The Trial of Giles Hartwell – Part 2: Tumbler

The castle cell was a round stone room with a heavy oak door and a modern latch, fitted on the inside, that any child could have lifted. She had shown it to him four times. At the ninth bell she closed the door, and the dull boom went through his chest, and he stood in the middle of the cell with his hands at his sides, looking at the latch.

It was the most extraordinary test of his life. Every instinct he had, every professional pride, told him to lift it. He could hear her breathing on the other side of the door. He could feel the quiet weight of her attention. Nothing was stopping him except the thing he had asked for.

He did not lift it.

She came at the half hour with a lantern and opened the grille. "Does the accused wish to continue?"

"I do, Your Excellency."

"The latch?"

"I have not touched it."

"Good." A pause. "I should like you to know that I find that very moving."

At midnight she brought him out to the great hall, where a single lamp burned, and read the verdict aloud to the empty benches. He knelt on the flags and counted out eight hundred crowns, one by one, and she asked him again if he wished to continue, and he said yes. The cane was twenty-five strokes, exact and brief, with a hand on his shoulder at every fifth, and he counted aloud, one, Your Excellency, thank you, his voice steadier at the end than at the start. Then he took the apology from his pocket and read it aloud on his knees, a short, rueful, ridiculous page that ended with the words I surrender the boast, and I am glad to.

She took the page and folded it into her sleeve.

"The Court accepts your apology."

"Thank you, Your Excellency."

He was returned to the cell and slept, to his surprise, until the dawn bell, with the latch untouched beside him.

At first light she opened the door and stood in it.

"Tumbler," said Rosalind, softly.

It was the word, and she spoke it for them both. She came in and sat on the bunk beside him and unbuttoned the high collar of her coat, and the Justiciar slipped away and left only a tired, glowing woman who had not slept either.

"How are you?"

"Overruled," said Giles, with a damp, delighted laugh. "Completely. I did not touch the latch."

"I know. I counted the hours." She drew a blanket round them both. "You were extraordinary."

"May I boast again?"

"You may boast as often as you like." She kissed his forehead. "The Tribunal sits again in the spring."

"I'll bring my picks," said Giles.

"You will bring your oath," said Rosalind, "and leave the picks at home."

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