Zacharias leaped to his feet, his finger outstretched at Sir Caulder like a loaded pistol.
‘You dare stain the memory of Edmund and his family with your lies?’ he hissed, the fingertip glowing blue. ‘I should kill you where you stand!’
King Harold laid a hand on the angry lord’s shoulder and gently pressed him down into his seat.
‘Please, Zacharias. Let the man finish – he was the only witness to our best friend’s death.’ He turned to the audience. ‘It is true what Sir Caulder says. Many noble children played in that secret tunnel. I remember, we would dare each other to see who could go deepest into the jungle before running back to the safety of the hidden entrance. Edmund always got the furthest.’
He smiled at the memory, and Fletcher could see nods of agreement from some of the other nobles. It didn’t seem much of a secret to them.
‘It was my fault that we did not leave enough men to protect the passageway,’ Sir Caulder lamented, rubbing his eyes as if he were holding back tears. ‘Hell, it should have been blocked up years ago. It was my fault. That is why I never denied the accusations levelled at me, that I had been derelict in my duty.’
There was a murmur of sympathy for the old man, and Fletcher could not help but feel pity for him. It was an easy mistake to have made.
‘I’m glad you were able to get your failings off your chest – I really do hope it makes your miserable life more bearable,’ Rook said, spreading his hands wide. ‘But this has nothing to do with this trial. Leave, before I have my Minotaur drag you out by the hair.’
‘Oh, but it has everything to do with Fletcher. This trial has been a farce from the beginning,’ Sir Caulder said, stomping up to the witness pulpit. ‘The Inquisition have no authority over the boy. A jury cannot charge a noble-born with a crime; only the king can judge them.’
He took his place and looked expectantly at Charles, who was advancing on the wiry old man and beginning to speak.
‘You are, if I am not mistaken, referring to Fletcher’s claims that he is the illegitimate son of my father, and my—’
‘I claimed no such thing!’ Fletcher yelled.
‘My half-brother. A preposterous assertion that, even if it were true, would not make Fletcher a noble-born. Just a bastard.’
Sir Caulder shook his head and laughed, then swatted at Charles with the flat of his blade, sending the Inquisitor stumbling out of reach.
‘As much as I would love to expose your father’s indiscretions, Fletcher is not one of Lord Faversham’s bastards – if you’ll forgive the term, Captain Arcturus.’
Arcturus, who had finally managed to extricate himself from Jakov’s clutches, simply shook his head, ashen-faced.
‘No. I will admit that, for a while, I believed Fletcher might very well have been your half-brother, Inquisitor. But it was only after I spoke with his adopted father, Berdon, that I discovered his true heritage,’ Sir Caulder said, raising his voice so the entire crowd could hear.
‘I was told last night that Fletcher was found naked in the snow, just outside of this very village. There was no note, no blanket or basket. What parent could leave their child like that, to die of exposure? Why outside a village as remote as the village of Pelt, so far removed that it lies on the elven border? What I am about to tell you will explain all of these things, and more.’
For the first time, Sir Caulder looked at Fletcher. There was sorrow in his eyes, even a hint of regret.
‘As I lay with my limbs shattered in the mud beside the Raleighs’ home, a demon flew from their bedroom window. Lord Raleigh’s Gryphowl, clutching something in its claws.’
He looked at Fletcher expectantly, but all Fletcher could return was a confused shake of his head.
‘What was it? A letter? Money? A Gryphowl is barely larger than the bird it is named after, it couldn’t be carrying much else,’ Charles scoffed.
Sir Caulder gave Fletcher a rueful smile.
‘A baby boy. No more than a week old and naked as the day he was born.’
12
Fletcher could barely think with the noise that erupted around him, the shouts of angry men and women drowning his thoughts. He fell to his knees and covered his ears, trying to understand Sir Caulder’s story. With a racing heart, he turned over each fact, ignoring the clatter of the gavel and Zacharias’s roaring.