A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [148]
“Well and good, then. Lord Erddyr, since you’re the one who called upon me, speak first and present your tale of the causes of this war.”
Erddyr recited the story of the dispute of the cattle rights and many another cause of bad blood between Adry and Comerr. When he was done, Nomyr had the chance to tell a slightly different version. Back and forth they went, working through the actual events and battles, while their men grew restless. To the riders, this judgment seemed a pitiful way to end the fighting, a coward’s out, and tedious. While the two lords wrangled over Tewdyr’s raid on Erddyr’s dun, the warbands leaned forward, staring at each other narrow-eyed and hostile. Yraen noticed four of Nomyr’s guard studying Rhodry in barely concealed fury. He elbowed him and pointed them out.
“Adry’s men,” Rhodry whispered. “Hawk blazon.”
Yraen was profoundly glad that the gwerbret’s warband stood on the watch for trouble. While the two lords argued furiously, the hot summer day turned the pavilion stifling, another spur to ill temper. At last the gwerbret cut the argument short with a wave of his hand.
“I’ve heard enough. I intend to set aside all charges of misconduct during the actual fight, because for every wrong on one side, there was one on the other to countercharge it. Will their lordships agree?”
“On my part, I will.” Nomyr bowed to his liege lord.
Erddyr debated for several minutes.
“And I, too, Your Grace,” he said at last. “After all, my wife came to no actual harm, and Tewdyr’s dead.”
“Done, then.” Drwmyc motioned at the scribe to record the agreement. “We can turn now to the disputes of cause.”
Adry’s four men looked at each other and risked a few grim whispers. Nomyr glared and waved at them to be silent.
“What troubles your men, Lord Nomyr?” Drwmyc said.
“They used to ride for Lord Adry, Your Grace, and his lordship’s death troubles them.”
“By the gods themselves!” Drwmyc lost patience with ritual courtesy. “The death of so many lords troubles us all, but men do die in battle.”
“Begging his grace’s pardon.” A heavyset blond rider rose to his feet and made the gwerbret a bow. “Never did we mean to disturb his grace’s proceedings, but we’re all shamed men, Your Grace, and that’s a hard thing to bear in silence. Our lord was killed by a cursed silver dagger, and Lord Nomyr called the retreat before we could avenge him. How can we live with that?”
With a ripple of trouble coming, the warbands turned toward the speaker.
“You’ll have to live with it,” Drwmyc answered. “If you retreated on order of your lord’s faithful ally, then no man can both hold you shamed and himself just.”
“We hold ourselves shamed, Your Grace. It’s a bitter thing to choose between disobeying the noble-born and letting your lord lie unavenged. And now here’s that silver dagger, sitting in your court with honest men. It gripes our souls, Your Grace.”
Yraen grabbed Rhodry’s arm and pulled it away from his sword. Nomyr swung round to face the rider.
“Gwar, hold your tongue and sit down,” Nomyr snarled. “We’re in the gwerbret’s presence.”
“So we are, my lord. But begging your lordship’s pardon, I swore to Lord Adry, not you.”
When his three companions rose to join him, everyone around went tense, murmuring among themselves. The gwerbret rose from his chair and drew his sword, holding it point upward, a solid symbol of justice.
“There will be no murder in my court,” Drwmyc snarled. “Gwar, if the silver dagger killed your lord in a fair fight, that’s the end to it.”
The four men tensed, glancing at one another, as if they were debating their choices. Since their honor lay buried in a shallow grave with Lord Adry, they were likely to leave Nomyr’s service and hunt Rhodry down on the roads no matter what the cost to themselves. Rhodry pulled away from Yraen’s restraining hand and got to his feet.
“Your Grace,” Rhodry called out. “I’m the silver dagger they mean, and I’ll swear it was a fair fight. I’ll beg your grace to settle this here and now under rule of law.