Page 104 of Bold Angel
His clothes hung in tatters. Dried mud clung to his short brown tunic, torn open and hanging off a sun-bronzed, thick-muscled shoulder. His wrists and ankles were bloody where the chains had cut in, his face was a mass of cuts and bruises, his scalp had been sliced open, and his hair was matted with darkened blood.
“What goes on here?” Ral asked as he reached the men. “What has this man done to deserve such treatment?”
“Murder, my lord,” said Tosig, husband to the girl whose babe had been born in the village. “He killed a traveler on the road.”
The prisoner lifted his head, rattling the chain around his neck that connected his wrists. “I have killed no one.”
“Who are you?” Ral stepped closer, coming face-to-face with oneof the few men equally as huge and powerfully built as he.
“My name is Gareth. Son of Wulfstan,thegnof Valcore.”
“I know this man.” Caryn moved away from the base of the stairs and hurried to Ral’s side. “His father was a powerful Saxon lord. ’Twas said his son was a valiant warrior.”
“Gareth of Valcore. I have heard of you,” Ral said, a memory of the name finally making its way to the surface. “You fought at Senlac. You were wounded, as was I. ’Twas said that you fought bravely.”
Hugh came forward from the group of knights and men-at-arms who had begun to gather round. “I too have heard of him, Lord Ral. ’Twas said he fought with the rebels in sixty-nine. There were rumors he was their leader, but there was no proof. I heard the man was wounded near York—a lance between the ribs.” Hugh eyed the golden-haired man who stood even taller than he. “I did not think that you still lived.”
The bearded blond knight smiled sardonically, cracking dried blood at the corner of his mouth. “I have cheated death so many times I have lost count. I have fought and I have been wounded. I have killed countless enemies in the name of war, but I have never done murder.”
Ral surveyed him cooly, assessing the man’s unflinching stare, the way his head remained high, his shoulders straight and proud. Then he turned to the villeins who had brought him in chains to the castle. “’Twould seem he was not a man easy to subdue.”
“Nay, my lord,” a cottar named Algar said. “He fought like a madman. It took more than a dozen strong men to bring him down.”
“What proof do you have of his guilt?”
“He was seen, my lord, plucking the shoes from the dead man’s feet. He strippedthe coin from his purse as well.”
“I do not deny I have sunk so low as to scavenge from the dead,” the big man said. “But I did not kill him. He was slain when I found him.”
“He ran from us, lord,” said Tosig. “When we approached him, he ran.”
“And he fought like a demon,” said another. “No innocent man would have tried so hard to escape.”
“’Twas not the villeins I ran from, but the Norman overlord I knew I would face should I be captured.” The glare he threw Ral was heavy with disdain. “I have tasted Norman cruelty too many times not to know what my sentence would be. Justice is not a word that rides easy on a Norman tongue.”
“Your arrogance will not serve you here,” Ral said, turning toward Lambert and Hugh. “Take him to a storeroom below stairs.” The cellars, granary, and an area for storage sat below the great hall. “Remove his chains and see to his wounds, then see he’s securely locked in.”
“Aye, my lord,” said Hugh.
“And see he has something to eat. With a bellyful of food, mayhap his mind will dwell less on escape.”
As Hugh, Lambert, and a half-dozen men led the prisoner away, Caryn glanced anxiously up at Ral. Knowing her as he had come to, he slid an arm around her waist and urged her back toward the keep. Once they were inside the great hall, he let her draw him away from the others.
“I wish to have a word with you, my lord.”
“I did not doubt that you would,” he said with a trace of amusement.
“I do not believe Gareth of Valcore is guilty. I remember hearing tales of him during the war. His skill in battle was legendary. They called him the Griffin. ’Twas said he had the cunning of an eagle and the courage of a lion. He was aknight of honor and bravery. To some he was almost revered.”
“Men change, Cara.”
“Not that kind of man.”
Ral tended to agree. There was something of pride in the huge Saxon’s bearing, something that had shone even through the dirt and the rags. Yet war could change the most stalwart of men. Ral had seen it time and again on the battlefield.
“Will his trial be held here at Braxston?” Caryn asked.
“Nay. ’Twill be the royal court that will judge him. Mayhap William himself.”
