side.
Guinevere suppressed a laugh, as this was so like rehearsal in their London theatre.
Oliver frowned at the interruption, but the women, completely into their parts, were already moving on.
Kensa cried, ‘Yes, my lord, he has done it before. He is a wicked man who buys people’s words for gain. He is a murderer too, of innocent children.’
‘She is just accusing Branok out of spite.’ Leah’s cheeks were red as she leaned forward. She had let down her hair, and it hung to her shoulders in waves, framing her delicate features. The dark colour of the plain garment underlined her solemnity. ‘Branok never wanted her and told her husband of her lecherous activities at the inn. Merek beat her for it, and she blamed Branok. But it was her own doing that got her beaten and also got her children killed. The thatch on the roof caught fire when she was not there. It was not arson.’
Oliver opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to have forgotten his lines. He scrambled to pull a piece of paper from his pocket.
Bolingbrooke called out, ‘Hurry up with that cheat sheet; you’re spoiling the momentum.’
Oliver nodded. ‘Calm yourself. I’m just a stand-in. What does he say here? Oh, yes. Do you have proof of that?’
‘The house is burned to the ground,’ the mother wailed. ‘How can I produce proof of anything?’
‘We can confirm that Branok was elsewhere at the time,’ Leah said. ‘He didn’t do this evil deed. Nobody did. It was an accident.’
Guinevere thought that, if Leah was like this in real court cases, she had to win a lot. But then she wasn’t even sure what Leah’s part in her father’s law firm was and what kind of cases they handled. Maybe it was just settling disputes and mediating between people? Nothing as big and dramatic as this old trial. It seemed like tension grew with every line, filling the room up to the shadows in the rafters overhead.
‘It is high time I hear the accused speak his own mind.’ Oliver rose slowly from his seat. ‘I will go to him in his place of …’
He consulted his cheat sheet again. ‘Confinement. Looking at this poor woman who suffered such loss, he will not be able to lie. I will see in his face if he speaks the truth.’
He looked around. ‘Is that the way they did it those days? Just take the villain’s word for it that he hadn’t done it?’
Bolingbrooke exhaled as if the delay was getting on his nerves. ‘Apparently. As Branok was influential, his word was worth a lot. And what else do you suggest to get at the truth? Torture?’
Oliver waved the broomstick. ‘All right, I get the point. Let’s go down into the dungeon then. Did the whole group come?’
‘Yes, of course. How else can we have another altercation between the accusing and defending parties?’
‘But during the re-enactment you actually propose to take the audience down there? There’s not much room.’
‘I guess that we might have to bring Branok up then and do it here anyway. However, I like the dramatic setting of the dungeon and the sort of … sense of impending doom it has. The presence of death.’
Tegen, who didn’t have to speak in this section, gave a little shriek.
Oliver shook his head at his father. ‘You lay it on too thick.’
Guinevere said, ‘We could build a stage version of the cage in the dungeon right here in the room. That way you could have Branok in his cell present in the proceedings.’
‘Rattling his chains at us and shouting abuse.’ Oliver grimaced.
‘Very funny,’ Leah said with a pinched expression.
Oliver exhaled as if he wanted to apologize for what he had said, then his expression tightened and he just snapped, ‘Follow me.’ To Guinevere he said, ‘Dolly had better stay here. We’ll be back up in ten minutes.’
‘Stay, girl.’ Guinevere gave the doggy a quick pat on the head. She sat down and watched them with her inquisitive little eyes, her tail wagging across the floorboards.
Carrying the wand of office like it was a sword he could use to hack at invisible enemies, Oliver led the way into the dungeon. Guinevere was in the back of the group making its way down there and entering into the flickering light of the tea lights in the lanterns.
Her eyes strained to see the figure of Haydock sitting at the table. She remembered that he had specifically requested a table and chair be brought in to make it easier for him.
Kensa called out, ‘Arthur! What’s wrong? Arthur!’ She pushed forward.
Guinevere felt a shiver go up her spine as if she suddenly felt what Bolingbrooke had just put into words. Impending doom.
The presence of death.
Oliver said, ‘Haydock, that’s not funny. You’re giving us all a heart attack.’
Leah gave a shriek. ‘Maybe he really had a heart attack? Look at his face.’
Something fell to the ground. Being in the back, Guinevere still couldn’t see what the commotion was all about. Her heart beat fast. Was Haydock on the floor? Looking like he was unwell?
Oliver was at the cage already, pulling at the metal bars. ‘Where’s the key?’
‘I have it,’ Bolingbrooke said and handed it over.
Guinevere stood on tiptoe and craned her neck to see what had caused the alarm.
Haydock seemed to be down on the floor, on his back. One hand was grasping at his chest. Had he really had a heart attack, like Leah suggested, or had he merely fainted?
Was there bad air in here? Lack of oxygen?
Or was it an act like Oliver had suggested? Haydock’s way to make the re-enactment a little more exciting than just ending with a non-conviction and an accused who had drowned in the sea at night.
Oliver opened the door and went in. He knelt beside the body to feel the face and the neck.
Guinevere waited for his reassuring words that Haydock was fine and just pulling their leg. He’d rise to his feet laughing and cause another row with Bolingbrooke, who would blame him for his insensitivity.
Then Oliver inched back. ‘He’s dead. And there’s a knife in his chest.’
Tegen shrieked again.
Guinevere found herself saying, ‘What? That can’t be.’ Her mind refused to grasp the meaning of the word ‘dead’. There had to be some misunderstanding. Haydock had staged this somehow, for dramatic effect.
Oliver repeated in a curt tone, ‘There’s a knife in his chest. His hand is curled around it as if he wanted to pull it out again, but he didn’t manage.’
He looked up, straight at his father.
Bolingbrooke looked back with a blank expression. ‘A knife? How can that be? There are no knives here in the dungeons.’
Oliver said, ‘Somebody brought it in here and stabbed him.’
Guinevere swallowed. Her stomach squeezed at the idea that a man had died right under their feet.
Kensa said, in a thin voice, ‘That stupid castle. Arthur never could stop talking about it. How much he wanted it. And now he’s dead for it. Now …’ She pointed a finger at Bolingbrooke. ‘You killed him! You killed him so he couldn’t take Cornisea away from you.’
Bolingbrooke glanced from Kensa to Oliver and back. ‘Are you all out of your minds? I? Kill for the castle? When I locked him in here, he was sitting at that table, alive and well. I even asked him if he was all right and he said he was fine. The door to the cage was already closed so I only turned the key in the lock. I never went near him. I couldn’t have stabbed him.’