Chapter thirty-one

The Imperial Courthouse in Ortia

 

 The Ortia courthouse was usually employed for petty crimes and territorial disputes: serious crimes in the city were very rare. Only twice before during her rule had Marthian had to sit ex cathedra as a representative magistrate of the Emperor – both times it had been a final appeal for murderers who were to be executed. On one occasion the defendant had absconded, presumably to the middle of nowhere.  The second time she had commuted the sentence to life imprisonment – she really hadn’t liked the idea of a judicial execution on her hands. This time was a bit different – there was a life at stake, and perhaps a point of law to prove. She really hoped that she knew what she was doing.

Marthian dressed in the ante room – putting on her purple robes and feeling self-conscious. She knew that as soon as she entered the courtroom proper she would have to perform and she always found that a real burden. Still, she thought, I have to get through it – no-one else is going to do it. She breathed in deeply.

She swept into the space and ascended on to the throne that was placed strategically two-thirds of the way into the room  the room. She looked around magisterially, or as magisterially as she could manage with her mind whirring so fast. The place was thronged with spectators, some sitting and some standing, all behind a barrier in front of the courthouse main entrance. In front of her down several steps and sitting on hard wooden chairs were the three strangers. Rem sat in the middle, his legs stretched out in front of him, Kath on his right, Hardacre on his left. They looked very odd in front of this sea of whispering elves. Hardacre probably looked the oddest – sitting bolt upright, dressed immaculately and apparently completely calm. Interesting man, she thought, I wonder what goes on inside his head.

The time had come. The Usher bid everyone to be silent and then she proclaimed.

‘I call this extra-ordinary session of the court to order. All rise for the Proconsul of Ortia, his imperial majesty’s representative in East Visneoria, keeper of the flame, defender of our lands and ultimate authority within our great city!’

Everyone stood up, even Rem. Hardacre somehow managed to contrive to be the first to stand. Kath followed him reluctantly.

‘We are gathered here,’ the Usher continued, ‘to consider the question of this creature, who identifies himself as Rem, from the South Plains. The gravamen of our considerations pertains to section 19, subsection 3…’

Marthian scowled and cut her short with a disapproving shake of the head. She spoke instead.

‘We need simply to establish whether this creature is a Tlaxacan. If he is then we apply the law without mercy. If he is not, then the law does not apply, and so mercy is not required’

The Usher, having recovering from being cut short, resumed her most pompous voice.

‘The proposition in question today is that of the nature of Rem, this creature from the southern plains. The Empire asserts that he is not a Tlaxacan. We now seek proof.’

‘So, do we have supporters and opponents of the proposition?’ Marthian asked the courtroom, interrupting the Usher again and wondering who would crawl out of the woodwork. 

Ortian justice differed considerably from the way in the west of the empire. In the west there was a complex system of lawyers, magistrates and advocates, but in the East there had always been a more open system, with input from the gathered spectators, but with the final decision being made by the acting magistrate once popular opinion had been taken into account.  Marthian was the acting magistrate.

‘Who supports the proposition?’ asked the Usher.

Kath jumped up, shouting ‘I do!’

Marthian turned away from the spectators and frowned. She turned back and addressed Kath directly.

‘This is an elven court’ she explained, ‘but you will be called, I am sure, as a witness’

Kath looked round and reluctantly sat down.

No-one else stepped forward. Marthian sighed to herself.

The Usher paused and then said, ‘Who opposes the proposition?’

‘I do’ said a voice from the spectators. An old, but still very tall and hearty, elf slowly stood up.

Marthian recognised Perclivius instantly, with a shock. He was the leader of the most extreme of the Imperialist parties, and he was against almost everything that she and her government stood for. What he supported was continuous war, even when the enemy was nowhere to be seen.

The Usher turned to Marthian, ‘do you recognise the opponent, my Lady?’

‘Oh yes – I recognise him’ Marthian said.

The Usher looked a little confused.

‘As the Imperial opponent, ma’am…’

‘That’s what I meant’ said Marthian, crossly.

Perclivius smiled an old, twisted, canny smile but said nothing.

The Usher walked down the steps and placed a red sash around his shoulders.

‘Perclivius is the Imperial Opponent. Are there are any that would assist him?’

A cry came up from the audience.

‘He needs no help from anyone!’ shouted a deep male voice.

A section of the audience clapped and growled in appreciation. Perclivius gave them all a withering look and then resumed his ragged smile.

Marthian realised that, despite the apparent brilliance of her plan, this was now a political ambush. How naïve, she thought, how very stupid of me. It was always the same – try to fix one problem, spawn a thousand others.

The Usher calmed the crowd and then continued.

‘Do we have no supporters of the proposition?’

The crowd stirred again but no-one stepped forward. Marthian stared at a space far beyond Viola’s head. Come on, she thought, time to stand up.

Viola reluctantly got up from her seat, rising very slowly.

‘Yes’ she said, in a quiet voice, ‘I support the proposition’

Cruel laughter filled the courtroom. Perclivius’s smile disappeared.

He moved towards Viola and bowed formally. Viola looked flustered.

‘How delightful to have such a charming proponent’ he croaked.

Viola looked up at the Usher, who was approaching her with a green sash and put it on her.

‘Viola is the Imperial Proponent. Are there are any that would assist her?’

Kath stood up again, ‘I would if it were permitted’ she said.

‘But it is still not’ said Marthian, coldly, ‘please sit down, Dr Fielding’

Throughout this whole process Hardacre had sat stock still, his face a mask. At least he knows what he’s doing, thought Marthian.

The Usher returned to the podium and stood next to Marthian. 

 ‘Rise and come forward, creature’ commanded the Usher, in heavily accented Ethian. 

Rem stood up and stepped forward. His big grey eyes blazed.

The courtroom erupted with jeers and shouts. The Usher calmed the crowd again, but with considerable difficulty.

‘They call me Rem’ he said, ‘why are you not the “creature”?’

The Usher ignored this, and adopted an expression of extreme distaste. She returned to her task, now in Visneorian.

‘Imperial Proponent – the creature is yours to question. It is your responsibility to establish the Imperial position before the opponent attempts to disprove it’ she said. 

Viola looked up at Marthian and then turned her attention to Rem

‘Where do you come from, creature named Rem?’ she asked, in Ethian. A translator rendered their conversation into Visneorian for the audience. 

‘From southern plains. Born there. I hope will die there’. He looked back at the spectators with all their hatred and shook his head.

‘And how long ago were you born?’ continued Viola.

‘Forty long and short suns’ he replied

‘Forty years?’ asked Viola

‘In Eth tongue, yes ‘

‘Do you know how old I am?’ asked Viola

‘Why ask question. How Rem know age of elf?’

‘How old do I seem?’

Rem looked at her carefully. And then glanced up at Marthian.  Marthian was taken aback by the depth of the stare. Something about it really didn’t fit. She couldn’t quite work out what.

‘Thirty human years, maybe thirty five’ he finally said.

‘I am one thousand and twenty-two years old’ said Viola.

Rem blinked.

‘You elves are strange. You not age properly’

A very few elves in the audience laughed nervously. Kath covered her mouth. Hardacre didn’t even twitch.

Viola continued, ‘when I was still a very young elf maid, this region was invaded by Tlaxacans, so that was about nine hundred years ago. Do you remember that?’

Rem looked intensely puzzled.

‘Eh?’ he murmured

‘Do you remember that invasion – the invasion that your people, the Tlaxacans inflicted on our city. Your people who ravaged and burnt and ate. Your people who crunched through the bones and flesh and blood of so many innocent elves. And many of the families of those elves are in this courtroom today. Do you remember?’  

Rem hesitated again.

‘No. I was not there. My family were not there. It was age ago, more than age’ he said quietly.

 ‘That’s odd’ said Viola, ‘if you are a kinaam how can you not remember? Surely your tribe remembers the triumph?’

‘I not kinaam, my tribe not either – I tell many times. You not listen. Want kill for killings sake, do you?’

‘But, I believe that you came from the east originally, many generations ago. And everyone will agree that you look like a kinaam. Surely that is enough to make you a kinaam? Your provenance, your history, your appearance’

Rem stared at Viola unbelieving.

‘You stupid. Sometimes pick up stone it turns out a turtle. Make blade with turtle, get angry turtle, get bitten. If all you see is outside of thing, then you build great city with outside beautiful, but who cares?’

Viola nodded and turned to the crowd.

‘The nine hundred years that have elapsed since the last Tlaxacan invasion is no more than a single generation to us, but to Rem’s tribe it is forty or so generations. Unless one believes that races are unchanging, forty generations represents sufficient time for cultural beliefs and moral codes to change beyond recognition. In this case I assert that that is exactly what has happened’

Viola paused and then changed tack.

‘What do you do in your tribe?’ she asked.

‘I tracker, hunter and healer’

‘Healer?’ enquired Viola.

‘Yes – we need healers like all peoples’ 

‘Can anyone remember any healers in the Tlaxacan horde?’ Viola asked, turning to the crowd.

There was an odd, uncertain, murmur. Viola returned to her questioning.

‘How would you describe your dealings with Dr Fielding?’ she asked

‘Who?’ said Rem, confused, ‘You mean Kath?’

‘Yes, I mean Dr Katherine Fielding, the Ethian scholar with whom you were found’

‘I her guide. She and I friends.’

Kath nodded vigorously but didn’t interrupt.

‘And’ said Viola, what would Dr Fielding say if I asked her the same question about you?’

Rem frowned, ‘how I know? She own person, I hope she think same, but who knows?’

‘Ma’am – do I have permission to question the Ethian scholar?’

Marthian frowned, but nodded. She looked over at Kath.

The Usher rose from her seat, ‘Rise, Dr Fielding and come to the front’ she commanded.

Kath rose eagerly and walked to near where Viola and Perclivius were standing.  Viola stood twitchy, uneasy, while Perclivius rested easily on his staff. Following Imperial custom, he had not yet said a word.

‘Dr Fielding’ said Viola, ‘where are you from?’

Kath looked up at Viola. She was still very angry about the whole thing, but controlling herself.

‘I am from Eth City’

‘And what do you do there?’

‘I work at the University. I am an expert on Dwarven Magic’

There was a buzz in the audience. Unwise answer, thought Marthian, sighing softly.

‘Get to the point’ she grunted irritably.

‘How did you meet the creature known as Rem?’ resumed Viola.

 Kath looked directly out at the spectators.

‘He saved me when I was lost in the wild and he assisted me to get here. Without him, I would surely now be dead’

Viola thought for a second.

‘I shall ask you the same question that I asked the creature Rem. How would you describe your dealings with him?’

‘He’s my friend and protector. Isn’t that obvious?’

 Viola smiled at her.

‘You can return to your seat, Dr Fielding – thank you’

Kath opened her mouth as if to say a large number of other, quite pungent, things, but then she thought better of it. She stomped back to her chair.

Viola walked to the centre of the room and stood so that she could address both Marthian and the spectators.

‘The case for the Empire is that this creature does not have any of the personality characteristics that define a Tlaxacan. He is kind where Tlaxacans are cruel, he heals when Tlaxacans hurt, he befriends when Tlaxacans hate, and he helps when Tlaxacans know nothing else but hindering. It is the Emperor’s case that this creature is not a Tlaxacan and therefore is not covered by the law that prohibits Tlaxacans in this city on pain of death. That is the proposal presented for his Imperial majesty.’

Viola stepped away and waited. The crowd were restless, but mainly quiet. They were all waiting for Perclivius’s turn.

The Usher turned to Perclivius

 ‘Imperial Opponent, make your case’

Perclivius hobbled slightly on his stick. He coughed and turned slowly towards Rem. 

‘So, monster’ said Perclivius, mildly, ‘what do you think of our city, which your ancestors tried so hard to destroy?’

Viola jumped up.

‘Proconsul – that is insulting and a leading question’ she exclaimed.

Marthian looked closely at Perclivius.

‘”Monster”?’ she said, raising her eyebrows, ‘that does seem rather emotive.’  

‘I am simply describing his appearance. He is monstrous in appearance, yes?’ enquired Perclivius of the whole assembly.

A huge murmur of affirmation went up. Marthian knew that she would never win this one.

‘Proceed, Opponent – but rephrase your question’

 ‘So, monster’ continued Perclivius, ‘How do you like our city?’

Viola began to object again, but Marthian’s look stopped her.

Rem glared at him.

‘It well built, grand white walls. Rem not city being’

Perclivius smiled kindly.

‘Well, no, you wouldn’t be, would you’, he said, ‘given where you come from’

‘It must be very strange’ he continued, ‘very strange indeed’

‘What you mean?’ asked Rem, ‘I come from southern plains, with huts and tents, that no shame’

‘Yes’ said Perclivius, always keeping exactly the same tone in his voice ‘you would prefer to see Elven cities reduced to ‘huts’ and ‘tents’, I’m sure…’ His voice trailed off 

Rem cocked his head as if he thought that by looking at this strange elf from a different angle he might make sense of him.

‘Elven cities not interesting to me. Do with them what you want. Best thing – you live in city I live in plain’

Perclivius paused for about ten seconds and then continued.

‘So, we now know what you think of elven civilisation, monster. What do you think of elves?’

Rem narrowed his eyes and thought for a second.

‘They not like me – why should I like them?’

‘So – you dislike them?’ asked Perclivius, smiling his wan smile again.

‘They never give me reason to like them. In the west, in Portalis, they cruel and worship the White Devil. Here, they try kill me, without asking question. Now they ask question, but still seem to want to kill me’

There were one or two uneasy shuffling sounds in the audience and some nervous coughing, but this was drowned out by whispers of ‘elf hater’ and ‘yes – kill him’. Marthian realised all too clearly that what Rem had said was undoubtedly true, but there was nothing she could do to make amends now except try to save him.

Marthian leant forward.

‘Rem – who is the ‘White Devil’?’ she asked, ‘I think it may be relevant to this case to know’

Perclivius nodded and let Rem speak.

‘The God with the Cloak of White’ he said vehemently, ‘we hate him – he sheds blood everywhere.  We hate to shed such blood; we turn against him long ago’

A tremor of fear fizzled through the room. Horrible memories seeped back into the minds of the older elves in the audience from small pools where the toxic waters of terror and hate has lain dormant.  Perclivius’s smile faded.

‘So you say – but you cannot cheat your nature’ he said, in a hoarse stage whisper,  ‘whether you know it or not, I put it to you that you are a spy, a saboteur or a savage – probably all three. And quite self-evidently a Tlaxacan – you are condemned from your own mouth’

He turned to face the spectators. Not once during his questioning had he turned to look at Marthian and now he turned his back on her completely. 

‘You heard him. He is of the Kinaam tribe. His appearance is clearly so, his ancestry is obviously so, he cannot be allowed to live, however repentant he might be. He is dangerous. More dangerous than any other Tlaxacan – for he is cunning and clever – a new breed of kinaam for a new style of warfare.’

Perclivius’s supporters  began to stamp on the ground in time, Rem struggled to make himself heard.

‘Repentant?’ he shouted, ‘I am not ashamed. I never did harm and I have often done good. If this elf turn away help, and twist words, and kill without shame, then this elf do evil ’

Perclivius ignored this. He pointed his staff at Hardacre, who was still sitting completely still.

‘Usher – I would speak to the Envoy’ he said.

Marthian twitched. This would be very difficult. Hardacre began to rise quite willingly, but Marthian waved him down.

‘Envoy Hardacre has diplomatic immunity’ she said.

Hardacre looked up at Marthian, quizzically, but no-one exceptshe saw his expression. He still said nothing but lowered himself back into his chair.

‘Immunity?’ said Perclivius, raising his voice a little.

‘Yes,’ said Marthian blandly, ‘he has that right’

‘Well, how interesting’ said Perclivius, moving closer and closer to the audience ‘It would have been really interesting to explore why Envoy Hardacre is here and exactly who he represents’

‘I’m sure’ said Marthian, ‘but that is not relevant to the case’

Perclivius stared out across the spectators and then turned back to the Usher.

‘I’ll speak to the Fielding human female then’ he said, walking now towards her chair.

Kath rose to meet him. They stared at each other for a second or so.

‘Why were you wandering across East Visneoria?’ he asked abruptly.

‘I am on a study mission sanctioned by the High Lord and the Emperor’

‘Which is?’ asked Perclivius, in very measured tones.

 ‘To explore Melloreis’

Marthian realised that there was nothing she could do now to prevent this fact coming out. She sensed that she would need to formulate some new plans and quickly.

The noise in the courtroom rose to a crescendo. Voices were raised in challenge against each other, against Kath and against Rem.

Marthian stood up and gestured to the Usher. The Usher rang the giant gong that stood to the right of the podium. Briefly there was a little less noise. Marthian spoke.

‘There will be silence! We do the Emperor’s work here. I will not have raised voices in his presence!’

‘So – this monster was helping you explore Melloreis, was he?’ asked Perclivius, still in the evenest possible voice.

‘No’ said Kath, ‘he was helping me find it. He told me that he had no interest at all in entering it’

 Perclivius glanced over at Rem, who was sitting uneasily in his chair.

‘Are all Ethians as naïve as you? Or, are you, in fact, in league with this abomination against the empire?’

Kath bristled, ‘what on earth do you mean? I’m not…’ 

Perclivius laughed – a very gentle laugh. He looked out across the audience.

‘Of course you’re not my dear’ he said softly, turning to her, ‘don’t worry’

Kath wondered where she might find a heavy blunt object of some kind and silently imagined how wonderful it would be to bring it down on his head.

‘You can sit down now’ he said. Kath stomped back to her seat.

Perclivius still did not turn to towards Marthian, as was customary in these cases. Marthian knew that this was rank defiance.

‘Citizen Perclivius’ she said, trying not to show her anger and apprehension, ‘please face me when you are speaking’

Perclivius bowed ostentatiously, although apparently his old, but stocky, body made the gesture seem artificial and extremely stiff. He nodded at Marthian and turned very slightly towards her.

‘To sum up’ he said, ‘it is my view that the monster is a spy, or that he is likely to revert to type at any time. It is a question of blood and there can be no doubt that this creature is a kinaam. He should be removed from this room and hanged.’

 A large block of the spectators started to chant and stamp their feet. ‘Die Tlaxacan scum’ they shouted in a horrible cacophony of voices, and then in a drone ‘die, die, die…’

Rem sat with his eyes closed while Kath awkwardly but firmly held his hand. Hardacre sat still but stared intently at Kath, making sure that she could see the expression in his eyes:  ‘I will not let that happen’ it said.

The Usher banged her gong again. There was temporary silence.

‘Have you finished Imperial Opponent?’ asked the Usher.

‘Yes’ said Perclivius, turning decisively away from Marthian and returning slowly, to resounding cheers, to his seat in the audience, aomg his supporters. Marthian nodded at the Usher who walked to Marthian’s left hand side on the podium and spoke.

‘All have done their Imperial Duty. Are there any more facts to be laid in front of the Proconsul?’

There were murmurs but no-one else said anything.

‘Her Ladyship will retire to consider her verdict’

***

 

After fifty minutes in the court offices Marthian returned. She had had a glass of wine and some olives. Otherwise she had not felt hungry. She had needed all of that time to compose her thoughts.

‘I have considered my verdict’ she said from her ornately carved chair. She paused to arrange her arguments in her mind. 

‘The question that we have in front of us is a simple one. Is Rem, this humanoid from the Southern Plains, a kinaam, one of the foul Tlaxacan abominations? If he is then the law demands that he is executed. If he is not, then he is one of the canonical peoples of the world and there is no legal presumption concerning him.’

Marthian waited a second.

‘Let us start by defining what we mean by a kinaam. When we look at them we see something that looks just like Rem. He is distorted, grotesque, unsightly. He certainly looks like a kinaam…’

There were several murmurs of assent.

‘And of course they were unforgiving, unfeeling, non-communicative machines, with a love for blood and with no concern for loss of life on their own side, or any others’

Marthian took a step down towards the audience.

‘I challenge anyone here to recognise that description in Rem…’ she said.

No-one spoke, although Marthian thought there were still a few who would have liked to. Now all she could do was get to the end of this as quickly as she could.

‘We must also take into account the differences in the perception of time between elves and non-elves, as Captain Viola outlined’ she continued.

‘This length of time that has passed since Rem’s people separated from their Tlaxacan ancestors is more than enough in non-elven chronology to ensure an entire race could change utterly, and clearly Rem’s has. I put it you that he is now of a new, entirely separate race…’

‘In the end, in any case’ she said, ‘we must judge him by his deeds. He has proven to be gentle, considerate and he has powers of healing. We cannot in all conscience condemn such a kind spirit to the hands of the executioner’

The waited for a response, but there was only silence. Everyone was waiting for her decision patiently.

‘To conclude. Rem does not fit our knowledge of the kinaam, in fact he is clearly very distant from them:  in character, in intellect and in time, as measured by the non-elves. The burden of proof is on the opponents to disprove the proposition. It is my judgement that they have not succeeded in doing so. ‘

Perclivius stood up rapidly and ostentatiously, but said nothing. He turned his back and, without waiting for Marthian to finish, hobbled his way slowly to the door. One by one his followers turned their backs too and went out after him. All of the other spectators watched intently.

They trooped through the door behind Perclivius and the last of his followers banged the door to with a flourish. There was a moment’s unpleasant quiet. Marthian realised that most of Perclivius’s followers were soldiers. She wasn’t surprised.

She paused and examined the crowd – no-one stirred, her enemies had clearly all gone. At least this bit would be a little easier. 

‘I hereby declare, therefore, that Rem is not a kinaam and that I expressly forbid the shedding of his blood.’

There was a small cheer from one small section of the audience – everyone else remained stony faced and silent.

‘That is my decision, in lieu of the great Emperor Pallatian of Visneoria. My word is his word. Now - let his word be law!’

There was a smattering of applause, a very few cheers, and a lot of whispering. Marthian thought that this was about the best that she could hope for.  She really wondered if the risk would be worth it.

 

***

Marthian had the guards bring Hardacre, Rem and Kath round to the inner court chambers as rapidly as possible. Viola was there too. Marthian was in a hurry.

‘Get out of the city now. Get out and go and find Melloreis. It seems, unfortunately, that that is the way that fate is pointing. Go now or you will never have the opportunity. ’

She turned to Rem.

‘You’re the guide and the healer. Make sure no harm comes to them’

She examined him very carefully.

 ‘Prove me right! I’d like that very much’ she said.

He looked at her with those strange eyes, again. What was it she half-glimpsed in them?

‘Viola’ she continued, ‘I need you to go too. I’m sending no armies – it seems pointless and in any case who would I trust?’

Viola dared not protest – she just nodded wanly. Marthian handed her a bag. She had somehow also obtained the others’ belongings. No-one asked how.

‘I packed it earlier,’ she explained to Viola, ‘with help from Bella, my maid’

Hardacre had said nothing, but he caught Marthian’s eye briefly. Whatever remained to be said between them would have to wait for another day. Marthian thought that, for the first time since they had met, he looked worried. Her heart began to sink but she forced it to bob up again. This wasn’t the right time for despair. 

‘Dr Fielding’ she said, ‘I am trusting you to proceed carefully and to discover whatever you can, as long as it is safe. I still believe that this is an opportunity to find out something very important’

The buzz in the courtroom was beginning to spill out into the afternoon sun. It was time to go.

‘My guards will lead you to one of the lesser portals. Under their protection you should be able to get out without being caught by any rabble. Now, you need to hurry!’

The four makeshift companions picked up their stuff and made rapidly for the door. Rem looked back briefly at Marthian and she caught that look in his eye again. She now knew what it was – it was a look of judgement. And he wasn’t just judging her; an entire civilisation seemed to have been weighed in the balance and, so far, it had been found wanting.