by Melanie Rawn
The clerk called for order. The Grand Justices entered: four women and one man, none under the age of eighty, wearing brilliant crimson robes with their Seal on heavy gold chains at their breasts. All the Justices were members of formerly Blooded Names: Nunne, Doyannis, Irresh, Feleson, and Maklyn. Cailet knew none of them personally, and of their politics and prejudices knew only what Sarra and Lenna had told her. Which wasn’t much; unless one had an appeal before the High Judiciary, one never came into contact with its members, who were all but invisible outside their courtroom. Most people promptly forgot about them after final exams in the obligatory Government classes in school, except when a sensational case such as Mirya Witte’s came up. The Justices had nothing to do with the making of law, only with its application, and whole years went by without their hearing more than two or three appeals.
Yet they had one very important privilege: their decisions were absolute and final. And they could base these decisions on the Statutes or not, as they pleased. They were beholden not only to the written law but to the unwritten code of morals and ethics and traditions—whatever the individual Justice might conceive that code to be. Which meant that they didn’t get a lot of work because, fearing their sometimes capricious rulings, people settled cases at a lower level. If the current sitting Justices were fire-breathing reactionaries, Sarra and Col-Ian didn’t stand a chance and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
The clerk bade everyone sit down—except the Advocates and their clients, of course—and read out a summary of the Roseguard proceedings in a deathly monotone. Cailet supposed the emotionless recital was designed to present facts in a nonprejudicial manner—but not even wooden diction could disguise the horror of this crime.
“On St. Pierga’s Day last Ellus Penteon husband of Lady Mirya Witte arrived at Roseguard with Lady Mirya’s First Daughter and upon conveying said First Daughter to her mother’s house himself went to the establishment known as Wytte’s and thence to the Silver Tankard Tavern where at approximately Fourteenth of that night he was found in an alley outside said tavern, his purse and jewelry stolen, himself dead of a deep slashing wound to the neck and seventeen stabbing wounds to his body done with a knife.”
Cailet had to admire the man’s lung capacity, if not his implied punctuation; only now did he pause for breath, and hadn’t paused at all for commas.
“The Roseguard Watch for reasons of the multiple wounds inflicted after the victim was already dying of a slashed throat concluded that the murder was done not for theft but for passion and subsequent questioning of witnesses at the residence of Lady Mirya Witte revealed firstly that she was unable to account for her whereabouts at the time of the death; secondly that her First Daughter had looked for Lady Mirya at Half-Thirteenth and again at Fourteenth and found no trace of her in the house; thirdly that a knife of the size and type that inflicted the stabbing wounds was missing from the kitchen on her premises; fourthly that a pair of black gloves reaching to the upper arms of the type worn on formal occasions was found in the laundry already having been washed and still damp. Upon this evidence being given in the Roseguard Court of the Shir Lady Mirya Witte pleaded justifiable manslaughter but was convicted on a charge of murder subsequent to which sentence was postponed subject to this present appeal before the High Judiciary. These are the facts of this case.”
Amazing, commented Gorynel Desse. Semicolons!
I thought I heard periods.
I have ever regretted your deficiencies in grammar.
“Now come before Their Honors in this court is Lady Mirya Witte with her petition of appeal augmented by litigation against Senior Councillor for Sheve Lady Sarra Liwellan and her husband Lord Collan Rosvenir for firstly felonious interference between Lady Mirya Witte and her husband Lord Ellus Penteon; secondly unlawful coercion and use of public position for personal gain; thirdly alienation of husbandly and daughterly affections; and fourthly instigating breach of contract between Lady Mirya Witte and the legal foster mother of Prentice Mage Josselin Mikleine.”
My apologies, Gorsha, you were right. Definitely semicolons.
“To answer these charges against Councillor Liwellan and Lord Rosvenir is come before Their Honors Domna Lenna Ostin Advocate of Renig, The Waste. To present the appeal of Lady Mirya Witte is come before Their Honors Domni Chava Allard Advocate of Seinshir.”
Geridon’s Golden Stones! That’s the young blacksmith—
Seems he’s added the law to his other accomplishments. Shh. I want to hear this.
But nobody spoke, because at that moment Vellerin Dombur entered the court. All five Justices looked displeased at her untimely interruption, and even more annoyed when all eyes followed her ponderous progress to a front-row seat held for her by a flunky. She settled her considerable self on the bench, waving a hand to indicate the court could continue—and for a moment Cailet thought eighty-eight-year-old Justice Irresh would have an apoplexy.
Lenna Ostin, clad in a subdued gown of her family’s gray with thin orange piping at cuffs and hem, took the white podium for an opening statement that refuted Mirya’s accusations, using much more formal language than she had the other night. When she was finished, she called Lord Collan Rosvenir to the witness box.
He wore the most dismally sober clothing Cailet had ever seen on him: trousers, shirt, longvest (without sleeves), coif and boots in five exquisitely boring shades of brown. Not a single coppery curl escaped confinement; not a single piece of jewelry shone gold or silver from ears or throat or fingers.
A little ostentatious, don’t you think? Gorsha commented.
The Grand Justices don’t know him by sight, only by reputation. He’s decently covered and modestly dressed, and that will influence them whether they know it or not.
Hmph, said Gorsha. He’d better not look at them straight on, then. Nobody could mistake what’s in those blue eyes of his.
Lenna took him through the sequence of events in his brief acquaintance with Ellus Penteon—which gave her the opportunity to introduce evidence about the injuries Mirya Witte had inflicted on her husband. Collan spoke calmly and quietly, and when Chava Allard protested that his testimony was hearsay, Lenna had Col read aloud sworn statements by three Roseguard physicians. Justice Maklyn’s ferocious silver eyebrows were bristling by the end of it, his wrinkled map-of-the-Kenroke-Delta face cramped so tight that there were white dents at the corners of his mouth.
“If it please Your Honors,” Lenna said then, “I should like to recall this witness later, and now bring to the stand someone who will provide expert testimony regarding the medical questions in the case.”
Collan resumed his seat in the audience next to Sarra; the clerk swore in a Ryka Court physician with credentials up one side and down the other. The most famous non-Mageborn physicker on Lenfell, Lusine Ferros was sixty-nine years old and had practiced medicine in seven Shirs, treated injuries resulting from everything from farm accidents to street fights, performed a thousand operations, set a million bones, and spent three years before her retirement to academic work as adviser to the Council on public health. She reviewed the pages read aloud by Collan, confirmed that the inquiries described were consistent not with accident but with attack, and added that in her learned opinion Ellus Penteon was lucky to have gotten his teaching job in Brogdenguard, far away from Mirya Witte.
“Protest, Your Honors! It is by no means established that Lady Mirya ever laid a finger on him, much less a fist!”
“Your witness, Advocate,” said Lenna, and returned to her post near the podium.
Chava Allard stood with his tall, lean back to the audience, long fingers laced behind him. “Domna Ferros, these statements refer to three cracked ribs and a broken jaw. Could such injuries have been caused by a fall—say, down the stairs?”
“Not all at the same time.”
“What about several falls downstairs?”
“Advocate, do you know anyone that clumsy?�
�
Justice Nunne smirked.
Chava Allard wasn’t finished. “But if, for example, someone fell down a half flight or so, staggered to his feet, tripped, and fell again—”
“Or was pushed?”
“Your pardon, Domna, but I ask the questions here. Is it possible for these injuries to have occurred at the same time, by means of an accidental fall such as I have described?”
“Highly improbable. Ellus Penteon was by all accounts an athletic man.”
“But it is possible that even such a man, when, for instance, under the influence of too much alcohol, might become clumsy?”
“The Roseguard physicians made no mention of intoxication when he was treated for his injuries.”
“Do they mention that when asked about how he’d come by his injuries, he repeatedly told others that he’d fallen down the stairs?”
“No.”
“Would you be so kind, Domna Ferros, to read aloud the following statements, sworn by several eminent citizens of Roseguard?”
She read, unwillingly. Cailet silently congratulated Allard on his cleverness in obtaining such documentation. When the physician had finished, Allard was finished with her, and Lenna strode to the podium again.
“Domna Ferros, in your forty-five years of medical practice, how many husbands whose injuries were obviously the result of physical attack in your expert opinion have ever admitted that any such attack occurred?”
“None.”
“Not one? Can you tell us why?”
“The husband is ashamed of the incident, and moreover believes he brought it on himself—that it was his own fault. He is fearful of retaliation, and feels powerless. He has few legal recourses—and until and unless the abuse is proven and the law begins to protect him, he is compelled to remain in the household where further attack can occur at any time.”
“And he never fights back?”
The physician looked shocked—and so did the Justices. “Of course not! We all know what the penalty is for striking any woman. Five public lashes on the first offense.”
“And for a second offense?”
“I’ve never heard of a second offense. And very few instances of a first either. Men do not raise their hands against women.”
“Quite so. Thank you. You’re excused. If it please Your Honors, I will now call Lord Collan Rosvenir back to the witness box.”
After a few more questions regarding Ellus Penteon’s injuries, claims of clumsiness, and Collan’s own reactions, she asked him why he had intervened.
“To keep the man alive.”
“Protest, Your Honors. Speculation.”
Justice Feleson shook her head. “I want to hear it anyway. Go on.”
“I’m the husband of a Councillor. I have a passing familiarity with the law. Somewhere the Statutes say that every citizen has a right to be secure at home. To me, that means safe. Ellus Penteon wasn’t. He was beaten on a regular basis. The last time—the one those medical reports are about—he was hit with something big and heavy, like the cudgels the Watch uses. His ribs could’ve splintered and punctured his lung. I knew he was in danger of being killed.”
“So you helped arrange a prestigious position for him at St. Caitiri’s, where he went with Lady Mirya’s three daughters for their education—and with her complete approval. And kept it all quiet, as he obviously wanted.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. No more questions.”
Now it was Chava Allard’s turn. He stroked his beard with a thumb for a moment, then said, “Lord Collan, I’m going to ask several questions that require only a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. First, did you ever see Lady Mirya Witte strike her husband?”
“No.”
“Did Ellus Penteon ever complain about her treatment of him in any particular?”
“No, but—”
“Did you ever hear Lady Mirya scold, chastise, humiliate, or become angry with her husband?”
“No,” Collan replied tightly.
“Did he ever complain of verbal abuse on her part?”
“No.”
“Did he have any explanation for his occasional bruises—such as a fall, or knocking into a door, or some such?”
“Yes.”
“Were the bruises ever inconsistent with his explanations? In other words, was it physically apparent on his body that someone had been deliberately striking him?”
“I’m not an expert in medicine.”
“Oh, I believe you have an opinion about this, given that you have opinions on everything else to do with the marriage of Lady Mirya and Ellus Penteon.”
“Keep it civil, Advocate Allard,” warned Justice Maklyn.
“Of course, Your Honors.” The Advocate consulted his notes. “Did you visit Lady Mirya in her home to discuss the property known as Shore Hill?”
“Yes.”
“Was a price discussed? A price lower than fair market value?”
“Lady Mirya was experiencing financial—”
“That doesn’t answer my ques—”
“—difficulties and needed any money she could get her hands on. The price offered was fair enough—and she accepted it, didn’t she? So she must’ve found it fair.”
“If she didn’t accept, you’d accuse her in court of abusing her husband! Even though he made no public complaint, nor even complained in private to his friends, and all his injuries could be accounted for by—”
“—by being clumsy? Anybody that accident-prone couldn’t even button his own longvest without breaking his fingers! She beat the shit out of him and everybody knows it—”
“Lord Collan, didn’t you threaten to destroy Lady Mirya’s good name and financial dealings if she refused to sell Shore Hill to you?”
“No.”
Technically correct, Gorsha mused. He didn’t offer to buy it himself, he was acting on Miram’s behalf. It’s unlike the Allard boy to make a mistake. He’s too clever.
Mmm. Quiet, I’m listening.
“May I remind you of the penalty of perjury, Lord Collan?”
“I never offered to buy Shore Hill. Neither did I threaten Lady Mirya with financial ruin. She was doing a great job of that all by herself.”
“No further questions.”
Lenna Ostin read Mirya’s First Daughter’s affidavit into the record, told the court that never in the nearly twenty years of Lady Sarra’s tenure as Councillor for Sheve had she ever used her public position for private gain—hers or anybody else’s—and offered sworn statements to that fact by Councillors past and present (politely declined, out of deference to Lady Sarra; if she said she was honest, then the court would assume she was). Then Lenna reiterated her opening statement in abbreviated form, reminding the Justices that she’d shown a total lack of substantive evidence for any of Mirya Witte’s charges. The “interference” had been nothing more sinister than offering Ellus Penteon a teaching position. That he had accepted and taken the three Witte daughters with him had been done with Mirya’s agreement and approval.
Justice Irresh spoke for her colleagues. “We’ll decide these charges after we’ve heard Lady Mirya’s appeal. Advocate?” She looked at Chava Allard, who once more approached the podium. “You may present your case.”
“Thank you, Your Honors. I call Prentice Mage Josselin Mikleine to the witness box.”
Good-looking boy, no doubt about it—but a little ragged around the edges.
Cailet silently agreed with Gorsha. She knew she wasn’t sleeping well; Josselin’s slightly hollowed eyes showed he wasn’t either.
“Prentice, when and where were you born?”
“One of the Equinoxes of 969, I’m not sure which. Or where. Probably The Waste.”
“Probably?”
“I was orphaned as a baby, and it was a confusing time, what with all the refugees. A lot of families were separated, and a lot
of people died.”
“Do you know your Mother’s Name?”
“No.”
“So you don’t even really know if you’re a Mikleine.”
“I’m sure I’m not. I was adopted by that family.”
“And how many foster mothers took you in?”
“I don’t know.”
“More than two? More than ten?”
Josselin shrugged broad shoulders.
“So in effect, Prentice, you are Nameless, an orphan passed from family to family with no idea who you really are.”
“Though I hesitate to contradict the learned Advocate, I know exactly who I am. A Prentice Mage.”
“Of course. Your pardon.” Long fingers smoothed the beard. “Now, Prentice, please contradict me further if I say anything inaccurate about the events of your seventeenth year. You caught the attention of Lady Mirya Witte, your foster mother, Geriana Escovor, contracted with Lady Mirya for your education at Lady Mirya’s expense, you came to live in Roseguard, discovered you were Mageborn, and went to Mage Hall in late summer of 987.”
“True.”
“But because you’re not sure which Equinox is your Birthingday, technically you were in breach of contract when you left for Mage Hall before the week of Autumn Moon. You were not yet eighteen.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. I might have been born in the spring.”
“But you’re not certain.”
“No.”
“So, I repeat, you were in breach of contract.”
Josselin looked at Lenna; she said, “Protest, Your Honors. This is irrelevant. He didn’t sign the original contract, being underage and thus with no legal authority to sign anything. If Lady Mirya sues anyone for breach and restitution, it ought to be Geriana Escovor.”