Dawn broke and the captured fugitive from the hue and cry could be heard moaning from deep within the hole where he had been confined for many months. It was a narrow, lightless shaft dug into the castle floor about two rods deep and one pace in width. Atop was an iron grid where passersby paused to relieve themselves. About an hour after dawn a trumpet sounded, and the dung-covered, wet man was hauled into the frigid air where the crowd assaulted him with oaths and blasphemies. He fell cursing to the snow-covered earth. A mounted soldier tied a long rope to the man’s wrists and dragged him to the outdoor court.
Lord Tomas’s bailiff sat as judge. A gallows was hastily set in place as the prisoner was delivered to him. The bailiff looked indifferently at the man and ordered him tied to a wall while other matters were tended.
The first business was that of a boundary dispute; the second a charge of premarital relations against a tavern wench of Mensfelden; the next, a claim by a village reeve that his neighbor had diverted water. After an hour’s deliberation the court turned to a complaint against a baker stealing dough from his neighbors. It seems the clever fellow hid a child beneath the table where his customers set their doughs for measuring. Once the dough was set on the table, the child removed a wooden plug from beneath and dug out fingers’ full! At the baker’s signal, the imp would quickly replace the plug and wait for the next. The scheme earned the baker a good flogging and a severe penance from the priest.
The judge moved on to other business, including that of a frustrated yeoman and his strident wife. The plaintiff was convinced that his wife and a tinker were conspiring against him, and he proceeded to explain a confusing plot. His wife interrupted him time and time again with oaths and loud belches, eventually heaving a handful of pebbles at the man and then more at the court. That poorly aimed insult earned her an immediate flogging!
Finally, the judge turned his attention to more important matters. He quickly found the man captured by Richard and the men from Weyer guilty of murder and hung on the spot. He had been tried by ordeal; a method which yielded to God’s omniscience. The man had been bound and cast into the moat. If he floated he was to be judged guilty, if he sank, innocent. Sadly for the accused, he failed to drown.
It was shortly after the bells of sext when the drunken crowd was dispersed for the midday meal. The four men of Weyer sauntered off for a bite of bread, a fist of smoked pork, and a two-handed flagon of ale. They soon found themselves squatting by the warmth of a small bonfire where they chatted with the subjects of Lord Tomas and waited for Ingelbert’s trial to begin.
They did not need to wait long, for the agitated lord soon stormed to his place in the fore of the court, quickly replacing his bailiff as the judge. “Now,” bellowed Tomas impatiently, “to the business at hand! Bring that demon freak!” The crowd hurried to the courtyard and watched the lord pace in his black mourning cloak. He peered angrily from beneath a black, broad-rimmed hat with no mind for mercy. Within moments, Ingelbert was dragged before him.
The lord circled the young man like a hawk menacing a mouse. He mocked the lad’s bowed back and spindly legs; he slapped his sloping forehead and squeezed his retreating chin. Then, in a rage, he pounded his gloved fist into Ingly’s protruding top teeth and drove the lad to the ground. He circled faster and faster, his eyes red with grief and with fury. He kicked Ingelbert viciously, over and over again and none dared stop him. None, that is, save one.
“My lord!” boomed a voice from the crowd. A tall, black-haired knight stepped forward with a hooded cleric at his side.
Lord Tomas stopped and stared. “Who dares interrupt? Who dares!?”
“I am Simon, knight of Lord Klothar in Runkel. This is m’priest.”
Tomas turned from Ingelbert and strode through the hushed crowd. “And what business have you in my court?” he growled.
Simon set his fists upon his hips. “I am bored. You’ve little here to watch, save that monster you’d be kicking like a sack!” The knight threw back his head and laughed.
Lord Tomas relaxed and clasped hands with Simon. “Ja! ‘Tis a curse on legs, methinks! Look at the wretch. He murdered my son!”
Simon nodded his head. “Hmm.” He set a finger on his bearded chin and circled Ingelbert thoughtfully. “Was your son a slight lad? Young perhaps? A boy?”
“Nay! He was a strong lad… skilled at arms and a falconer.”
“Ah. And of what cause did he die?”
Tomas turned a hateful eye toward Ingelbert who lay still and whimpering on the ground. “My Silvester was found battered and crushed, his neck broken. It seems he was killed, then thrown from a high cliff to the rocks below.”