Page 13 of The Forest Bride
“Have you read Menteith’s complaint? Robbed of sheep and cattle, he claims.”
“I glanced through. I suspect Sir John and his sheep could cause a parcel of trouble. He was complaining loudly about it not long ago.”
“Ah, and here he comes, looking determined to defend himself.”
Duncan glanced up. Spring sunshine filtered over the crowd of people gathered in the clearing as Sir John Menteith, sheriffof Dunbartonshire, shoved his way through. A burly man in his thirties, near Duncan’s age but looking much older, he wore a long yellow surcoat and chainmail with his usual surly scowl.
Menteith was unlikely to wait his turn, Duncan knew. Ayre courts meted out justice for those needing to present complaints beyond the sheriff court—and also provided a diversion as entertaining as games at a market fair. He had presided over many such courts in the past few years, and felt it was work well done. But the cacophony of voices, music, the lowing of cows being sold, thethunkof stones being tossed, andthwackof arrows at the archery butts was a tempting distraction after a long day. And the smells of smoky meats and savory foods made his stomach growl.
He just wanted to grab a meat pie and a fresh ale and watch a race or an archery competition. He wanted to look for a length of woven cloth to send to his sister Isabel, expecting a child in her husband’s Hebridean stronghold.
First, he had to hear more cases, and knew Sir John Menteith could be tiresome. Years ago, he and Constantine had shared a dungeon cell with Menteith, who had been a decent sort, though more interested in his welfare over others’. After their release, he had heard the fellow had pandered to King Edward and prospered for it, while Duncan and others lessened their service to Edward in favor of justice for Scots.
Following his father’s death, Duncan had to appeal for his inherited position as a Scots justiciar. Even so, he managed to cross Edward’s tyranny in secret and worthwhile ways, and continued to take that risk.
“Patrick Fraser.” Duncan turned to the young clerk seated with them shuffling parchments. “I need the account of the incident involving Menteith.”
“Here, sir.” Patrick handed him a rolled parchment.
“Sheep, cattle—and a man gravely injured in a dispute over livestock. Con, shall I review this as justiciar, or will you keep it in the sheriff court?”
“We could manage it in the Stirlingshire court, but since Menteith is sheriff of Dunbartonshire, better it goes to the justiciary. I thought you might like the, ah, privilege.”
“Did you now,” Duncan drawled.
Constantine chuckled. “Sir John says he expects the decision to go his way.”
“He deserves a chance to be heard, but he can wait. Patrick,” Duncan said, “ask Sir John to stand aside until we call him.” As the clerk got to his feet, Duncan looked through other parchments. “What more do we have?”
“A few cases reviewed by the sheriff court need final decisions. A land dispute. A breach of promise—that girl is angry,” he muttered. “A tussle over well rights, another over grazing rights.” Constantine gave him a page and its copy. “An annulment.”
Duncan set those aside. “The Church decides that, not the justiciary.”
“But this is a hotheaded dispute over the girl’s tocher,” Constantine said. “Her family wants it determined by a higher civil authority than the sheriff.”
Duncan scowled. The mention of a breach of promise and dowry dispute unsettled him for a moment. Just old guilt rising again.
“An abbot must recommend it to a bishop to approve or send on to Rome. Patrick, take these pages,” he said as the clerk returned. Dipping ink, Duncan scribbled a note and his name. “Inform this party their complaint must go to the nearest abbey. Give the copy to Father Ambrose. He is over there and can take it to his abbot.”
As Patrick hastened off again, Duncan sighed. “They will not have an annulment before autumn, if the Church moves even that fast.”
“Aye. Dissolving such an agreement can be a sticky matter. Ah, sorry, Duncan.”
He had no reply for that. “Next?”
“A new claim. Incident along the road past Druimin.” Constantine unfolded another parchment. “A witness told an innkeeper, who conveyed it to the Stirlingshire sheriff a few days ago. It came to me. My men are investigating. They found three bodies to be blessed and buried, left in a field after some encounter. Not good. Here.”
Duncan took the page. “Who is the claimant?”
“Menteith is arguing against it.”
“I cannot wait,” he drawled. “Who was the witness?”
“A young Andrew Murray, the innkeeper said. That name gave me a pause, but several Murrays bear that name. Not just my older brother.”
“Your brother was the finest Andrew Murray of the lot. He was a good man when he was captured with us, and a brilliant general beside William Wallace. A tragedy for Scotland when he died after the battle at Stirling Bridge. Any who share that name should be proud. He had a little son called Andrew too. How old now?”
“My nephew would be twelve or thirteen. But he fosters with the Keiths and is safe there. He would hardly be wandering the Druimin Road witnessing attacks. But this witness might be a distant kinsman. He is not expected to be here, though.”
