The morning of Rob's trial I woke up extra-especially open, and dressed in my most prettily demure gown with my hair flowing down around my back (which in the olden days symbolised virginity, and hence my suitability as a juror), said my prayers and sprayed just a sprinkling of rose water over my shoulders, in a transparent attempt to look every inch the innocent young victim.
For all of that, I may as well have turned up in a giant neon sign flashing "I'm the queen of the world, and you're snivelling peasants!"
The horde were already beginning to gather when I arrived, and you could sense their disappointment at not being attending a murder trial. If you've ever walked into a room and suspected everyone has just been talking about you, well - that's a fraction of what I felt. William was getting impatient and irritated, reminding me periodically it wasn't too late to change my mind, if I wanted. Nobody would blame me. I waited in the corridor with him as he looked over his very official-looking documents, and I straightened out my clothes trying to make the butterflies in my stomach stop exploding, and I tried not to let the thought I was being quite tactfully kept away from the other jury members enter my head.
As we entered the Great Hall (we were big into recycling. The Great Hall was used as the venue for trials, public gatherings, an indoor farmers market, feasts, and, I would find out later, bisexual orgies), William reminded me for the millionth time, "You don't have to do this, you know."
"Yes. I do."
Cliche response I know, but at the time it was poignant and meaningful.
My eyes darted around the hall: attendance to trials was practically mandatory for the great unwashed - it was a bit like interactive Eastenders, with the option to pelt the bad guys with decaying fruit at the end. The atmosphere was not friendly. At the time, I thought that was probably to do with the general dislike of the bourgeoisie (and let's face it, they had good reasons for feeling that way), but looking back, it probably had more to do with the fact I was defending a stable-boy at the same time as making pillow talk (not literally, but y'know what I'm saying) with the guy taxing them to the eyeballs.
The jury was made up mostly of local peasants, and I actually doubted how well some of them knew Rob. I mean, Nottingham was that big, don't get me wrong, but I very much doubt he was on first-name terms with the Moorish spice merchant, who as far I was aware didn't speak a word of English. I don't want to say William was deliberately trying to sabotage my efforts to save Rob...but well. It's fairly obvious he was, and I was a bit of a dumbass to not notice it there and then, when I could have, with some creative problem solving, amend the situation and send them both to the local ale-house where they could discuss their mutual interest in sex (But maybe not. They might have felt compelled to act on it: I'm fairly liberated, but the idea of Rob and William consummating their bizarre relationship with physical congress is frankly sickening). But then I clocked Will (as in Will Scarlet, who was actually his cousin, not his brother, thank you very much stupid Hollywood adaption), who was cheerfully bright about the whole thing, making stupid jokes about how Rob would be late for his own funeral.
Anyway. We sat. We waited. We sat and waited. Ten minutes passed, and William began to make weird coughing noises, like he was chocking on peanuts visible only to him.
He threw me a knowing look.
"He'll be here."
"I said nothing."
Twenty minutes.
"Perhaps he's ill?" Even to me, it was a weak excuse.
"I could...go and look for him?" Will (Scarlet, obviously) suggested - William shot him a look that required no words to explain them, "or not."
Half an hour. Most of the peasants had given up and left, annoyed that once again they'd been deprived of a public scandal.
"I have things to do." If watches had been invented, William would be looking at his and looking up, annoyed.
Rob's lateness was, for some inexplicable reason, entirely my fault.
"Ten minutes?" Tiered of having been standing in the same place for over thirty minutes (they were too cheap to give us proper chairs), I went over to William, and took his hand in an action manoeuvred entirely to reinforce the idea that soon I'd be his wife, and he'd have to humour my funny little caprices like giving stable-boys fair trials. "Please, William. We all have better things to do...but let's just wait a little longer?"
Puppy-dog eyes.
"Very well. But if he's not here in ten minutes, I'm going to have to delay the trial."
"Until after you come back from London?" My heart brightened...that would give me plenty of time to find a descent lawyer, and get Rob looking like something halfway human again. Lovely.
"No." He smiled, as if I'd suggested we could all have dinner on the moon.
I went back to the little pen-thingy the jury was supposed to stand in, where there was a ripple of impatience. Minutes ticked past, and I felt a surge of anger at Rob. He'd come back without even coming to visit, gotten himself all drunk, held a knife to my god-damned throat and didn't even have the decency to turn up to his own trial, and somehow, I'd managed to make myself responsible. Now my engagement was on the rocks, and it was his fault.
"Maybe he's...had an accident...or something."
"Shut up, Will."
William stood up, and, for the first time, I saw smug self-satisfaction in his eyes, something that over the years would become his trademark look. He addressed the peasants for the first time, telling them court was adjourned and to leave quickly and quietly, like a headmaster addressing naughty school children.
It took about fifteen minutes, but eventually it was just me, him and the scribe, who'd been sitting in the corner writing down everything we'd been saying. I wonder if that record still exists? I doubt it would be. It's an interesting thought, though.
"What did I tell you?" He stroked my hair, the side of my face, and I did nothing to stop him, emotionally drained. He was right, though: I was disappointed. And angry.
"I...I really thought..." I wouldn't allow myself to cry in font of William, but everything in me just wanted to collapse and curl up in his arms and go to sleep.
"It's not your fault. You're just too trusting..."
Whatever he was about to tell me, though, was drowned out by the sound of Rob walking in unannounced and saying, "Oh. Am I a bit late, then?"