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why had Bishop Henry made so public a spectacle over what could have been handled quietly, secretly?
    Naturally, any murder in Southwark would come to Bishop Henry’s attention. He resided in Winchester Palace in Southwark, and collected rents and fees from the taverns, brothels, and sundry businesses that provided lewd, exciting amusement on the south bank of the Thames.
    Henry hadn’t approved of the king allowing Darian to dispose of de Salis, and the king couldn’t have forgotten that yester noon he’d given permission for an assassination.
    Darian knew King Stephen couldn’t admit publicly he’d condoned an assassination. If asked, all who’d been present yesterday would deny any involvement in the decision to assassinate de Salis. If Darian were caught, not one of them would come to his aid.
    Having accepted the mission, Darian knew he took all the risks, bore all the responsibility, would receive no reward or acclaim beyond his pay.
    The king also must realize Darian wouldn’t have killed de Salis in so public a place as Watling Street, but in the countryside, quietly and efficiently, making it seem the man had simply disappeared.
    The whole thing stank of a conspiracy to frame him. The king finally stopped flipping the dagger. “You admit this is your dagger?”
    “As I said, I have no notion of how it came to be found near the body. The last I saw it was early this morn when I placed it with my other belongings.”
    “And you cannot produce witnesses to attest to your whereabouts last night?”
    Not a
trustworthy
witness. The two men he’d met with would never pass the bishop’s test. Honor demanded Darian not utter their names, much less ask them to testify on his behalf.
    “I fear not, Sire.”
    “You give us nothing on which to trust your protest of innocence, Darian.”
    King Stephen’s tone and expression said he wanted to dismiss Bishop Henry’s charge, or be given an explanation for the dagger’s presence in Southwark, or for someone to come forward on Darian’s behalf.
    Darian could give him nothing.
    “All I offer you is my word of honor—”
    Henry huffed. “The word of a Flemish mercenary? You ask too much!”
    From the back of the chamber came a shout. “Justice!” Another voice picked it up, and then another, until soon the word reverberated off the walls in a damning chant, the injustice of their damnation churning his stomach.
    Darian considered making an attempt to escape, but even if he could push through the crowd to the door, he considered it cowardly and akin to an admission of guilt.
    So he stood his ground, feeling the noose tightening around his neck, choking off his breath.
    The king waved the crowd to silence, and the deepening quiet was almost as nerve-wrenching as the chant.
    “You give us no recourse, Darian. If this is your dagger, and if, as my brother testifies, it was found beside de Salis’s body, then we must condemn you as guilty. Guards, remove the prisoner and inform the hangman.”
    Sweat broke out on his brow. Bile rose in his throat. Guards appeared on either side of him and clamped onto his arms. Thinking reasonably proved taxing.
    Certainly Earl William would protest and find a way to stop the hanging. His life surely wasn’t meant to end in so unjust and ignoble a fashion.
    Then Darian heard footsteps, light but steady across the floor, and he couldn’t help but turn toward the sound.
    Lady Emma de Leon stood at the forward edge of the crowd, her hands clutching her topaz bliaut. She dipped into a deep curtsy.
    “Sire, if I may be allowed to approach?”
    The king sighed and gave her a condescending smile. “Lady Emma, now is not the time to speak of your petition. I am aware of your wish to aid your sister and will—”
    “You misunderstand my boldness, Sire. What I have to say has naught to do with Nicole, though if you would grant me a moment later to consider my request, I would be forever most grateful.” She licked her lips, as if