‘I can only give pardons to the nobility, but yes, even if it were possible, I could not, not without a good reason,’ Harold replied. ‘But, I am not here just to explain my actions. I have to tell you what will happen if Othello is executed tomorrow. The generals, nobility and common soldiers would be told a dwarven officer had been found guilty of murdering five men and committing treason. The dwarven recruits would find out that an innocent dwarf, the son of the great Uhtred Thorsager himself, has been executed for defending himself against a group of racist soldiers. Can you imagine what would happen?’
‘There … there would be riots … the humans and dwarves would murder each other,’ Fletcher gasped, horrified. He had been so concerned for himself and for Othello, he had not realised the wider ramifications of the trial.
‘The dwarves would be slaughtered, but not without first putting up a fight that would cripple our army,’ Harold said grimly. ‘The elves might end their alliance, after seeing what we did to the dwarves. And all the while, the albino orc would be gathering his forces, ready to send his hordes at our beleaguered and distracted army. All this, from one dwarven death. Yet all the Triumvirate can think of is their damned weapons business and getting their revenge on you. All my father cares about is putting the dwarves and elves in their place. I’m damned if I help you and damned if I don’t. It’s civil war with my father or a dwarven rebellion.’
‘Is there nothing you can do?’ Fletcher asked desperately, grabbing Harold’s hand.
The king looked sadly at Fletcher, and grasped him like a drowning man.
‘There is nothing I can do. But there is something you can do.’ His eyes bore into Fletcher’s, burning with hope.
‘I’ll do anything. I’m a dead man anyway,’ Fletcher said. It felt good, to have a purpose, a plan of any kind. For a moment, he allowed himself a flicker of hope.
Harold took a deep breath.
‘Confess to treason tomorrow. I’ll make sure your death is quick.’
10
Fletcher received no further visitors that night. When sleep would not come to him, he summoned Ignatius and they played together, a stupid game of tag around the table that left Fletcher with bruised shins but gave him a welcome distraction from what was to come.
But by the end Fletcher could do little but sit in silence and watch as Ignatius slept, glad that the slumbering demon could not sense the despair that had taken hold of him.
Jakov and his guards came early, banging and shouting as they entered the cell, expecting to drag a terrified convict from his bed. Instead they found Fletcher standing alone beside the door, ready for what the morning would bring.
Despite the early hour, the courtroom was full of people, with more nobles and generals in the crowd, even some soldiers. It did little to assuage Fletcher’s nerves, but he reinforced his resolve with thoughts of the consequences of inaction.
What he was about to do would exonerate Othello of all crimes. It would cheat the Triumvirate of their victory and prevent a war that would tear the Empire apart.
All it would cost him was his life.
Arcturus looked haggard as he took a seat at the defence table, a great pile of notes and papers clutched to his chest. Captain Lovett looked no better, seated behind him on the front bench, uncomfortably squashed between Zacharias Forsyth and old King Alfric, with a rickety wheelchair close by.
As Rook and Charles waited for the crowd to be seated, Othello was dragged into the room and manacled beside Fletcher. This time, he stood proudly, head held high, eyes blazing with defiance.
Fletcher worried whether Uhtred had told Othello of his plans. Whether he might still go through with it. The threat to his son’s life had put a lot of strain on the goodhearted dwarf … it would be best for Fletcher to make his move now, just in case.
‘Othello, I need you to promise me something,’ he murmured, keeping his voice low. ‘The king came to see me last night. He’s on our side and has a plan. I don’t have time to tell you what’s going on, but whatever happens, you have to go along with it.’
Othello raised his eyebrows and gave Fletcher a trusting smile. It was strange to see so much of Othello’s face. His jaw was strong and square beneath the remaining stubble, like the edge of an anvil.
‘I’m glad someone has a plan,’ Othello whispered back. ‘After my dad’s … outburst last night, they punished us by banning Arcturus and Lovett from seeing us – I heard them arguing with the guards outside my cell. My father can’t even attend the trial.’
Othello curled his lip with anger, shooting a hate-filled glance at Jakov. He whispered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Are you sure we can trust the king?’
‘We have no other choice,’ Fletcher replied. ‘I doubt anything Arcturus and Lovett could say will make a difference.’
Othello glanced at the defence table and shook his head.
‘They look like they’ve been up all night. I’m willing to roll the dice.’
Fletcher gave Othello a sad smile, wondering if there would be a chance to explain himself before his execution. He took a deep breath.
‘I have something to say!’ he yelled, twisting his body uncomfortably against the chains so that he faced the crowd.
‘Fletcher, be quiet,’ Arcturus growled, his tired eyes widening with surprise.