Page 22 of Tair

“Magistrate Duff.” The guard who came rushing into the morning room had the flushed face and dismayed expression of a man who had failed at his task. “The village headman came to demand the release of the debtors. He slipped in through the gate upon the changing of the guard and refuses to leave the outer bailey.”

That explained his state of dread. Although he had not long stepped into his new role as magistrate, he knew only too well how to conduct such business.

He finished eating his last two pieces of sausage before he said, “Who disobeyed my orders to admit no one?”

The guard dropped to his knees, sobbing out his reply. “’Twas my doing, my lord, only no’ my fault, for he concealed himself–”

Beiste turned his head to regard two of his bodyguards. “Take him out and give him twenty lashes.” As the pair hauled out the weeping man he regarded his young new wife, who returned his gaze with open adoration. A dark-haired beauty with skin so white it resembled milk, she had doe brown eyes, a pert nose and a modest demeanor that concealed a quite unusual nature. “Do you wish more pottage, my love?”

Her dark lashes swept down. “With your new attentions I shall soon grow fat, my lord.”

“Nonsense.” He’d lock her up and starve her before she could. Beiste drained the last of the perry from his goblet and stood. “I must go and deal with this intruder now.” He went over to press a kiss on her cheek. “Bid the maids to clear, and go about your day, my love.”

He left the hall and walked to the tollbooth’s court, which was a long, wide chamber with windows he’d ordered boarded over as soon as he took his position. Braziers now provided flame light, which allowed shifting shadows to glut the chamber and lend it more menace. At the front he had his servants add green twigs to the flames, which created enough smoke to sting the eyes of those presented before him. He passed the guards flanking a short, silver-haired old man with a curved back and gnarled hands. He had dressed in what were likely his finest garments, which appeared only slightly shabby and frayed at the hems and cuffs.

“Magistrate Duff,” the old man said as soon as he saw him. “I’m Headman Engus from the village. I’ve come to demand the release of the debtors you’ve collected in your jails.”

Beiste said nothing as he mounted the steps to his ruling platform and lowered himself into his great chair. Only then did he meet the headman’s watery eyes.

“I dinnae collect debtors, my dear fellow. I arrest and jail them until they find the means with which they may repay their debts, as the law demands.” He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “Do you bring the coin needed to settle their accounts?”

“You ken I dinnae,” Engus snapped. “They cannae repay unless they may earn coin, which they cannae do locked away from their work.”

Beiste tapped a finger against his lips. “Indeed. Still, by working, ’tisnae the only way they may earn coin. I’ve other measures that resolve their crimes quite swiftly.”

“I ken you’ve sold dozens of poor bastarts into slavery.” The headman lifted and shook a fist at him. “I shall inform the king as much when I write to him, unless you release the debtors to me now.”

“So, you’ve no’ yet written to the king?” he asked, just to be sure.

Engus sniffed. “I ken you’re new to your post. I wished give you a chance to act with wisdom instead of greed.”

He leaned forward, almost delighted by the old man’s audacity. “Do you truly mean what you said just now, Headman? Do those words hold weight, or do you but bluster?” As he held the older man’s gaze, he made a subtle gesture with his hand.

“Aye, I meant every word, for I must protect my people–” His words ended in a yelp as two of Beiste’s bodyguards seized him by the arms. “What do you, you fiends? Release me at once.”

“Alas, they cannae. You admitted before them that you have threatened a magistrate, and that’s a grievous offense,” Beiste said as he rose and went to stand before the old man. “You shall join the debtors and share their fate.” He gestured for his bodyguards to take him.

“The Gods shall punish you for your greed,” Engus promised, struggling against the men as they dragged him from the room.

Beiste sighed as he leaned back in his chair. Perhaps he should replace all of the gate guards with the men he’d hired from the midlands. They’d arrive in another week, and were such efficient killers they’d have slit the old man’s throat as soon as he’d made his first demand. Then again, killing the villagers and crofters here offered no advantage beyond stopping them from interfering with his search. That and in time their outraged blood-kin would doubtless storm the tollbooth compound, overrun even his fiercest protectors and cut him into a thousand pieces.

Beiste smiled as he rose and shook out his robes. Since he had no more magistrate business to attend to he would go and walk the grounds of the compound to contemplate his next move. Yet before he could pass even ten minutes in such consideration, another of his guards approached and waited, his head bowed.

“What is it now?” he said.

The guard held out a small scroll case. “A message from the caravan, my lord.”

He took it, gestured for the man to leave, and then broke the seal on the case. The message, written in Breton, revealed that the caravan journeying to the eastern shore would arrive within a few days to collect the goods he’d promised them. He would send the gold they paid him to Dunfermline, he decided, to assure the court would continue to support him without question. That would permit him the time he needed to finish his quest and acquire what he had worked his entire life to achieve.

Beiste’s blood ran hot at the prospect, and he strolled to the back of the tollbooth compound, where the grand manor in which he lived stood.

When he went upstairs and entered the sewing room, he found Lady Duff at her worktable, her hands skillfully plying her needle and silken thread on a patch of linen stretched out on a slate frame between two trestles. She kept the one window shuttered to keep the sun from darkening her delicate skin, preferring to work by candlelight.

The golden glow made him wonder if he should order more candles brought to the sewing room. He so enjoyed dripping hot wax onto his wife’s naked spine.

“My dear.” He leaned over her shoulder to admire her needlework. The scene she’d stitched showed a dozen fierce Gods fighting over a helpless naked female who bore a very strong resemblance to Lady Duff. “This is very fine work.”

“I’m happy ’tis pleasing to you, my lord.” She stabbed the needle into the cloth so she could stand. “How may I serve you?”