The Knight and The Healer: A Medieval Romance (8 page)
Read The Knight and The Healer: A Medieval Romance Online
Authors: Lorna Benson
The trial was one of the biggest events in several years. The number people from all walks of life clamoring to be in the audience far exceeded the Main Hall's capacity. Carpenters were working feverishly to add seating to the hall.
Laird Paul, in cases like this, acted both as judge and jury. Still, Paul had appointed a senior and well-respected knight to represent Celia. Sir Alistair Warner had accepted the challenge.
A single stool is set 21 feet in front of the larger and elevated seat of Sir Paul. Her defense adviser would sit off to the left of her stool, some six feet away. There is nothing else around her stool. It sits alone in the hall. To the right of Sir Paul's chair was an elevated box with three chairs. It had room for two more chairs but they are not present. Torches in brackets around the room lit the hall, filling it with the smell of smoke.
Attendees were fully garbed in black emphasizing the solemn nature of the trial. Many have arrived several hours before the scheduled start time. And many of whom brought food to stave their hunger. Vendors wandered through the crowd selling fruit and breads.
Finally, the carpenters had finished adding bleachers along the walls. With the bleachers completed, the massive doors opened to permit the entry of even more spectators. The new entrants entered single file and were clad in black, as well.
In a small adjacent room, Paul, Mal, Morgan, Beth and Meg conferred.
Paul was dressed in his most formal wear over which he was wearing a long black shawl. "I truthfully haven't decided what punishment to impose," Paul murmured. "I take this crime very seriously. I know she had this intense passion for Mal. Mal, what existed between you two. Did you ever bed her?"
"Absolutely not. On my honor as a knight, I swear to you I never touched her. In fact, I never even kissed her. I knew, of course, she had a fascination with me and somehow she got it into her head we were destined to marry. But, she and I never spoke of that and I went to some length to avoid her. Mainly, l just thought of her as a nuisance." Mal responded.
The Laird turned to Meg. "Meg, she was your principal lady-in-waiting. You knew her better than anybody. Did you not sense this unhealthy fascination in Mal.?"
"Paul, many women find Mal attractive, to me she was just one more girl craving his attentions. She was raised here in the castle since she was but six or seven. She went through the same training as dozens before her. She demonstrated organizational skills early on in her training and was promoted in advance of her classmates. Aside from a sizable ego, she did well in the training."
"She was always polite and willing to serve me. I've known her since you and I married and she was first assigned to me. Her sewing abilities are remarkable and I trusted her to repair my finest garments. But, the first inkling I had that something was amiss was when she created a scene during Mal's recovery. She attempted to order Beth to leave Mal in her care. That, of course, would have been a disaster. Mal, finally, had to order Celia to leave the room. Beth and I have talked about her and the trial. We both hope her life can be spared. Beth because she is a healer and tries to save lives and I because I have known her so well, we would find her execution to be very troubling. Of course, Sire, we know the decision is yours to make and yours alone." Meg concluded.
Sir Alistair arrived at Celia's cell. He was shocked to find her filthy, nude and cowering in a corner.
"Didn't you know her trial is set for this afternoon? You must get her ready for her trial. Sir Paul is waiting upstairs," he angrily said to the women jailers. "
"Nobody told us, Sire. It won't take us but a minute to get her ready." One of the guards came with a clean, well-worn gray smock. "Here, put this on," tossing the garment to Celia. Before she did, she used it to wipe her grimy face.
Her long brown hair, once a great source of pride, was a tangled mess. She reeked from feces. She had no leaves in her cell to use to wipe herself as was the practice. Her face was sallow and blank of expression. She just stared straight ahead, dark circles under her eyes, and not really seeing anything. She was silent.
Sir Alistair was shocked at what a fortnight in a dungeon had done to her. He thought if she continued to be confined, her life would be short. While he had no sympathy for her crime, he couldn't help but feel something for her present condition.
"At least, you can bring her warm water, soap, and some rags. She can't go before the Laird looking like this!"
When the bucket arrived, Celia stripped off the smock and began scrubbing her face and body. She turned to Sir Alistair and mumbled, "Thank you, sire."
When she was dressed again in the beautiful dress she was wearing when arrested, it was now wrinkled and hanging loosely. The guards placed shackles on her ankles and wrists.
After a time, one of the female guards declared "She's ready, sire." They opened the iron gate. Celia limped through the door and up the stairs with Sir Alistair leading the grim procession.
As they climbed the stairwell, Sir Alistair inquired "Do you wish to make an opening statement, Lady Celia, or shall I?"
"I wish you would be so kind," she whispered, her voice hoarse from days of silence and dehydration.
"When we arrive at the door, I will go in first. When I call you, go to the stool in front of the Laird. That is yours. I will take the chair to the left."
Slowly the procession made its way from the cellar dungeon to the main floor. When they arrived, a guard knocked on the door.
The guard announced in a loud voice "Sir Paul, I have the prisoner, Lady Celia Jones, ready for your judgment."
"Bring her in."
All conversation in the hall stopped at the sight of her. People remembered her as a vivacious beauty, not the shadow she was today. The weight of the irons caused her to shuffle as she slowly made her way across the hall and to her stool. She attempted a crude curtsy to Sir Paul before she sat.
"Lady Celia, you seem not to be well. Should we postpone this until you feel better?" Celia just shook her head no.
Sir Alistair rose and said "the accused has asked that I make her opening statement, your grace. She does not deny she hired one Tomas Hawtrey to ambush and kill Lady Elizabeth Duncan. She acknowledges the magnitude of the act and pleads a temporary imbalance. She did so as an act of rage over what she now sees was an unfounded belief of a relationship between Sir Malcolm McIvor and Lady Elizabeth. She apologizes to the Court, the Clan and Lady Elizabeth with great regret. She asks for mercy for what she now sees as a temporary madness and begs to be restored to her previous position."
"Woman, does that statement truly reflect your belief?"
"It does, sire," Celia answered.
"Please stand. Lady Elizabeth and Lady Margaret have both asked I spare your life, and I am inclined to do so."
There was an audible groan from the crowd, many of whom wanted to watch a death sentence executed today.
"However, I am mightily offended at your betrayal. You have shamed the clan and my wife, in whose service you were employed. I am not convinced under similar circumstances you might not try to seek vengeance again.
"If any member of the clan should provide you with any help or assistance, they will be punished with banishment themselves after receiving 40 lashes. Notice of your crimes will be sent to all nearby Lairds and the King, himself. What they may choose to do with you is up to them. May God have mercy on your soul. Thank you, Sir Alastair for your services. Guards remove the prisoner from our sight."
It had been two weeks since Sir Paul returned with his army. Quite a bit of work was involved in disbanding such a large group and replenishing the stock they'd consumed. Mal was at the heart of it. A page found Mal working in his quarters winding up the dispersal orders. "Sir Malcolm, I have a letter for you from a Mister Melchoir Dunlay. He just sent it earlier this afternoon." Mal gave the boy a few pence for his troubles and asked him to wait.
Malcolm took the parchment in hand and went back to his desk. He lit a taper, poured himself a mug of ale and began to read.
"To the Honorable Sir Malcolm McIvor
Dear Sir Malcolm: I have good news to report. Gavin and I think we may have located your broadsword, 'Intrepid'. As you suggested several weeks ago, we let it be known a sizable reward was available for information leading to its recovery. Finally, we heard something back from someone wanting to be anonymous.
It appears there's a somewhat notorious gang of thieves headed by a Jens Burnett. His chief lieutenant, Tage Sherin, has been heard bragging about the "fancy broadsword" he came by recently. We think it might be 'Intrepid'. We've run across Sherin before. He is a bad actor. Burnett and his people are known to hang out in Benson Woods, not far from Loch Barken.
I suggest we meet at the "Goat" for lunch Thursday to plan what you want us to do next.
Sincerely, your most humble and obedient servant, Melchoir Dunlay.
Mal could feel a sense of rage rising within him as he folded the parchment and tucked it in his sporran. He walked to the door and told the waiting page to tell Dunlay he would meet him as suggested. He had to find Morgan. He knew Morgan was spoiling for a fight since neither the sheep rescue or the King's abortive request resulted in any action. He shut the office and headed back to the castle.
He knew where to look. Morgan loved hanging out with the senior squires sharing war stories and quaffing ale. Mal went directly to the squires' dormitory. When he walked into the dingy room he could smell the sweat from the nearly constant workouts. Morgan was sitting at a table with a squire playing Nine Men's Morris. Two others were sitting on their bunks sharpening swords.
"Morgan, I'm glad I found you. I received a letter from one of the men I'd tasked with finding my broadsword. He thinks he's found something. Come with me on Thursday to lunch. We're going to discuss plans and could use you."
"Count me in, Mal. I'm more than ready to dispense some Klayloch justice."
"I think we need to talk to Paul. I think it will take us a couple of days and I want to take a small contingent with us."
Together they walked across the square and entered the keep. The guards, wearing white tunics emblazoned with a golden lion rampant, stood at the door and acknowledged the two. Paul and Meg usually could be found in their private solar on the fifth floor. The guard at the door knocked and entered. They could hear him announce their presence. The suite was the epitome of luxury. Beautiful tapestries covered the walls, imported furniture from fine craftsmen across Europe was strategically arranged around a firepit in which a fire was burning brightly. The faint smell of smoke filled the air. Five torches adorned the walls and produced enough light bright enough to read by.
The open bedroom door was visible through an archway. Inside, a large bed covered with furs dominated the room. The room was rumored to house a private commode built into the castle wall. Neither Mal nor Morgan had ever been invited into the bedroom.
The Laird and his wife were seated at a table stacked with a number of parchments. They were casually dressed in simple garments. As the men entered the room, they both jumped up and rushed to hug the two.
"Let's sit over here," directing the men to two chairs facing a long couch. The chairs are upholstered in a rich, decorative fabric and were as comfortable as they looked.
"I'd like you to read this letter I just received, Sire. It speaks for itself." He reached into his sporran and handed the parchment to Paul. He read it and passed it to Meg sitting beside him.
"I would like your permission to take Morgan, two knights, and two senior squires to check this out. We don't know if the sword is 'Intrepid' but it is worth checking. As you may recall, my broadsword is two-handed and a full five foot long, the blade is engraved with my clan's name McIvor. It will be easy to identify it. If it is 'Intrepid' of course, I would first attempt to buy the sword back at a fair price, but if that fails, I must take it by force. That may require liberating it from this gang of thieves. I don't think it will take more than forty-eight hours."
"I remember when your father sent the sword to my father to be presented to you when you became a knight. You were only seven at the time, but my dad kept it in safe-keeping for the fourteen years it took to earn knighthood. I can only imagine how important the broadsword is to you, so, of course, you can pursue this lead. I am concerned about this band of brigands preying on clan members under our protection so if you have to deal harshly with them, I think we would all benefit. Let me know when you and Morgan will be leaving. You go with my blessings."
"Thank you, Laird. Let's hope it is 'Intrepid' we've found."