Sigurd gazed down at the floor, his eyes fixed on a small scuff mark just beside his left toe where some heavy chair had been dragged across the soft-wood floor.

He did not want to meet the eyes of the nobles arrayed before him, did not want to see the sympathy, nor the anger that lay there. If he did then surely the tears that were threatening to spill would flood down his cheeks, staining them with shame and humiliation. Either that or he would crumple to the floor like the weaker horse in a fight, futilely kicking with broken legs and screaming in rage.

“How is your wife Sigurd?” the Queen asked in hush tones that thrummed soothingly in his ears.

He felt rude but he could no more meet her soft, concerned gaze than he could go and bury his face in her long red hair and sob until he was spent.

“I do not know Your Majesty, Goodwife Cade is with her now”, he managed through gritted teeth, tracing the gouge marks with blurring eyes. They were scored deep into the rotten, waterlogged floorboards like claw marks scratched into the soft flesh of an unprotected belly. How easy it was to damage them, despite the careful workmanship, the many months and years of careful planning that had gone into the laying of those planks, the building of this ship. So many months, destroyed in the single scrape of a heavy chair.

“Well Garald, what have you found?”, the King asked his steward.

“Your Majesty, there is a precedent for this in Branwhuldian law. The text states that should any man strike or injure the wife of another he must forfeit 2 hides of land to that man. Such is the penalty for damage of property”, his voice was clear, his words blunt.

Sigurd’s eyes moved upwards, passing over the hazy faces of the King and Queen to rest on the proud, golden griffin embroidered into the tapestry behind His Majesty’s head. The creature’s powerful claws were outstretched even in repose as though it only waited till the unsuspecting enemy drew close. Then the claws would slash out, tearing across tender skin, ripping it open and exposing the raw meat beneath. That cruel, gaping beak would surely plunge into the ragged wounds, shredding sinew, rendering muscle from the bone.

He shivered at the thought of the gouge marks at his feet, a momentary terror of the beast stepping down from the tapestry, the woven golden threads becoming corporeal as its curved talons carved their mark into the floor. The Griffin’s cold, knotted eye stared down at him from the red, velvety folds of its prison.

“But what of the baby?” the Queen’s voice rang out, hollow as the low cry of a grotesque, winged silhouette wheeling high above the ground.

His heart contracted painfully as he was reminded of the child, another son or daughter he might never hold in his empty arms.

“Your highness”, Garald began slowly, his mouth twisting into a sad half smile, “until a child enters the world it is not truly a person at all and thus the law holds no sway in the matter”.

Sigurd felt bile rising in his throat as his stomach clenched in uncontrolled anger. It surged upwards, burning in the back of his mouth as he struggled to contain the bitter remarks that were blistering on the tip of his tongue. He was quite unprepared for such a strength of feeling, his hands curling into trembling claws, his mouth a gaping grimace.

“My child”, he managed to hiss from the boiling, turmoil that was his body, “no person at all”.

The anger was so great and terrible now that he could feel it frying and spitting inside him, droplets of fire spattering upwards and threatening to burst from his mouth in a torrent of fury.

“I’m terrible sorry for what has happened Sigurd”, Eallair said soothingly, “You can be assured that The Earl will be punished justly”.

It was too much and the words exploded forth in a screech of rage, “Justly! Justice… what is your stinking justice worth? Two hides of land… is that what losing a child is worth. Two hides of worthless land on this hellish island! Tell me Your Highness… what is that worth?!”

Some part of Sigurd was curled up inside him, drawing his knees to his chin and sobbing, begging him to be quiet, to stop yelling. Pitifully pleading, please let’s stop insulting the King and just find somewhere to hide and weep. But the Sigurd whose slitted eyes glared at the King, flicking occasionally to the impassive, beady eye of the griffin above was not listening.

“And what if she dies? My wife, Varda. What if she dies because of this? What will be the justice then. Three hides, four?” he held up his fingers mockingly as he all but shrieked through grating teeth.

The King’s voice burst from his lungs in an angry roar, “You can be sure that if she dies he will suffer a far, far worse punishment and I shall be the one to meter it out”.

Faced with the power of Eallair’s anger, Sigurd’s defiance winked out like a flame in a strong gust of wind.

He hung his head in shame, unable to look his King in the eye, “I am sorry Your Highness”, he murmured, “I did not mean to be so disrespectful. I am much shaken and upset by these events and in terrible fear for the fate of my wife and unborn child”.

“Understandable Sigurd”, Eallair’s voice was kind and gentle again, “You are forgiven. Do not fear for Lady Inbar. She is in the most able care of Goodwife Cade and you can surely trust in her skills as she has proved time and again”.

He took a deep breath and continued, “You must trust me Sigurd. Should you seek vengeance and take matters into your own hands you will be betraying your King and shall also face my wrath. I need the competent men in my Kingdom and that includes both you and the Earl. I will not stand for fighting amongst my subjects”.

Sigurd nodded, unable to speak for fear of the growing lump in his throat turning to tears.

There was a load rap at the doors and then they swung slowly open.

“The Baroness of Tadghar and the Countess of Moraghdu”, Garald droned, rising from his chair.

Elmvarn, Inbar, Moraghdu, Tadhgar, The Royal Family