[Anguirel]

Manawyth was brought forward, not gently, by Gárwine. His hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were bound by thick a leather strap so that his steps were shortened of necessity. He looked sullen and frowned balefully at those who stared - which was everybody. At last he was brought to a standstill with a jerk by Gárwine.

Eodwine looked at him. The matter of Linduial had made it impossible to speak with Manawyth earlier, which Eodwine regretted. Now the questioning would have to be done here, before the crowd. Eodwine did not relish the prospect; it would be the hardest thing he had to do.

"Loosen his bonds, Gárwine."

"But lord-!"

"I'll not have this man bound while I question him. There is no way he will escape through this crowd. Loose his bonds."

"Yes, lord."

His bonds removed, Manawyth rubbed and flexed his arms, but had not yet looked up at Eodwine.

"Manawyth, look at me."

***

The accused did not now hesitate to glance upwards to the Eorl on his dais. He seemed to have little spirit for resistance. He could not hold Eodwine's gaze steadily for some time, but at last succeeded in meeting it and keeping his eyes locked. In Dunland they accounted both avoiding a direct exchange of looks and accepting one with too much emphasis signs of guilt. Well, he had managed to commit both.

This was Rohan, not Dunland. But Rohan was no longer the calm place of healing and acceptance Manawyth had briefly been persuaded that it could be.

After the strange false hope of permanent escape Manawyth had been granted, he had got out of the town as quickly, and as quietly, as he could manage. Without arms or harp, he was little good to anyone, and shifted from lord to lord, farm to farm, accepting employment as a churl readily but never remaining in one place for long.

Occasionally he heard extraordinary stories of a notorious Dunlending bandit who had flouted the King's law, plotted to reverse the Geld tax, and now indulged in frequent robberies on the high roads. On such occasions it had been hard to swallow laughter. Things were hardly so glamorous.

His capture had been quite as farcical, stumbled on by a thegn and his companions who were searching for another, rather more upmarket outlaw-a man named Herward, apparently-and decided to take the Dunlending as some compensation for their failures.

Once imprisoned, awaiting his Eorl's decision with the word of Lord Cuichelm firmly against him, things had got still worse due to the occasional visits of Rohirrim with whom he had thought to have reached an understanding-Gárwine for one. It was clear that his innocence was not a possibility they considered.

Yet they were only half right, and Manawyth was now determined upon the course of the truth. He was judging Rohan as it judged him, and if he found her guilty, he would be glad to be relieved of the necessity of dragging out his life in her.

"Lord?" he said simply, obeisance clear.


"You have been arrested and accused of theft of a horse. Perhaps you are aware, Manawyth, that in Rohan, theft itself is a heinous crime, but theft of a horse is judged only a little lesser crime than kidnapping. What have you to say of the charge against you? Are you guilty or innocent?"

***

"Guilty, my lord. But not as charged."

Manawyth paused, waiting for the effects of his answer to settle. Whisperings and even protests were whirling about the Hall; every face showed bewilderment and consternation.

"You have told me that the theft of a horse in Rohan is especially grave among crimes. This I know. Yet I did not steal a horse in Rohan, lord; but in Dunland. The black horse is a Dunlending mount, or was when I took him, and when my lord Cuichelm claims I robbed him of the steed...he lies."

Manawyth did not go on, but his voice was rising in strength and he seemed perfectly willing to continue this strange story if bidden to do so.

This was a most unexpected turn in Eodwine's mind. He wanted to trust Manawyth, but needed a basis for it, and felt that it was as of yet lacking. He needed to hear more.

"Manawyth," Eodwine said presently, "Rohirric law has it such that if Cuichelm is the man of highest rank to speak regarding you, his word is held to be sound. In this chamber, only my word is of greater worth by the will of the King. But I cannot yet speak one way or another until I have heard more of your story. Two things you must explain before I will even begin to consider how to think. First, you must convince me how Cuichelm speaks the lie. Second, you must convince me that this horse was stolen in Dunland and not in Rohan. Nevertheless, you have admitted guilt and made my task the harder. Thus you have made your own task the harder. Speak."

Manawyth nodded, but did not answer for some moments. It looked as if the memories he drew upon were painful ones.

"Lord, you must be told something of the life I lived after the victory of your people in battle. One of my brothers, the least warlike, poor soul, had been killed at the Hornburg, but I had yet two more, and a sister, too. Of our clan they called me the hardiest, and my sister first in beauty. My two remaining brothers were of a different stamp. They were...mickle cunning, you would put it. They planned and thought and saw ahead. They were proud, but canny enough not to show it.

"Dunland was then suffering from the reprisals of the Mark. I lost a second brother in these affairs, and my remaining brother Math took the property of both into his hands. He became more ambitious, fiercer, subtler. The Chieftain of our Caerdom did not trust him...but the affair is contorted. Suffice to say, the Chieftain's son, Gwaer, desired my sister Llian and asked my mother for her hand.

"We were all determined to refuse him, though we knew it would mean a fight. Llian was betrothed instead to the neighbouring Chieftain, on Math's suggestion. On the day of the wedding Gwaer rode into our house, on the very horse I am accused of stealing from Cuichelm. He carried off Llian and his men...cut down my mother as she barred his way.

"Math and I swore blood-vengeance 'gainst Gwaer. Math and Llian's betrothed strove against him with a warband, but I knew they lacked the numbers to punish him. I set off alone to his Caer, where Gwaer's men were cavorting drunkenly...I saw through a window...but Llian stood proud and he smote her across the face. Then I shot him stark dead."

Manawyth left a pause long enough to savour the tale, but short enough to show that he would shortly take it up again.

"Then I crept to the stables and took the black horse. I could see it was the fastest. A horse of the Mark from its breeding. But it was not born in the Mark. Your people rarely bred black steeds when the Dark King's thiefs came searching for them, especially. Gwaer's horse was no exception, and its ancestors may have been rustled from your plains, but it was not."

There Manawyth ended his testimony, waiting for either further questions, or his accuser's answer.