I stared back at him. His eyebrows met in the middle, and his eyes were cushioned in fat. Nonetheless, they possessed a keen intelligence. My hands remained passive on my lap. The hall was silent.

“Are you sure you are correct in telling me this girl has a good understanding of our tongue?” He looked at Richard, and then at Lady Anne, still seated at the back of the hall.

“Yes, Father.” Lady Anne had masked her expression in a way that was painfully familiar to me. “Not only can she understand, but if she wishes, she is able to express herself with gestures in a rudimentary way.”

“I’m finding that very hard to believe,” said Father Dominic, shaking his head. “Why would she choose not to communicate, why now? Does the girl want to die?”

Richard gave a deprecating laugh. “Perhaps you have not met many of these people, Father. I know the folk of Erin well. Such defiance is bred in them, and nurtured carefully from birth. Their spies are trained to hold silence till death and beyond. This girl’s refusal to talk is just another mark of her guilt.”

Father Dominic glanced at him with dislike written plain on his pasty features. Through my exhaustion and fear, I felt surprise. This man saw Richard of Northwoods for just what he was. The last thing I had expected was a semblance of a fair trial.

“There are many learned men on that shore,” said Father Dominic, “some, indeed, of my own brethren, skilled in debate and in lore. I would not be so hasty to judge. Besides, this is only a girl. She is young and malleable; should she be prepared to speak in her own defense, to recant and abjure her previous ways, the sentence could be commuted.”

Richard said nothing.

I was aware of more people coming into the room, by the door. I did not look behind me. Outside, rain began to fall, dripping steadily past the windows. The day grew even darker.

“Young woman,” said Father Dominic, “we find ourselves in difficulty here. I’m told you know our tongue. Look at me, child. Nod if you understand me.”

I managed a tiny hint of a nod. I must not be trapped into answering the wrong questions. I must not tell any of my story. But I was very tired, too tired to think clearly. The rain began to pour down, drumming on the roof tops. I wondered if Red were outdoors somewhere, and if he had a dry place to sleep. I wondered if there were any chance, any chance at all, that I could weave a whole sleeve in one night, and sew it to the last shirt by morning.

“That’s good. Now answer me. Are you indeed guilty of these charges?”

I found I could not make myself respond. What was the point. Why agree, or disagree, if Richard was to determine my guilt anyway?

“You will not reply? Not even with a nod or shake of the head? You know this must be taken as an admission of guilt.”