Chapter 27 #2
For this purpose, it would be good if Renald were pure wolf, able to kill without qualm. But he had a soul, in many ways a gentle one, and killing pained him, particularly the cold-blooded, judicial kind.
She remembered thinking that she would protect the ones she loved, but she saw no option here for hitting anyone over the head with a rock.
“Well?” asked Felice. “I know you have to think everything through ten times over, Claire, but really.”
“We had best tell Renald.”
“And then, I assume, we will have to explain it all to the king.” She rose, smiling, complacently sure that the King of England would be impressed by her courage and beauty.
Touched by the rising sun, the stands held only grim-faced men—and Claire and Felice.
As accusers, they were obliged to be here.
At the hearing before the king, Renald had tried to assume the role of accuser, but the king had disagreed.
No penalty would hover over the Summerbourne ladies, since their story was clearly not based on malice, but every man had the right to face his accusers at all times.
Felice seemed to be quite looking forward to the fight.
Claire’s eyes were hot from weeping. The tears were mostly for Eudo, who had clung to his claim of innocence, but who had struggled desperately not to face any kind of ordeal. It had not been a pretty scene.
Renald had turned somber. She didn’t blame him.
She knew he would hate what he had to do, and could only pray that he wouldn’t hate her for it.
She would have liked to comfort and receive comfort from him, but she hadn’t seen him since late the day before.
An ordeal was a holy rite. The participants must fast, pray, and take the host before asking God to stand in judgment.
Her heart ached at the thought of how Renald had first come to Summerbourne. After a night of fasting, and a tragic duel, he’d made a long, storm-pounded journey to face the family of the man he’d killed. Why had she seen only harshness then? Why had she not seen the anguish?
Her heart ached even more with worry. What if they were wrong? What if Eudo was innocent?
She’d put that to Renald in the last words they’d spoken. “What if he’s innocent?”
“He’s not. His guilt hangs around him like a stink.”
“We can’t be sure. I’ll die if I’ve sent you to your death.”
He’d held her close, even laughing. “Claire, if you don’t have faith in me, have faith in God. He will not kill an innocent man in a holy rite.”
His faith shamed her. She sat in the stands, praying for the same certainty.
She was hating this in simple terms, too. It had been bad enough watching a show fight. She did not want to witness a fight to the death. Anyone’s death.
She was shaking by the time the men walked out into the open space. FitzRoger had taken the seat beside her, and he put a steadying hand over hers. She wished she could cuddle into him like a child, but she must keep her dignity for Renald’s sake.
Men-at-arms stood around to form the rough circle. By the king’s order, no casual spectators were permitted at this trial.
Renald was all wolf. Why had she forced him to this?
But no. Eudo had forced this battle by maintaining his innocence. A plea of guilty might even have led to the mercy of exile, but he’d clung to innocence with the blank desperation of a drowning man.
He was pale now, his eyes flickering as if seeking some escape. She ached for him, and for his family. But mostly she ached for what opposing such fear would mean to Renald. It would be like slaughtering the Michaelmas goose, without honor or dignity.
Unless, of course, they were wrong and God strengthened Eudo’s arm.
Once the men stood before the king, the crier stepped forward.
“Hear ye, hear ye! Eudo, Lord Sheriff of Dorsetshire, sworn to uphold the king’s peace and law, stands here accused of the murder of his man, Gregory, and of one Ulric of Summerbourne, and of the attempted murder of the Lady Claire of Summerbourne, and of brigandry on the king’s highway.
Eudo, Sheriff of Dorsetshire, how plead you? ”
“Not guilty.” But it came out hoarse.
“Who stands to support this accusation?”
“I, Lord Renald of Summerbourne,” said Renald firmly. “I claim the right both as Lord of Summerbourne and thus protector of the man Ulric, and as husband of Claire of Summerbourne, my right worthy lady.”
“Do you both call upon God,” the crier demanded, “to use your bodies to prove justice and right?”
“I do!”
“I do!” But Eudo sounded merely hopeless. Surely, thought Claire, that was proof of his guilt.
Merciful Christ, let it be over quickly.
A priest came forward and gave both men a cross to kiss, then sprinkled them with holy water, chanting a blessing. Then the priest anointed them both with holy oil. Eudo began to shake.
When the priest stepped back, the crier announced, “May God show the truth of your cause!” and the king raised his hand.
The two men drew their swords and turned to face one another. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Eudo slowly sagged to his knees, sword and shield sinking to the ground as if too heavy to be borne.
Was it surrender, or a plea for mercy? There could be no mercy at this point.
Renald swung his mighty sword and beheaded him.
Just like that.
Claire stared at the dismembered body, at the spreading pool of blood, then realized Renald had given his sword to Josce for cleaning and was coming to kneel before the king. FitzRoger had her hand tight in his. She suspected it was to stop her from flinging herself weeping into her husband’s arms.
The king raised Renald and kissed him. “We thank you for your service in defense of justice in our realm.” Then he turned and left, his great lords following. FitzRoger raised Claire and led her to Renald, who was pushing back his coif and looking remarkably unaffected.
“I definitely must get myself one of those swords,” said FitzRoger, passing Claire over. “I’ll escort the Lady Felice back to the keep. Walter of Daventry, you suggested?”
“He’s big and in the king’s favor. He has children from his first marriage, but only girls. Felice would have the chance to provide the heir. And he’s fair but won’t put up with nonsense.”
When FitzRoger had left with Felice, Renald wrapped a mailed arm around Claire and they followed. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, love.”
She was shaking, but tried to match his tone. “At least it was quick.”
“As I said once, I’m good at killing.”
“Don’t!” But then she looked up at him. “You really don’t mind, do you?”
He grimaced. “Should I pretend otherwise? I’d have honesty between us. Killing your father was wrenching, but Eudo was no loss to the earth. Such a string of venal crimes sickens me.”
Something was bothering her. “Did he admit guilt at the end? Should he not have been offered mercy?”
“Claire, once into the ordeal, the only legal mercy would have been maiming and the loss of all his rights. There’s justice in that, but no kindness.”
Claire looked back to where Eudo’s men were taking away his body. She crossed herself. “God have mercy on his soul.”
“Amen.” He stopped to look at her. “It’s a long day’s journey back to Summerbourne, wife, but I’d like to make it. I want to be there, with you, in peace and harmony.”
“Oh yes, please!” She pulled a face. “For one thing, the queen’s demanding more riddles!”
Summerbourne sat placidly under an opalescent evening sky, thatch dry after days of sun, work over for the day. All the same, people swarmed out to welcome their lord and lady home.
The great gates stood open as they generally did, and so Claire, Renald, and their escort rode in to the dusty bailey, into a milling throng of animals and people.
Lady Agnes was sitting outside enjoying the evening air. Her sharp eyes studied them, and then she smiled. Claire slid off her horse and went over. “Yes, everything has worked out well, Gran.”
“Thought it would. What of Felice, then?”
“She’s staying for a few days. We have hopes of a certain Lord Walter of Daventry, a mighty man of middle age and lusty appetites.”
“I see. And Thomas?”
“Sniffled a bit at parting, but seems to be having a wonderful time. In between beatings.”
Lady Agnes chuckled. “And what happened to Eudo the Sheriff?”
Claire told her the story, and her grandmother nodded. “Right and proper. So, with your mother at St. Frideswide’s, and Amice doubtless soon to join Felice, you’ve just me cluttering up the place.”
Claire leaned down to kiss her. “What would I do without you, Gran? This is your home, and you’ll always have your place by the hearth.”
She looked around and saw Renald over by the pigsties. She joined him in watching a litter of piglets chase around squealing. “I hope they won’t have to meet their fate so soon.”
He turned to wink. “Perhaps I like suckling pig.”
“Perhaps, my lord, you can be contented by merely suckling.”
His brows rose. “Such sacrifice just for pigs?”
She hooked a finger over his big belt and pulled him to her. “Who said anything about sacrifice?”
He captured her hand and freed himself. “Wife, I think it’s time we established some decorum in Summerbourne. We will wait until nightfall. There must be plenty of work to be done after our absence, especially with Felice away for days.”
“Oh, very well.” Claire looked around. “Let’s see. I believe I was intending to show you the middens …”
“Ah. On the other hand”—he took her hand and drew her toward the manor house—”I suddenly see the virtues of a very early night.”