Ken Follett - World Without End

Ralph was displeased. The question implied an excuse for the killer.

A thin peasant with one eye responded. “He wasn’t in fear of the bailiff, no. I think he was scared of his mother, though.” The crowd tittered.

The foreman asked whether Jonno had provoked the attack, another question that bothered Ralph by indicating sympathy for Sam.

“Provoked?” said the one-eyed man. “Only by hitting him across the face with a leg iron, if you call that provoking.” They laughed loudly.

Wulfric looked bewildered. How can people be amused, his expression said, when my son’s life is at stake?

Ralph was feeling more anxious. The foreman seemed unsound.

Sam was called to testify, and Ralph noticed that the young man resembled Wulfric more when he spoke. There was a tilt of the head and a gesture of the hand that immediately brought Wulfric to mind. Sam told how he had offered to meet Jonno the following morning, and Jonno had responded by trying to put an iron on his leg.

Ralph spoke to the judge in an undertone. “None of this makes any difference,” he said with suppressed indignation. “Whether he was in fear, whether he was provoked, whether he offered to meet the following day.”

Sir Lewis said nothing.

Ralph said: “The bare fact is that he’s a runaway and he killed the man who came to fetch him.”

“He certainly did that,” said Sir Lewis guardedly, giving Ralph no satisfaction.

Ralph looked at the spectators while the jury questioned Sam. Merthin was in the crowd, with his wife. Before becoming a nun Caris had enjoyed dressing fashionably, and after renouncing her vows she had reverted to type. Today she wore a gown made of two contrasting fabrics, one blue and the other green, with a fur-trimmed cloak of Kingsbridge Scarlet and a little round hat. Ralph remembered that Caris had been a childhood friend of Gwenda’s, in fact she had been there the day they all saw Thomas Langley kill two men-at-arms in the woods. Merthin and Caris would be hoping, for Gwenda’s sake, that Sam would be treated mercifully. Not if I have anything to do with it, Ralph thought.

Caris’s successor as prioress, Mother Joan, was in court, presumably because the nunnery owned the vale of Outhenby and was therefore the illegal employer of Sam. Joan ought to be in the dock with the accused, Ralph thought; but when he caught her eye she gave him an accusing glance, as if she thought the murder was his fault more than hers.

The prior of Kingsbridge had not shown up. Sam was Prior Philemon’s nephew, but Philemon would not want to draw attention to the fact that he was the uncle of a murderer. Philemon had once had a protective affection for his younger sister, Ralph recalled; but perhaps that had faded with the years.

Sam’s grandfather, the disreputable Joby, was present, a white-haired old man now, bent and toothless. Why was he here? He had been at odds with Gwenda for years, and was not likely to have much affection for his grandson. He had probably come to steal coins from people’s purses while they were absorbed in the trial.

Sam stood down and Sir Lewis spoke briefly. His summing-up pleased Ralph. “Was Sam Wigleigh a runaway?” he asked. “Did Jonno Reeve have the right to arrest him? And did Sam kill Jonno with his spade? If the answer to all three questions is yes, then Sam is guilty of murder.”

Ralph was surprised and relieved. There was no nonsense about whether Sam was provoked. The judge was sound after all.

“What is your verdict?” the judge asked.

Ralph looked at Wulfric. The man was stricken. This is what happens to those who defy me, Ralph thought, and he wished he could say it out loud.

Wulfric caught his eye. Ralph held his gaze, trying to read Wulfric’s mind. What emotion was there? Ralph saw that it was fear. Wulfric had never shown fear to Ralph before, but now he crumbled. His son was going to die, and that had weakened him fatally. A profound satisfaction filled Ralph’s being as he stared into Wulfric’s frightened eyes. I have crushed you at last, he thought, after twenty-four years. Finally, you’re scared.

The jury conferred. The foreman seemed to be arguing with the others. Ralph watched them impatiently. Surely they could not be in doubt, after what the judge had said? But there was no certainty with juries. It can’t all go wrong at this stage, Ralph thought, can it?

They seemed to come to a resolution, though he could not guess who had prevailed. The foreman stood up.

“We find Sam Wigleigh guilty of murder,” he said.

Ralph kept his eyes fixed on his old enemy. Wulfric looked as if he had been stabbed. His face went pale and he closed his eyes as if in pain. Ralph tried not to smile in triumph.

Sir Lewis turned to Ralph, and Ralph tore his gaze away from Wulfric. “What are your thoughts about the sentence?” said the judge.

“There’s only one choice, as far as I’m concerned.”

Sir Lewis nodded. “The jury has made no recommendation for mercy.”

“They don’t want a runaway to get away with murdering his bailiff.”

“The ultimate penalty, then?”

“Of course!”

The judge turned back to the court. Ralph locked his gaze on Wulfric again. Everyone else looked at Sir Lewis. The judge said: “Sam Wigleigh, you have murdered the son of your bailiff, and you are sentenced to death. You shall be hanged in Shiring market square tomorrow at dawn, and may God have mercy on your soul.”

Wulfric staggered. The younger son grabbed his father’s arm and held him upright, otherwise he might have fallen to the floor. Let him drop, Ralph wanted to say; he’s finished.

Ralph looked at Gwenda. She was holding Sam’s hand, but she was looking at Ralph. Her expression surprised him. He expected grief, tears, screams, hysterics. But she stared back at him steadily. There was hatred in her eyes, and something else: defiance. Unlike her husband, she did not look crushed. She did not believe the case was over.

She looked, Ralph thought with dismay, as if she had something up her sleeve.

Caris was in tears as Sam was taken away, but Merthin could not pretend to be grief-stricken. It was a tragedy for Gv/enda, and he felt desperately sorry for Wulfric. However, it was no bad thing, for the rest of the world, that Sam should be hanged. Jonno Reeve had been carrying out the law. It might well be a bad law, an unjust law, an oppressive law – but that did not give Sam the right to kill Jonno. After all, Nate Reeve was also bereaved. The fact that nobody liked Nate made no difference.

A thief was brought up before the bench, and Merthin and Caris left the courtroom and went into the parlour of the tavern. Merthin got some wine and poured a cup for Caris. A moment later, Gwenda came up to where they sat. “It’s noon,” she said. “We have eighteen hours to save Sam.”

Merthin looked up at her in surprise. “What do you propose?” he said.

“We must get Ralph to ask the king to pardon him.”

That seemed highly unlikely. “How would you persuade him to do that?”

“I can’t, obviously,” Gwenda said. “But you can.”

Merthin felt trapped. He did not believe Sam deserved a pardon. On the other hand, it was hard to refuse a pleading mother. He said: “I intervened with my brother on your behalf once before – do you remember?”

“Of course,” Gwenda said. “Over Wulfric not inheriting his father’s land.”

“He turned me down flat.”

“I know,” she said. “But you have to try.”

“I’m not sure I’m the best person.”

“Who else would he even listen to?”

That was right. Merthin had little chance of success, but no one else had any.

Caris could see that he was reluctant, and she threw her weight in on Gwenda’s side. “Please, Merthin,” she said. “Think how you would feel if it was Lolla.”