Sir Richard followed the servant into the modest lounge, where the Lady worked on a large tapestry. She looked up as he entered.

"I was wondering whether you might drop by, Sir Richard. Please excuse me; I would get up but I don't want to lose my place."

He smiled. The piece was probably hundreds of hours of work, but she had made great progress since he'd last seen it.

"Of course; I'm sorry to interrupt."

"Not at all: a Lady pursues crafts when company is scarce. Please, take a seat."

Richard perched himself on one of the large seats without unbuckling his sword.

"I was hoping you'd know where Ram might be. He isn't expected on duty, but I've just been by the barracks and he's not there."

The Lady looked up, giving him an odd smile.

"He volunteered to help the excise men at the docks. He's avoiding you, Sir."

The knight raised an eyebrow. There wasn't much further he could have gone without leaving the city.

"Was I really that hard on him?"

She nodded.

"I think so. From what I understand he did the best he could: an excellent job, by all accounts."

Sir Richard sighed.

"I know, I know. I should have praised him, but I just couldn't see it as a good thing. It helped nothing: made them worse, perhaps."

"You'd have him do his best only when the result would be perfect?"

He closed his eyes, shaking his head.

"No, of course not. That's why I came; I hoped to set things straight. As you say, he set out on his own to right a wrong, and did an excellent job."

She nodded, her attention split between her brother and the tapestry.

"Well, I'll invite him for dinner. I will set two places but make sure there's food for three; you can tell him then."

He hesitated for a moment.

"That would be excellent, thank you. But if you see him in the meantime, tell him that..."

"Stop." She looked up, concern filling her face and her voice all of a sudden. "My goodness, you're settling your affairs?"

Sir Richard bowed his head for several moments, before meeting her gaze with a similar baleful expression.

"Yes, you could say that."

"You think Wynn could ... beat you?"

He nodded.

"Perhaps. Even the best fighter can fall to a lucky blow, but let us say that Wynn would need much less luck than most."

His sister's concern grew all the more.

"But it's not ... It's not a duel to the death, surely?"

Richard sighed as he unfastened his sword belt, laid his sword on the floor and sank back into the comfortable chair.

"Strictly, no. In practice though, Wynn is charged with a capital crime: she either dies in the arena or she dies on the block. As for me..."

She smiled, a poor attempt at genuine levity.

"Richard, listen to me. If she proves herself, you must yield to her. None of this talk of dying: you are perfectly entitled to end the trial and let her go. Damn it, I know you're sweet on her: perhaps you should do so whether she can beat you or not!" His eyes widened in shock but she didn't let him speak. "Oh, don't ask: I have eyes..."

"Quiet, woman!" She was, as he stopped for a breath. He continued with not half the volume but far more intensity. "I'm sorry, my sister, I should not have shouted so. I cannot simply let her win the duel. All my life I have supported the institution of law, and no matter how much I disagree with the Trial by Combat, I cannot take it upon myself to meddle with the outcome."

"Of course you can. You are the sole judge in a Trial by Combat, just as the Lord Justice is judge elsewhere. You are the one who must decide who is worthy."

He shook his head.

"No matter what we call it, the duel isn't a trial, it's an execution; a chance for a heroic death rather than a hangman's noose. If people could win a Trial by Combat, they'd be 'proven' innocent by skill at arms, rather than anything to do with truth or justice; that's why it's my duty to make sure that the Accused cannot win. Innocent people should hold out for a fair court trial, not seek to survive by force."

"Do you believe she's guilty?"

He paused, his expression suddenly much harder to read.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that."

Again, she didn't understand, but she didn't need to. It wasn't a denial.

"So you'll be doing your best to kill her, despite the way you feel, and even though you're not convinced she's guilty."

He nodded, a tear coming to his eye.

"I must."

She pushed the tapestry-rack aside and got out of her chair, moving over and putting her arms around him in a warm hug.

"Poor you."


"Condemned woman's last meal."

One guard opened the door as the other laid the tray of food near the threshold. Wynn waited until the door closed before moving toward it.

"What is it?"

"Roasted porpoise with frumenty."

Wynn laughed.

"Same as yesterday?"

The guard nodded.

"Yes, Miss. Nobody's quite sure what we do for a second final meal, so we didn't know if we should ask you again. And Cook had lots of porpoise left. They're quite big, those things."

"As is this flask of mead. You can take this back, or have a drink on me once you're off duty: I'm not going to drink this before a duel."

The man smiled, his humour raised even as he watched the eating knife in Wynn's hand.

"Thanks, Miss. You're a real nice prisoner, such as they come. Almost a shame about today."

"Today is a trial. It may prove me innocent."

The guard thought about this for a moment.

"Nah, nobody is innocent what goes for Trial by Combat. Hanging sometimes doesn't kill you straight off: Sir Richard always does."


Sir Richard strode into the High Square in full dress uniform, the sword that was his badge of office sitting easily at his hip. He carried himself like the champion he was, the roar of the crowd almost making him forget his woes. He was reminded soon enough as Wynn stepped out of an enclosed wagon at the far side of the square. The crowd went quiet: as much as they might have wanted to support her, they could not embrace the one who might be a traitor.

Wynn's hair was worse than usual, cut as roughly as it was before her beheading the day before. Her clothes were plain, a white doublet and breeches with dull leather belt and boots, but she looked as much at home in that as she ever had in a dress. The simplicity of it just brought more attention to her bearing and her attitude: Wynn was a woman on a mission, one not to be deterred, and that inflamed him as much as it scared him.

"Sir Richard, Mistress Wynn, draw when ready and make your guard. You may strike on my mark."

Richard gave the Lord Justice a shallow bow before turning back to Wynn, watching her draw her sword. While everything else she wore had been thrown her way by the Lord Justice's men, someone had fetched her sword for her: the one he had given her, the one he had all but designed for her. As he drew his own sword, the blade of the King's Champion, the forward balance that his grandfather had so loved weighed heavily in his hand.

They came within an easy lunge and gently touched the tips of their sabres in the air.

"On your guard, and ... Begin!"


Within moments the crowd were cheering again. They couldn't support Wynn, but mostly they didn't back Richard either. It was as though it started where the sparring in the courtyard had left off: two people who might easily have been the best fighters in the Kingdom and the huge crowd of people gathered to watch them.


Wynn was pushing, carefully, but there was no opening. More frustrating though, there was no riposte: response enough for the spectators but certainly no danger. After a few exchanges it grew tiresome, even the most reckless of assaults drew no real counter-attack.

"Come on, damn you, attack me!"

"I cannot."

He swung at her half-heartedly, watching as she stepped aside without even a parry. In return she drove for his sword hand, catching the hilt with the tip of her blade. A flick of Sir Richard's wrist and she almost had to let go completely. She scurried back, taking a moment to catch a breath and confirm her grip before lunging back in.

"What are you talking about? This is a trial! I don't want to lose, but I'm not going to win like this. On your honour you have to fight!"

He turned her blade aside, feinting so low as to bias her stance downward before flicking the point up. Wynn reeled, thinking she'd dodged it until she felt blood trickle into one eye. She gave him a quick nod of respect.

"My Lady, if I win it condemns you to death. I cannot do that."

She pressed him, keeping some guard up while forcing him to give ground. He conceded only as much as he wanted before a sudden slash gave him the initiative once more. With relative ease he pushed her back to where they had been. While the strangeness of the fight was grating on Wynn, the King's Champion seemed fully in control.

"You talk nonsense. Serve your King and do your duty. It doesn't matter who I am."

"Of course it does!"

Wynn took a step back and a moment of respite as she forced her emotions deeper down. She would have to win the fight against Richard's strange ways before she could beat the man himself. He waited, as she expected; when she went back in she was ready for just about anything.

"Why? Why does it make so much difference that it's me?"

As difficult as it was to discern such mundane details in the middle of a pitched combat, Wynn caught his sigh.

"Because I love you."

She stepped in, her sword lowered a little.

"I love you too."



Next Chapter: Chapter 31