On the day that followed that of his adventure among the Arran
mountains, Kenric went to the seat of judgment at Ascog, there in solemn
assize to administer the laws of his dominions. The men of Bute were
peaceful, and the offences and charges that were brought forward on that
day were of no great gravity.
On taking his seat before the twelve wise men, he opened the assize and
called for the first charge, whereupon an odaller from one of the
farmsteads of Ardbeg accused one of the islanders of having made theft
of a young steer. Kenric asked whether the thief had driven the young ox
away or carried it, and explained that the stealing of such prey as
required to be driven was a higher offence than if it were carried off.
A witness then proved that the thief, being a strong man, had bound the
steer's legs with thongs and thrown the animal over his shoulder, and so
made off with it. And being proved guilty, he was made to pay a fine of
twenty pence.
Then there came another who charged his enemy with having hunted hares
and wildfowl on lands that were not his own. But the accused man was
held guiltless, for, said the young judge, they had there no tyrannous
forest laws, and every man was free to hunt wheresoever he wished, and
to take what game he might. And again, a fisherman was accused of having
charged two pennies for a basket of fish worth only half that sum; and
Kenric said that the fisherman was poor and hard working, and that he
who bought the fish was over greedy, and the case was dismissed. Next a
poor cattleman of Kingarth came forward, showing a knife wound in his
arm, and saying that another had stabbed him and also struck him in the
mouth, knocking out a tooth; and Kenric ordered that the man's wound
should be measured with a rule, and it was three inches in length and a
half inch in breadth. Then for the length of the wound a fine of
twenty-four pence was imposed upon the wrongdoer, for its breadth six
pennies, and for the tooth twelve other pennies.
Then Kenric asked if there were any further matters to be judged.
"Yes, my lord," said Duncan Graham, entering the circle of the court.
"There is a boon that I your servant would humbly ask."
"And what boon is that?" asked Kenric, already guessing what it might be.
"It is," said Duncan, standing to his full height and growing very red
-- "It is that there lives with Elspeth Blackfell, over at Kilmory, one
whom men name Aasta the Fair, and she is a thrall. The boon I ask is
that you will in your mercy remove from her the yoke of bondage, for she
is a passing worthy maid, and it is no fault of hers, but only her
misfortune that she is a thrall; and, so please you, my lord, I love her
well, and would make her my lawful wife, for a freeman may not wed a
bondmaid and claim her as his own."
"Show me this maiden, that I may speak with her," said Kenric.
And Aasta stood forth, looking very beautiful in a robe of white, and
with her eyes downcast, and her hands clasped before her.
"Tell me your name and history," said the young king.
"My name, my lord, is Aasta, and nothing else," said she. "I am a thrall
to Sir Oscar Redmain, who claimed me as his bondmaid when I was but a
little child, for it was upon his lands that I was found. Whence I came
I cannot tell; but men say that it was with the wild north winds that I
was brought to Bute, from the regions of frost and snow. Of my parentage
I know naught, saving only that Elspeth Blackfell has oft declared that
my parents were of noble station, and that they dwelt in the land of the
Norsemen."
"That you are of gentle blood I can well believe," said Kenric softly,
as he regarded her surpassing beauty. "But do you then remember nothing
of your earliest life?"
"All that yet lingers in my mind, my lord, is the memory of my mother,"
said Aasta. "She was wild and unruly as the winter storm, and cruel as
an angry wolf."
"And your father?"
"He was a viking, who, though he loved me passing well, was ever on the
sea, roving and fighting in his great ship."
"Whosoever you be, Aasta, and whencesoever you came," said Kenric, "I
now declare you to be free of your bondage. For the space of a year and
a day you shall remain upon Sir Oscar Redmain's lands as his paid
servant, but not as his thrall, and at the end of that time the Abbot of
St. Blane's shall give you in marriage to the brave man who will then
claim you, and you shall be that man's lawful wedded wife."
Then, when Duncan Graham led the maid away, Kenric asked if there yet
remained any man there present who had any claim to make, or grievance
to be redressed; at which David Blair, a rich farmer of Scalpsie, called
for judgment upon one who had done him a wrong.
"What is your suit?" asked the king.
"It is," said the farmer, "that, ten days since, my watchdog was cruelly
slain. He was the best watchdog in all Bute, and never dared beast of
prey or man of stealth come near my homestead but to his hurt. But,
since my dog has been slain, three gimmer sheep, and two ewe lambs, and
four young goats have been carried off by the wolves. And my good wife
Marjory has lost seven of her best chickens, that have been taken by the
foxes."
"Who is the man that so cruelly slew your dog?" asked Kenric.
"It was young Allan Redmain of Kilmory, and him do I charge," said the
farmer.
"Allan Redmain!" exclaimed Kenric, in alarm at the thought of sitting in
judgment upon his own friend.
Then he stirred uneasily in his seat, and bit his lips in trying to see
a way of escape out of his difficulty. He had sworn lasting friendship
for Allan, and remembering the adventure of the day before, when Allan
had risked his life for him, he could not bear the thought of giving
sentence of punishment if it should be proved that Allan was guilty.
Thrown thus betwixt friendship and duty, he sat for many moments in
silent thought, wishing that he was no longer a king who had bound
himself to do justice to all men. But at last he called aloud for Allan
Redmain, and Allan promptly appeared, albeit with lowered head and
guilty looks.
"Now, David Blair," said Kenric with tremulous voice, "repeat your
accusation, and woe betide you if in malice you say aught but the holy
truth."
"My lord!" said the farmer in surprise. "Am I then to be doubted? And is
my word less to be trusted than that of any other honest man of Bute? I
repeat that it was Allan Redmain who slew my dog out of mere boyish sport."
Allan looked at his accuser with frowning brows.
"Allan Redmain, are you guilty or innocent of this offence?" asked the
young judge.
"In that I slew the dog, my lord, I am guilty," said Allan. "But in that
the act was not without just cause, I am innocent. It was in the hay
field of Scalpsie, where with a companion I was walking. The dog ran up
to us as it were to attack us. My comrade shook his fist at the dog, and
thereupon it sprang at his throat, and I took out my dirk and slew the
brute."
"Brute, say you?" exclaimed the farmer. "My lord, the dog meant no
manner of harm, and it was a cruel thing to kill him so. I am now
without a watchdog, and must I needs suffer my sheep to be devoured by
the wolves because, forsooth, a hot-headed lad would use his knife upon
my poor dumb friend? I ask for redress, and redress I shall have."
"Who was the comrade of whom you speak?" asked Kenric of Allan.
"I refuse to say, my lord," said Allan firmly.
"It was your own brother Alpin who is dead, my lord," said David Blair.
"What! and you would have me punish one who so defended my own brother?"
cried Kenric. "No, David Blair, I cannot do it."
But at that the farmer protested warmly, and declared that he would have
justice done him, and that it was his lord's duty to deal fairly by all
men, notwithstanding that Allan Redmain was the son of the steward. So
there was nothing for it but for Kenric to pronounce the penalty.
"It is an old law, held sacred by custom," he falteringly said, "that if
one slays another man's watchdog, the slayer must himself protect for a
year and a day the unwatched homestead. And he is accountable to the
owner for any scathe that may befall within that period after the
slaying of the dog. This, Allan Redmain, is the penalty you must pay,
and less than this it is not in my power to impose, for law is law, and
I am but its instrument."
Then after the assize was over, Allan went to Kenric and asked him what
was now to be done concerning their projected journey into Scotland, for
that now he was condemned to act for twelve long months as a miserable
watchdog, it was no longer possible for him to leave the island, and be
absent for a night.
The same difficulty had already presented itself to Kenric, who felt
indeed that he would rather have cut off his own hand than pass that
sentence upon his friend. He looked at Allan with pleading eyes.
"Allan," he said, "how can you forgive me for this that I have done? And
how can I now help you out of this miserable dog's work? Methinks that
on the cold frosty nights when you are out there, minding this churlish
farmer's sheep, it will not be easily that I shall lie in my warm bed.
But how to help it, I do not know. Haply the law was made for vagabond
thieves and cattle lifters, but it still is law, and in my place I could
not well evade the judgment."
"Think not that I blame you, my lord," said Allan cheerily. "I am not
the steward's son without knowing somewhat of a judge's difficulties in
punishing his own friends. But, alas! I had set my heart upon being your
attendant on this journey of homage."
"As to that," said Kenric, "you need not concern yourself. I will not
break my promise to take you. As to Blair's flocks and his good wife's
chickens, we can send the lad Lulach to watch them, and I warrant me
they will be safe. So come you over to Rothesay at the time of the flood
tide two days hence, and we will then set sail for Dumbarton."