As an important House, as well as the current stewards of spice production on Arrakis, the Harkonnens received fine accommodations in a distant wing of the Imperial Palace. Tickets for reserved seats at the coronation and the wedding had already been delivered to their quarters.
And, of course, before all the pomp and ceremony, it would be the Baron's sad duty to watch the terrible trial of Leto Atreides. He tapped his fingers against his leg and pursed his generous lips. Ah, the burdens of nobility.
He lounged in a plush indigo chair, cradling a crystal sphere in his lap. From the depths of the transparent ball shone holo-images of fireworks displays and light shows, previews for the spectacle that would shower Kaitain in a few days' time. In a corner of the room a musical fireplace whispered quiet notes, making him yawn. Lately, he felt tired so often, his body weak and shaky.
"I want you to leave the planet," the Baron told Glossu Rabban without looking up from the crystal sphere. "I don't want you here during the trial or the coronation."
The broad-shouldered, thick-lipped man bristled. His brown hair had been hacked short, without finesse, for the public appearance, and he wore a padded dra-leather vest that made him look even more like a barrel than usual. "Why? I did everything you asked, and our plans turned out beautifully. Why send me away now?"
"Because I don't want you here," the Baron said, running a hand along his widow's peak to smooth down his thick hair. "I can't have anyone taking a look at you and thinking you might have had something to do with poor, dear Leto's plight. You have that . . . gloating manner about you."
The Baron's nephew frowned and drew a deep breath, still defiant. "But I want to be there so I can look in his eyes when he receives his sentence."
"That is exactly why you must be gone. Can't you understand? You'll give something away."
With a deep breath and a grunt, Rabban finally backed down. "May I come to the execution at least?" He sounded dangerously close to pouting.
"It depends on the timing." The Baron stared at his ring-studded fingers and tinkled their metal against the smooth surface of the sphere in his lap in his habitual rhythm. "At the very least I'll make sure the event is recorded for your enjoyment."
The Baron got out of his chair with an effort and cinched the sash around his tighter-than-usual lounge robe. With a sigh he circled the elaborate room on bare feet, saw the ornate bathtub with its complicated temperature and massage controls. Since his body continued to be plagued by mysterious pains, he decided to take a long and luxurious bath -- if he could find someone to serve him properly here on Kaitain.
Rabban, still displeased, stood on the threshold of the Baron's opulent guest quarters. "What shall I do, then, Uncle?"
"Take a lighter and board the first available Heighliner. I want you to go to Arrakis and watch over the spice production there. Keep adding to our profits." The Baron smiled at him, then waggled his fingers to shoo the nephew away. "Oh, don't look so gloomy. Go hunt a few more Fremen if you like, just to amuse yourself. You've already done your part in this plot, and done it well." He made his voice sound soothing. "But we have to be very careful. Especially now. just pay attention to what I do and try to learn from it."
Grabbing something to eat from a sampling tray that hovered by the archway, Rabban departed. Alone at last, the Baron began to contemplate how best to find a young, soft-skinned boy to tend him in his bath. He wanted to be completely relaxed and prepared for the following day.
Tomorrow, he would have nothing to do but observe and enjoy the event as young Leto Atreides found himself caught in more traps than he could begin to understand.
Soon there would be no more House Atreides at all.
What matters more, the form of justice or the actual outcome? No matter how a court may dissect the evidence, the foundation of genuine truth remains unblemished. Unfortunately for many of the accused, such genuine truth is often known only to the victim and the perpetrator. All others must make up their own minds.
-Landsraad Law, codicils and analyses
On the morning of the trial in Landsraad court, Leto Atreides chose his wardrobe carefully. Others in the same situation might have worn their most expensive finery, the grandeur of merh-silk shirts, pendants and earrings, along with whale-fur-lined capes, and stylish caps adorned with feathers and baubles.
Instead, Leto dressed in plain dungarees and a blue-and-white-striped shirt with a navy blue fisherman's cap -- the simple garb he would have to wear if he could no longer be a Duke. In a sash at his waist he carried a pouch of fishing lures and an empty sheath for a knife. He wore no Atreides insignia and no ducal signet ring. An ordinary commoner -- which was all he would be if found guilty -- Leto showed the Landsraad by his humble demeanor that he would survive, somehow. Even simple things would be enough for him.
Following his father's example, he had always tried to treat his loyal men well, to such an extreme that many of the servants and soldiers considered Leto one of their number, a comrade-in-arms. Now, as he groomed himself for trial, he began to think of himself as a plain man . . . and discovered that the feeling wasn't so bad. It made him realize the tremendous burden of responsibility he had shouldered since the death of the Old Duke.
Being a poor fisherman might actually be a relief, in certain ways. He wouldn't have to worry about plots, shifting alliances, and betrayals in the Imperium. Unfortunately, though, Kailea would never want to be a fisherman's wife.
And I cannot let my people down.
In a curt letter from Caladan, his mother had expressed her complete disagreement with his demand for a Trial by Forfeiture. To her, the loss of stature associated with the destruction of House Atreides would be a huge blow, even though she now (temporarily, in her mind) lived an austere life among the Sisters in Isolation.
With the decline of House Richese, Helena had married into House Atreides as a way to stabilize her family's waning fortunes, after Emperor Elrood had withdrawn their quasi-fief of Arrakis and turned it over to the Harkonnens.
As for Helena's dowry, House Atreides had received political power, a CHOAM directorship, Landsraad voting privileges. But Duke Paulus had never brought his wife the fabulous riches she had wanted, and Leto knew she must harbor hopes of returning to the former glories of her family. All of that would be forever impossible if he lost this gambit.
After receiving the early-morning summons, Leto met his legal team in the corridor outside his cell: two brilliant Elaccan lawyers, Clere Ruitt and Bruda Viol -- women renowned for their criminal-defense work. They had been offered by the Ixian Ambassador-in-exile, Cammar Pilru, and thoroughly interviewed by Thufir Hawat.
The attorneys wore dark business suits and would follow the legal forms, though in this unusual trial Leto knew it would be primarily up to him and his own personality. He certainly had no hard evidence in his favor.
Clere Ruitt handed him a thin sheet of ridulian crystal that contained a brief legal pronouncement. "I am sorry, Lord Leto. This came to us only moments ago."
Already feeling dread, Leto scanned the words. Beside him, Hawat's shoulders sagged, as if he had guessed the document's contents. Rhombur pressed close, trying to read the etchings on the crystal. "What is it, Leto? Let me see."
"The tribunal of magistrates has ruled that no Bene Gesserit Truthsayers may speak on my behalf. Such testimony will not even be introduced."
Rhombur sputtered in indignation. "Vermilion hells! But everything is admissible in a Trial by Forfeiture! They can't make such a ruling."
The other Elaccan attorney shook her head, and her expression remained bland. "They have taken the position that the weight of all other Imperial Law argues against it. Numerous rules and statutes explicitly forbid Truthsayer testimony. The requirements of evidence may be loosened in a forfeiture proceeding such as this, but the magistrates have determined that even loose rules must not go too far."
"So . . . no Truthsayers." Rhombur scowled, fully sullen now. "That was the best thing we had g
oing for us."
Leto held his head high. "Then we'll just have to do this on our own." He looked at his friend. "Come now, I'm not usually the one to shore up your optimism."
"On a brighter note," Bruda Viol said, "the Tleilaxu have removed the pilot of their attacked frigate from the witness list. They provided no explanation."
Leto heaved a long sigh of relief, but Hawat cautioned him, "We will still hear plenty of damning testimony, my Duke."
Silently, he accompanied his advisors into the crowded Landsraad courtroom. At the head of a long aisle he took a seat between them at the defense table below a towering bench for the magistrates who would hear the case. Ruitt whispered in his ear, but he didn't focus on her words. Instead he closely studied the names of the assigned magistrates: seven Dukes, Barons, Earls, Counts, and Lords randomly chosen from among the Great and Minor Houses of the Landsraad.
These men would decide his fate.
Since the Tleilaxu belonged to no royal House and had been spurned for membership even after their takeover of Ix, they were not represented in the Landsraad. In the days preceding the trial, outraged Bene Tleilax dignitaries had shouted in the Palace courtyards, demanding justice -- but after the Tleilaxu attempt on Leto's life, Sardaukar guards had kept them silent.
Now, with a rustle of robes and formal uniforms, the chosen magistrates filed solemnly into the courtroom. They took seats at the curved stonewood bench that loomed over the defense table. The colorful banners and crests of their Houses hung behind each chair.
Having been coached by his attorneys and Thufir Hawat, Leto recognized all of them. Two of the magistrates, Baron Terkillian Sor of IV Anbus and Lord Bain O'Garee of Hagal, had been strong economic trading partners with House Atreides. One, the black-haired Duke Prad Vidal of Ecaz, was an avowed enemy of the Old Duke, an ally of the Harkonnens. Another, Count Anton Miche, was reputed to be susceptible to bribery, making him easily adaptable to the needs of the Harkonnens, since neither Rhombur nor the loyal Mentat had gotten to him first.
Two to two, he thought. The other three magistrates could go either way. But he detected the rank odor of betrayal in the air; he saw it in the cold expressions of the judging panel, the way they avoided making eye contact with him. Have they already decided my guilt?
"We have more bad news . . . Duke Leto." Bruda Viol hesitated before using his former title. Her face was squarish and stern, but oddly passionless, as if she'd seen so much injustice and manipulation that nothing bothered her anymore. "We've only just discovered that one of the three undecided magistrates, Rincon of House Fazeel, lost an immense fortune to Ix in a secret trade war. It had to do with ring-asteroid mining in the Klytemn system. Five years ago, Rincon's advisors barely kept him from declaring a blood feud against Dominic Vernius."
The other attorney nodded and lowered her voice. "We have heard a rumor, Monsieur Atreides, that Rincon sees your personal downfall as his only chance to get even with Ix, now that House Vernius has gone renegade."
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.
Dune - House Atreides Page 63