Several men came by, leading captured horses. The men were laughing and joking with one another. Call moved past them. The tents of the Varlish were still standing, and Call could smell soup. He strolled to one of the cook fires. A cauldron of broth was bubbling there.
An hour earlier, men who were now dead had been looking forward to breakfast. Now it was the crows and the foxes who would feast. Aye, and later the worms, thought Call darkly. To the rear of the camp was a picket line and a group of wagons. Some twenty ponies were tethered there.
Call's broken arm was paining him as he turned back towards the cannons. As he picked his way through the bodies he heard someone moan. Glancing down he saw a young musketeer, barely more than a boy, who had been stabbed in the belly, his entrails beside him on the ground. Call drew his dirk and cut the boy's jugular. 'Should have stayed home a while longer with your mam,' he said, heaving himself to his feet with a sigh.
Rayster and Bael returned. 'We lost just seventeen men,' said Bael. 'Another thirty-three wounded, only six badly. It was a great victory, Father.'
'Aye, it was,' said Call, forcing a smile. He had no wish to dent their pride, nor let them know how hollow this victory would feel in a month's time. He looked at Rayster. 'Gather some men and collect the Varlish stores and weapons. Get them back to the valley. I doubt the enemy will march against us today. But they might. So do it swiftly. Bael, you organize the movement of the cannons. Use the captured horses to haul half of them back into the pass. The other ten should be taken to bolster our northern defences.'
'Prisoners, Father,' said Bael, pointing back to the hills. Clansmen were herding around twenty musketeers down to the low ground.
'Have them brought to me,' said Call.
Rayster ran across to the men guarding the musketeers. Moments later the prisoners shuffled forward to stand before Call Jace. Their eyes were fearful. Some were trembling, and one man's breeches were stained with urine.
‘I bear you no hatred,' said Call, 'and not one of you will be harmed. So relax now. Many of your comrades are wounded. Some will die. Others can still be saved. I will leave you two wagons and some supplies. Tend the wounded, then get them away from here.'
With that he turned away from the astonished prisoners and strode to where Arik Ironlatch was supervising the stretcher men. They lifted the unconscious Kaelin and began to carry him away.
'You think he will live?' asked Call.
'He will or he won't,' said Arik.
'I don't know why I bother to ask you anything,' muttered Call.
'You are in a sour mood,' observed Arik. 'Do you know why?'
'Of course I know why.'
'Aye, so do I, Call Jace. You are getting ahead of yourself, man. Tomorrow's evils are not our concern now. There is nothing we can do about them. So enjoy the day. It was hard won.'
'Seventeen clansmen are dead, Arik. Seventeen men with families and loved ones.'
'I know that, Call. Saeka was one of them. He fell from the cliff in the night. I did not know until the dawn.'
Call gave out a deep sigh, and laid his hand upon Arik's shoulder.
'Your son was a fine man. I liked him greatly. I mourn with you, Arik.'
'Fathers should not outlive sons, Call. It is against the order of nature. My heart is broken, but I will still enjoy this day. You hear me? On this day Rigante courage overcame the might of the Varlish. We did not yield. We did not beg for mercy. So I am proud today, Call. Proud of my son, and proud of my people. I like to think that somewhere, far along the Swan's Path, Connavar is proud too, and Bane, and Calofair, and all the heroes of the Rigante.' There were tears in the old man's eyes, and his voice broke.
Call felt his tension and brooding fears drain away. 'Tonight we'll get drunk together,' he said. 'I have a cask of forty-year-old uisge. We'll toast the fallen, and salute the day.'
Arik brushed the tears from his eyes. 'Aye,' he said, 'we'll do that.'
The first morning of the trial of Maev Ring was filled with legal arguments concerning the presentation of evidence, the legality of the affidavit of Gillam Pearce, and the presence of two clerics, hired by Alterith Shaddler to document the statements of witnesses.
The Holy Court galleries were packed, and twenty armed guards stood by the entrances and exits. The bishop, in ceremonial robes of purple and white, sat at the centre of the Judgement Table, flanked by three senior abbots, and two court-appointed clerics.
The first news of the day was that the body of the bootmaker, Gillam Pearce, had been discovered in a side street that morning. He had been disembowelled and beheaded.
Alterith Shaddler had learned this only when presenting Gillam's affidavit to the court.
'The affidavit is signed and witnessed,' said Alterith, 'and according to the law can still be recorded. I also have statements from the witnesses testifying that the affidavit is exactly as Gillam wrote it. It cannot be denied.' He glanced across at the four Knights of the Sacrifice, who were standing alongside the Judgement Table. Turning to face them he continued: 'The fact that vile and evil men, seeking to pervert the cause of truth and justice, have murdered him should not prevent his statement being heard.'
The bishop lifted a gavel and hammered it three times upon a wooden block. 'You will address the Judgement Panel, Master Shaddler.'
'Which Judgement Panel would that be, my lord?' replied Alterith. 'The Panel of the Holy Court, or the Panel of Murderers who stand alongside it?'
'How dare you?' thundered the leader of the knights, stepping forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
'Here is my head,' shouted Alterith Shaddler, touching his brow, 'and here is my belly. I doubt you have the courage to strike either while witnesses are present, you vile cur! You are a disgrace to the armour you wear. You are abhorrent to me - and to every Varlish who entertains notions of honour.'
'Be silent!' raged the bishop. 'One more outburst, Master Shaddler, and I shall have you removed from the court.'
Alterith, white-faced and trembling, took several deep breaths. Then he bowed to the bishop. 'The affidavit of Gillam Pearce is hereby offered in evidence according to the law.'
The bishop gestured to Arlin Bedver. The pot-bellied cleric rose and bowed. 'Do you have any objection to the affidavit being presented?' asked the bishop.
'No, my lord. The law is the law. However, the observation I would make is that since there will be no opportunity to question Master Pearce, there is no way to tell whether the affidavit was made while under the bewitchment of the accused.'
'True,' said the bishop. 'Let it be recorded then.'
Alterith stepped forward and placed the scroll on the Judgement Table. The bishop glared at him balefully. 'Tell me, Master Shaddler,' he said, 'why there are two clerics scribbling at your table.'
'They are documenting all that is said, my lord.'
'We already have clerics attending to that task. Are you suggesting they are not to be trusted?'
'Not at all, my lord. It would be churlish in the extreme to suggest that this panel was so corrupt that it would doctor the evidence to see an innocent woman convicted. It would be unseemly of me to even hint at such a grotesque perversion of justice.'
'Then why do you have clerics at your table?' asked the bishop, ignoring the heavy sarcasm of Alterith's comments.
Alterith Shaddler returned to his table and lifted a heavy tome.
Finding the marker he opened the pages. 'According to chapter seven, clause twenty-six of the Articles of Holy Law, an advocate may hire up to three clerics to record the evidence. This is, apparently, to offset any - honest - mistake made by court-appointed scribes. It is my intention to send all documents to Varingas so that the events of these proceedings achieve a far wider audience.'
Maev Ring stood quietly during the discussions, her wrists chained, her lungs burning with the smoke from the incense pot carried by the priests alongside her.
'May it please the court,' said Arlin Bedver, 'I wish at this time to p
resent a petition from Sir Gayan Kay, of the Holy Order of the Sacrifice.'
'Do so,' said the bishop.
Alterith surged to his feet. 'I object, my lord,' he said.
'How can you object when you haven't heard the nature of the petition?' asked the bishop.
'These knights have no knowledge of Maev Ring, and are strangers to Eldacre. What then can they bring to this trial?'
'Let us hear the petition and find out,' replied the bishop.
'Thank you, my lord,' said Arlin Bedver. 'Sir Gayan offers to use his considerable expertise and experience to test Maev Ring. He has, in the past, elicited confessions from witches, bringing a speedy conclusion to such affairs, thus saving the courts both time and expense.'
Alterith's laughter pealed out. 'Are you now suggesting that these . . . monsters ... be allowed to torture Madam Ring into confession? Have you no shame, Master Bedver?'
'That comment will not be recorded!' stormed the bishop.
'All comments are recorded, my lord,' said Alterith. 'I would have thought that the mountain of lies already gathered to support this trial would be enough for Master Bedver. Such, it seems, is not the case.'
His face crimson, the bishop rose to his feet. 'I find your comments discourteous to this court,' he said. 'And I sentence you to twenty lashes, this sentence to be carried out when the trial is over. Any more outbursts and I will add to that sentence. Do you understand that, Master Shaddler?'
'I do, my lord.' Alterith sat down, and began to leaf through the Articles of Holy Law. Arlin Bedver continued with his petition, bringing forward Sir Gayan Kay to explain the nature of the tests he would use to persuade the truth from Maev Ring. Alterith made no move to interrupt, but continued to study the tome before him.
Sir Gayan Kay, in full ornamental armour of silver plate, his broadsword by his side, told the court that witches were always demon-possessed, and that the only way to reach the truth was to drive the demon - albeit temporarily - from the body. This was done by the application of pain. Demons, being cowardly by nature, could not tolerate such pain, which left the human host able to answer questions with honesty.
Alterith tried to shut his ears to the nonsense as he scanned page after page of the Articles. Finally he found the section he needed. It came under the heading of Trials by Ordeal. He read it swiftly.
Sir Gayan concluded his statement and stepped back. The bishop conferred with the two abbots. Then he spoke. 'We will allow Sir Gayan to conduct his examination this afternoon,' he said.
Alterith rose. 'May it please the court, I refer once more to Holy Law. Questioning under ordeal can only take place with the consent of the civilian authorities. Therefore no questioning under physical duress can take place without the permission of the Moidart. Any such questioning undertaken without permission would be in breach of the law, the results voided.'
'With the court's permission,' said Arlin Bedver, 'I could petition the Moidart for approval?'
Alterith watched the bishop intently. The Moidart had already found Maev Ring innocent of all charges. The bishop knew this. An application to the Moidart would almost certainly be refused.
'That will not be necessary, Master Bedver,' he said, at last. 'We will delay no longer. Are your witnesses ready to give evidence?'
'They are, my lord.'
'Then let us move on.'
By the evening recess Alterith's early jubilation at his successes was severely dented. Five witnesses had so far given evidence against Maev Ring, their testimonies - at least to Alterith Shaddler - appearing ludicrous in the extreme. One man had spoken of dreaming of a white goat which spoke to him, following the afternoon when Maev Ring had become his partner. After that, he said, he had felt compelled to abstain from church and became filled with the desire to frequent brothels.
What surprised Alterith, who felt like laughing out loud, was that no-one in the galleries seemed to find the evidence amusing. The spectators sat in grim silence, listening intently to every word.
'How many dreams did you have of this white goat?' asked Alterith.
'Several,' replied the witness, a thin man named Nade Holder, a ' carpet maker from the northern quarter.
'And at what point did you begin to believe that the goat dream was a direct result of your partnership with Maev Ring?'
'I don't understand.'
'Shall I speak more slowly?'
'I was bewitched by her,' said Holder. 'She cast a spell to steal my business.'
'Would it surprise you, Master Holder, were I to tell you that I have statements claiming you have been visiting whorehouses for years?'
The man blinked and licked his lips. 'But not as often as I have done since the spell was cast,' he said.
'So it was not a spell that first sent you to prostitutes?'
'It was the devil tempting me,' said Holder. He pointed at Maev Ring. 'She is a servant of the devil.'
'When did this become apparent to you? Two years ago when first she supplied you with capital to expand your business? A year ago when you began making handsome profits? When exactly?'
Holder looked uncomfortable. 'I suppose it was when Parsis Feld died. Yes, around that time.'
'After you had spoken to Jorain Feld?'
'About the same time, yes.'
'I see. So it was not when you dreamed of goats, or when you were rutting with whores, or when you were counting the large profits you had made from Maev Ring's business acumen. How very revealing, Master Holder. How much do you expect to profit by this prosecution? Will it be worth ten pounds to you? A hundred? How much?'
'I never gave it a moment's thought,' said Holder. 'I am only here to do my civic duty.'
Alterith laughed scornfully. 'You are scum, Holder. Of the worst kind. You are an ingrate and a liar, a whorer and a villain.'
'Here, he can't talk to me like that!' said the outraged Holder.
'Indeed he cannot,' said the bishop. 'You will apologize for that outburst, Master Shaddler.'
'I would sooner dine on dog's vomit,' Shaddler told him.
'Another twenty lashes will be your reward, you impudent rascal!'
'Thank you, my lord. I have no more questions for this witness. He may now crawl back under the rock from whence he came.'
'And another twenty!' shouted the bishop.
The following morning Arlin Bedver called Jorain Feld to the stand. Feld was a sallow-faced individual in his late twenties. Tall and stooping he stood in the witness box, his long thin hands clasped together as if in prayer. His voice was deep and sepulchral. Under Bedver's questioning he told how his father, Parsis, had become a changed man in the years since he had been in partnership with Maev Ring. He had taken to strong drink, and to visiting houses of low repute. His language had coarsened, and he had begun to gamble heavily. Once, while drunk, he had told Jorain he had 'sold his soul for the sake of his business'.
In cross-examination Alterith asked him at what point he had begun to believe that witchcraft was responsible for his father's condition.
'As soon as we discovered he had given half of his business to an ill-bred highlander,' he answered.
‘I see. Why was it, then, that when you petitioned the Moidart, you said nothing about witchcraft? You asked the Moidart to rule on the legality of the business dealings. You suggested Maev Ring might be guilty of owning pistols. But not sorcery, Master Feld. Why was that?'
'I don't have to answer to you,' Feld told him.
'You do, Master Feld. That is the beauty of the Varlish legal system. While you stand in that box you will answer to me, and to Master Bedver, and to the bishop and his panel. Later you will answer to a higher authority. One day, Master Feld, you will stand before the Source of All, and you will answer Him too.'
'My conscience is clear. The woman bewitched my father. She will pay for it.'
'Do you support the church, Master Feld?'
'I do.'
'Have you made donations to it?'
'Yes.'
'When was the most recent, and for how much?'
'I do not see what that has to do with anything,' answered Feld, transferring his gaze to the bishop.
'Nor do I,' said the bishop. 'Where is this leading, Master
Shaddler?'
'It is my understanding that Master Feld made a donation of five hundred pounds on the day that Maev Ring was arrested, my lord. I find the timing interesting, and wished to see that it was placed on record.'
The bishop sat very quietly, and a silence fell over the courtroom. "Are you suggesting,' said the bishop at last, 'that Maev Ring's arrest was bought for five hundred pounds? Are you accusing me of corruption?'
'What I am doing, my lord, is ensuring that all relevant information is being recorded. I have no doubts as to the initial outcome of this abominable action. I also have great faith in the Varlish system, which, despite what many in this area believe to be iniquitous and cruel, is based on principles of justice and truth. Truth has a habit of making itself known, no matter how well it is hidden within an army of falsehoods and deceits. The truth will come out, my lord.'
'You sanctimonious wretch!' shouted the bishop. 'I've had my fill of you.' He signalled to the guards at the rear of the building. 'Take this man out and administer twenty lashes to his back. By heaven, I want to see blood on him when he returns!'
Alterith was removed from the Holy Court and taken to the rear of the building. He was allowed to remove his coat and shirt, then his hands were tied to a stake. A guard appeared alongside, holding a small strip of leather. 'Put this between your teeth, sir,' he whispered. 'It will stop you biting your tongue.' Alterith bit down upon the leather. The guard put his mouth close to Alterith's ear. 'I am sorry for this, sir. I'll go as easy as I can. You're a good man.'
Alterith tried to count the strokes, but the searing pain made him lose all sense of reason. Somewhere during the lashing the leather fell from his mouth and he began to scream with each stroke. At the end he was hanging by his thin wrists, and sobbing like a child.
The guards helped him to his feet. One sponged his back. 'Steady yourself now, sir,' said the guard gently. 'We'll let the air get to the wounds. I've sent for some wine and honey. We'll dab that on.'