The jury’s verdict hit his ears, each word like a hammer blow to his chest.
‘Fletcher Wulf is found guilty of all charges. He shall be hung by the neck until dead.’
11
The verdict echoed in the rafters like a death knell, and Fletcher supposed it might as well have been. Silence weighed heavily on the room; some people were shocked, others waited for his reaction.
Then a string of curses erupted from the very back of the hall. Fletcher turned and saw the familiar, lopsided figure of Sir Caulder stomping down the centre of the court. His wooden leg clunked against the stone floor as he made his way to the front of the room, never ceasing his tirade of expletives.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Rook yelled, banging his gavel. ‘Guards, expel him from the court at once!’
‘Dammit, I have something to say and I’ll hamstring any guard who comes near me,’ Sir Caulder growled, unsheathing a short sword from a scabbard at his waist. He was in his old uniform – steel chainmail with the silver and blue surcoat of the noble house he had once served. The guards hesitated, instead raising their muskets.
Zacharias Forsyth shook his head in disgust, then sprung to his feet and turned to address the crowd.
‘Would you give this foulmouthed old man a platform to spew his ramblings? The trial is over – let us leave him to his mad thoughts.’
But Zacharias had clearly misjudged the crowd. Eager for more entertainment, they ignored him, some even calling for him to be seated. King Harold stood and glared out at the onlookers, until silence reigned once again.
‘I am inclined to agree with Zacharias,’ he announced.
Fletcher’s heart sank. Why would Harold take Zacharias’s side? Had this all been a ploy, to get him to confess?
‘But …’ the king continued, ‘I knighted Sir Caulder and appointed him as weapons master at Vocans Academy myself. He is a good man, and of sound mind. Out of respect for a knight of the realm, we shall hear him out.’
He sat down with finality, and Zacharias was forced to join him, unable to publicly contradict his king. Fletcher sighed with relief and turned his gaze back to the old weapons master.
‘Thank you, my king,’ Sir Caulder said, inclining his head. He cleared his throat, then began to speak in a loud, clear voice.
‘Twenty-one years ago, I entered the service of the Raleigh family, protecting their ancestral homeland of Raleighshire. The estate was on the outskirts of a village which bordered the jungle and suffered frequent raids from the orcs, but was easily defensible. There was only one way the orcs could enter into our territory – a mountain pass, where my fifty men could hold off an army of orcs if need be. For years I defended that pass, with nothing more than a few skirmishes.’
His voice hitched and he paused, taking a moment to compose himself. Fletcher didn’t get it. Sir Caulder was buying time, but for what, Fletcher did not know. Was he stalling, so that Uhtred could get his dwarves into position? Fletcher glanced at the entrance doors, hoping against hope that they had not gone ahead with such a foolish plan.
‘It was a night like any other. The sentries were awake, the sentinel torches were lit. There was no movement from the tree line. We didn’t know it was happening until a dying servant staggered through the back entrance of our mountain camp with a javelin in his belly. He told us that orcs had appeared out of nowhere, slaughtering the entire county. By the time we arrived it was too late. The family and villagers were dead or dying and a hundred orcs were bearing down upon us. I was the only survivor of the attack.’
Sir Caulder brandished his hooked hand, for all to see.
‘I lost a hand and a leg, but that was nothing compared to the loss of life that night. Every man, woman and child in the village beheaded, their skulls piled in the village square. The Raleigh family and their servants, impaled on spikes and left to rot on the jungle border, a warning to the Empire to stay out of orc lands. They were barely recognisable by the time they were cut down and laid to rest.’
Inquisitor Rook groaned aloud and stared up at the ceiling in exasperation.
‘We have all heard this story before, Sir Caulder, it is the event that set the war in motion, after eight years of bad blood. I have no patience for an old man reminiscing over his past failures. Get on with it.’
Sir Caulder glared up at the pale-faced Inquisitor, but with visible effort turned back to the courtroom.
‘That mountain pass was the only obvious way to enter Raleighshire. But there was another. A secret passage under the mountain, known only to the Raleighs and their friends. Someone betrayed them. They are probably in this room right now.’
His words were quiet, without accusation, but they caused the room to fill with the low buzz of whispered debate.