will stay and take refreshment with me? There are one or two matters, sir, on which I would value your opinion.”
Sir Walter inclined his head. “I shall be delighted to do so, lord Baron.”
Angered by her father’s apparent subservience, Gisela cast him an outraged glance, which he merely met with a smile. Before she could pass comment, there was a noise of rattling chains from the screen doors and all turned to see Sigurd Rolfson hustled between two sturdy guards into the hall.
He was manacled at wrists and ankles and shambled awkwardly forward, his head lowered to the rush-strewn floor so that, for the moment, he did not catch sight of his mother, but at her sharp, heartbroken cry of “Sigurd”, he lifted his head and looked at her dully.
Gisela could discern no signs of mistreatment upon his person and could only put down that uninterested slow gaze to sheer bewilderment at his predicament. She moved to rise and go after Aldith, who had gone to him and sobbed on his shoulder, despite the efforts of one of the grizzled-haired guards, who tried to prevent her, but in an embarrassed fashion as if he misliked the necessity.
“Leave her.” The Baron’s voice arrested him in the act of physically pulling her from the prisoner. The Baron said quietly, “Will you please sit down, mother? You will have a chance to see your son again after this trial. That I promise you.”
Aldith lifted a tortured face to his and then went, unresisting, back to her stool. The guards led Sigurd to a place in the centre of the hall near the other villagers, but far enough away from them as to make it impossible for any of his erstwhile companions to talk to him.
He noted Gisela in passing and, for the first time since his entry into the hall, she saw a misting of tears in his blue eyes as he nodded to her in gratitude. Then he resumed his posture of despair, standing docilely between his guards and gazing stolidly down at the floor. Not once did he cast an appealing glance at his lord.
Gisela was too distracted by conflicting thoughts to pay much attention to the minor matters brought before the Baron for judgement. For the most part they concerned quarrels and disagreements between neighbours which were listened to attentively and judgement pronounced unequivocally and swiftly. Two men were accused of failing to do desmesne work which was their duty and each was fined and dismissed.
One youngster stood, like Sigurd, head down, while the desmesne reeve told of his being caught red-handed, poaching in Allestone wood. There was a little hush when the Baron’s steel-like tones asked the boy if he had anything to say in his own defence. The youngster shook his head miserably after being nudged by his father, who stood next to him.
All knew this could be a hanging matter; though many guessed the Baron would not go so far, the boy could certainly be condemned to maiming, possibly to the loss of a hand. There was a silence while the Baron conferred with both reeve and seneschal. He looked up and ordered the boy to come forward.
“You have been warned before, I understand,” he said coldly and the boy nodded. “You realise this is a serious matter for which I could punish you severely, so severely that a maimed son could become totally dependent upon his family. I am informed that your parents have served Sir Godfrey and now me faithfully and for that reason I will show mercy.
“You will be handed over to my marshal for physical punishment. A sore back should teach you to keep to your own preserves in future. A fine could also fall hard upon your parents and so I will not impose one. Be brought before me again and I shall not be so easy on you.”
The youngster looked anxiously towards his father, who was gesturing to him to respond to the sentence. He was not sure what his fate would be, having been too terrified to hear properly. He stammered out some sort of apology and expression of gratitude and was pulled away by one of the attendant guards.
Gisela bit her lip hard now as she saw Sigurd being brought forward to stand before the dais. One of his guards poked him sharply and he looked up at last and faced the Baron. Gisela could not see his expression, but judged from the set of his shoulders that it was still sulky. Aldith gave a little anguished gasp at her side.
“Well—” de Treville’s voice was silkily cold now as he eyed the prisoner “—there is little need for me to ask for evidence in this matter since I, myself, was the victim of a deliberate attack. Your guilt cannot be denied as witnesses will attest.” He looked beyond Sigurd’s bowed head to where Gisela sat and she started up agitatedly, ignoring her father’s urgent pull upon her skirt to try to force her back onto her seat.
“My lord.” Her voice rang out in the raftered hall and she stepped slightly forward, facing the man who sat at the trestle table upon the dais. “Sigurd cannot deny the charge and, as I was present, I cannot deny the truth of it either, but I came today to plead with you to take into consideration that he was provoked.”
“Provoked?” The dark, level brows swept upwards and Sir Walter gave a little strangled gasp of annoyance behind her.
“My lord, Sigurd loves his mother deeply and she was being evicted from the assart cottage that is very dear to both of them.”
“May I remind you, demoiselle, that the cottage, standing where it did, was unlawfully built.”
“Yes, my lord, I know that too but, nevertheless, it was home to Sigurd and the loss of it and his mother’s anguish caused him to lose all control. He is so very young. Had he had time to think coherently I am sure he would not have wounded you. He meant to strike out at one whom he believed had injured his mother and himself and…”
“Demoiselle, you were present, you know well enough that had I not been quick off the mark to turn and defend myself, I might not be seated at this trestle now.”
She swallowed, feeling the curious gaze of the guards and the short-sighted one of Sir Clement full upon her. Fortunately for Sir Walter’s peace of mind, most of the villagers had now left the hall and the Baron could not consider himself humiliated before his own serfs and villeins.
“That I must acknowledge, but the blow was awkwardly delivered. Sigurd is no trained warrior. He meant to hurt, not kill, I am sure. There was a struggle for possession of the hunting knife. In that you were injured.” He was silent, gazing back at her sardonically and she pressed on desperately. “You have his life in your hands. Please, I beg of you, be merciful. Forgive his youthful impetuosity.”
Sigurd had lifted his head now and was looking pleadingly at Gisela, for what she did not know. Was he asking her to beg for him even more earnestly, or was he soundlessly pleading with her to keep a dignified silence for his mother’s sake?
Aldith said brokenly, “My lord, I beg you, he is my only son…”
Sir Walter stood and cleared his throat. “While I cannot, nor would I wish to, interfere in your decision, my lord, I would attest to the loyalty of Sigurd’s mother, who has served me faithfully since the birth of my daughter as wet nurse. Indeed, without her care, I doubt Gisela would have survived.
“She and Sigurd are foster brother and sister and were brought up together in babyhood. I would add my pleas to hers and those of his mother. The boy deserves to be severely dealt with, but if it is within your sense of pity, I ask you to spare his life.”
Alain de Treville nodded coolly to Sir Walter. “I have sympathy for this boy’s mother, Sir Walter, and acknowledge the debt you owe her. Indeed—” his lips parted in a smile as he gazed at Gisela “—we would all have suffered a great deprivation had your lovely daughter not been present here today.”
Gisela
