The TrialIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | HoldfastGameLogs | The Trial It was, he reflected, not unlike the first time one went into battle. There was, as any warrior worth his salt knew, a difference as vast as the ocean between the practice yard and a true battlefield, a difference no amount of wise words or foreshadowing could prepare one for. It was not just the stink of blood and violence, or the sounds of lives suddenly snuffed out, or twisted in agony, nor was it the look in a man's eyes as he stared into yours, knowing that in moments, one of you would stop staring forever. Rather, the greatest difference was in one's own mind, and that was a distinction that not everyone who experienced it fully understood. It was one thing to swing a wooden stick in practice. It was another thing to focus one's mind, to walk that thin, blazing line between perfect clarity and madness, when the adrenaline pumped like wildfire through one's veins and the glorious, terrible thrill of feeling one's life on the brink stared a man full in the face. And it was another thing again to be in the middle of a swarm of men who were all experiencing the same powerful, primal sensation, and to whom your own life was so insignificant they would extinguish it without a moment's thought. Those were the times that one learned the most about oneself, because it was where the battle was truly fought - in one's own mind. Only in that moment when another raised his hand against you could you ask the questions of yourself, the questions that asked who you truly were. How much did you want to live? What were you willing to do to make sure that it was you who survived? And if you did, once you were on the other side of the madness, were you still the person you were before? As they entered the Great Hall, time seemed to move very slowly for Evan. He was aware of not only the sea of faces that turned towards him - he had no idea how big Holdfast was, but it seemed as if the whole town had turned out to witness their lord do justice. They seemed to be moving very slowly, though, and the hubbub of murmurs that greeted them seemed to echo strangely from the vaulted ceiling of Holdfast's great hall, as if it was coming from very far away. He did not look back, but lifted his head and continued to look straight ahead, the placid expression he wore betraying nothing of his quickening pulse. Neither did he look at the assembled Hardys, not that he knew who most of them were to begin with. And most particularly, he did not look in the direction of Herys Bolton and his son, and the assembled Bolton retinue, though he knew their stares would be hardest of all. It was not just those assembled that stood out with sudden, stark clarity for him, though. Tiny details of the room, little bits of irrelevant trivia, leapt out at him, his senses suddenly as sharp as they would be in any combat. He had never noticed, for instance, the way the leaves on the Hardy arms were green on one side of the staff and brown on the other, presumably to represent the turning of the years and the freshness of new life to replace the old. He also found himself noticing that someone had carefully made every timber and wooden column in the Great Hall out of oak, and that near the floor, so as to be unobtrusive, the builders had carved small impressions of their hands in the columns, just as the hands gripped the oak staff, as if to show that their hands would hold this hall up as long as need be; that they, too, would hold fast. Evan closed his eyes for a moment, and his hearing seemed to be so acute he could still hear the scrape of their tools on the wood, still echoing through the years. They escorted him and Donnell to the area set aside for the prisoners, and he was a little surprised to find the Manderly man there as well, but a slight twitch of the eyebrow was all he showed. Evan settled in and took a deep breath. It was just like the instant of calm before a battle, he reflected again. The sensation of holding his life in his hands was the same - a misstep here, and he would be just as dead as if he'd let his mind wander in the middle of a melee. Here, though, he was armed with only his wits, and armoured with nothing but willpower and discipline. He let his eye wander again over the assembly, knowing that in this battle, he was desperately outnumbered, and as he often did, he wondered if the weapons and armour he had would be enough. Incongruously, Evan gave himself a little smile. They'd have to be. There was a strange gentleness in the way they handled him as they escorted him to his place. It was the same for Donnell too - an odd contrast with their treatment the day before. And it was different too from the way Volf was handled - his treatment was strictly practical; it lacked the strange delicacy that they showed to the sellswords. "They think us dead already," said Donnell quietly. "We bear the mark of the Stranger on our foreheads." But beyond that, Evan could see, from his place, the four who sat on the platform: a crop-haired Manderly, whose surcoat held the same knife insignia as Volf wore, and an elderly Maester, with grey hair and sharp dark eyes - age had dimmed his wits not one whit. In the main chairs sat a man and a woman, both bearing the insignia of Holdfast - in the man's case, allied with the arms of Winterfell. Lord Stark's Hardy bannerknight - Ser Godfrey Hardy. The woman was tall, fair and beautiful. Not young - but no less lovely - an elder version of the girl Edlyn Martin who Evan had met. This must be her mother, Lady Celia. In Evan's other side were three girls - two of whom he knew: Edlyn Martin ... and Lady Syndra Hardy. The third, a dark-haired sullen-looking beauty, was a stranger. "A pretty little bevy," murmured Donnell. "Now, one of them ... or two ... might be worth facing the headsman for." Then Ser Godfrey rose to his feet. "We are here today," he announced, "to discover who bears the guilt for the murder of Grunther, servant to Ser Herys Bolton and guest within our halls. Last night he was found to be missing, and a search was instituted. His body was found - and a search of the Goose and Gander threw suspicion on thethree men you see here today. "We shall hear the tales of those who bore witness last night. They shall be questioned, and then those accused will be allowed to speak. But I ask now - will any question these men on behalf of the dead man - and speak for him?" There was a long pause - and then Eryk Bolton rose to his feet. "I shall speak for my father's man," he said. "Will any stand and ask questions for Hardy beside me?" There was a long silence. Then Sewell rose to his feet. "I shall speak for Hardy." Ser Godfrey nodded. "Thank you, Maester." "And for those accused," said Godfrey. "Will any speak and ask questions for them?" He looked around the hall. "For Volf, servant of Manderly?" Corryn politely raised his hand and nodded. "I shall." Ser Godfrey acknowledged this with a nod; he had clearly expected no less. "For the sellswords - Evan Tamm and Donnell?" Evan lifted his head. "I shall speak for myself and my man here." He seemed strangely confident, despite the bleak outlook. Even as Evan started to speak, Kenrith had opened his mouth and started to rise. After hearing his words, he continued turning to look in his direction but shut his mouth and sat back down. Syndra had been about to speak up when Evan spoke for himself. She settled back in her seat, feeling relieved. If no one had volunteered, she would have defended them, because every man deserved a defense. However, she wasn't sure how much help she could've given them. After all, she believed them to be guilty. A murmur went through the crowd at Kenrith's action - surprise, perhaps, that their future Lord should even consider defending those accused of infringing guest right. Ser Herys swung round in his seat at the sound, and then stared straight and hard at Kenrith, before looking back to Evan Tamm. On the podium, Lady Celia wore a faint, distant smile, but Ser Godfrey was frowning slightly. Corryn cocked his head at this brave, but potentially foolish, course of action on Kenrith's part. Perhaps, it was his allegiance to his friends that inspired him. If so, this was not the time to show it. And yet, as Kenrith sat, he gave the man an accepting nod. This Hardy was one he wished to know better and he intended to watch him closely in the future. Allowing Celia to hear, he spoke to Godfrey. "The boy is loyal, I'll give him that. And not without honor. He must believe in the word of Law; not simply use it to his advantage, as some would." At that, he smiled to Lady Hardy. "Loyal to his friends, do you mean?" responded Lady Hardy. "Or loyal to his House? Both, in their own way, are admirable. But ... where they conflict ... " She raised her shoulders in a little shrug. Kenrith showed little reaction to the reactions of the crowd, Herys, and those on the judges platform. He had intended to see to it that Evan receive a fair trial, but if he wished to defend himself so much the better. He simply looked forwards at the judges and maintained his impassive expression. "Can any bear witness to the man Grunther's disappearance?" Ser Godfrey asked. One of the Bolton men rose, and came foward. He faced the audience and spoke ... He had been out in the meadow in the early afternoon, watching as tents were erected for the tournament. In fact, he'd decided to lend a hand - he and his friend Fronden. Grunther had been with them, but he had elected to watch. Then they'd heard a shout and turned to see Grunther running towards the forested road that led to Holdfast, in hot pursuit of a raggedly man who was holding Grunther's purse. They had laughed as they watched, easily certain that Grunther was more than capable of dealing with a rogue; he was a fine strong man, a warrior, even if he was getting on a little in years. "And do you recognise the man here?" asked Eryk. The Bolton man considered the three standing in the dock. It was hard, he said. The man he had seen had not only been ragged but filthy as well. Still, he seemed to bear more than a passing resemblance to ... that man. He pointed to Donnell. Eryk smiled, and stepped back. Corryn stood, dusting off the front of his tunic. "Lords, Ladies, and all those gathered," he said, casting a respectful glance across all the faces now staring his way. He crossed from behind his table to the witness, folding his arms behind his back. He smiled politely to the witness. "Sir. You say you were standing near or in the tournament grounds currently being erected. Which side, may I ask? The Holdfast side or the forest side?" "The Holdfast side," said the man immediately. "We were leaning on the fence, watching. Gruther came and joined us. Then, we went into the field, and he stayed watching." "Also, that particular meadow provides a significant view of the surroundings, yes? At any time, did you see Squire Volf, either near or in that area? Did you see anyone striking the Manderly colors?" The man looked carefully at Volf - and then shook his head, definitely. Volf heaved a heavy sigh of relief, then cringed as if he expected to be chastised by Ser Corryn for sighing. After receiving the man's answers to the negative, Corryn added a final question. "You stated that the 'raggedy' man was running away from you. If that were the case, how could you identify him as that man?" He pointed to Donnell. The Bolton's man smiled unpleasantly. "I never said it was him, for sure. But it was his size, his bulk. And we're trained at the Dreadfort, we are - to watch and to hunt. I've hunted men down before now. I don't make mistakes. If I was sure, I'd say. What I can say - this man was mortal like the one I saw." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Limosa half-turned in her seat and looked behind her. "What are you looking at?" muttered Edlyn. "Edlyn..." Syndra cast her a warning glance. Edlyn turned too - easier in her position on the bench, and her expressive little eyebrows lifted. Limosa was looking at Godwyn, before she turned and settled back down in her seat, listening once more to the proceedings. ~~~~~~~~~~~ (OOC - note the alteration to late afternoon for Volf's arrival, as per Aron) The second witness to be called was Odette. She was clearly nervous as she came to the stand, but she managed a smile at Syndra and Edlyn. Syndra gave her a supportive smile and slight nod. "You entertained those who are accused of this crime in your tavern, I believe?" asked Eryk. "Yes," said Odette, "I did." She frowned slightly. "Those men came in just before the mid-day meal ... and young Volf just towards the late-afternoon. I was surprised to see them when I learned they'd been part of Ser Kenrith's escort. I would have thought they'd stay at the Castle. But ... one of the others said the one in charge there had taken against the Castle. He went off without tasting the food." She pointed to Evan. "Then he came back, with a bloody mark on his brow." Edlyn suddenly stiffened, but Odette was continuing. "He spoke with the others, and by and by they all went off. All but the youngest one - he came looking for them later on. Some time they were gone - and young Volf arrived. Then they came back ... that one there looked wet, and though he'd taken a bath in a stream - or under the pump." She indicated Donnell. "Then they were all there until Ser Anders ca ... " She frowned, breaking off. "No," she said slowly. "The leader of him, that one, he went off to his room. He only came back again when Ser Anders arrived." Eryk nodded. "And is there another way out of the lodging room? Could he have left without your seeing him?" "Oh yes," said Odette. "And did any of the others leave at all?" asked Sewell. "Not for a long period of time," said Odette. "Of course, I was not in the room all the time myself - I have a tavern to run! But I would say that none of them was away for longer than it would take to have a p!ss." A ripple of laughter went round the court and Odette, clearly relaxing, smiled. Edlyn's flinch did not go unnoticed and Corryn began to smile to himself. He allowed Odette to finish her description of events before standing up again. His smile remained pleasant as he addressed Odette, but without the former familiarity. "Madame Odette, I've known you for many years now. As such, I am well aware of the tight ship you run at your inn, as well as your powers of observation. Did any of Ser Kenirth's men explain specifically as to why they did not wish to stay in the castle? Did they react poorly upon discovering that the Ser Herys Bolton and his entourage were staying with Holdfast's walls?" "As to that, I cannot say," said Odette, frowning slightly. "The sellswords made some jokes about how their leader would have them on hard bread and ditchwater, but he put my in my fist to see they had the best. None of them seemed disturbed by the Boltons ... but I'd say it was their leader who'd made the choice. Not that they were complaining once they'd got some of my beef and beer inside them!" A ragged laugh went round and a couple of cheers for Odette's much prized beer and beef. Odette beamed. Kenrith cleared his throat and raised his hand while looking from Ser Corryn, who had been speaking, to Ser Godfrey. Ser Godfrey nodded. Corryn paused for a moment, glancing over at Edlyn for a time; his eyes studying her. His eyes still on Edlyn, "When Evan returned the first time with a bloodied mark on his head, did the wound appear like scratches, perhaps?" Edlyn's eyes went wide with horror. Corryn grinned like a shark and winked at Edlyn. Got you sweatmeats, he thought. He let her squirm under his gaze for a moment and then focused his full attention on Odette's story. "Oh no, Sir," said Odette. "It looked more like someone had hit him with a stick of some sort -a nasty blow." She pointed to Evan. "You can see the mark of it yet, when he pushes his hair back." Corryn could not have hoped for better and it was difficult to hide his growing satisfaction. The more she said, the more he could work with as he wove his little web. He cast one lone stare over at Celia and chuckled to himself. I doubt that smile will last long, Lady Harpy. Not long at all. Edlyn shrank down on her seat. From her movements, she seemed to be gnawing at her underlip - and she shook a worried glance at her mother. Noticing the motion out of the corner of her eye, Syndra looked back at Edlyn. Her expression became pointed, as if she was silently telling her to buck up and hold fast. A Hardy, even if only one by marriage, does not cower. "Syndra," said Edlyn in a low voice, "that's me. I mean ... I did that ... no I saw it! He was trying to leave the grove without me noticing, and he hit his head on a branch! Should I say? Should I give evidence? Otherwise ... they might think he fought with that awful man!" "Let's see where Ser Corryn takes it," Syndra advised softly, leaning toward Edlyn without taking her eyes off Corryn. "If it becomes relevant, ask my father for leave to speak. And ignore your mother." "Very well," said Edlyn. "Thank you, Madame Odette," Corryn said to his witness. "One final question. When Squire Volf arrived at the inn, did he appear nervous or shifty in any fashion? And did he appear in any way, to have been in a struggle of any sort? You mentioned he came to the bar, so you would have had a close look at his hands and face, correct?" Volf perked up as he once again became the subject of testimony. He stared at Odette pleadingly, but remained silent. "None at all, Sir," said Odette promptly. Once again, Volf breathed a sigh of relief. The man, apparently, could not lie to save his life. Once she had answered his question, Corryn returned to his place beside Godfrey. His eyes, however, remained solely on Edlyn; an amused grin curling his lips. "Ser Kenrith," said Godfrey. "You have something to say?" "Only that this band are not 'Ser Kenrith's men'. They were sellswords with whom I travelled from Riverrun for common defense and coin, but even that association ended once I safely reached Holdfast and they declined hospitality when it was offered them. They are not men of Riverrun either, unlike Mal and Jayne, who are in the service of Tully. As they have no unit name, 'the sellswords' may suffice," Kenrith said in a clear voice after rising to his feet. "I see," said Ser Godfrey. "No longer in your service." Lady Celia smiled - there was something almost feral there. Kenrith worried as she smiled, but returned the expression with a hard smile of his own. She clearly had something in the works, and it would not take much for her own scheming to throw off his own plan. Corryn added a quick comment from his chair, "Ser Kenrith, did you converse at length with these sell swords or was it simply a typical arrangement between high-born and low-born? I, as a merchant, have had to travel with sell swords on many occasions. And I am glad for their company. However, that association rarely goes further than a few words over a common fire. Was this the same situation?" Kenrith paused for a moment while he considered his response. "It was a long journey north, and we spoke to pass the time. I believe it was that sort of situation, yes. We spoke on the trail about which fork to follow, the weather, and so forth. Evan is from the North, so we spoke somewhat more often," Kenrith said calmly. He realized he was digging a pit for himself, but in Holdfast Hall, he would speak nothing but the truth. He could, he thought, leave out being called 'Ser Lackshield.' Godwyn's attention had moved to Kenrith when everyone else looked at him. When his brother rose and made the distinction about the sell-swords not being his men Godwyn nodded his head vigorously. Then he snuck another glance at Limosa. Limosa was attending to the evidence at the moment; from where she was sitting, Godwyn could only see her profile. After Odette had finished giveing her evidence, Ser Godfrey gestured to Rhys to come to the area for the witness. Ser Herys leant forward, his dark eyes intent on the younger man. Rhys stepped forward. "Just tell us what you saw from the Tower, Rhys," said Ser Godfrey. "Last night, my uncle and I were in conference up in his Tower," Rhys related. "We heard a commotion at the gatehouse. Many Hardy and Bolton men were arguing there. As Ser Kenrith crossed the courtyard to break it up, I heard the dogs whining. When I looked in that direction I saw a figure throwing food to them. When the figure straightened and walked away, I saw that he carried the nightsoil buckets. Our nightsoil man Tommo has a limp. This man did not. He started toward the gatehouse, presumably heard the commotion there, and turned toward the postern gate. He nodded to the guard at the postern gate, then passed through." Maester Sewell asked, "Is the guard who was on duty at the postern gate last night here in this room now so that we can question him?" There was a mumbling at the back of the Hall and then a voice shouted out, "He's away to his bed, Sers. Shall he be brought?" Syndra suppressed a wince. If he was abed now, it was probably the same guard that had been on duty in the middle of the night as well. She hoped her own activities at the postern gate would not be called into question. Godwyn frowned, annoyed at having missed someone whose testimony would be wanted. "Send someone to fetch him," said Ser Godfrey. "In the mean-time, let us continue with your evidence, Maester Rhys. Go on with your tale. What happened next?" "Not much later, Tamlyn cried out to Godwyn that the dogs had been dosed so they couldn't track. Anise, I think. Godwyn and Tam brought out their own dogs, which were not kennelled with the others, and started preparations to track the dead man. At this point Godwyn suggested that the nightsoil man was an outsider, for the locals knew that he had his own dogs. I thought that a sound conclusion." Rhys nodded at Godwyn. "Ser Anders asked if I would accompany him in his investigation of the matter, in case I could identify the nightsoil man who'd dosed the dogs," Rhys continued. "He decided to start at the Goose and Gander, and we began there in the stables, looking for anything unusual and through saddlebags. I found a bloody knife wrapped up in a shirt in the saddlebag of Ser Corryn's man there, Volf." Rhys gestured to the young man. Volf looked not at Rhys, but at Corryn and shook his head slightly, a fearful expression in his eyes. His message was clear - "it wasn't mine." "We found nothing else of interest in the stables and moved on to investigate the inn. Ser Anders made a big entrance into the taproom, hoping to flush any guilty parties. Volf did spook, and Ser Anders confronted him about the knife in his saddlebag. Godwyn joined us at that point. Volf denied any knowledge of the knife and bolted. He was caught by guards outside the inn." Evan had been very quiet till now, but his expression was no longer the look of bland boredom he had worn most of the morning. Now he was listening with calm interest, and he raised his hand for permission to speak. "I have a question for Maester Rhys and Master Godwyn," he began, slowly but deliberately. "When you were first told of this missing man, why did you need to track the body if the man's friends came and told you he was dead?" "We didn't know the Bolton man was dead at first, just missing," Rhys replied. "Ser Anders mentioned hoping to find him drunk or passed out at the Goose. When we found the bloody knife, we decided to charge in and claim the felony, hoping to scare someone into bolting or giving us more information. It wasn't until Godwyn showed up at the inn and told us he'd found a body that we knew for sure." He looked at Godwyn for confirmation. Godwyn nodded. Maester Sewell held up a hand for Rhys to stop and turned to look at the Manderly man. "You denied knowing anything about the bloody knife. Why did you run then if you weren't guilty?" Volf tried to look Sewell in the eye, but was unable to hold the gaze. "I was... um, afraid... of Ser Anders, sir," he said into his lap, his face flushed with embarrassment. "I was afraid he'd try to pin the crime on me because he ha... dislikes my master, Ser Corryn." He looked back up at Sewell, carefully not looking at either Corryn or Anders. "So I ran." As he dropped his head once again, he muttered, "It was stupid." Corryn sighed faintly, pinching his nose as if pained. It took him a moment to raise his head, but when he did, he interjected into the question. He did not, however, stand up as the boy was cowed enough. "Squire Volf. You have been in my service for much of your life, is that not correct? So you are abundantly aware of the well-recognized, if somewhat asinine, feud that exists between myself and Ser Anders. I might add that it is something I intend to end once this trial is completed, as it has caused enough grief; this situation being a case in point. I will not have an innocent man pay for my mistakes. "However, you, as well as the rest of the court, would probably remember my last stay here in Holdfast. It too involved the death of a man; a thief and a blackguard, in that case. During his overzealous investigation, Ser Anders stole my satchel bag in search of 'evidence' against me. In the end, I was proven innocent. Considering this history and your close association with me, which is known by Ser Anders, was it this past incident that made you believe that you were being framed for a crime you knew nothing about?" Volf started to answer the question, but then... Ser Anders rose to his feet scowling. "The satchel was removed for searching - in connection with a crime not a thousand times dis-similar to this! It would have been returned once the investigation was concluded. Indeed, thanks to your hasty departure, it has been in a corner of the guardhouse these two years past, awaiting either your return or your instructions for its retrieval!" "Ser Anders," said Ser Godfrey, "are you suggesting that the two cases are linked?" Ser Anders frowned. "No," he said at last. Ser Godfrey turned his head. "And are you trying to suggest a link, Ser Corryn?" Volf meekly watched the Sers speak, waiting for someone to give him leave to answer the question. Ser Corryn remained stoic throughout Anders' explanation and appeared strangely at ease with it. He glanced over at Ser Godfrey and shook his head, "Absolutely not. I see no connection between the two incidents. However, I believe Squire Volf did. Erroneously. "I am simply providing a historical basis for Squire Volf's actions, as foolish as they were. This is not an accusation of Ser Anders or his intentions. I am quite certain he has conducted this investigation with the utmost skill and impartiality. I simply wish to show the court that in all likelihood, it was not fear of guilt that inspired Squire Volf to run, but the fear of what Ser Anders might try to blame him for out of malice. This is nothing more than an unfortunate mistake in judgment. And I believe the evidence does and will reflect that." He returned his attention to Volf, "Just to confirm. When did you arrive at the Goose and Gander in relation to the incident? Not to criticize the previous testimony of Madame Odette, but it strikes me as odd that your horse had not been tended to early on. If it was still wearing its tack as other witnesses have said, you must have recently arrived. Not prior as has been stated. Or am I incorrect?" "I..." Volf began before he was interrupted yet again by Anders. He glared at Ser Anders in frustration. "As I recall," said Ser Anders, looking at Rhys for confirmation, "the saddlebags were beside the stall, hanging over a railing. The horse had been settled for the night - by the time we arrived, this was not surprising. The saddle bore the arms of Manderly, and a dagger curved into a smile." Rhys nodded his confirmation. "As to what time he arrived ... " He shrugged. "I'd still be interested in learning why he was there at all." "Sers," Volf began forcefully, which was quite unlike him. Once the attention had turned to him, though, he grew uncomfortable under the stares. "I arrived, I think, a little after dusk. I put my horse in the stable, and um, took a moment to, um, tidy up so as to look good for um, Lilly," he said, blushing. "Then I went inside." He glanced at Anders, then looked up at Corryn with raised eyebrows, silently asking whether he should answer Anders' question. Corryn smiled proudly at the boy and gave him a nod of approval. He turned his eyes on Anders, but addressed his statement to the court. "Squire Volf came to Holdfast from Winterfell on my orders. The Knives were traveling here on the behest of Lady Stark and Ser Godfrey. Unfortunately, we were detained along the way due to unforeseen circumstances. "Squire Volf is known to Ser Godfrey and his daughter, so I sent him ahead to inform the Hardys of the delay. His presence was an act of civility, nothing more. Madame Odette has always been kind to us as our waistlines can attest." That brought a few knowing chuckles and nods of agreement. Corryn quickly finished. "Knowing his affections for Lilly, I gave him leave and coin to room at the Goose & Gander." Eryk Bolton was on his feet, moving towards Volf. "A message from your master, to be delivered to the Hardies. You must have been very anxious to deliver it promptly ... as soon as possible. "Tell me, did you go first to the Castle or to the inn and the ... ah ... charms of this Lilly?" "It... it was on the way, sir. And I was hungry. For food, I mean," Volf added hastily. "I meant to deliver the message right after supper." "I'm sure you did," agreed Eryk Bolton. "Tell me, sirrah, is the Cook at the Castle notoriously bad? Or is the hospitality a trifle ... cold?" He turned to smile at Lady Hardy. "I myself have found it ... quite otherwise." He turned, and now he was smiling at Syndra. Syndra cast him a sidelong, stone-faced glance. "But there must be something to make you all spurn the Castle, and choose instead the inn. "Tell me, Volf, would you describe yourself as a swellsword?" "No, sir!" Volf replied emphatically. "I serve Ser Corryn and House Manderly and have since I was a boy," he stated proudly. "A Manderly man who avoids the Castle in favour of the charms of the inn," said Eryk, with a slight smile. "How very surprising." Volf, sensing a trap of some sort, looked to Ser Corryn for help. "Squire Volf was given leave to stop and stay at the Goose & Gander." Corryn explained without rising. He regarded this Bolton with darkening eyes. If he'd disliked him before, his bias had turned decidedly foul with this attack on Volf's character. "The nature of the message, which is of my and Ser Godfrey's concern only, allowed him leeway in its delivery. I'm not surprised he decided to stay under Madame Odette's roof, as it is our second home. "As Madame Odette can attest, I stay at the Goose and Gander when I trade with the Hardys. Volf's actions are no more surprising than my own. Some of us high-borns prefer the rustic charm of an inn and familiar surroundings than to intrude upon the hospitality of others." Corryn's lip curled back to reveal white teeth, be a smile or a sneer was difficult to ascertain. "And Volf is high-born, ser. When he reaches six and ten in a year's time, he will be knighted and given lands of his own. He is no sellsword, but the loyal squire of a major house and you would do well to remember that when you address him." "He may be no sellsword," said Eryk Bolton, "but he has, by his own behaviour, brought upon himself the suspicion of murder." Corryn leaned back in his chair and muttered to Godfrey, "Remind me again which one is the Snow. This one seems more like a Tyrell than a Bolton. And yet, he is certainly not a rose. A pansy perhaps, a lily at best." Eryk Bolton heard - as perhaps he was meant to do. He shot a swift look at his father who was sitting glowering, his arms folded, showing no sign of whether he heard the words or not. Kenrith, on the other hand, missed the comment as he took notice of what could only with the most charity be called 'longing glances,' and what would more commonly be called 'staring,' of Godwyn. Whatever opinion he had on the matter, he kept it off of his face. Corryn stood once again and walked toward Rhys. He began to pace in front of the young maester, throwing the occasional wink or nod to the low-born audience. He was, if nothing, a showman. "Maester Rhys, can you tell us a little about the body of the man you examined? In particular, I would like to know if he appeared to have been in a struggle. I am told he was killed by a single knife wound. Is this correct? Were his clothes damaged in any fashion? And perhaps, more importantly, where was he found in relation to the tournament grounds?" He smiled politely to Rhys and sat on the edge of the head table. He leaned forward and watched Rhys, as if a predator ready to pounce. Only once did he glance over at Evan, as if sizing the man up for something yet to come. Ser Godfrey coughed. "Off the table, Old Wolf," he said quietly. "Informality will not sit well with the smallfolk here - they'll take it as lack of respect. And that could reflect on Volf." Volf's eyes widened in concern. Corryn nodded to Ser Godfrey, straightening up and politely returning to a standing position. "Old wolves, old habits," he said in apology. "I defer to your wisdom." And then he winked at Godfrey, as if in thanks for playing his part in some dramatic piece. The moment was brief and yet held some weight to it, as yet indiscernible. He returned to his chair and allowed Rhys to continue uninterrupted. Rhys watched Ser Corryn walk away, his expression bemused. As Corryn sat back down, Rhys continued, "I examined the dead man last night while he was laid out in the Grove. Sers Godfrey, Anders, and Herys were there with me. "The body showed no definite signs of struggle. There were some not fully developed bruises caused by fingers on the upper arms, which implies to me that they were inflicted after death, perhaps in the rough handling of the body. "I laid the shirt on the dead man's torso and the bloody rip corresponded exactly with the position of the wound on the chest. The knife wound did not go through the back of the man, and neither did the rip in the shirt. "The man suffered one knife wound to the heart, which killed him. The way the thrust was angled implied to me that the murderer was right-handed, though that's not conclusive," Rhys finished. A gasp went round the gathered small folk - and some of the glances at Rhys suggested that all they had heard of the ghoulish ways of the Maesters looked like being confirmed. Rhys continued, "Godwyn reported to Ser Anders that he'd found the Bolton man, dead and buried, and that the smell of dung had led them to the inn. He surmised that the nightsoil man was the murderer." "Thank you, Rhys," Maester Sewell said, holding up a hand. "I think we should pause in your narrative for the moment and hear young Godwyn's story of finding the dead man. I'm interested in the details." Rhys bowed to the head table and sat back down, making way for Godwyn to pick up the tale. Godwyn walked out to stand in front of the judges and bowed to Ser Godfrey. He straightened up. "Right,then," he said. "So, off we went to try to find this Grunther, just as has been said. The dogs had his scent from his clothes, and they led us along the road to a point where they became excited. We found blood on the ground there. From there they led us off the road into the forest a ways, then started to dig. We called them off and dug it up, and found the man's body. Killed by a single blow stroke to the heart, it looked to me. So. The dogs smelled sung there at the grave sight, and we followed them to the inn. Went inside, found Ser Anders already there, talking about a knife he'd found, and Volf took off running. I let him run, since I knew we had men outside who's stop him, and I figured it wasn't likely he was the killer. I told Ser Anders about the body and the smell, and he told me to see if I could find anyone in the inn who smelled like that." He pointed at Donnell. "That one," he said. "He smelled strong of it, even though it looked like he'd just washed himself recent. The sellswords refused to answer questions, they were all quite insolent to me and to Rhys and Ser Anders as well. Then that one," he pointed at Evan, "came down the stairs, and tried to talk their way out of it. Ser Anders was having none of his talk, though, and we ended up arresting both of them. We took the two of them outside and let the dogs have a sniff at them, and at Volf, too. Volf they weren't interested in. Evan, they acted like he was interesting, part of the scent they were after. But it's the weasely fellow they really wanted. That's when we checked and found he was wearing a shirt with a tear right over the heart, and a bloodstain as well." "So, then. We brought them all three back here and threw them in cells, alone. Let them sit for a while, then I went to have a talk to them." Godwyn turned and looked at Ser Herys for a moment, then turned back to the judges. "Shall I tell now what I found out when I questioned them?" Ser Godfrey considered. "We'll let that come out in its proper place, I think." He looked around at the questioners. "Is there anything you wish to ask Godwyn concerning his finding of the body ?" "A clarification first, Young Godwyn," Maester Sewell said. "You said the man was wearing a shirt with a bloody rip over the heart. Was Grunther missing a shirt? Was Grunther missing any other of his possessions, like his boots or his weapons?" Godwyn frowned, trying to bring the image of the body back. "Had his boots on, all right," he said. "And his jacket, 'cause I remember noting the Flayed Man emblem. I think his breeches were still, I'm sure I would have noticed that. We sent the body on to the castle, so there's others who can report on that. Still had his weapons in their sheaths, no one had taken them." "That's very odd," Sewell said thoughtfully. "Grunther was last seen running after a man holding his purse, yet obvious items of value were not taken from him after his death. Robbery was not the motive, then. "No other questions, Godwyn," Sewell finished. "I have a few questions," Corryn said as he stood up and bowed his head to Godwyn. The boy had indeed become a man in the last two years. He could not hide how impressed he was as he addressed him. "First, you said that your hounds led you to a spot by the road and that there was blood there. But the body was discovered elsewhere, buried. Did you notice any drag marks or boot marks between the location of the bloodstain and the gravesite? Hoof prints perhaps? Also, was there a stream or pond nearby?" He scratched his chin and glanced between Rhys and Godwyn, "You both mentioned that the man had been killed by a singular thrust to the chest. From the wound, could you ascertain the relative height and strength of the attacker?" He smiled at Godwyn, "And in your opinion, even though Volf ran, why did you believe he was likely innocent of this crime?" Rhys frowned, thinking about Ser Corryn's questions, then shrugged. "I would say the murderer was at least as tall as the victim's shoulder, but that covers most adults including Volf here. However, the victim was a trained armsman, and the lack of any defensive wounds on him implies to me that he was surprised when attacked. Such a surprise attack would be easier if the murderer was of a similar height or even taller. Not impossible if he was shorter, but less likely in my opinion." "That's an interesting point," Maester Sewell interjected. "No defensive wounds. Grunther saw his murderer before he was struck and didn't defend himself. Why?" "Surprise, as I said," Rhys suggested, brow furrowed. "I think we can assume that," Sewell replied, giving his nephew a small smile. "No one voluntarily allows himself to be stabbed. No one in his right mind, that is, and I've heard nothing to suggest Grunther was not in his right mind that day." Rhys's expression suddenly cleared as he looked up at his uncle, as if something just clicked. "He knew him. Grunther knew his murderer." Godwyn waited patiently for Rhys and Sewell to finish, then answered Corryn's question. "Volf would kill a man if he had to, or if he was ordered to," he said. "I don't doubt that. But just like Rhys said, I figured as how the man who could kill one of Bolton's men with a single thrust from in front was either very, very good, or else took the man by complete surprise. Volf isn't that good. And he's not able to hide his intentions, if he went up to a man with murder on his mind, everyone around would know it. And Volf has been here before, he knows about my hounds. He'd know dosing the dogs in the kennels wouldn't be enough. Let alone that the idea of dosing the dogs would never occur to him. He doesn't think sneaky." "Ser Anders, do you have anything to add?" Godfrey inquired. Ser Anders Tollet, calmer now than when he had shoutred at Corryn, rose to his feet. "Maester Rhys and Godwyn have told their tale well. I have nothing to add - although I stand ready to answer questions." "I do have a few questions, Ser Anders," Corryn said. "You are an excellent judge of men; their strengths and their weaknesses. I'm told you can look at a man and know his capabilities. Given the size of the victim, a full-grown man, and Volf's youth and smaller stature, do you believe it would have been easy for him to drag the body from the road to the gravesite?" "You have to remember," said Ser Anders, "that I did not see the body in the grave - Rhys and I went straight to the inn. But I was present when we carried it to the weirwood. I would judge that Volf would have great difficulty shifting the corpse any distance - if he were unaided." "Furthermore, when you discovered the knife in the satchel, did you also notice blood on the satchel straps? On the reins? On the saddle itself or, indeed, anywhere on the horse or its tack?" Ser Anders shook his head. "We searched the stable in the dark," he said. "I don't think anyone has looked at the saddle bags since. But Rhys, as I recall, got no blood on his hands when he found the shirt. That would suggest to me that the knife had been wrapped in the shirt before it was placed in the saddlebag." "Very well," said Ser Godfrey. "We've heard the facts of the case - from what we discovered. We're going to pause there, to reflect. Then we'll hear from those who've been accused, if they wish - and hear what they said after they were brought here." He rose to his feet and offered his hand to Lady Celia who took it, gracefully. "A half hour," he said. "Ser Herys?" Ser Herys frowned, then nodded and accompanied them from the room. |
