The Chamber voted on the Crown’s terms that evening, because Tallow had asked for the vote to be taken while the bridge was still wet on the Hands’ boots, and because a refusal given in the rain was a refusal that could not later be said to have been given in comfort.
He read the terms aloud from the board. He did it one clause at a time, standing at the foot of the Chamber table with the minute-book open and the lamp at his elbow and the chalk ring of the Keystone’s reach still faintly visible on the slate behind him. He read them in the order the Chancellor had written them and in the order the Advocate had rewritten the first paragraph, so that the Hands heard both the Crown’s voice and the plain one. He did not skip anything. He did not soften the words. He had been asked by the Warden, on the walk back from the river, to make sure that every Hand in the Hold heard the whole of what it was refusing, and that no one could say later the refusal had been taken on a summary.
“The surrender of the body and the book,” said Tallow. “The Hold gives up its body and its book to the Crown of Lessary.”
