Leto broke out in a cold sweat and made a disgusted sound. “Does any part of this trial concern what actually happened in the Heighliner?”
Both Bruda Viol and Clere Ruitt looked at him as if he had uttered the most ridiculous comment imaginable.
“Three to two, my Duke,” Hawat said. “We must therefore win over both of the undecided judges and lose none of the tentative support we’ve counted on.”
“It’ll turn out all right,” Rhombur said.
The windowless, armored courtroom had once been a ducal chancery during the construction work on Kaitain. Its vaulted Gothic ceiling was inset with military paintings and the designs and shields of the Great Houses. Leto focused on the red hawk crest of the Atreides among the other shields and coats of arms. Though he tried to remain stoic, a terrible feeling of loss swept over him, a longing for what might never be again. In a short time he had brought down everything his father had left him, and House Atreides was crashing toward ruin.
When he felt tears welling in his eyes, he cursed himself for the momentary weakness. All was not lost. He could still win. He would win! Iciness infused him, and he stemmed the threatening flow of despair. The Landsraad was watching, and he had to be strong enough to face whatever needed to be done here. He could ill afford despair, or any other emotion.
Behind him, observers filed into the courtroom, speaking in low, excited tones. Two larger tables flanked the defense table at which he sat. His enemies took seats at the table on the left— designated representatives of the Tleilaxu, probably sponsored by the Harkonnens and other Atreides foes. But the hated Baron and his entourage sat far back in the simple spectator seats, as if to keep their hands completely clean of the matter. At the other table sat allies and friends of the Atreides. Leto nodded to each of them with a confident smile.
But his thoughts were far from brave, and he had to admit he didn’t have much of a case, even now. The prosecutors would present the evidence of weapons fired from the Atreides combat pod, firsthand accounts of dozens of neutral parties who claimed the shots couldn’t have come from anywhere but the tiny craft berthed in Leto’s ship. Even without the Tleilaxu pilot as a witness, the other observers would be sufficient. The offsetting testimony of his companions and crew wouldn’t be enough, nor would the numerous family friends who would act as character witnesses.
“Perhaps the denial of Truthsayers will give us sufficient grounds for an appeal,” Clere Ruitt suggested, but Leto took no comfort from this.
Then, through a side passage, the somber Tleilaxu prosecution team entered with their own attorneys and twisted Mentat scholars. They came with minimal fanfare, but much clanking and commotion as they brought with them a diabolical-looking machine. It rolled in on creaking wheels with a clatter of hinges and bars. A hush fell over the room as the spectators craned forward to get a better look at the most frightening contraption any of them had ever seen.
This has to be intentional, Leto thought, to make me more uneasy.
The Tleilaxu ponderously hauled the ominous machine past Leto’s defense table; the gray-skinned men glared at him with fiery, dark eyes. The audience began to buzz and whisper. Presently the Tleilaxu team stopped, leaving their device in the center of the main speaking floor, below the curved stonewood bench of the chosen judges.
“What is this?” One of the central magistrates, Baron Terkillian Sor, leaned forward, scowling.
The leader of the Tleilaxu team, a wiry man who had not been introduced by name, looked hatefully at Leto, then gazed up at the questioner. “My Lords, in all the recorded annals of Imperial Law, the specific subsections pertaining to Trial by Forfeiture are few, but clear. ‘Should the accused not succeed in his legal bid, he shall lose everything he possesses, without exception.’ Everything.”
“I can read.” Terkillian Sor continued to scowl. “And what does this have to do with your contraption here?”
The Tleilaxu spokesman drew a deep breath. “We intend to claim not only the holdings of House Atreides, but also the actual person of the heinous criminal Duke Leto Atreides himself, down to his cells and genetic material.”
While the audience muttered in shock, the Tleilaxu attendees worked controls on the machine, causing hidden saw blades to whir, and electrical arcs to crackle from one long needle to another. The ominous machine was outrageous and exaggerated— obviously by design.
“With this device, we will exsanguinate Duke Leto Atreides in this very courtroom, draining him of every drop of his blood. We will flay the skin from his body, and remove his eyes for our testing and experimentation. Every cell will be ours, for whatever purposes the Tleilaxu determine to use them.” He sniffed. “It is our right!”
Then the grayish little man smiled at Leto.
Leto held steady and tried desperately not to show the discomfort raging inside. A trickle of cold sweat ran down his back. He wanted his lawyers to say something, but they held their damnable silence.
“Perhaps the accused can even see an advantage to this fate,” the Tleilaxu spokesman suggested with a wicked grin, “since he has no heirs. If he loses, there will be no more House Atreides. With his cells, however, we have the option of resurrecting him as a ghola.”
To do their bidding, Leto thought, with horror.
At the defense table, Rhombur glared defiantly at the Tleilaxu, while Thufir Hawat sat beside him like a statue. Flanking Leto on either side, the two Elaccan attorneys scribbled notes.
“Enough of this showmanship,” boomed Lord Bain O’Garee. “We can decide this matter later. Let us get on with the trial. I want to hear what the Atreides has to say for himself.”
Though he fought not to show it, Leto suddenly knew he was lost. Every person present in the hall knew his professed hatred for the Tleilaxu, his clear support of the ousted Ixian family. He could summon character witnesses, but no one here really knew him. He was young and untried, thrust by tragedy into his role as Duke. The only time these members of the Landsraad had seen Leto Atreides was when he’d spoken before the Council, revealing a glimpse of his hot temper.
Sparks crackled from the Tleilaxu vivisection and execution device, like a hungry, waiting beast. Leto knew there would be no appeal.
Before the first witness could be called, though, the immense brass-inlaid doors at the rear of the hall slammed open against the stone walls. A hush fell over the courtroom, and Leto heard the crisp cadence of metal-heeled boots on the marbleite floor.
Looking back to the grand entrance doors, he saw Crown Prince Shaddam, dressed in scarlet-and-gold Imperial fur-satins instead of his customary Sardaukar uniform. Followed by an escort of his elite force, the soon-to-be-crowned Emperor strode forward, commanding the full attention of those in the hall. Four heavily armed men scanned the crowd in all directions, every muscle poised for violence.
The Trial by Forfeiture was already highly unusual for the Landsraad court— but the appearance of the future Padishah Emperor himself was unprecedented.
Shaddam made his way up the long aisle and passed Leto with hardly a glance. The Sardaukar took positions behind the defense table, increasing Leto’s feeling of uneasiness.
Shaddam’s face was stony, his upper lip slightly twisted. He gave no sign of his intentions. Did my message offend him? Leto wondered. Does he mean to call my bluff? Will he crush me here in the hall before all the Landsraad? Who could oppose him if he did?
Reaching the towering bench, Shaddam looked up and announced, “Before this trial actually begins, I have a statement to make. Will the court recognize me at this time?”
Though Leto didn’t trust his distaff cousin, he had to admit that Shaddam looked especially regal and elegant. For the first time, he saw this man as a genuine presence in his own right, not just the shadow of his ancient father Elrood. Shaddam’s coronation was set for two days hence, to be followed immediately by his magnificent wedding to Anirul— events that Leto might never live to see. The powerful Bene Gesserit faction had thrown its suppo
rt to Shaddam’s upcoming reign, and all of the Great and Minor Houses of the Landsraad wanted to stay on his good side.
Does he feel threatened by me?
The head magistrate bowed deeply and made an expansive gesture. “Sire, we are honored by your presence and your interest in this case. Of course the Landsraad tribunal will hear you.” Leto knew only the most basic facts about this magistrate, the Baron Lar Olin from the titanium-rich planet of Risp VII. “Please speak.”
Shaddam pointed over his shoulder, in Leto’s direction. “With the permission of the court, I’d like my cousin Leto Atreides to stand with me. I wish to address the matter of these malicious accusations and, I hope, prevent the court from wasting the valuable time of all its members.”
Leto’s mind raced, and he looked over at Hawat. What is he doing? “Cousin”? The way he says it, the word sounds like a term of endearment . . . but he and I have never been close. Leto was merely the grandson of one of Elrood’s daughters, by the ancient Emperor’s second wife, not even Shaddam’s mother. The Corrino family tree sprawled among the Houses of the Landsraad; any blood connection should have meant little to Shaddam.
The head magistrate nodded. At the table beside Leto, his lawyers sat in astonishment, not knowing how to respond. Warily, Leto levered himself to his feet. With shaking knees, he marched forward to join the Crown Prince, standing a pace away from his side, on his left. While of similar height and facial appearance, the men were dressed in radically different fashion, representing two social extremes. Leto stood in his rough fisherman clothes, feeling like a dust mote in the middle of a whirlwind.
He made a formal bow before Shaddam closed the gap between them, placing a hand on Leto’s shoulder. The fine, loosely fitted satin of the Crown Prince’s tunic cascaded over the arm of the young Atreides.
“I speak from the heart of House Corrino, the blood of the Padishah Emperors,” Shaddam began, “with the supportive voices of all my ancestors who have ever associated with House Atreides. This man’s father, Duke Paulus Atreides, fought bravely for the Imperial cause against the rebels on Ecaz. Through battle and high peril, the Atreides family has never to my knowledge committed any treasonous or dishonorable act— all the way back to their heroism and sacrifice at the Bridge of Hrethgir during the Butlerian Jihad. Never! Never have they been cowardly murderers. I challenge any of you to disprove this.” He narrowed his eyes, and the magistrates looked away uncomfortably.
Shaddam stared from magistrate to magistrate. “Who among you, knowing the histories of your Houses, can make the same claim? Who has displayed the same loyalty, the same unblemished honor? Few of us, if the truth be told, can compare with noble House Atreides.” He let the silence hang, disturbed only by a sharp static discharge from the ominous Tleilaxu vivisection machine. “Ah, yes. And that is why we are here today, is it not, gentlemen? Truth and honor.”
Leto saw some of the magistrates nod in agreement, because they were expected to. But they looked perplexed. Imperial leaders never voluntarily addressed Landsraad courts. Why was Shaddam involving himself in such a relatively minor matter?
He read my message! Leto thought. And this is his response.
Still, he waited for the trap to appear. He didn’t understand what he had gotten himself into, but Shaddam couldn’t intend just to march in and rescue him. Of all the Great Houses in the Landsraad, the Corrinos were among the most devious.
“House Atreides has always taken the high road,” Shaddam continued, his regal voice growing more powerful. “Always! And young Leto here has been indoctrinated into this family code of ethics, forced into his royal station early because of the senseless death of his great father.”
Shaddam removed his arm from Leto’s shoulder and took a step forward, closer to the magistrates. “In my opinion, it would be impossible for this man, from this House, to intentionally fire upon Tleilaxu ships, as he has been accused of doing. Such an act would be abhorrent to everything House Atreides believes. Any evidence to the contrary must be false. My Truthsayers have confirmed this after speaking to Leto and his fellow witnesses.”
A lie, Leto thought. I spoke to no Truthsayers!
“But Royal Highness,” Magistrate Prad Vidal said, with a dark scowl that lowered his black eyebrows, “the guns on his frigate showed evidence of having been fired. Are you suggesting the Tleilaxu ships were damaged by a convenient accident? A mad coincidence?”
Shaddam shrugged. “As far as I am concerned, Duke Leto has explained this satisfactorily. I, myself, have taken a combat pod into orbit for skeet-drone practice. The remainder of the investigation is inconclusive. Perhaps an accident, yes, but not caused by the Atreides. It must have been a mechanical malfunction.”
“But on two Tleilaxu ships?” Vidal said, in an incredulous tone.
Leto looked around, speechless, watching the events play themselves out. Shaddam was about to begin his reign. If the Emperor himself threw his weight indisputably in support of Leto, would any of the representatives declare themselves enemies of the crown? The repercussions could be severe and long-lasting.
This is all politics, Landsraad power plays, favors exchanged, Leto thought, struggling to keep his expression calm. None of this has anything to do with the truth. Now that the Crown Prince had made his stance clear, any magistrate who voted to convict Leto would be openly defying the next Emperor. Even the enemies of House Atreides would be loath to risk that.
“Who can say?” Shaddam responded, with a toss of his head that labeled the question irrelevant. “Perhaps debris from the first accidental explosion hit the companion craft, damaging it less severely.” No one believed the explanation for a moment, but the Crown Prince had given them a way out, a paper platform on which to stand.
In low tones the magistrates conferred among themselves. Some of them agreed that Shaddam’s line of reasoning was plausible— they wanted to find some way to agree with the new Emperor— but Vidal was not one of them. Sweat ran down his brow.
Looking over his shoulder, Leto saw the Tleilaxu spokes-man shaking his head in silent disapproval. In the tall chair that had been rigged for him at the prosecution table, he looked like a displeased child.
The Crown Prince continued. “I am here, as is my right and duty as your Supreme Commander, to personally vouch for my eminent cousin, Duke Leto Atreides. I urgently request an end to this trial and the restoration of his title and properties. If you grant this . . . request, I promise to send a contingent of Imperial diplomats to the Tleilaxu to convince them to drop the matter and not to retaliate against the Atreides in any way.”
Shaddam fixed a long glance at the Tleilaxu, and Leto had the distinct impression that the Emperor also had the gnomish men over a barrel. Somehow. Seeing that Shaddam stood by House Atreides, their hauteur crumbled.
“And if the complainants won’t agree?” Vidal inquired.
Shaddam smiled. “Oh, they’ll agree. I am even willing to open the Imperial coffers to pay generous, ah, disaster relief for what was, undoubtedly, an unfortunate accident. It is my duty as your new ruler to maintain peace and stability throughout the Imperium. I cannot allow such a feud to destroy what my dear father built during his long reign.”
Leto caught Shaddam’s gaze, and detected a glimmer of fear beneath the statesmanship and bravado. Without words Shaddam told Leto to keep his mouth shut, making Leto even more curious about what alarms his mysterious bluff had triggered.
So he held his tongue. But could Shaddam afford to let him live afterward, not knowing what proof Leto might have against him?
Following a short conference among themselves, Baron Lar Olin cleared his throat and announced, “It is the finding of this duly sworn Landsraad Council that all evidence against Leto Atreides is circumstantial and unprovable. Given such extreme doubts, there are insufficient grounds to proceed with a trial of such devastating consequences, especially in light of the extraordinary testimony of Crown Prince Shaddam Corrino. We therefore declare Leto Atreides
fully exonerated and restore to him his title and property.”
Stunned at his sudden good fortune, Leto found himself congratulated by the Emperor-to-be and then mobbed by his friends and supporters. Many of them were delighted to see him win, but despite his youth Leto was not naive; he knew just as many of them were happy simply to see the Tleilaxu lose.
All around him the courtroom erupted in cheers and thunderous ovations, with the exception of a few in attendance who remained conspicuously silent. Leto marked them for further consideration, and knew Thufir Hawat would be doing the same.
“Leto, there is one more thing I must do,” Shaddam said, his voice cutting through the din.
Out of the corner of his eye, Leto saw something glint in the light. Shaddam’s hand moved, snatching a jewel-handled knife from his sleeve— translucent blue-green like the Hagal quartz of the Imperial throne. He raised it, moving quickly.
Back at the bench, Thufir Hawat leaped to his feet, but too late. The crowd fell into an instant hush.
Then, with a smile, Shaddam slipped the knife into the empty sheath at Leto’s waist. “My congratulatory gift to you, Cousin,” he said in the most pleasant of tones. “Carry this blade as a reminder of your service to me.”
We do what we must. Friendship and loyalty be damned. We do what we must!
—LADY HELENA ATREIDES,
her personal journals
Hasimir Fenring brooded in his private apartments, in shock. How can Shaddam do this to me?
The message capsule with the formal Imperial seal— the wax lion of House Corrino— lay discarded on his bed. He had torn Shaddam’s formal decree to shreds, but not before memorizing every word.
A new assignment— a banishment!— a promotion?
“Hasimir Fenring, in acknowledgment of your unfailing service to the Imperium and the throne of the Padishah Emperors, you are hereby appointed to a newly created post as official Imperial Observer on Arrakis.
Dune: House Atreides Page 61