After some time, the Sheriff met Guy’s eyes, no sign of ferocity left in them. “Is there anything else? I should let you to your work.”

Guy nearly stood but stalled. There was indeed something else that had been brewing, a byproduct of their massive arrests in the previous few days—a bitter business with no proper solution. He had been dreading its resolution, but it was the sort of decision that would be best made with the Sheriff’s consent. No part of him wanted to make the choice alone.

“Sheriff, if you will. Another matter requires your counsel.”

“I hope the matter is more tender than this pig,” de Lacy poked at his meal.

“Most of the people we arrested will be released, of course. Perhaps a day or two in gaol will loosen someone’s memory, but then we’ll throw them back in the pond. However,” Guy continued delicately, “some of them fought against my men. These agitators, we should be certain that they … serve their full sentence.”

De Lacy grumbled longer than necessary, eyeing the earl. “What my captain is indelicately referring to is an edict I gave earlier this year that recruits Guardsmen from the prisons. King Richard’s taxes have provided us a surplus of healthy useful men wasting away in our prisons. I’ve given them a second chance, and it’s not up for discussion.”

The earl nodded, though his doubt was obvious. Any halfway competent man would be quick to question the logic of the policy. But Guy continued, “We can’t offer this second chance to any of these new prisoners.”

“So we won’t.”

“I’d like to ensure that. But there are so many of them, and I don’t trust our records well enough to track them all. If even one slips through the cracks, he could easily lie his way into the Guard.”

De Lacy dipped his bread into a bowl of honey, and rolled it around mindlessly. “You have an idea. Go on and say it, then.”

“It’s not just the ones staying. Everyone we arrested, they’ll never be trustworthy. If we catch one hunting in the forest a month from now, we need to know where he came from. If they land back in my gaol in a year as a debtor, we need to know. We need a way to track them. Something reliable.” He felt the stir of the room hold its breath. “Something they could neither hide nor remove.”

“You can’t be serious,” Wendenal said aloud. It was Guy’s experience that anyone who uttered those words knew fully well that the person in question was entirely serious.

“There are a few options,” Guy continued, hoping to keep it unemotional. “A knuckle off the small finger. A hot brand to the shoulder. If you have a better idea, I am open to it.”