Galliott climbed the scaffold steps, gazing out over the crowd, seeking sign of Jaim Grymauch.
Suddenly booing and hissing began. Galliott glanced towards the cathedral and saw the four Knights of the Sacrifice walking out into the sunshine. They were wearing their ceremonial armour of silver plate and handsome white-plumed helms. White cloaks hung from their shoulders, the emblem of the Tree embroidered in silver upon them. By their sides hung old-fashioned broadswords, with flaring quillons. Galliott stared at them. In bygone days the Knights of the Sacrifice had been heroes, men of courage and compassion whose deeds were legendary. Now the beautiful silver armour was worn by men like Gayan Kay; malevolent, spiteful, bigoted and merciless. Their presence had enraged the crowd, but Galliott had no power to order the knights to withdraw.
They walked to the foot of the scaffold. Galliott descended to meet them. Gayan Kay lifted the ornate face guard of his helm. ‘No sign of this Grymauch?’ he asked.
‘Not yet, sir knight. Is your presence here necessary? It is difficult enough to control the crowd.’
‘Controlling crowds is your job, captain. We are here to witness justice being done.’
Galliott bit back his anger and moved away from them.
As the time for the execution drew close more than two thousand people were now crammed into the square. The booing at the knights had faded now, and most people were staring at the great arched doors of the cathedral. Galliott was sweating. The musketeers were still missing, as were ten of the men charged with patrolling the entrances. He strolled around the inner perimeter, watching the crowd, gauging their mood. He sensed that they were becoming more passive now. There was no immediate threat to his men.
Ten more soldiers eased their way through the front ranks of the crowd and made their way to where Galliott was standing. The first of them saluted. ‘Travellers are thinning now, sir,’ he said.
‘Any sign of the musketeers?’
‘No, sir.’
Suddenly the crowd went very still, and silence fell on the great square. Galliott turned to see two priests bringing out Maev Ring. The sunlight glinted on her silver-streaked red hair, and she walked with great dignity towards the scaffold. Two red-garbed cathedral guards had positioned themselves below the pyre, lighted torches in their hands. Galliott strode to the foot of the scaffold. Maev Ring paused before him.
‘I am sorry, Maev,’ he said.
She did not reply and moved past him, lifting her heavy skirt and climbing the steps. The priests followed her. On the narrow platform above they tied her hands to the stake then withdrew. Galliott glanced towards the cathedral. There was no sign of the bishop. Galliott climbed the first five steps of the scaffold and gazed out once more over the crowd.
There was movement in the centre, the highland crowd parting to create a pathway. Walking slowly along it was a huge figure in a hooded black cloak. He was carrying a quarterstaff.
Galliott ran to where the fifteen new arrivals were still standing. ‘Stop that man,’ he told them.
Jaim Grymauch emerged from the crowd, and began to walk towards the scaffold.
From high on the scaffold Maev Ring saw him coming, and her heart was close to breaking. ‘No, Jaim,’ she whispered.
The ten soldiers ran at him, forming a half circle. Jaim kept moving. Two of the beetlebacks darted in. Jaim’s quarterstaff, tipped with lead, flashed out, striking the first on the temple and catapulting him from his feet. Jaim blocked the second soldier’s staff, cracking his own against the man’s leg. The soldier stumbled. Jaim’s staff rapped against his skull and he fell face first to the flagstones.
The other soldiers rushed in. Some blows cracked against the giant hooded highlander, but his own staff whirled and thudded against skulls, arms and legs. One by one the beetlebacks fell. The crowd were cheering now. Other soldiers tried to aid their comrades, but people in the crowd grabbed their staffs, or took hold of their cloaks. And not only highlanders. On the Varlish side soldiers were also held back.
Galliott drew his sabre and ran in to help his men. Jaim downed the last of them and stepped across the sprawling, half-stunned bodies. Galliott lunged at him. Jaim parried the blow with his staff, bringing it up and over the captain’s blade and rapping him hard against the temple. Galliott fell to his knees, dropping his sword. Jaim Grymauch walked by him.