A servant led Chareos through to the Dining Hall. The long tables had been removed and now the Earl and his retainers sat facing the doors. The first petitioner was already before them, talking of a broken promise in the matter of the sale of three bulls; he had received half the payment on delivery, but the remainder had been denied him. The accused was a nobleman, a distant relative of the Earl. The case was found to be proved and the Earl ordered the money to be paid, plus five silver pieces to be given to the plaintiff to offset the waste of time the case had incurred. He also fined the nobleman twenty gold pieces.
The plaintiff bowed low and backed from the chamber. The next person to be called was a widow, who claimed that her inheritance had been stolen by a man who claimed to love her. The man was dragged into the hall, weighted down with chains. His face was bruised and bloody and he admitted the charge against him. The Earl ordered him hanged.
One by one the petitioners came forward until, at noon, the Earl rose. ‘Enough for one day, by the gods,’ he said.
A young man pushed through the main doors, the guards running after him. ‘My lord, hear me!’ he called. The two guards seized the man’s arms and began to drag him away.
‘Wait!’ called the Earl. ‘Let him speak.’
Chareos recognised the tall young villager and eased himself forward to hear him.
‘My village was attacked by raiders. Eleven of our women were taken to be sold to the Nadir. We must get them back, my lord.’
‘Ah yes, the village. A sad affair,’ said the Earl. ‘But there is little we can do. We followed their tracks to the mountains, but they escaped into Nadir lands and I have no jurisdiction there.’
Then you will do nothing?’ the man shouted.
‘Do not raise your voice to me, peasant!’ roared the Earl.
‘We pay taxes to you, and we look to you for protection. But when we asked for it, your men stayed hidden in a wood while our people were slaughtered. Do cowards now rule the Gothir?’
‘Take him!’ shouted the Earl and the guards leapt on the villager, pinning his arms. ‘I want him flogged. Get him out of here.’
‘Is that your answer?’ yelled the youth. ‘Is this justice?’
The Earl ignored him and the youth was hauled away, the doors closing behind him. ‘Ah, Chareos,’ said the Earl. ‘Welcome. Are you ready for the exhibition?’
‘I am indeed, my lord,’ replied Chareos, stepping forward. ‘But may I first say a word about the young man’s claims?’
‘You may not!’ snapped the Earl. ‘Logar!’ The champion rose from his seat and walked out to stand with the two men. ‘I hurt my shoulder during last week’s exhibition,’ said the Earl, ‘and it is troubling me still. But rather than disappoint our guests, would you take my place against the hero of Bel-azar?’
‘It would be a pleasure, my lord,’ replied Logar. ‘Might I suggest that it would imbue the spectacle with greater tension were we to exhibit our skills without masks and mail-shirts?’
‘Is that not dangerous?’ the Earl queried. ‘I would not like to see a tragic accident.’
‘There is danger, my lord, but it might add spice to the exhibition.’
‘Very well,’ agreed the Earl, ignoring Chareos. ‘Let it be as you say.’
A page came forward bearing two rapiers. Chareos chose the left-hand blade and moved away to loosen his muscles. He laid his sabre and knife on a ledge, his mind racing. He had no doubt that Logar would try to kill him, yet if he killed Logar the Earl would have him arrested. Mechanically he went through his exercises, stretching the muscles of his arms, shoulders and groin. He glanced at the two rows of spectators, his eye catching the young Lord Patris. The boy was grinning wolfishly. Chareos turned away and approached Logar.
The two men lifted their blades high, saluting each other, then touched swords.
‘Begin!’ called the Earl.
Logar launched a sudden attack, rolling his wrist in the Classic Chare, but Chareos parried the blow, moving smoothly to his right. Logar’s eyes narrowed. Three times the soldier hurled himself forward, and on each occasion was parried. Chareos was growing angry. Logar was making no attempt to defend himself, sure in the knowledge that Chareos could not – in an exhibition – deliver a killing thrust. Twice his blade flashed by Chareos’ throat, and the monk knew it was only a matter of time before the Earl’s champion found a way through his defences. Chareos blocked a thrust and leapt back, wrong-footing Logar. As the champion cursed and moved forward, Chareos took a deep breath and prepared to meet the attack, knowing now that Logar intended to kill him. But was it the Earl’s plan, or merely the result of Logar’s wounded pride? Logar’s sword-blade lanced for his eye but he sidestepped, spun on his heel and jumped back. Logar swung and grinned broadly. Back and forth across the hall the two swordsmen battled. The spectators could not hold themselves in silence and began wildly cheering every attack made by Logar. Several minutes passed, and still there was no resolution to the encounter. Logar lunged. Chareos only partly blocked, and felt his opponent’s sword blade slice into the skin of his cheek.