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‘So even if a prisoner miraculously made it out of the dungeon, he’d not be out of the castle yet. He would most likely be spotted. At night the gate was closed, and a gatekeeper kept watch over it. Also keep in mind that the island’s cut off from the mainland during high tide. So a prisoner would have to know exactly when he could use the causeway or have a boat ready for his escape.’
‘It could only have been done with an accomplice,’ Guinevere said. The silence made her lower her voice. ‘If someone came from the outside, to lure the guard away, made sure a boat was ready and waiting along the beach … Maybe even delivered the key of the shackles to the prisoner.’
‘In a homemade pasty?’ Oliver grinned. ‘We should have forgotten about re-enacting this boring trial and gone for a daring escape instead. It would have been so much more fun.’
He made a movement as if he brandished a club over his head. ‘Knock the guard down, sneak through the dark passageways …’
Guinevere had to laugh. ‘I think the historical society would not have approved. That’s not how Branok’s story played out.’
‘Well, sometimes to sell something you need a little fiction to make it juicier. Ah, the lighter. Can you open the lanterns’ doors for me? They’re slightly crooked and never stay open when I want them to.’
They had to stand closely together to make it work. Guinevere looked at Oliver’s features as the lighter’s flame threw shadows across it. She couldn’t make any sense of him. What he was about. If he really disliked his father and the castle, or only pretended he did.
And if so, why.
‘Hello?’ Oliver tapped her shoulder. ‘Are you there? We’re all done. Father can come down to lock Haydock in. My part as judge will be a disaster of course. I haven’t had time to rehearse, and Haydock will be livid when my stumbling ruins the flow.’
He leaned over to her, whispering, ‘Who knows, I might condemn that scoundrel to death anyway.’
***
The flickering light of a few candles illuminated the group gathered in the tall room.
Oliver sat on a carved chair, holding a broomstick by way of wand of office. His father had said he would only produce the real wand, which was part of the castle’s collection, for the actual trial. That one special night when everybody would be present.
Kensa, grave in her plain garment, had given her testimony to condemn Branok for killing two innocent children when he had ordered the house to be set on fire.
‘But he never knew the children were in there,’ Leah had just said. She was a witness to defend Branok and plead his innocence. ‘You yourself had left them, being a bad mother who neglected her brood. You were at the inn meeting men and inviting them to the attic above the horse shed.’
‘I am not proud to say I made money that way in the old days,’ Kensa replied, ‘but not any more after I wed Merek.’
Leah laughed. ‘We all know Merek is a weak man who drinks too much. He may earn money but he spends it on stout and ale, not on your children. If you wanted them to have anything, anything at all, you had to return to your old trade.’
Oliver lifted a hand. ‘Do we know,’ he asked in an exaggerated baritone voice, ‘where the accusing party was when her house burned to the ground? Was she really at the inn with men?’
‘I have witnesses to confirm it,’ Leah said eagerly, gesturing to where Tegen and Bolingbrooke were waiting for their turn.
‘All liars, for gain!’ Kensa cried. She beat her fist on the wooden table before her.
‘You are accusing the other party of bringing bought witnesses into this court?’ Oliver asked.
‘Before this tribunal,’ Bolingbrooke corrected audibly from the side.
Guinevere suppressed a laugh, as this was so like rehearsal in their London theatre.
Oliver frowned at the interruption, but the women, completely into their parts, were already moving on.
Kensa cried, ‘Yes, my lord, he has done it before. He is a wicked man who buys people’s words for gain. He is a murderer too, of innocent children.’
‘She is just accusing Branok out of spite.’ Leah’s cheeks were red as she leaned forward. She had let down her hair, and it hung to her shoulders in waves, framing her delicate features. The dark colour of the plain garment underlined her solemnity. ‘Branok never wanted her and told her husband of her lecherous activities at the inn. Merek beat her for it, and she blamed Branok. But it was her own doing that got her beaten and also got her children killed. The thatch on the roof caught fire when she was not there. It was not arson.’
Oliver opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to have forgotten his lines. He scrambled to pull a piece of paper from his pocket.
Bolingbrooke called out, ‘Hurry up with that cheat sheet; you’re spoiling the momentum.’
Oliver nodded. ‘Calm yourself. I’m just a stand-in. What does he say here? Oh, yes. Do you have proof of that?’
‘The house is burned to the ground,’ the mother wailed. ‘How can I produce proof of anything?’
‘We can confirm that Branok was elsewhere at the time,’ Leah said. ‘He didn’t do this evil deed. Nobody did. It was an accident.’
Guinevere thought that, if Leah was like this in real court cases, she had to win a lot. But then she wasn’t even sure what Leah’s part in her father’s law firm was and what kind of cases they handled. Maybe it was just settling disputes and mediating between people? Nothing as big and dramatic as this old trial. It seemed like tension grew with every line, filling the room up to the shadows in the rafters overhead.
‘It is high time I hear the accused speak his own mind.’ Oliver rose slowly from his seat. ‘I will go to him in his place of …’
He consulted his cheat sheet again. ‘Confinement. Looking at this poor woman who suffered such loss, he will not be able to lie. I will see in his face if he speaks the truth.’
He looked around. ‘Is that the way they did it those days? Just take the villain’s word for it that he hadn’t done it?’
Bolingbrooke exhaled as if the delay was getting on his nerves. ‘Apparently. As Branok was influential, his word was worth a lot. And what else do you suggest to get at the truth? Torture?’
Oliver waved the broomstick. ‘All right, I get the point. Let’s go down into the dungeon then. Did the whole group come?’
‘Yes, of course. How else can we have another altercation between the accusing and defending parties?’
‘But during the re-enactment you actually propose to take the audience down there? There’s not much room.’
‘I guess that we might have to bring Branok up then and do it here anyway. However, I like the dramatic setting of the dungeon and the sort of … sense of impending doom it has. The presence of death.’
Tegen, who didn’t have to speak in this section, gave a little shriek.
Oliver shook his head at his father. ‘You lay it on too thick.’
Guinevere said, ‘We could build a stage version of the cage in the dungeon right here in the room. That way you could have Branok in his cell present in the proceedings.’
‘Rattling his chains at us and shouting abuse.’ Oliver grimaced.
‘Very funny,’ Leah said with a pinched expression.
Oliver exhaled as if he wanted to apologize for what he had said, then his expression tightened and he just snapped, ‘Follow me.’ To Guinevere he said, ‘Dolly had better stay here. We’ll be back up in ten minutes.’
‘Stay, girl.’ Guinevere gave the doggy a quick pat on the head. She sat down and watched them with her inquisitive little eyes, her tail wagging across the floorboards.
Carrying the wand of office like it was a sword he could use to hack at invisible enemies, Oliver led the way into the dungeon. Guinevere was in the back of the group making its way down there and entering into the flickering light of the tea lights in the lanterns.
Her eyes strained to see the figure of Haydock sitting at the table. She remembered that he had specifically requested a table and chair be brought in to make it easier for him.
Kensa called out, ‘Arthur! What’s wrong? Arthur!’ She pushed forward.
Guinevere felt a shiver go up her spine as if she suddenly felt what Bolingbrooke had just put into words. Impending doom.
The presence of death.
Oliver said, ‘Haydock, that’s not funny. You’re giving us all a heart attack.’
Leah gave a shriek. ‘Maybe he really had a heart attack? Look at his face.’
Something fell to the ground. Being in the back, Guinevere still couldn’t see what the commotion was all about. Her heart beat fast. Was Haydock on the floor? Looking like he was unwell?
Oliver was at the cage already, pulling at the metal bars. ‘Where’s the key?’
‘I have it,’ Bolingbrooke said and handed it over.
Guinevere stood on tiptoe and craned her neck to see what had caused the alarm.
Haydock seemed to be down on the floor, on his back. One hand was grasping at his chest. Had he really had a heart attack, like Leah suggested, or had he merely fainted?
Was there bad air in here? Lack of oxygen?
Or was it an act like Oliver had suggested? Haydock’s way to make the re-enactment a little more exciting than just ending with a non-conviction and an accused who had drowned in the sea at night.
Oliver opened the door and went in. He knelt beside the body to feel the face and the neck.
Guinevere waited for his reassuring words that Haydock was fine and just pulling their leg. He’d rise to his feet laughing and cause another row with Bolingbrooke, who would blame him for his insensitivity.
Then Oliver inched back. ‘He’s dead. And there’s a knife in his chest.’
Tegen shrieked again.
Guinevere found herself saying, ‘What? That can’t be.’ Her mind refused to grasp the meaning of the word ‘dead’. There had to be some misunderstanding. Haydock had staged this somehow, for dramatic effect.
Oliver repeated in a curt tone, ‘There’s a knife in his chest. His hand is curled around it as if he wanted to pull it out again, but he didn’t manage.’
He looked up, straight at his father.
Bolingbrooke looked back with a blank expression. ‘A knife? How can that be? There are no knives here in the dungeons.’
Oliver said, ‘Somebody brought it in here and stabbed him.’
Guinevere swallowed. Her stomach squeezed at the idea that a man had died right under their feet.
Kensa said, in a thin voice, ‘That stupid castle. Arthur never could stop talking about it. How much he wanted it. And now he’s dead for it. Now …’ She pointed a finger at Bolingbrooke. ‘You killed him! You killed him so he couldn’t take Cornisea away from you.’
Bolingbrooke glanced from Kensa to Oliver and back. ‘Are you all out of your minds? I? Kill for the castle? When I locked him in here, he was sitting at that table, alive and well. I even asked him if he was all right and he said he was fine. The door to the cage was already closed so I only turned the key in the lock. I never went near him. I couldn’t have stabbed him.’
‘But,’ Oliver said, ‘you’re the only one with the key to this cage. If you locked him in when he was still alive and well, how did he die? Nobody else could get in here to get at him.’
‘Through the air hole?’ Guinevere suggested. She had found her voice again and, to stop the light feeling in her head, she had to think rationally, discover how it had been done.
Oliver shook his head at her suggestion. ‘It’s too small to throw anything through with enough speed or strength so it would embed itself into his chest. I’m no expert but I think this stab wound has been delivered face to face, in close proximity.’
‘Then it’s clear,’ Kensa said. ‘Bolingbrooke did it to save the castle.’ Her voice was steady and her expression almost calm. Only her eyes showed a little too much white. Maybe she was in shock and didn’t know what she was saying?
‘The constable has to come and see this,’ Leah said. She hugged herself tightly. ‘He can determine what to do next.’
Tegen scoffed, ‘Eal? He couldn’t catch a killer if he bumped into him still carrying the bloody knife.’
Kensa poked her with an elbow to make her shut up.
‘I’ll call Eal right away.’ Oliver reached below the robe he wore for his mobile phone. He kept an eye on all present. ‘Nobody moves from this spot until he’s here.’
Kensa said, ‘Why? Can’t poor Leah leave? The girl must be frantic with her father dead in front of her.’
Leah made a soft, suppressed sound in her throat. With her loose hair and the dark garment she suddenly looked like she was already mourning.
Tegen was staring at her mother. Her eyes were narrowed and questioning as if she was trying to work something out.
‘Leah can stand back,’ Oliver said, ‘but she can’t leave. This is a crime scene and we can’t run the risk of anything being disturbed here. Eal will have to collect evidence.’
‘Evidence?’ Kensa echoed. ‘In here?’
‘Yes.’ Oliver looked straight at her, a cold hard look. ‘You just accused my father of this murder. But it’s not the Middle Ages any more. We have fingerprints now and DNA traces. The killer must have left some proof behind that will point him or her out to us. It’s only a matter of time until we know the truth.’
In the silence his words seemed to linger, like a knell of death.
Guinevere’s arms were full of goose bumps, and she ached to hold Dolly close and feel the dachshund’s reassuring licks on her face.
Only a matter of time until they knew the truth.
But what would the truth be?
Who had hated Haydock enough to kill him? To stab him in the chest, face to face?
Chapter Four (#ulink_39bfa789-ec39-50c3-90e1-7881df801744)
‘What a day to arrive here.’
Guinevere didn’t turn her head to Oliver’s voice. He had come up to her without making a sound. Or maybe she had missed the sound as she had stood there, staring up at the skies that were so full of stars. Once upon a time, Gran had pointed them all out to her, telling her their names and the stories connected with them. Guinevere had felt small standing under the canopy, thinking about the universe out there and the places far away where the stars were born. But at the same time she had felt totally safe, with Gran’s arm around her shoulders, totally loved and in place, part of her own little universe in which Gran was the sun around which everything revolved.
Those memories, and Dolly’s warm body against her, drove away the cold of their forced stay in the dungeon with the dead body until Constable Eal arrived. Kensa’s harsh accusations against Bolingbrooke still echoed in her ears. Would her new employer really get into trouble now? Would his guilt be readily assumed? Oliver had earlier said that a lawsuit was the last thing the castle needed. He had then referred to one for assault. Would it now be one for murder?
Oliver looked up at the night skies as well, his hands folded at his back. ‘You should be in bed by now.’
‘What did the constable say when he left?’
‘That he’ll tell us when he has more. What else can he say?’
‘But what do you think that he thinks?’ Guinevere glanced at Oliver. His expression was blank, but there were lines of fatigue around his mouth. ‘I don’t know anything about the police around here, but Tegen suggested that Constable Eal can’t catch a killer even if it was obvious that he had committed the crime.’
