‘He was powerfully built, maybe six and a half feet tall. He was obviously demon-possessed, for no mortal man could so easily defeat two of my knights. He had but one eye. The other was covered by a black piece of cloth.’
‘Well, Sir Gayan, such a man should stand out in a crowd. I will instruct my soldiers to watch out for him.’
‘You have no idea as to his identity?’
‘Indeed I have, sir. Leave the matter with me.’
‘Will you share this information?’
‘It would do you little good, Sir Gayan. The man is a highlander and a rogue. He has many hiding places, but I will not need to search them.’
‘And why is that, pray?’
‘Because he is a close friend of Maev Ring. He will come to the execution and he will try to save her. That is his nature.’
‘Someone else she has bewitched.’
As Galliott sat by the fire he recalled his reply. Where the anger had come from he had no idea even now. But he could still recall its cold power. He had looked up at the arrogant knight and been unable to keep the contempt from his voice. ‘There is no-one else present, Sir Gayan, so let us drop this ludicrous pretence. Maev Ring is no more a witch than I am. She is a victim of the greed of small men, and the corruption of the mighty. Her death will be a stain on the Varlish. The man who will try to save her is not bewitched – save by love and notions of honour. He is a great man. By the Source, I wish I had one tenth of his courage.’
Sir Gayan Kay stood and stared malevolently at Galliott. ‘How many men will you have under your command at the execution?’
‘Fifty. I will do my utmost to see he is arrested before he commits any indiscretion.’
‘If he is there I shall kill him,’ said the knight. Galliott suddenly laughed. ‘Kill Jaim Grymauch? Not on your best day. He is not a tiny bootmaker, nor a skinny schoolteacher. He’s a man, by heaven!’
‘I see that this area has many heretics,’ said Sir Gayan coldly. ‘When this is over I shall make it my business to root them all out. There is no place in all of Varlain for those who offer defence to our enemies. You will come under the question on that day, Captain Galliott.’
‘Try to tackle Jaim Grymauch and you won’t live to see it,’ Galliott told him.
Sir Gayan Kay gave a thin smile. ‘Watch carefully when the witch burns, Galliott. Listen to her screams. Before the year is out they will be yours.’
The threat had frightened Galliott. It still caused a small knot in his stomach as he sat before his fire. Yet curiously he did not regret speaking out. He had watched the events of the trial that day, and felt a growing sense of unease. It had begun when Alterith Shaddler’s clerics had failed to arrive, and there was now no-one at the defence table taking notes. Alterith had asked for a recess, while he sought reasons for their absence. This was refused.
The first person to be called had been Onray Shelan, the talented gunsmith who had designed many of Parsis Feld’s new range of pistols and muskets. Shelan was a man in his mid-thirties, a full Varlish of impeccable breeding. When his name was called by Alterith Shaddler there had been some consternation among the Judgement Panel. The prosecutor, Arlin Bedver, had leapt to his feet, voicing an instant objection. ‘Master Shelan’s name is not on the roll of material witnesses,’ he pointed out.
‘Indeed not,’ replied Alterith Shaddler, ‘for he can offer no evidence to contradict allegations of witchcraft. I am calling Master Shelan to speak of his work for Parsis Feld.’
‘And how, pray, does this further your cause, Master Shaddler?’ asked the bishop.
‘Perhaps it will not, my lord. I felt it would be helpful if the court understood the nature of Parsis Feld’s business prior to, and following, Maev Ring’s involvement. Master Shelan is – if you like – a character witness.’ Shaddler had returned to the volume of Holy Law, opening it to a marked page. ‘If you please I refer the court to chapter eleven . . .’