The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [194]
“Let him,” the groom said. “It matters naught to us.”
The others murmured, agreeing, except for the kitchen lad, whose silent tears ran down his cheeks.
“He might be persuaded to mercy.” Oth tried again. “But you must forswear this false goddess and—”
“Never!” the groom snarled.
“Well and good, then,” Oth said with a shrug. “Guards, take them out to the gaol. His grace will hold malover on the matter when he returns.”
“Wait!” Branna uncoiled herself from the chair. “I mean, please?”
Oth yelped, and the startled guards nearby did the same.
“My dear Lady Branna!” Oth laid his hand on his shirt as if soothing a startled heart. “I didn’t see you there.”
“My apologies, my lord. But that child, the kitchen lad—he’s far too young to know what he’s doing.”
“That may be, but his grace will be the one who decides that when he returns.”
“But should he wait in gaol with the others? It seems so harsh.”
“I have my orders, my lady. Your taste for mercy becomes you, but there’s naught I can do.” Oth turned back to the guards. “Take them away.”
From his grim tone of voice Branna decided that further argument would be futile. As the guards marched the prisoners away, the kitchen lad kept glancing back at her with tear-filled eyes. The adults in the group, however, began chanting a prayer, their heads held high, their voices strong. And what about our Adranna? she thought. Will she be just as determined to die?
For a moment she felt like weeping. She brushed the impulse away and hurried upstairs to join the other no blewomen in the women’s hall. When Branna came in, she found them all sitting in a tight little group of chairs and cushions, as if the evening were cold instead of sweltering with summer heat.
“There you are, dear!” Galla said. “We were wondering where you’d gone.”
“I stayed to listen to the prisoners.” Branna glanced around, found an empty half-round chair, and sat down. “I think they must all have gone quite mad. None of them would renounce their false goddess.”
“It’s so terrible.” Drwmigga was practically whispering. “Traitors in the dun! They might murder us all in our beds or suchlike.”
“I doubt that, my lady,” Branna said. “If there are some of them still free, they’re going to want to flee for their lives. If they stay, they won’t want to call attention to themselves or their fellow believers.”
“I suppose so.” Drwmigga sounded doubtful.
“I think our Branna may be right, my lady,” Galla said. “But there’s naught wrong with our keeping our wits about us at all times.”
“There’s never anything wrong with that, Aunt Galla.” Branna smiled at her. “I—”
Someone knocked at the door. Branna went to open it and found Midda, looking slant-eyed this way and that down the corridor, visibly enjoying the feeling of intrigue. “Lord Oth would like to speak with you privately,” she murmured. “He’ll be in the gwerbret’s chamber of justice.”
“Honestly, Midda, you don’t need to whisper like that!”
“Oh don’t I now? Aren’t there traitors in the dun? What if they murder us—”
“All in our beds?” Branna finished the thought for her. “I doubt if there are any more, and even if they were, they’ll be running or hiding, not giving themselves away.”
“Well, mayhap, mayhap not,” Midda said darkly. “One never knows.”
But I do know, Branna thought. I just don’t know how I know.
“My thanks for the message,” she said aloud. “I’ll go meet him straightaway.”
In the chamber of justice, Lord Oth was sitting behind the long table in a shaft of sunlight from a window above. The messenger pouch, various documents, and silver tubes lay spread out in front of him. Seeing him, she was struck by the strong feeling that she’d known him, too, back in some other life. The image that came to her was of a table in a cheap tavern, and a bald fat man pulling apart a roast chicken with his hands, an image so different from the slender and elegant Oth that she decided she must be mistaken. He stood up to bow to her.
“Ah, there you are, Lady Branna.” Oth held out a message tube. “I’ve got a letter for