Sometimes The Innocent Need To Die
e has been my friend since youth. How can I order his death? It is my duty I am King first friend second. I must uphold my own laws no matter the cost.. Richards eyes condemn me. Does he not understand I am as much a prisoner as he? Would that the Prosecutor were briefer. I desire an end to this unhappy task.
"Sire, the facts in this matter are clear," the Prosecutor adjusts his robe, pulling it tighter about his rotund frame. "Your own Royal Personage was a witness to the event."
Yes, the abbey banquet. I saw the blade. The blood. Richard killed the priest. He did it for me. Is safeguarding the Kings life treason? I raise my hand to halt this pretence of a trial. I see my signet ring. The symbol of my Kingship. There is more imperilled than my friends life. I lower my hand back to the gilded rest of my throne. Richard forgive me. I have a kingdom to save.
The Prosecutor sees my brief hand gesture and pauses. The throne room is silent. My subjects eyes are fixed upon me. The sun shines through the stained windows. It provides light, but no warmth. The Prosecutor continues as my hand again rests idle.
"This man," the Prosecutor points a pudgy bejewelled finger at Richard, "Is a heretic. He seeks to destroy our Church and our King."
Not so, I ache to cry out. There is no more faithful a man than Richard. Faithful to his King. As King I must remain silent. Impartial judge. I see how the words wound Richard. He casts his eyes down. His fists clench in his iron manacles. He says nothing. He understands what is risked. I must thank this kindness with his death. I see no way to avoid it. For me to intercede would lead to a most uncivil war.
"I summon the Abbot to testimony." The Prosecutor strokes an emerald ring.
The Abbot, an odious toad, gathers his robes. He tries to hide the glance. The Bishop. His raptorial features alight. The one blight in my kingdom. Putting peasants off church land. Gaining power through threats of damnation. He tests himself against me with this trial.
"How did the priest, a member of your abbey, come to die?".
I see the Abbots trembling. Is he more afraid of me or the Bishop. The Bishops face is placid, his eyes intense. The Abbots hands are fidgeting. He clears his throat.
"He was stabbed by Sir Richard."
My subjects stir uneasily. To kill a priest is unheard. The Abbot cannot meet my gaze. He glances nervously at the Bishop. The Bishop does not move.
"For what reason did he perform this barbarity."
"I do not know."
You commit a mortal sin, Abbot. It is right you hide your face. What of the vial. The small container of nightshade. It's liquid destined for my goblet But for Richards loyalty a King would lie dead.
"You know of no reason why this man would slay a priest."
"No"
The Abbots voice is a mere whisper. A smile creases the Bishops face. My people become restless. To slay a priest without reason? He must be in league with the devil. The Bishop has done his work well. They flock to his calling. I shall never forget what Richard has scarified for me this day. Neither will I let the Bishop.
"I have no more to say" The Prosecutor takes to his seat. It creaks under the strain.
I raise my voice, "Will no man speak in Sir Richards defence." The audience stirs. None offer him aid. Who would defend a slayer of Gods messenger. The Bishop looks replete in his victory. He sees himself a step closer.
I wait, longer then custom dictates. No man stirs to Richards defence. I have no choice. I must pass sentence. "Sir Richard of Beaufont you are guilty of the murder of the priest Marcus Saul of the Abbey of Linsel. You have given no defence. You are to be taken from here and beheaded, according to the law."
The Bishops eyes gleam. Richard walks tall. I see his eyes. The look will haunt my dreams. He knows why this must be. He holds his silence for my sake. Will he ever forgive the wrong I do him now?
At the threshold Richard pauses. He turns to his persecutors. The Bishop stiffens. The audience falls silent. "Long live the King."
Richard turns from the assemblage. Does he see the tears in my eyes? My loyalist friend is about to die. A piece of me will die with him. All I have left is justice. I shall see it visited upon the Bishop before this year is out.
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