Within moments, Mahelt was in the saddle and riding hard for Edmundsbury. Roger glared at Edeva who stood weeping in front of him, her hands wrung almost to the bone. 'Over the wall,' he said, barely able to enunciate the words because his jaw was so stiff. 'Yes, sire,' Edeva sobbed. 'I told her she should not, but she refused to listen. I had to help her for fear she should fall or do herself an injury.' 'You didn't think to raise the alarm there and then?' 'I . . . I didn't know what to do . . . Oh sire, I beg your forgiveness!' Tears streamed down her face. Roger wasn't in a forgiving mood and this silly wench was exacerbating his ire by the moment. Nevertheless, his years as a judge on the bench held him in check. At least she had come and told him. If she hadn't this entire, disgraceful exploit might have passed unnoticed and have left room for escalation. 'Enough,' he said. 'Go to your chamber for now and talk to no one.
