Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [271]
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