stand before him, and she obeyed.

The bishop sighed heavily and nodded to his clerk, who commenced to record his words. “It is my judgment that the man known as Gyrth was rendered mute through the workings of sorcery, that you are responsible for such sorcery, and furthermore that such sorcery savors of heresy. Inasmuch as it is written in Exodus, ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,’ and in Leviticus, ‘A man or woman that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death,’ and inasmuch as death by fire most suits the heretic, who will, after all, spend eternity in flames, I therefore sentence you to death by burning at dawn tomorrow, the fourth day of June, the year of our Lord...”

The roar of blood in Martine’s ears was echoed by a roar or disbelief and shock from the onlookers, who rose and began to press in on her. Guards surrounded her, turned her around, and swiftly guided her to the door. Dazed, she couldn’t feel the floor beneath her feet or the guards’ hands as they gripped her arms. Other guards cleared a path through the crowd for them. Matthew stood on a bench, shouting, “This is unconscionable! You can’t do this! She must be allowed to appeal to Pope Alexander!”

She heard her name being yelled.
Thorne!
She looked and saw him being wrestled from the room, his long arms reaching toward her through those of the guards who had overpowered him. “Martine!” he screamed. “Martine!”

Someone stepped in front of her, halting her progress through the throng: Bernard stood perfectly still in the midst of the mayhem surrounding them. He said, “They built the pyre already, you know, outside the city near the marshes. Our clever Father Simon made certain the wood was green.” His mouth smiled; his eyes remained dead. “Green wood makes for a slow fire. It could take all morning for you to die. Think on that tonight while you’re trying to sleep.”

From inner reserves Martine had never known she possessed came the strength to lift her chin, look Bernard in the eye, and say, “Whatever agony I may suffer will last at most a few hours, and then I’ll die and my suffering will end. You’ll die someday, too, but ‘tis then your suffering will truly begin, for you’ll burn not for a few hours, but for eternity.” She even managed a smile, to Bernard’s evident amazement. “Think on that while
you’re
trying to sleep tonight.”

*   *   *

She did not smile as she knelt on the straw pallet in her little cell that evening, praying as best she could while waiting for the priest she had summoned.

“Any priest in particular?” the guard had asked.

“Anyone but Father Simon,” she had said.

She felt proud of her performance before Bernard that afternoon, a performance that, quite satisfyingly, had left the son of a bitch speechless. Of course, it had all been false bravado. She felt far from calm and not remotely brave. She was, in fact, terrified through and through. The only way she’d been able to keep her senses was to put her situation out of her mind, not to dwell on her fate, as Bernard had hoped she would do, but to think of other things... of her beloved Rainulf, thousands of miles away, seeking faith among the infidels.
God, don’t let him grieve too much when he discovers what became of me
, she prayed.
Make him strong; temper his pain
.  She thought of her home, the first home she had ever truly considered her own, the home she had loved and would never see again. And she thought of Thorne, whose arms would never more embrace her, whose ears would never hear the words that she should have said long ago, and now would never have the chance to.