The Fickle Winds of Autumn

72. On Trial

Father Steadman pushed his way through the murmuring crowd of priests to his presiding raised seat at the front of the Grand Arbitration Hall.

The whispering snatches of gossip swirled and eddied around him.

"I heard there's been some sort of attack here in the Cathedral!"

"Impossible!"

"I heard it too - murdered by witches!"

"What! Are none of us safe?!"

"But the Patrex wouldn't have called a session of the Court at such a late hour for that."

"I heard screaming in the corridors near the South Door - I knew something evil must have occurred."

The busy grumblings of the room diminished to a strained silence as he stepped up to the platform and lowered himself into the large canopied chair.

He never enjoyed the sparse formality of the room - the blank walls stripped back to their barest truths - except for the stark imposing symbols of the Church, high above the judge's chair. The atmosphere reminded him too much of the officious nature of his job - and the unhappy truth that he was older now, and more used to fighting with words and scrolls than with the honest grip of a sword hilt in his palm.

And these words and scrolls could be such tricky, squirming, distrustful things.

A crowd of expectant faces gazed up at him from the expanse of wooden benches - some anxious to learn what had brought them all there at such a late hour: others, obviously more concerned that the Arbitration had interfered with their glass of evening wine.

"Please be seated, gentlemen," he said.

A surge of feet shuffled on the floor and the aged benches complained beneath their clerical burden.

"Bring the prisoners forth."

Four uniformed guards marched two bound youngsters into the Hall. From their diminutive size, the prisoners were clearly Talmadge's acolytes - and he had been right - one of them was indeed a votaress.

But the acuteness of his initial assessment did not bring with it the usual ripple of satisfaction.

A girl?

Here within the vallum and sacred boundaries of the Cathedral chambers?

But Talmadge knew the Code of Precepts?

True, he was a little eccentric - strange even - but he was no fool.

Why would he have risked bringing a girl with him here?

This did not bode well.

A turbulent murmur prickled through the room and grew steadily louder as the boy and girl were led towards the front of the Hall.

The guards shoved the pale youngsters forcefully into position - before the steps of his chair - but the girl, in particular, was of so slight of build, there could be no possible need for such rough treatment.

The two acolytes shivered; they were unkempt and dishevelled from their obvious struggles with the guards.

His keen eyes followed them intently, but they hardly dared to return his gaze, or look up at any of the other faces which crowded in around them.

Perhaps this showed an understandable nervousness or shyness?

Or perhaps it indicated a sense of guilt?

He pursed his dry lips.

The smooth, telling weight of the gavel filled his hand - it lacked the meaty heft of a weapon - but his role now was not one of combat - he banged it with a calm satisfaction and requested silence.