William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

“No—you can’t!”
    The judge looked at her with grim pity.
    “Sit down, Mrs. Carlyon. As the accused you are entitled to be present, as long as you conduct yourself appropriately. But if you interrupt the proceedings I will have to order your removal. I should regret that; please do not make it necessary.”
    Gradually she sank back again, her body shaking. On either side of her two gray-dressed wardresses took her arms, but to assist, not to restrain.
    “Call him, Mr. Rathbone. I will decide whether he is competent to testify, and the jury will put upon his testimony what value they deem appropriate.”
    An official of the court escorted Cassian as far as the edge of the room, but he crossed the small open space alone. He was about four feet tall, very frail and thin, his fair hair neatly brushed, his face white. He climbed up to the witness box and peered over the railing at Rathbone, then at the judge.
    There was a low mutter and sigh of breath around the court. Several of the jurors turned to look where Alexandra sat in the dock, as if transfixed.
    “What is your name?” the judge asked Cassian quietly.
    “Cassian James Thaddeus Randolf Carlyon, sir.”
    “Do you know why we are here, Cassian?”
    “Yes sir, to hang my mother.”
    Alexandra bit her knuckles and the tears ran down her cheeks.
    A juror gasped.
    In the crowd a woman sobbed aloud.
    The judge caught his breath and paled.
    “No, Cassian, we are not! We are here to discover what happened the night your father died, and why it happened—and then to do what the law requires of us to deal justly with it.”
    “Are you?” Cassian looked surprised. “Grandma said you were going to hang my mother, because she is wicked. My father was a very good man, and she killed him.”
    The judge’s face tightened. “Well just for now you must forget what your grandmother says, or anyone else, and tell us only what you know for yourself to be true. Do you understand the difference between truth and lies, Cassian?”
    “Yes of course I do. Lying is saying what is not true, and it is a dishonorable thing to do. Gentlemen don’t lie, and officers never do.”
    “Even to protect someone they love?”
    “No sir. It is an officer’s duty to tell the truth, or remain silent, if it is the enemy who asks.”
    “Who told you that?”
    “My father, sir.”
    “He was perfectly correct. Now when you have taken the oath and promised to God that you will tell us the truth, I wish you either to speak exactly what you know to be true, or to remain silent. Will you do that?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “Very well, Mr. Rathbone, you may swear your witness.”
    It was duly done, and Rathbone began his questions, standing close to the witness box and looking up.
    “Cassian, you were very close to your father, were you not?”
    “Yes sir,” he answered with complete composure.
    “Is it true that about two years ago he began to show his love for you in a new and different way, a very private way?”
    Cassian blinked. He looked only at Rathbone. Never once had he looked up, either at his mother in the dock opposite, or at his grandparents in the gallery above.
    “It cannot hurt him now for you to tell the truth,” Rathbone said quite casually, as if it were of no particular importance. “And it is most urgent for your mother that you should be honest with us.”
    “Yes sir.”
    “Did he show his love for you in a new and very physical way, about two years ago?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “A very private way?”
    A hesitation. “Yes sir.”
    A sound of weeping came from the gallery. A man blasphemed with passionate anger.
    “Did it hurt?” Rathbone asked very gravely.
    “Only at first.”
    “I see. Did your mother know about this?”
    “No sir.”
    “Why not?”
    “Papa told me it was something women didn’t understand, and I should never tell her.” He took a deep breath and suddenly his composure dissolved.
    “Why not?”
    He sniffed. “He said she would stop loving me if she knew. But Buckie said she still loved me.”
    “Oh, Buckie is quite right,” Rathbone said quickly, his own voice husky. “No woman could love her child more; I know that myself.”
    “Do you?” Cassian kept his eyes fixed on Rathbone, as if to prevent himself from knowing his mother was there, in case he looked at her and saw what he dreaded.
    “Oh yes. I know your mother quite well. She has told me she would rather die than have you hurt. Look at her, and you will know it