The smell of smoke had faded from the air during her time inside the cave, but as she rode back toward Ludlow, Marian could not help but think of Will. What had happened to him since their younger days that had turned him so cruel? He’d always been serious as a lad, but never mean-hearted. Was it simply being in the company of John? Or had something else occurred that had made a serious young man become unfeeling?
Certainly, most nobles didn’t worry overmuch about the villeins who worked the land for them, as long as they paid their tithes and produced from the lord’s land. But nor did a smart and cunning overlord seek to harm or ruin the human machine that generated his wealth. In fact, it was to the manor’s benefit that the village be well maintained enough for the inhabitants to remain productive.
And they certainly couldn’t be if their homes were razed to the ground, and they were overtaxed into poverty.
These thoughts occupied Marian’s mind as they approached the bridge that led to Ludlow Village, the keep and its protective walls rising on a low hill behind it.
Though the acrid smoke had dissipated, Marian saw that the cluster of villagers had not. And as she drew nearer, she saw that they gathered in the center of the square. Immediately, she recognized Will sitting on a balcony that overlooked a platform, and that dais was the center of the crowd.
It took only that moment to understand what was happening: a young woman stood on the platform, her hands bound behind her back. Even from a distance, she could see that the young woman had been badly beaten. Her face was bruised, and dried blood on her matted hair bespoke of violent treatment. Her clothing was more than decent, indicating that she came from the family of a tradesman or shopkeeper. She was likely a freewoman, and not bound to the land here at Ludlow.
And she was about to be hung.
Marian looked up at Will, wondering what crime this woman had committed that justified her execution. As always, his face held an impassive expression. He sat back in his chair and watched as if unmoved by the event.
Hanging was a common enough activity, and regardless of where or who the criminal was, crowds turned out to watch. But there was a different feel to this crowd . . . an unsettled one . . . that made her want to stop and see more.
“Do you know about this?” Marian asked Bruse.
He nodded, his face grave. The man had reached past forty summers, yet his eyes still shone clear and gray. He was also one of the strongest men she knew, and amusing as well. But at this time there was no hint of humor in his expression. “See you that the woman has been beaten?”
“Well and truly, it appears,” Marian said, wincing inwardly at the pain she must have endured. They’d stopped their horses near the edge of the crowd and were watching the proceedings.
“Aye, and ’twas from a man who wanted more than the cloth she weaves. He was her betrothed husband. He took her off behind the apple orchard and forced himself on her. Then he used his fists and a knife to mark her, and she managed to get his dagger. While trying to escape, she struck him in the neck.”
“And so her crime is murder?” Marian asked.
“Aye. She’ll hang for murder.” Bruse looked at her, and she read the bleakness in his eyes. “If my daughter were set upon by such a man, I would cry delight if she sliced him open. This was not the first time he did this to her, and ’tis a fact that he planned to wed her and did not wish to wait for the priest’s blessing. But the sheriff has no mercy and she’s to be hung. He’ll tolerate no breaking of the law in Nottinghamshire.”
So in the stead of living a life of beatings and rapes, the woman defended herself and killed her assailant while doing so. The sheriff cried murder and would make her an example.
Marian felt ill when she realized the man who’d only last night made her quiver and cry with pleasure would raise his powerful hand and end the poor woman’s life. If she’d thought he might have any mercy, her belief in that possibility was now gone.
Were these the sorts of things-destroying property, hanging abused women-Will did every day? Was this how he went about his business?
Disgusted and horror-struck, she wheeled her horse and started back to the keep. She could not watch such a travesty, for she knew naught would veer William de Wendeval’s black heart from its purpose.
The only thing that kept her from hating him more than Prince John at that moment was the fact that he conducted his foul affairs openly, rather than slyly behind closed doors. At the least he was honest about who he was.
CHAPTER 11
W ill watched Marian ride away, then turned back to the crowd.
The horde was angry, but of course it was a fury that simmered beneath the surface. Someday it might rise to the top and spill over into a force to be reckoned with. He didn’t wish to be there when that time came, for ’twould be bloody and violent.
