Den of Wolves by Juliet Marillier
It was indeed a small gathering, if you didn’t count the considerable number of Island men in attendance – they were everywhere. I had not realised their number was so great. The place was a grand house with a stone-walled courtyard and a little tower. A nobleman’s house. But I did not know if we were in Dalriada or one of the neighbouring regions, perhaps Ulaid, and nobody was saying whose home had been provided for the purpose. Certainly there were no household guards visible, only the Island men with their distinctive facial markings and their air of calm competence.
Grim and I, with Ripple, were taken through a massive kitchen into a small adjoining chamber where we were allowed to sit and rest. There were armed guards at the door. After a while Prince Oran appeared, a welcome sight, and sat down with us to go through what would happen. I expected him to be surprised to see us, then remembered we had arrived more or less exactly when expected. Oran had Donagan with him. It came to me that Donagan was the prince’s Grim – not that there could ever be another Grim, but he was close. Donagan stood by Oran in bad times and good. He provided the voice of common sense when it was needed. He coped calmly with whatever happened. He smoothed the way. And when he had to, he delivered hard truths. The prince was lucky to have such a friend.
‘We’re at the home of a local leader,’ the prince said, indicating to the guards that the door should be closed. ‘In effect we have borrowed this place in order to provide appropriate security for the hearing. Whatever happens here, the intention is that no element of this will become public knowledge. Hence our hiring of the Swan Island men, who specialise in this kind of thing. Now, the hearing itself. Don’t be overwhelmed by those you see there. We have two kings in attendance, one of them my father. Five senior chieftains. Flidais’s father, Lord Cadhan, is here, as it was Mathuin’s offence against him that sparked action at last. We have two senior lawmen present, neither of them from Laigin. A representative from the High King is with us. And we have two trusted scribes. You are the only woman present, Blackthorn.’ Oran glanced at me. ‘You must speak for all his female victims. You will do so eloquently, I know. Just take it one step at a time and keep calm.’
I swallowed, wondering if my heart might give out from beating so hard. ‘Who has come here with Mathuin?’ I asked. ‘Has he brought his own lawmen? Retainers? Supporters?’ That was the usual practice at a legal hearing. Last time I had faced Mathuin in public I had been shamed and vilified. The memory welled up in me, sharp and painful; my whole body shrank from it.
‘It’s all right,’ Grim murmured.
‘Lord Mathuin has the services of one of our lawmen,’ Prince Oran said coolly, as if this were not a point on which he might be challenged. ‘Let it never be said that he was unrepresented at the hearing. Apart from that, he is alone. He was conveyed here covertly by the Island men.’
‘If – if he is found guilty, how will you –’
‘Now is not the time for that conversation. When the hearing is over, I may be at liberty to give you more information. Only remember that what happens here does not go beyond these four walls. I have included you because I want your testimony to be heard. And because I trust you – the two of you – not to speak of this afterwards. Not to anyone. I need to be quite sure you understand that.’
I could have asked questions. Even with my limited knowledge of the law, I understood that the hearing was not being conducted in the accepted manner. On the other hand, two kings would be present and the High King himself had approved the proceedings, if unofficially. If Mathuin was found guilty, what would the penalty be and who would carry it out? And how could they stop him from speaking out about this secret trial? It sounded as if the Island men had abducted him, something of a feat in view of the heavy presence of guards he took with him everywhere. Say the penalty was exile. I knew Mathuin. He would be eaten up by the need to punish those who had wronged him. That was how he would see it. Even if they sent him far, far away, he would reach out his destructive hand and wreak utter havoc. I would be one of his accusers today. I might spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Too scared to relax for a moment. Too scared to let others close lest they be destroyed as Cass and Brennan had been destroyed. That meant I could never have a family again. I should not even have a friend. But here Grim was, risking everything with me. Expecting me to be brave. They all expected me to be brave. But my mind was full of Mathuin. Mathuin hurling abuse at me, Mathuin taunting me, Mathuin ordering his henchmen to light the fire . . . I was not brave. I was a quaking mass of terror.
‘We should go in now,’ Donagan said quietly. ‘Are you ready, Mistress Blackthorn?’
‘Now.’ My voice was a choked gasp. ‘Right now?’
‘If you can manage,’ said the prince. ‘I don’t believe the hearing will take long. After that you will have time to rest.’
Now. Right now I had to go through that door and into another chamber and face up to Mathuin. Look right into his eyes. See his vile face. Hear his mocking voice. I would be like Brígh in the face of Master Tóla, unable to get a word out.
Grim rose to his feet, a big bear of a man. Not looking worried. Looking calm and solemn and as if he had never doubted I could do this. ‘Better leave Ripple here,’ he said. ‘Ripple, stay.’ The dog settled on the floor, obedient as ever. Grim held out a hand and I took it. ‘I’ll keep right by you,’ he said. ‘Might be hard not to spit in that scum’s face, but I know the rules. Just go through it one part at a time. Good to get it over with, mm?’
I stood. Found that my legs would support me, just. I took the red kerchief out of my belt and tied it around my neck, bringing a smile to Grim’s face. I thought of all the women I was speaking for, women with no voices, women hurt and downtrodden and abused, women struggling to go on living their lives after what Mathuin had done to them. I thought of Strangler and Dribbles, Poxy and Frog Spawn and the other broken men who’d shared our time in the lockup. I thought of the prisoner who had been tortured with hot iron and had taken too long to die. I remembered how we had sung songs and told tales all night, until with the dawn he’d fallen silent.
‘All right,’ I said, finding my voice. ‘I’m ready.’
It was a gathering that might have struck a far bolder speaker dumb. The chamber was similar to Prince Oran’s large council room, with a raised section at one end holding a long table with three rather grand oak chairs behind it. To one side was a writing table where the two scribes sat, their materials before them. The main part of the room was bare of furniture; it seemed those gathered would remain standing, which suggested a short hearing indeed. A number of men stood in small groups, talking quietly among themselves. All were dressed very plainly, in clothing more suited to farmers or craftsmen or scholars than to the kings and chieftains they were.
I recognised Oran’s father, Ruairi of Dalriada, but not the tall, grey-bearded man he was speaking to. Cúan, who had come to stand beside me and Grim, whispered, ‘Lorcan of Mide. And the fair-haired man is the High King’s representative, a senior councillor. Over there, chieftains from Ulaid and Tirconnell, Laigin and Connacht. And the man in blue’ – he indicated a handsome individual of about five-and-forty, his dark curls frosted with grey – ‘is Lady Flidais’s father, Lord Cadhan.’
No wonder they wanted to keep this quiet. It had the potential to cause a storm of unrest. Perhaps to unseat the High King, should his involvement reach the wrong ears. And what about Mathuin’s family? He had grown sons.
There were Island men at every entry, silent and watchful. No doubt they ringed the outside of the house as well. It must have been quite a feat to get everyone here without arousing suspicion. And Mathuin – how had they done that? And where was he?
I had wondered which of them would lead the proceedings. Somewhat to my surprise, it was Prince Oran who went up to the platform and took the central position, with a black-robed lawman on either side. Donagan moved to stand behind the prince. Ev
‘My lords, learned men of the law, honoured friends, I thank you all for your attendance and for your discretion,’ Oran said. ‘We will conduct these proceedings as quickly and efficiently as we can, to allow you to leave at the times arranged. Remember that the hospitality of this house is available to you and to your personal attendants until it is your hour to depart. If there are any questions about the practical arrangements, our guards are able to assist you. Let us begin. Bring in the accused man.’
Mathuin of Laois came in with a Swan Island man on either side and his hands tied behind his back. He was white with rage, his eyes wild, his jaw clenched tight. A muscle twitched at his temple. Don’t collapse and die, I thought, cold at the sight of him. Not just yet. Not before you hear every last word I have to say.
It seemed Mathuin did not want anyone but himself to speak. He launched into a tirade of protests. Everything was unacceptable. That he had been snatched from his horse while out hunting. That he had been brought all the way to some godforsaken place under guard without any explanation whatsoever. That an upstart prince appeared to be in charge. That I was present – he spotted me quickly, which was perhaps unsurprising given my red hair and the fact that I was the only woman in the room. That he seemed to be facing some kind of covert trial, when he had committed no offence. The absence of a lawman of his own choice. The absence of the High King. He shouted until Prince Oran offered him a choice: hold his tongue or be tried in absentia, with no chance to speak up for himself and no lawman to represent him. He was quieter after that, but if looks could have killed, we’d all have been struck dead on the spot.
One of the prince’s lawmen, Master Saran, read out a long list of offences, starting with the forcible seizing of Lord Cadhan’s home and holdings, with great loss of life, and the consequent driving of Lord Cadhan and his wife out of Laigin to seek sanctuary. The dispute leading up to this was over a particular parcel of land which had long been part of Cadhan’s holding. It would be shown that Mathuin had no rightful claim to it either now or in the historical record. There followed numerous other offences of a kind more familiar to me. The lawman, in dispassionate tones, outlined the activities of the band of thugs who constituted Mathuin’s personal guards. The rape and assault of local women, with intimidation used to stop them from speaking up afterwards. The beatings and killings of folk who dared to challenge their chieftain’s decisions. The incarceration of prisoners in conditions so vile it was a wonder any at all survived the experience. The propensity of Mathuin himself for taking advantage of women whenever he chose, often condemning them to being thrown out by their husbands or parents afterwards, especially if they were carrying one of his by-blows. The resulting poverty, despair and, in more than one instance, suicide.
‘As to personal testimony,’ Master Saran said, ‘Lord Cadhan is here to give his account of the offence against himself and his family. The nature of this hearing precludes most of the other injured parties from being present today. But Mistress Blackthorn is here. She can speak not only for herself but for a significant number of others. Mistress Blackthorn has provided a detailed written account of numerous acts carried out in the accused man’s home territory of Laois; testimony gathered from victims who were readier to speak to her, a wise woman, than they would have been to present themselves before a council, formal or informal. This document has been considered by Prince Oran, by myself and by my learned colleague here. Would that every witness might provide such a meticulous account.’
‘Lies!’ Mathuin was almost spitting with fury. ‘Vile untruths! That woman is a meddler! She’s nobody, she’s a filthy flea-ridden slut!’
I felt Grim draw a breath beside me, then check himself. The second lawman said to Mathuin, ‘It is in your best interest to remain quiet, my lord, until it is time to offer a defence.’
‘Mistress Blackthorn will speak on the matters covered in her document,’ said Prince Oran. ‘I can vouch for her honesty. She has lived and worked within my holding at Winterfalls for some time and is of exemplary character. My father will also confirm her to be trustworthy.’ He glanced at King Ruairi, who nodded. I was more than a little surprised. I had met Oran’s father during our rather uncomfortable stay at court, but I doubted I’d made much impression on him. The prince must have had a word in his ear. As for exemplary character . . . if only they knew.
Lord Cadhan spoke first. I stood between Grim and Cúan and listened as he described how it had unfolded: the festering dispute over a parcel of land that had never been Mathuin’s; Mathuin’s expectation that he would be granted Flidais’s hand in marriage, his first wife having died, and his fury when Flidais travelled north to wed Oran; Mathuin leading his men-at-arms to take Cadhan’s holdings by force; the blood and carnage; the flight to safety; and Cadhan’s bitter regret that he had not stayed to fight to the end but had been persuaded to leave with his wife while he still could. He gave his account calmly. It was only when he spoke of that last flight and those left behind that his voice cracked and broke.
Lorcan of Mide asked a question about any previous conversation or correspondence between Mathuin and Cadhan over the disputed territory. There had been demands from the one and courteously worded refusals from the other. One of the chieftains asked about the status of Cadhan’s seized property under the law, and the second lawman, Master Bress, clarified the situation.
I was trying to listen and concentrate. Doing my best to stay calm, knowing that with every moment that passed, every measured speech, every furious interjection by Mathuin, I was one step closer to having to speak. With my heart going like a drum and my skin all cold sweat, I’d be lucky if I could put two words together. My head was muzzy; there were spots in front of my eyes.
And here was Cúan with a stool, setting it by me, helping me sit down.
‘Is all well, Mistress Blackthorn?’ asked Oran. With so few folk in the chamber, he could see me clearly.
I couldn’t answer. I worked on breathing; on not fainting. Grim crouched down beside me, eyes anxious. Someone put a cup in my hand and I took a gulp. It was watered mead and tasted vile. But I did feel better. I felt much better, especially when I looked up and saw Conmael standing on the other side of the chamber, under a tapestry of strange beasts cavorting in a forest. He was leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed; his pose was nonchalant. He didn’t need to say a thing. Wouldn’t, anyway, since it was quite plain nobody else could see him except perhaps Grim, who followed my gaze then turned his eyes quickly away. Conmael nodded gravely. His face told me what he wanted to say. You are strong. You are good. You are wise. You can do this. See? I’m not worried in the slightest.
‘I’m fine now,’ I said. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘A long journey for you,’ said the prince. ‘Learned colleagues, might we allow Mistress Blackthorn to give her testimony first? The accused man could answer to all the charges at the end, both Lord Cadhan’s matter and the others.’
After a murmured consultation, the lawmen agreed that yes, this was acceptable to them provided Lord Cadhan agreed. Lord Cadhan said he had no objection.
‘If this is the way you conduct a hearing,’ said Mathuin, ‘then God help any man who wants justice from you. You ask him if it’s acceptable. What about me? Does my legal representative make decisions without consulting me?’
‘You prefer Mistress Blackthorn to wait, unwell as she is, until Lord Cadhan’s matter is fully resolved? You wish to speak on that matter now?’ Oran’s tone was icy. He was a young man and looked every bit the scholar, soft and kindly. I knew from experience how deceptive that could be.
‘Let the slut have her moment,’ Mathuin said, eyeing me in a way that made my flesh crawl. ‘She’s waited long enough for it. Let her tell her pack of lies. Every so-called wise woman’s got her two coppers’ worth of magic tricks. She might be good for a few moments’ entertainment. That’s all she was worth in the lockup.
I felt Grim tense; felt the rage in him. ‘No,’ I murmured. ‘No, Grim. Don’t let him do this.’ I could see how it might be: my friend hurling himself forward, using his size and strength to cast aside anyone in his way, be it king or prince or chieftain, and fastening his hands around Mathuin’s throat to make an end of the man. Thereby robbing me of the chance to testify and ensuring justice would never be done. We would not be free of this until the day we died.
Grim was quivering with fury. His grip on my hand hurt. It told me he was using all his strength to keep still and hold his tongue.
‘Good,’ I said in a whisper. ‘I have to speak. You know that.’
He gasped in a breath. Nodded.
‘I prefer to do so without broken fingers.’
He slackened his grip. Then lifted my hand and touched it to his lips. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Go on, Lady. Do it for all of us.’
Oran beckoned me forward. Asked me if I preferred to be seated while I gave my account. I said no. Mathuin was there, standing between his guards. I was here, no more than four strides away. I would face him on equal ground. I drew one long, steady breath.
‘My name is Blackthorn. I am a wise woman and healer,’ I said. There was Grim, watching me with burning eyes. There was Conmael, cool as ever. Cionnaola stood by the rear door. Cúan was a couple of paces from me, watching Mathuin with a look that said, Make one move, friend. Just try it. Kings and chieftains stood quiet and attentive, waiting. ‘But once my name was Saorla,’ I went on, my voice strong and sure now, ‘and I was wife to a scribe and scholar named Cass, dwelling in the region of Laois . . .’