‘A black day, captain,’ said the Harvester. He tugged at the twin spikes of his iron grey beard. ‘And it will get worse.’
‘I fear so,’ agreed Galliott.
‘Have you heard that Grymauch is back?’
‘I have.’
‘He’ll come, you know.’
Galliott sighed. ‘There’ll be fifty men here, and twenty musketeers. I have men looking for him now. If we find him I’ll have him arrested on some pretext and keep him in the cells until this . . . this obscenity is over.’
‘You’ll not find him, captain. He’ll wade into your fifty men. Truth to tell I’ll be tempted to join him.’
‘As would I, under other circumstances,’ admitted Galliott. ‘But we won’t, Master Huntsekker. For we are Varlish, and pledged to uphold the laws of State and Church.’
‘Even when the Church is riddled with corruption?’ queried Huntsekker.
‘Even then.’
Huntsekker swore softly. Then he chuckled. ‘Did you hear about the time Grymauch stole my bull? We spent the night searching for it, and when we returned it was back in the paddock, a sprig of heather tied to its horn.’
Galliott smiled. ‘I remember. I always thought you would hate him for that.’
‘You don’t hate a man like Grymauch. You thank the Source for him. I’ll never forget that night, nor watching him beat the fighter Gorain. He is a man to match the mountains, captain.’
Alone now by his fire Galliott poured another uisge. Given the choice he would have ridden far from Eldacre on the morrow, putting as much distance as possible between him and the vileness of the execution. Yet he did not have the choice. He would have to stand in the open ground before the pyre, and listen as Maev Ring burned to death. Galliott thought of Jaim Grymauch. He would come to the execution. Of that there was no doubt. The one-eyed clansman would try to save Maev Ring.
With a deep sigh the Borderer replaced the mesh screen before his fire. Tomorrow he would have to kill Jaim Grymauch, and the prospect filled his heart with an abiding sorrow.
The morning was bright and clear and Galliott washed, shaved and dressed in black boots and leggings, putting on two white woollen shirts beneath his black breastplate. Strapping his sabre to his hip he swung his black cloak about his shoulders and set off for the castle. As he walked through the streets he saw people gathering, talking on corners. He also saw highlanders coming into the town, scores of them. Reaching the castle gates he stared off towards the hills. The roads were thick with people. He had anticipated that several hundred would attend the execution, but now he revised that estimate. If the highlanders were coming there might be as many as a thousand filling the cathedral square. His fifty men would be hard pressed to control such a crowd.
In his office at the castle he summoned duty sergeant Packard. The man saluted and stood before his desk. Packard was a veteran, hard-eyed and square-jawed. He had been a close friend of Bindoe’s and was known for his hatred of highlanders.
‘Any sign of Grymauch?’ asked Galliott.
‘No, sir.’
‘Have you seen the crowds gathering?’
‘I have, sir. A lot of highlanders coming in. None of them are armed, though. Still, there could be trouble. I’ve posted guards throughout the town in double shifts.’
‘Good thinking.’
‘You think she is a witch, sir?’
‘No. But that is not our concern.’
‘Didn’t think she was. It’s not right, sir.’
‘No, it isn’t right, sergeant. Our job, however, is to marshal the crowds and see that there is no trouble. In situations such as this the wrong word or action can spark a riot. I want all the men told to maintain their tempers. If we have any hotheads in the troop assign them duties at the castle.’
‘If the crowd tops a thousand our fifty won’t be able to control them, sir.’
‘I know. How many men do we have on castle and patrol duties?’
‘One hundred and thirty, sir. We had to send five hundred north for Colonel Ranaud.’
‘Double the execution guard to one hundred, and have twenty musketeers standing by. Equip the men with quarterstaffs. They can use them to keep the crowd back.’