David Farland - Beyond the Gate

“I don’t mean to sound critical,” Gallen said. “But that wasn’t much of a song you sang. I mean, it was a nice ditty, a catchy tune, but I think it needs some work.”

Thomas looked up at Gallen with disinterested eyes. “You’re a critic, eh? Don’t fear. That bit of bawdy wasn’t meant to immortalize Sully, only intimidate him. In the business we call it a ‘driver,’ for it is meant only to drive a man away from his hometown. The real ballad will have to be much longer, with entire stanzas devoted to Sully’s bed-wetting, and whole movements devoted to exposing his acts of incest. I feel sorry for the man. Few men’s lives can bear such close scrutiny.” Thomas sighed. “And now that my day’s work is done, I think I’ll take a nap.”

He yawned, made his way back outside. The sheriffs hooted and cheered as he passed.

In the early evening, Father Brian rode back on a winded horse with a writ from Lord Sheriff Carnaghan deputizing every man in Clere to make sure that Gallen wasn’t taken from the city, and he forbade the prosecution from securing testimony by torture, and ordered Maggie Flynn to be freed. Because of the fear that open warfare might break out between the northern sheriffs and the locals, the city of Baille Sean was sending a judge in great haste.

Gallen had hardly heard this news from one of the local fishermen, when Father Brian came banging on the door, calling, “Out with you, man. Get on your finest duds, and out of the house with you!”

“What’s happening?” Gallen asked, opening the door enough to see the sheriffs all crowded about, with Father Brian standing there, looking a bit worn.

“Today is to be your wedding day,” Father Brian said. “It seems that Thomas Flynn has taken a sudden fondness to you, and he says that if you so desire, he wants you to marry his niece before nightfall!”

* * *

Gallen and Maggie’s wedding was perhaps the strangest that ever took place in the village of Clere. By dusk, nearly everyone from as far as fifteen miles away was in the village, so that tents and wagons filled every field within half a mile of town. And over two hundred men came north from Baille Sean, driving hard, hoping to see what all of the hoopla was about.

Between having a minstrel in town, along with a display of a demon from hell and an angel from heaven, and an occupying army of northern sheriffs who’d come down to hang the local hero, an impending trial on witchcraft, and the marriage of Gallen O’Day-it was all too much for anyone to miss. The poor old church couldn’t have held a tenth of the number of people who wanted to view the wedding; and, as Orick grumbled, there was a grand lot of speculation as to the cause of the sudden marriage.

The most evil-minded folks figured that Maggie had come down with a child, and this was all an effort to make it right.

But many a bedazzled maid believed that Maggie loved Gallen, and so she wanted to make him her husband all in one grand gesture before he got hung.

But some old deacon remembered an obscure verse in the Tome of Law, where it pointed out that it was illegal to hang a man within a month of his wedding day, for to do so would not only deny him his life, it would deny him the chance of having posterity.

This last bit of news thoroughly enraged some of the northern sheriffs, who saw this all as some grand scheme to keep Gallen alive for another month, even if they could convict him, ensuring him greater chances of escape.

But the northern sheriffs didn’t cause much of an uproar, for to tell the truth, the majority of them began to join in the festive attitude. While the rest of the sheriffs, seeing how with every wagon that pulled into town they were more and more outnumbered, decided to remain quiet. So the sheriffs paid their shillings to go see Thomas’s angel and demon, and one sheriff, after seeing the demon, said, “Well, if Gallen O’Day fought those monsters, he’s a better man than I am.” And he rode off toward home to much applause.

And so the wedding was held in an open field, just before sundown, Maggie in a white dress that made her look radiant, and Gallen dressed in his finest blue tunic with gray hose.

Gallen’s cousin, Father Brian of An Cochan, wedded the two, administering the oaths.

Orick the bear played the part of Gallen’s “best man,” and that caused many a stare. Thomas sang, with the church choir joining him, and never had so sweet a music been heard over the city.

Folks from all over Counties Morgan, Obhiann, and Daugherty tried to outdo one another on wedding gifts-trying to show those northern sheriffs how much they admired Gallen. Seamus O’Connor gave Gallen a nice carriage, while a friend of Gallen’s father gave the couple a brace of white stallions. Silver teapots took all of one table, while blankets and coats and saddles and all other manner of finery filled up others.

Someone brought out a whiskey keg, and those folks who had nothing else to give began filling it with money, and more than one gold coin was seen therein. Over the past years, Gallen had saved more than a dozen locals from highwaymen, and the roads around Clere were notoriously safe-all because of Gallen O’Day. So folks let their money flow freely in gratitude.

It was just an hour before dusk, and the dancing was in full swing, when the Lord Inquisitor rode into town in a hired coach, his face clenched and frustrated.

Obviously, the terms of the trial were not to his liking. “We’ll begin jury selection tonight!” he announced to his men, and they rounded up Gallen and his young wife and herded him back to Gallen’s home.

Gallen selected Deacon Green to be his defender in the case, and within the hour the townspeople drew lots for jury duty. All of the northern sheriffs put their lots in, and to Gallen’s great dismay, four of them won seats on the jury, along with two men and a woman from nearby. Even in his own village, the jury was stacked against him.

Gallen was given copies of the affidavits sworn against him, and he and Maggie and Orick and Deacon Green studied them for a bit. Three men out of County Obhiann told how they had planned the robbery two weeks ago, how they had taken Seamus O’Connor down, then Gallen, and were beating the men, planning to rob them (they omitted the fact that they were planning to cut Gallen’s throat), when they swore that Gallen uttered his prayer and hell itself disgorged one of its minions, a magical man with wicked swords and a face that glowed like starlight. Later, as they ran away, they claimed that they looked back over the hills and saw a strange light, as if the very bowels of hell had opened.

Technically, their case had some weaknesses. In many places their sworn testimony had been copied verbatim from one document to the next, so it would be easy enough to prove that they had been in collusion. Second, they were all felons-robbers who nevertheless swore that murder had never entered their minds that night.

And there were some holes in their testimony. None of them had actually witnessed the bowels of hell open, and they did not claim to have seen any other sign of the demons that troubled the area the next morning.

Yet as Deacon Green, a tall, balding man with round spectacles, studied the testimony, he muttered under his breath. “Och, Gallen. You’re in a tight spot, sure, lad. I don’t see a way out of this. You’ll do prison time, at the very least.”

“How can that be?” Maggie said, sitting on the sofa, holding Gallen’s hand. “Why would anyone believe those robbers, instead of Gallen?”

“The Bible says that out of the mouths of two or three witnesses, every word shall be established,” Deacon Green said. “And so according to law, if three witnesses testify against a man in a capital case, then that man will … well, he’ll hang-unless we can shake the accusers.”