Sir Clement had already spoken to the jury about the evidence the body presented. Ranulf had only tonight to evade Sir Clement’s questions about whether he had extracted the name of the bailiff’s attacker from Annabel, and to convince Sir Clement not to question Annabel before the jury.
With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Ranulf came around his dressing screen as the coroner stopped at the fireplace to warm himself. “Sir Clement, do you have a moment?”
“Ah, Lord Ranulf. I was hoping to see you tonight. Have you discovered whom the maiden Annabel is protecting?” He smiled and rubbed his hands before the warmth of the fire, but Ranulf saw a sharp eagerness in his eyes that contradicted his casual stance.
“I have.” Ranulf stepped forward and leaned against the side of the stone hearth.
“Who is it?” Sir Clement was all attention once he turned his body to face his friend.
Ranulf considered each word before speaking. “It is someone who was protecting Annabel.”
“Protecting her? From the bailiff?”
“Yes.”
“So the teeth marks are Annabel’s.”
Ranulf winced as he realized this might create a direct link placing Annabel in violent conflict with the bailiff. If the jury asked her if they were her teeth marks, she would have to say yes.
“The point I would like to make to you, Sir Clement, is that this person is no man of violence. He was simply trying to keep the bailiff from hurting Annabel. He is a man … that no one would ever think …” How should he say this? “His heart is pure, and the assault of the bailiff was an accident resulting from a man’s desire to protect a childhood friend.”
“Accident or not, I need to know this man’s identity, to question him. The truth must come forth, Lord Ranulf, for truth is paramount.” The coroner spoke softly, as though trying to lull him into a sense of trust. “Who is he?”
But Ranulf couldn’t betray Annabel. “I will not tell you.”
“Then the jury and I will be forced to question her tomorrow at the inquest.”
“Sir Clement, believe me, this was a terrible event, but it will serve no purpose to reveal the person, who no doubt feels very badly about what he had to do to protect an innocent maiden. I ask you, pray, do not press it further.” He had vowed not to get angry but to speak calmly and pray for God to touch Sir Clement and bend him not to question Annabel. But Ranulf could already feel his face growing warm and his jaw beginning to clench. “Why must you put this village through more anguish?”
“For the sake of truth, my friend. Truth and justice. Justice is everything.”
“No, justice is not everything. There are more important things than justice.”
Sir Clement frowned. “What is greater than justice?”
The answer came to Ranulf in a blink, as though whispered to his spirit by a familiar voice. He murmured, “Faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love.”
“What did you say?” Sir Clement leaned forward, his eyes fastened on Ranulf’s face.
“Mercy. Love.” His heart thumped then seemed to soar above him to the very clouds, but painfully, like a bird with a wounded wing. His breath went out of him as he spoke the words. “Mercy and love are greater. For us mortals, love is greater than justice.”
Annabel stood in the courtyard with Mistress Eustacia. The goats that usually grazed there had been shut in their pen as people descended onto the open space, talking low among themselves. She watched them, her heart pounding against her chest.
Two of Lord le Wyse’s men hauled a table and some stools out of the manor house and set them up on the grassy court, which had lately turned brown with the coming frost. The coroner’s clerk, Ralph Abovebrook, who had arrived the night before, sat on the stool and unfolded his leather case, from which he drew out a pot of ink, a quill, and a long sheet of parchment.
The stools were set up for the twelve members of the jury, arranged in a circle on the yard. Soon she might be forced to stand in that circle, to answer the coroner’s questions in front of the jury; indeed, in front of the entire village, which was gathering around to witness the proceedings. She wanted so much to run away and hide. How could she possibly allow Sir Clement to ask those questions he was sure to press her with? She had prayed and prayed for a miracle, a way out of this terrible mess. Surely God would rescue her somehow.
When she saw the twelve men of the jury sit on the stools, she groaned, drawing a look from Mistress Eustacia. O God, please don’t place me in front of all those men. What will happen if I am forced to tell Stephen’s secret? God, save me! Don’t make me do this.
“Child! Are you ill?” Mistress Eustacia’s voice registered alarm, breaking into Annabel’s fevered prayer. “You’re so pale.”
“I am well, I am well.” She forced herself to stop wringing her hands and instead clasped her arms around herself, willing herself to be still, if not calm.