Blackthorn's father initially dismissed the clerk. "Thou art correct, my son," he said to Blackthorn. "'Tis indeed my right—nay, my duty—to see that Windemere's penance fits his crime, just as 'tis my duty to ensure that the woman, Nyomae, is imprisoned, though I feel that her act was but one of mercy, and she should go free." He turned to Dryden. "Surely, thou dost understand that?"

"'Tis also thy duty and thy right to reverse thy decision if need be," countered Dryden. The clerk shook his head, sorrowfully. "That, thou dost simply refuse to do."

"What I do is the virtuous thing to do."

"Only in thy mind, Lord Mayor," Dryden pointed out.

"And in the minds of others," Blackthorn's father said. "I am not the only one who believes Windemere should suffer the punishment he deserves.'

"The question remains, then, who is in the right, for neither can be wrong."

The boy Blackthorn did not realize he had spoken the thought out loud until the hearth crackled, and he looked up. The others were staring at him. At last, his father spoke, "What art thou thinking, my son?"

The boy Blackthorn stared at the letter; the handwriting of his monarch seemed to cast a light of its own, brilliant and burning. "Lord British and the Great Council ask much of thee, father," he said at last. "They ask thee to honor them, to sacrifice what thou dost consider to be in the best interests of Britannia." He looked up. "What hast thou asked of them?"

Dryden, who had been sipping at his tankard, slowly lowered it. Then, gradually, a smile unfurled, and he nodded with satisfaction.

Meanwhile, father answered son. "I ask only that they respect my judgment and the laws upon which I base it."

"And this they will do, but 'twould be a concession of what they believe. Yet to accept their offer would be a concession on thy part." He thought about what he and his father had discussed the other night, about the Virtues and laws. "In essence, what thou dost believe to be virtuous and what the Great Council and Lord British believe to be virtuous have come to a crossroad, and, unfortunately, there is no way to proceed without one conceding to the other. The question, then, is who will go forward."

His father nodded. "And how is one to do decide who goes before the other?"

Blackthorn was certain that his father had thought this all through already, but he answered anyway. "Thou dost not. Rather, both must decide on how they can move forward together. The Great Council and Lord British believe that Windemere should be spared execution. Thou dost believe that Nyomae should be freed. Offer the Great Council and Lord British a proposal where both beliefs are satisfied. They will accept it, for in their hearts, they know the woman acted out of mercy, and in thy heart, thou dost believe Windemere should not be slain." Or so Blackthorn hoped of his father. He could not be sure.

His father had barely moved throughout the discourse, but now he relaxed, and lowered his hands to the arms of his chair. He addressed Dryden. "He soundeth like his mother, doth he not?"