Michael meets Tanith
He had been at the end of a particularly hot and wearisome day as the Chief Magistrate in the court of King Frederick II, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Sicily. There had been an procession of civil cases involving disputes over property, inheritance and business partnerships.
The large courtroom was luxuriously appointed with marble floors and Persian carpets. He was seated at a marble table with uncomfortable but imposingly upright wooden chairs. In front of him were ranged three scribes making copious notes in the three languages of the court: Greek, Latin and Arabic. Michael spoke fluently in all three languages and he would stop when required to make sure that a point was clear. The Emperor was devising a new written code of law and required many summaries which he would review himself. Michael often looked for precedents in existing codes and practices written in a number of languages, which were contained in all the manuscripts and rolls on the high shelves behind him.
It was laborious and intensive work, but as he directly represented the Emperor he was treated with satisfying deference. He often had a to conceal a smirk when some of the wealthy merchants who would not look twice at him in the street, stifled their rage in front of him because he looked even younger than his twenty-five years. Swaggering Genoese, aloof Arabs and Venetian bankers and merchants accompanied by retinues of anxious sycophants all had to follow the due process and wait their turn. He had become immune to the sly threats and blatant bribery knowing that he had the complete confidence of his King and he was entitled to mete out sentences ranging from a simple beheading to minor fines and there was no recourse to appeal. Outside the room there was a competent and steely company of the King's Guard to enforce immediately any of his judgments. Amongst them was a quiet man dressed in black, Misbah el Haq, the executioner, who was very efficient at separating head from body with his large scimitar. But the Emperor's court was compassionate, in keeping with his commands, and Rowan had very seldom to call on the executioner. He did, however, keep the ominous Misbah in plain view to remind the quarrelsome merchants who was in charge. The cases were booked in advance and people waited in the large waiting room outside.
Tanith shows her skill
That day there had been a scuffle at the wide doors as complainants in the last case entered. There were an unusual number of people filing in, as they ranged themselves on the benches left and right in opposing sides. On his left was a wealthy Venetian merchant shipper, Alonso Medici, who was very well connected and arrogant. Michael had seen him in court on four occasions and every time, based on the facts placed before him, had ruled in his favour. Perhaps as a result of that Alonso sat with a swaggering confidence. He was a small, quarrelsome man who exuded a rich perfume. He was dressed in colours far too close to the royal purple claimed by the Emperor alone. On his forehead was a livid bruise and his left eye was half-closed with swelling. Next to him were ranged five men, sailors judging by their dress. They all showed signs of injury. One of them seemed to have recently lost his hand and was sitting in a torpor with a large bloody bandage on his arm.
Then Michael had looked at the opposite bench. There were only two people seated, a young woman, dressed in a long blue tunic which looked rather threadbare, and a distinguished looking old man with a long white beard. The old man was dressed in old-fashioned armour, replete with chain-mail, breast-plate and over-shirt with a faded red cross. His scabbard was empty as he had been disarmed for the court appearance. He stared straight ahead of him and Michael wondered whether he was blind. Turning to look at the young woman he gave a start of surprise because her hands were bound with leather cords. Only dangerous suspects were bound in his court and he had never seen a woman bound yet. He exploded in rage at the captain who had escorted them in,
“Why is this woman bound - untie her now!” The captain, a stolid man and survivor of many battles, approached him nervously, “She is dangerous, sir, and she threatened to kill Monsignor Medici.”
“She is dangerous...?”
For the first time Michael focused on the girl in question. She sat on the bench with a straight back, looking ahead of her. Her head was covered with a light blue scarf which half-obscured her features but she did not seem dangerous enough to intimidate a hardened soldier.
“Untie her now. I will not have barbaric practice in my court.”
The captain bowed slightly to him and approaching the girl took out his dagger and slit the bonds. He stepped back swiftly and kept his knife unsheathed before returning to his post.
The girl looked up for the first time, turning her head towards Rowan and as she did so, in a reflex motion, she swept off her scarf and looked directly at him. She was sitting in a shaft of afternoon sunlight coming through the high windows. Her golden-red hair cascaded down past her shoulders and her brilliant blue eyes looked into his. The shock of recognition paralysed Rowan and it took every effort of training to follow the normal procedures.
He listened to the captain describe how he had arrested all of them the day before when he was on duty at the docks because they appeared to be involved in a common brawl which was likely to escalate. The young woman had been surrounded and her tunic was torn from the struggle. After arresting her he had gone home to borrow one of his daughter's tunics so that she would be appropriately clothed for court. He had been trained to remain factual but there was no disguising where his sympathies lay.
Michael listened to the hardly credible account by Alfonso that his sailors had been attacked without provocation in the market next to the harbour. He nodded and made appropriate noises during the florid and verbose account in mellifluous Venetian dialect which he could follow sufficiently. Then he forced himself to look at the young woman.
“And your account of the incident?”
She stood up straight and replied simply in an old-fashioned dialect of French-Norman, “My grandfather, Monsieur Robert d'Anville, and I, Tanith d'Anville, arrived in Palermo yesterday morning and took lodging close to the harbour. We went to the market to buy fish for dinner. These men, “ she gestured contemptuously, “tried to take the fish from my grandfather and when I went across to them they made ... improper suggestions to me and threatened to drag me onto their ship. Their master, that noble gentleman over there, joined them and instructed them to tie me up so that he could teach me how to behave in his cabin. Well ... I taught them some manners instead.” She became silent and sat down, looked straight ahead.
Alonso jumped up, “She tried to kill us - she has wounded my men badly. I demand justice and compensation. I demand her service as she is obviously too poor to pay a fine ...” He tried to keep a quiver of lust out of his voice when he turned to look at her.
“If I had wanted to kill you ...” What followed defied human perception as in one fluid motion she moved to the stolid captain of the Guard, as if he was made of a block of stone and not a finely trained soldier, plucked his dagger from his belt, hefted it for balance for one startling moment and then sent it whistling into a wooden cross hanging on the wall clear across the room.
“.....I would have killed you.” She was back in her place.
There was a deadly silence broken by the captain's sharp breath and his spasmodic clutch at his belt. Michael motioned to the captain to stay at his place. In the silence he walked across to the wooden cross. Thirty paces he measured silently to himself as he considered the case. He saw that irrevocably he was doomed already. As the knife had thudded into the hard wood he knew his life had changed. He pulled the knife out of the wood with some effort and handed it back to the captain in silence. By the time he regained his seat he had decided what to do. He ensured that the scribes had described the incident in court, had a record of time and place of the original incident of assault.
Michael's Judgement
“Be it so scribed: the Court of the Emperor deems it just punishment in this matter to administer 10 lashes (out of the corner of his eye he saw the Medici smirk) for assault and robbery. This punishment to be meted out immediately to Alfonso Medici (the smirk disappeared and was replaced by a look of terror) and 10 lashes to each of these men. Ensure that you record their names, Captain.” He turned to the Venetian captain, “In addition we impose a fine of 500 dinars and we confiscate your ship for attempting to kidnap a citizen of Palermo. I know full well, Monsignor Medici, that you have four other ships in port at present. You are to leave after paying your fine and if we find you in this port again we will place you in prison. Captain, take them away.”
He stared down the Venetians' incredulous eyes and watched as they stumbled away. It was a harsh punishment but within the limits of fledgling laws. Ten lashes with a heavy whip on the merchants blubbery body would peel it open and he would be fortunate to survive subsequent infection. He turned to the girl and old man who were still sitting in front of him.
“For breaching the peace and drawing arms in my court, Tanith d'Anville, we pass upon you this punishment.” The scribes who were busy scratching away on their parchments looked up expectantly when he paused. “We judge that it is just punishment in this matter to prescribe a period of one year service in the Emperor's personal bodyguard. This service will begin immediately and you will be placed under my personal supervision. “ He turned to the old man, “As accessory to the crime, Robert d'Anville, we sentence you to one year service in the Emperor's bodyguard as security adviser. I will escort you personally to your quarters to collect your belongings. This being the last case of the day we will leave now.”
Michael was accustomed to making quick decisions but he still had the sensation that he was listening to his own voice and could not quite believe what he was saying. He looked up at them from his notes and saw her looking at him. Her face was quite expressionless but she was regarding him carefully. She simply nodded.
The old man also looked at him carefully. He now looked far more alert and said in a measured voice, “I was protecting her and I hit three of the men - she only hit two. You gave me no chance to speak but for the record I want you to know I was more to blame.”