“The law is not just,” declared the duke. “Therefore it begs reconsideration.”
Ensconced in his first official council meeting, Allen studied the reactions of the men surrounding the huge round table, reminiscent of King Arthur’s legendary one. He longed to understand his place on this council and contribute in a meaningful manner.
The bishop stood. “But it has been the law for nigh on twenty years. Surely this alone proves that it is a just and worthy statute.”
“A law is just because it is the law? That is no sort of logic at all.” Lord Fulton, the historian, launched into a long tirade on the philosophy of law making, but Allen could not bring himself to focus any longer.
The past five days had proven a whirlwind of excitement. Becoming better acquainted with Gwendolyn, moving into his new quarters in the garrison, adjusting to the training regimen of the knights of Duke Justus, and now acclimating himself to his new duties on the council, which met weekly to review laws, budgets, and judicial decisions.
During the rest of the week, each man was free to commence with his individual duties, be he merchant, nobleman, or priest. Most of them lived in homes throughout the city or in nearby castles. To Allen’s knowledge, he was the only council member other than the clergy who did not hold land, as well as the only member new to the area. He still could not quite fathom the honor that had been bestowed upon the lowly Allen of Ellsworth.
His next goal would be to find a permanent home for himself, although he did not yet know how he might accomplish it. His salary as a knight would be generous, but it might take him years to earn enough for a house befitting . . . He could hardly believe he was even considering the thought, but now that he had joined the council he felt that he could. He dreamed of acquiring a house befitting a lady. He could only hope to win the duke’s favor yet again and be granted his own holdings.
The Lady Gwendolyn’s lovely face floated through his thoughts, as tended to happen these days when he considered future or marriage. She had found her way into his heart during their days together. He could no longer consider her merely a friend.
But his more rational mind maintained huge concerns about his relationship with Gwendolyn. As they spoke at length, he began to wonder if she was a Christian believer at all. He could never tie himself to a woman who did not share his love for God. It seemed Duke Justus’s grand system for religious education had somehow bypassed—or rather been intentionally routed from—the Castle Barnes. Gwendolyn had a strong sense of justice, and the version of God she had been offered did not fit with her high ideals.
A shift in the conversation caught Allen’s attention. Something about children. “I am so sorry, Your Grace, but could you please repeat that?”
“I am glad to know I was not the only one to nod off during Fulton’s lecture.” The duke chuckled.
Lord Fulton huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.
“We are discussing some rather new business concerning the children of a village called Seaside,” the duke said. “A pox swept through that area in the early summer and wiped out primarily adults, leaving an unprecedented number of orphans. Nigh on thirty. Their neighbors have been caring for them as best they can, but we need a lasting solution.”
Allen’s heart clenched for those children. He had been such a child.
“If we spread them about the region, it would only add a child or two to each church orphanage,” said the nobleman with the plumed hat, whom Allen was beginning to understand had a strong opinion about everything. Today he wore a particularly outrageous outfit of bright blue, green, and purple, which taken along with his hat, gave the impression of a preening peacock. Swap the hat for a jester’s cap with tinkling bells, and the outfit would be complete.
“Our orphanages are overtaxed as matters stand.” The bishop’s eyes bespoke compassion. “But I suppose we would do our best.”
“Perhaps we can send extra funds from the city coffers,” the duke offered.
“Your Grace, we cannot simply throw money at every problem,” said the black-bearded minister of finance.
The bishop waved a hand to dismiss the idea. “The Lord will provide. I just hate to see so many children growing up that way. It is not the same as a loving home.”
No, it would not be at all the same. How Allen wished he could bring them into his home, but he was naught but an unwed knight. At that thought, an idea sparked to life in his mind. He sat forward to speak, but Fulton and the bishop had commenced bickering once again.
The duke raised a single hand, and everyone fell silent. “I believe Sir Allen wishes to contribute to the conversation. This is rather an area of expertise for you. Is it not, Sir Allen?”
A grizzled, grey-haired knight pushed out his chair and rose to his feet, his face so mottled and twisted that it looked as though he might have a fit of apoplexy. “I object! This man was brought on to the council without a full vote. Some of us were never consulted at all. I thought he was to be but a statement against Ethelbaum’s outlandish behavior. And now you ask his advice?”
Allen’s nerves pulled taut. Of course this had been too good to be possible. He should have suspected, but he never thought it might all come crashing down quite so quickly.
The duke likewise stood and stared down the man, but he remained calm. “I see. I was not aware that you objected so strongly, Sir Gaillard. But let us put it to a vote, right here and right now.” The duke swept the table with a cool, imperious gaze. “All those in favor of adding Sir Allen of Ellsworth as a member of our council—a full and active member of our council—please raise your right hand.”
Immediately five hands, the hands of those men Allen had noted to be close to the duke, including Fulton and the bishop, lifted into the air.
But that would not be nearly enough.
Allen’s stomach plummeted.
Many of the men studied Allen, seeming to take his measure.
He gulped down a huge lump from his throat and wiped drops of newly formed sweat from his brow. Then one by one, more hands lifted, until only three dissenters remained.
Still, Allen did not know the rules of the vote in this place.
“That is more than the two-thirds majority needed,” said the duke. “Sir Gaillard, have you further objection?”
“I . . . but . . .” the man stuttered. Clearly he had objections aplenty, but he had lost this match. “I have had it with the lot of you and your progressive nonsense. You have taken matters too far this time!”
“Then you are free to take your leave.” The duke waved to the door.
After another stuttering fit, the man stormed out.
The two other dissenters kept their peace, each nodding to the duke. Allen took a deep breath, as the knots in his shoulders and twist in his gut unwound.
“As you were saying, Sir Allen.”
What had he been saying? Something important surely. Father God, please give me your words. As they came back to him, he managed to push them past the lump that yet blocked his throat. “When the bishop mentioned loving homes, it gave me an idea. Lord Linden and his wife had no children, and so they found great delight in helping the orphans of our former village. In fact, as some of you are aware, they claimed me as their own ward.”
“That is all well and good once you have met a child and grown to care about him,” the bishop said, “but we cannot expect our noblemen to take in a passel of peasants out of the sheer goodness of their hearts.”
“Many childless couples would do anything to have a family. I realize that adopting an orphan as one’s own has not been accepted in England, but the Scriptures speak favorably of it.” A little shiver shot through Allen.
He felt he spoke not only his own words, but words inspired from above. “According to the book of Romans, God himself has adopted us as His heirs. Can His followers not do the same?”
Every man in the room stared directly at him, and not a one seemed inclined to interrupt.
So Allen continued. “We could separate the children into small family groups and find couples to adopt them. Perhaps nobles, or if that presents too many impediments, then well-to-do freemen with much love to give.”
The duke considered the proposition for a moment. “That is precisely the sort of forward thinking I was hoping to hear from you, Sir Allen.”
“It is interesting,” said the bishop. “Although, as he pointed out, adoption has not been practiced in England for . . . well, perhaps ever.”
“We would not wish to stir up trouble with the new king,” the minister of finance said.
“There is precedent against adoption, due mainly to inheritance issues, but I do not know if there is any written statute prohibiting it.” The old historian rubbed his chin as he considered the matter. “I must check the laws. The newly reissued Great Charter has changed matters.”
“For now we shall take it under advisement.” The duke leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “If there are no specific religious or legal impediments, I am in favor of carrying out this plan according to Sir Allen’s recommendations.”
“Hear, hear!” the bishop hollered, and several others followed suit.
“But I hope I can assume there will be a proper vote this time,” grumbled one of the dissenters.
“Of course there shall be, and I do apologize for rushing into matters with Sir Allen. Hopefully now we can continue in full agreement on the issue. I believe that concludes our business for the day.” The duke stood to his feet and stretched. “I for one am ready for my supper.”
Allen stood as well, and to his surprise, several of the council members approached to thump him on the back and offer congratulations for his fine idea. He had not expected to perform so well on his very first day, especially not after that fiasco with Sir Gaillard.
It seemed once again that God smiled upon him. And did he not deserve God’s favor? He had studied the Scriptures and lived a holy life. He had fought admirably against the finest knights in the land. Merry might not have taken note of his skills, but they were finally being acknowledged properly.
As the men filtered out, the duke still stood by his cushioned chair. “Sir Allen, will you sit by me at supper? I should like to discuss this issue with you further, and get to know you better, of course.”
And why not? Allen—just as he had again and again during his time in the forest—had saved the day. “Of course, Your Grace. It would be a pleasure.”
The duke looped his arm around Allen’s shoulder. “For starters, tell me what it was like living in the forest. However did you manage to hide for two full years?”
As they walked through the shadowy corridor, Allen switched to storyteller, a role that well suited him. He was beginning to feel a part of this land already. They wanted him here, and more than that, they needed him. He would do his best to bring his wisdom and experience to North Britannia—perhaps be the voice of God to these people who, though indeed admirable, were not quite as righteous nor as holy as he might have imagined.
His chest puffed as he spoke, but surely it could not be pride. Just intense satisfaction and great joy. He could hardly wait to see where God might lead him next. Perhaps even into the arms of the lovely Lady Gwendolyn.