Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [448]
‘Sayren Stund, your callousness will be well repaid,’ JandolAnganol said, and received a hearty blow for it.
When the horn dagger had been passed round, the curved figure of Kimon Euras uncurled enough to ask, ‘What else has the prosecution to bring against the accused by way of evidence?’
‘You have seen the weapon with which the deed was done,’ the black voice of Crispan Mornu announced. ‘Now we shall show you the person who used the weapon to kill the princess Simoda Tal.’
Into the court a struggling body was half-brought, half-carried. It had a rug tied about its head, and JandolAnganol thought immediately of the prisoner he had seen in the night, evicted from the wooden wagon.
This captive was tugged into the well of the court. At a word of command, the rug was wrenched from it.
The youth thus revealed seemed to consist of a fury of a tousled mane of hair, an empurpled visage, and a torn shift. When he was struck hard and began to whimper instead of struggle, he was recognisable as RobaydayAnganol.
‘Roba!’ cried the king, and received a chop in the kidneys which doubled him up in pain. He sank down on a bench, overwhelmed by the sight of his son in captivity – Roba, who had always feared captivity.
‘This young person was apprehended by his majesty’s agents in the seaport of Ottassol, in Borlien,’ said Crispan Mornu. ‘He proved difficult to track down, since he posed sometimes as a Madi, adopting their habits and style of dress. He is, however, human. His name is RobaydayAnganol. He is the son of the accused, and his wildness is widely talked of.’
‘Did you murder the late Princess Simoda Tal?’ demanded the judge, in a voice like tearing parchment.
Robayday burst into a fit of weeping, during which he was heard to say that he had murdered nobody, that he had never been to Oldorando before, and that he wanted only to be left in peace to lead his own miserable life.
‘Did you not carry out the murder at the instigation of your father?’ demanded Crispan Mornu, making each word sound like a small axe descending.
‘I hate my father! I fear my father! I would never do his bidding.’
‘Why then did you murder the Princess Simoda Tal?’
‘I didn’t. I didn’t. I am innocent, I swear.’
‘Whom did you murder?’
‘I have murdered no one.’
As though these were the very words he had waited all his life to hear, Crispan Mornu raised a mottled hand high in the air and brought up his nose until it shone in the light as if honed.
‘You hear this youth claim he has murdered no one. We call a witness who will prove him a liar. Bring in the witness.’
A young lady entered the court, moving freely if nervously between two guards. She was directed to take a stance beneath the judge’s platform, while those in the court regarded her avidly. Her beauty and youth were appealing. Her cheeks were brightly painted. Her dark hair was strikingly dressed. She wore a tight-fitting chagirack, the floral pattern of which emphasised her figure. She stood with one hand on her hip, slightly defiant, and managed to look at once innocent and seductive.
Judge Kimon Euras curved his alabaster skull forward and was perhaps rewarded by a glimpse down into her zona, for he said in a more human tone than had so far been the case, ‘What is your name, young woman?’
She said in a faint voice, ‘Please, AbathVasidol, usually called Abathy by my friends.’
‘I am sure you have plenty of friends,’ said the judge.
Untouched by this exchange, Crispan Mornu said, ‘This lady has also been brought here by his majesty’s agents. She came not as a prisoner but of her own free will, and will be rewarded for her efforts on behalf of the truth. Abathy, will you tell us when you last saw this youth, and what the circumstances were?’
Abathy moistened her lips, which were already shining, and said, ‘Oh, sir, I was in my room,