“Look at me, girl.” Father Dominic was standing now, his gimlet eyes fixed on my face. “Are you with child? Your husband’s child?”

Richard guffawed. “This is rich! You expect an honest answer to that? The brat could be any man’s. This girl’s no better than a cheap whore to be had in the marketplace. Why, she even tried it with me, but a day or two since. Thought she could buy her freedom by spreading her legs. The little slut has no shame.”

“Enough.” At Father Dominic’s tone, Richard shut his mouth like a trap. “Good folk of the moot, this stage of the hearing is concluded. Lord Richard and I will take time now to consider our judgment. We will call you together again after supper, and at that time our verdict will be conveyed to you. If there is to be a punishment, the nature of it will be made known in the morning.” The people began to shuffle out, stiff from long sitting. Father Dominic turned back to Richard. “You’d better lock the girl up again for now. Make sure she’s given something to eat; you risk losing her before any punishment can be carried out. We should perhaps retire to a more private chamber for further discussion on these matters.”

“To me, it looks clear enough.” Richard sounded almost petulant.

I heard no more, as my guards gripped me by the arms and I was taken back to the small cell. Someone brought bread and water, and I ate and drank, and shortly afterward my stomach rejected even this simple fare, almost as if I really were with child. In the cold, damp cell, in the darkness, I groped for my work and found it. I knew this was the last night. My hands gripped the small loom, felt for shuttle and ball of spun fiber, and began to work.

It was hopeless, of course. There was no way I could finish one sleeve, and make the whole of another, and sew all together in a single night, without even a candle for guide. But still I worked on. Strong-minded, aren’t you? Maybe I would have a little longer. Richard had described the special mixture given him by Eamonn of the Marshes, which burned so hot it destroyed all but bone. He might wait until dusk, to make a more spectacular sight. Outside the rain still fell. It would be good for the small oak trees. Richard would be hoping for dry weather. You did not get a nice hot fire in the rain.

Toward morning, as if in preparation for a burning, the rain ceased and a cool breeze came up. I heard an owl cry, calling in the last silence before the dawn. Then she was gone, fled to the deep shelter of the trees. The sun rose, and daytime birds began their sweet chatter. I tried with no great success to keep out the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me. The last rain. The last owl. The last dawn.