Chapter 675: A Midnight Tribunal Begins
Ashlynn had arranged the tribunal with a deliberate, almost theatrical precision. The gathered soldiers formed a semicircle, sitting on rough-hewn logs as benches, quickly dragged into position from the tent where they’d taken their meal of warm soup and hot cider. A few of them whispered quietly to their neighbors, clutching wooden cups of more hot cider and looking on at the proceedings with the barely contained excitement of a crowd that had come to watch a public hanging.
Behind them, Isabell and Tiernan stood in the shadows just beyond the fire’s reach, close enough to observe but clearly holding themselves at a distance, remaining outsiders to the proceedings. Ashlynn had given them the briefest of nods, acknowledging their choice to stand apart without suggesting they do otherwise. A part of Tiernan wished she had come to consult with them, after all, Guild Masters often sat as judges in matters of discipline within their own guilds, but clearly she intended to treat this as a matter of High Justice, restricting participants to members of the aristocracy.
As the only members of the aristocracy present other than Ashlynn herself, the three knights sat in an elevated position on the wagon’s tailgate, just like they would have in Count Rhys Blackwell’s formal court, though the occasional creaking of the waggons springs beneath them whenever they shifted their weight spoiled a bit of the effect.
Sir Hugo perched nervously on the edge, his feet dangling like a child’s, while Sir Rain leaned against the frame of the wagon on the opposite side, scowling with impatience to get things over with. Ollie alone looked attentive and focused from his position in the space between them, close enough to either man to intervene if necessary, his hand resting casually near the hilt of one of his knives. He had only been officially conferred the status of a knight the night before, and even though he knew how things were supposed to end tonight, he still intended to do his best to uphold his virtue of Justice.
At the center of this improvised courtroom, Darragh stood like a player on a stage, or perhaps more accurately, as the centerpiece prop for the evening’s play. The firelight cast dramatic shadows across his soaked clothing while water still dripped steadily from his hair and the rough stubble on his chin. The rope bindings around his wrists had darkened with river water, and though his hands occasionally strained against his bindings, it seemed more like an unconscious need to chafe against restraint than an active attempt to escape.
To Tiernan’s eyes, it looked more like a show trial than a real tribunal. If the accused was gagged, it meant that Lady Ashlynn had no intentions of letting the man speak in his own defense. By law, when accused of a crime by a nobleman, a commoner was not automatically entitled to speak in their own defense so long as there was sufficient evidence of their crime to pass judgment.
In practice, in all the years he’d spent attending proceedings before Count Rhys Blackwell, he’d only rarely seen the count deny a man the right to speak up to explain his actions. On the rare occasions that he had, it almost always involved the virtue of a woman or accusations of heresy by the Church. But this man’s case involved neither of those things, which made her decision to leave him gagged more than a little concerning.
"Sir Ollie Heartwood, Sir Hugo Hanrahan, Sir Rain Aleese," Ashynn began formally, drawing all attention back to her as she addressed the tribunal of knights. "I have asked you to convene in order to seek your advice in the matter of Mister Darragh’s treachery. However, I recognize that, as outsiders, Sir Hugo and Sir Rain are not aware of this man’s circumstances. I would hear testimony from the witnesses here about the days leading up to tonight," she said, looking at the gathered soldiers and servants from the Vale of Mists.