Episode 25: Judgement

Gundar shifted from foot to foot, concealing his impatience as best he could. He was not accustomed to waiting in line.

King Baldur had been wont to deal with the transgressions of his children promptly, decisively and in private. When a matter came up that was too serious for his underlings to handle, he made it his priority, even if it meant interrupting matters of state. As the sire of future kings, he did not believe in coddling his offspring. Simpering softness was not the mark of a warrior, and a king must be, first of all, a warrior. A king of the Northlands was expected to outfight, outdrink, and outwench his followers, remain supremely indifferent to hunger, cold, and danger, and never, under any circumstances, cry for mercy. Learning to submit to punishment without flinching was an essential component of Gundar’s training. Waiting was not.

The time would have passed more easily if he had been allowed to sit. But only nobles had that privilege. The most exalted of them sat on either side of the judgement seat, occasionally offering a suggestion or opinion when the king solicited it. The others were crowded side by side on a long bench that extended almost the full length of the room, keeping back the gawking crowd of commoners. The parade of plaintiffs, suppliants and malefactors were lined up along the opposite wall with their advocates and guards, each waiting their turn to be heard and judged by the supreme lawgiver of the land. Gundar and his captors were last in line. The soldiers had pleaded with the mareschal in charge to petition the king for an immediate hearing of their vitally important case, but their arguments failed to impress. Gundar would take his turn with the rest.

King Tantalos was not what Gundar had expected. When Gundar first laid eyes on him, he thought that the king had been unable to attend the session and had sent a senior bureaucrat in his place. The tall, skeletally lean personage presiding over the courtroom had nothing kingly in his demeanour. He wore a loose, dark green robe that had the look of silk, and a simple gold coronet such as any noble might wear. His voice had a girlish timbre; his mannerisms were fastidious. He was zealously committed to meticulous record-keeping, and constantly reminded the secretaries of details that they might be overlooking. When Tantalos was deep in thought, he would toy with a letter-opener, scraping the dirt from beneath his nails. A tiny grey terrier, smaller than any dog Gundar had ever seen, sat by the king’s side, periodically jumping onto his master’s lap to be stroked. The animal watched the proceedings with as much interest as any human in the room, pricking his ears, wagging his tail, and occasionally breaking into a fit of frenzied yapping which drowned out his master’s voice. Whenever this occurred, the king waited until his pet had quieted, and then remarked placidly, "Trickster must have his say." This remark was invariably greeted by a ripple of laughter. As time passed, Gundar noticed that the dog’s outbursts occurred when Tantalos was about to render a difficult judgement, and bought him a little time to ponder. In the business of public justice, nothing was more damaging to a judge’s reputation than indecisiveness.

As each case was dealt with, Gundar moved a little closer to the judgement seat, allowing him to see and hear more clearly what was going on. He watched carefully, trying to measure the man who would decide his fate. Despite his unpromising appearance, Tantalos was a shrewd and decisive judge who knew how to please the crowd. When the spectators went home, they would be full of confidence in their monarch’s ability to render justice. That kind of trust was worth more to a monarch than a thousand soldiers.

An elderly widow who had been defrauded by a merchant was awarded four times her claim. A hand which had been raised against its liege lord was amputated on the spot by the red-hooded executioner. Two highwaymen were bound over for the theatric spectacle of the formal execution day in a few days’ time.

A particularly unsavory-looking cutpurse had been apprehended for the third time, plying his trade. Without any further ado, Tantalos nodded to the executioner’s assistant, who stepped forward and garotted the man as casually as a chicken. While the body was still quivering, Trickster dived into the crowd and reappeared with a large rat in his mouth. He set his quarry down, dispatched it before it could move, and laid it at the feet of his master amidst cheering and clapping from the audience. Tantalos smiled and offered the dog a sweet in exchange for his trophy. "You see," he told the appreciative crowd. "Trickster has learned his lessons well, and knows how to administer justice as handily as I do. That vermin will never steal our grain again!"

Behind his mask of military impassivity, Gundar’s brain was churning, trying to determine the outcome of his own judgement. Just two more cases, and it would be his turn. Was there any way he could goad the king into delving into the truth of the matter rather than taking the easier route of placating the crowd by the death of a foreigner who had allegedly harmed their princess?
Gundar’s reflections were interrupted by the loud pleas and remonstrations of two neighbours disputing a fence line. Tantalos had just ordered them both to be flogged for troubling his court with such a trivial case.

While the sentence was being carried out, Gundar scanned the crowd, hoping for some sign of Arestasis. In the Northlands, a bondsman’s master was required to appear at any trial, since he was deemed to share the responsibility for his vassal’s behaviour. If that was the law here, nothing could be done until the archmage chose to appear. Depending on his mood, Arestasis might assure the king of Gundar’s good character, or demand his death for breaking his bond.

Surely Arestasis will be merciful, Gundar thought, swallowing hard. I am not so bad as all that, and Petros has need of me.

Just one more case to go, and his moment of truth would come.

Trickster caught two more rats during the twists and turns of a complex group recital about a stolen sheep and a cow with curdled milk. Tantalos picked absent-mindedly at his cuticles as he listened, or pretended to listen, to the verbal maze of charges and counter-charges. When the crowd began to fidget, Tantalos held up his hand, calling out firmly, "Enough!" He pointed at one of the plaintiffs. "You will be bound over to the cow’s owner for a half-year to pay your debt." "Sire," the man replied, "I am the owner of the cow." "That is a matter of opinion," Tantalos pronounced with the self-assurance of omniscience. He nodded to a pair of guards, who efficiently shepherded everyone involved through a side door.

The king put down his letter-opener and looked directly at Gundar through narrowed eyes. "What have we here?"

Gundar vainly attempted to maintain his dignity as two soldiers dragged him forward and threw him onto his hands and feet before the king.

"If it please your majesty," the soldier in charge said dramatically, "we have captured the kidnapper of the Princess Laesta."

The room erupted with a babble of voices which was quickly quelled by the Sergeant-at-arms, who bellowed in his best military manner, threatening to eject everyone from the room forthwith.

When silence was restored, Tantalos said with a trace of asperity. "This is the fifth man you have brought before me with the same charge. I am growing weary. If this is indeed the man who took my daughter, produce her for me, dead or alive, and I will hear the case."

"The search continues, your Majesty," the soldier said. "She was sighted."

"Sighted?" Tantalos asked. "Was she alive and well?"

"We think so," the soldier said.

The king’s voice sharpened. "You think so? I have no wish for your thoughts. I want facts. Was she alive, or not?"

"I cannot say for sure," the soldier said, quailing. "She was lying face-down across the back of a great six-legged beast. It ran away, you see, and–"

Gundar struggled to one knee. "Your Majesty! ‘Twas I who rescued her! I am no highwayman – I am a prince of the Northlands! Let me help you find–"
"Silence!" his keeper growled, clubbing the nape of Gundar’s neck with his fist. Gundar fell onto his face, his head reeling. The soldier pressed a heavy foot on the back of Gundar’s neck. "You will speak when you are spoken to."

Gundar lay helpless, drifting in and out of consciousness, as the discussion continued. He let his overtaxed muscles relax and made no further effort to speak. His life was no longer in his hands.

"It is past my suppertime, and I am hungry," the king announced at last. "Whoever this vermin is, it is clear that he is up to no good. Take his head quickly, so we can all go home.

Take my head? Gundar wondered groggily. What manner of ceremony is that? It was only as he was being dragged towards the bloody chopping block that he understood.

Mother Rhoz, Mare of the North, let me die well and feast with my father tonight! Gundar pleaded silently with the principal deity of his homeland. The executioner raised his axe, paused, and then raised it higher still.

"Rodentia theocrita num!" a resonant voice, strange and yet familiar, intoned. Gundar felt his body twisting, shrinking, reforming. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Archmage Arestasis, haloed in a rainbow of glory, lightning sizzling from the staff in his hand.

"Rodentia! Rodentia!" the archmage cried again. Gundar tried to greet him, but only a squeak came from his furry nose.

Trickster came bounding towards him. He was huge now, larger than any creature Gundar had ever imagined. When the terrier was almost upon him, Gundar realized that Arestasis had transformed him into a rat.

Gundar did the only thing he could under the circumstances. He ran.