The Justice of Kings, page 31
“Good night, Helena,” they both replied, and I walked out into the biting cold and made for the mayor’s house.
XXIV
Lions and Brothers
“He who asserts must prove.”
FROM CATERHAUSER’S PILLARS OF SOVAN CIVIL LAW
The desperate entreaties for help were sent, but the following day passed with no word from any would-be allies. Vonvalt, Bressinger and Sir Radomir, along with a handful of the town’s serjeants and more martially minded council members, walked the walls and planned the town’s defences, while I toiled away in the courthouse vaults in tense quiet, only pretending to work. By the end of the day, grief for Matas, fear of the approaching troops and uncertainty about the future of the Empire had frayed my nerves irretrievably; I ate meagrely and turned in having exchanged barely a word with anyone.
That night I had a wretched night’s sleep. It felt like I had only finally just drifted off when I was roused, dry-eyed and blurry-headed, by Vonvalt. The man looked as though he had not slept at all, though whether it was because he had spent part of the night with August, or because he had been locked away in urgent meeting after urgent meeting for much of the rest of it, I did not know.
We put on our formal courtroom dress with a heavy sense of foreboding. Another hearty breakfast had been laid out but the only thing any of us took was small beer. The impending arrival of Westenholtz’s men had cast a pall over us, making us all tense and irritable and diverting our minds from the task at hand. Lord Sauter put in a brief, sweaty appearance, bade us good fortune, then bustled off to the watch house, where Sir Radomir was briefing the Vale’s meagre company of guards. No doubt the mayor regretted us ever having turned up.
We made our way to the courthouse. It was barely an hour after dawn and already there was a press of people outside its gothick frontage – and this in spite of the rumours of an approaching host. It was like the square on market day: people of all social classes filling the streets, trying to secure a place in the public gallery. Of August, there was no sign.
“Where is Justice August?” I asked as innocently as I could.
“She is up on the town walls, watching the Eastmark,” Vonvalt replied.
“With birds?”
“Probably,” Vonvalt muttered, and that was the end of the conversation.
We pushed through the crowd and the main doors. Beyond the threshold it was so quiet we could have been in another town. None but essential business was being conducted. Because of the disruption, many wardens had pushed their lists to evening hearings or postponed them altogether.
Warden Dietmar was the judge who was to hear our case, and he had reserved the building’s largest courtroom for us. It was at the back of the courthouse, a large, rectangular chamber overlooked by a wooden bench on a raised dais. Above it hung an intricately carved and painted Sovan device – the Autun rampant, which put me immediately in mind of Lady Karol Frost.
Next to the warden’s bench was a seat for the witness, and in front of the bench were two desks where the lawmen sat, one for the prosecutor and one for the defender. Of the latter there was no sign; the defending lawmen would be down in the gaol with the prisoners taking last-minute instructions.
The only other thing of note in the room was a separate area of seating for the empanelled laypersons, or the jury as they were known in modern Sovan parlance. I did not know how many had drawn duty for the trial, but given the severity of the charges it would be a high number, perhaps fifteen or twenty. A simple majority was needed to convict.
“Helena,” Vonvalt said. He looked imperious in his formal robes. “Make sure you take a good note of what is said. I may need to refer back to it at short notice.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Good. Sit on the end there, will you?” he said, pointing to the furthest seat on the prosecutors’ bench. I followed the line of his finger. I should have been thrilled: a seat on the prosecutors’ bench. It was the first time I had been afforded such an honour, and in other circumstances I might have accepted this promotion with excitement, or even cocky indifference. As it was, I couldn’t conjure up any emotion except trepidation.
My expression must have betrayed me, for he said, “Helena, it is not for you to worry about the approaching host. Put it from your mind for now. Just concentrate on taking notes, and giving your evidence. Understand?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I said, though he might as well have said anything. I was hardly going to stop thinking about Westenholtz and his men.
There was little for me to do now but wait. Sir Radomir and Bressinger joined us a short while later, and they and Vonvalt murmured to one another while the courthouse was opened to the public and the inevitable flood of people came rushing in to secure the best seats. I did my best not to turn around and look, but I could still hear the excited conversation and the gasps and whispers, and glimpse the subtle and not-so-subtle nods and points to Vonvalt.
After a little while Warden Dietmar came out. He was a thin rake of a man, wizened and white-haired, with a face like melted wax. Everyone stood, and there was a notable drop in the volume of conversation at his appearance, but not silence. He waved everyone to sit and took his seat on the judicial bench, shuffling through some papers there while we all waited for the accused to appear.
We did not have to wait long. The warden called for silence several times before he got it. Bauer, Vogt and Fischer appeared – in their finest clothing – led by their defending advocates, Garb and Beyers and a town watchman. Garb was a portly man and red-faced, and wore a pair of small and expensive half-rimmed spectacles which told of a busy and profitable mercantile practice. Beyers was also overweight but not by much – stout, rather than portly – and was bald. He had a pronounced lean, like a vulture, and I wondered whether the man had a problem with his spine.
Last to enter were the laypersons that made up the jury. They filed in to little fanfare and took their seats in their allocated area, sixteen in total, which meant Vonvalt would have to convince nine of them – or eight, with the warden casting his vote to break the deadlock. Their appearance has long faded from my memory, but they would have been an ordinary, well-off collection of individuals, given those earning under a certain income were barred from sitting.
Sovan procedure dictated that, as a representative of the Crown, the prosecutor was accorded precedence and would speak first. Accordingly, it was to Vonvalt that Warden Dietmar directed his attention.
“Sir Konrad,” he said in a heavy Hauner accent. “Welcome to our courts. It is a rare honour to have a Justice advocate here in the Vale.”
“Thank you, Warden. I know that the Vale is as keen to see the Emperor’s justice done as I am,” Vonvalt said, reminding everyone of his only authority – Emperor Kzosic IV himself.
Dietmar nodded with a tolerant smile. “The defendants have informed me that they contest the indictments and are not guilty of the charges. Thus under the common law they are entitled to be tried by a jury of Sovan citizens. With that in mind, you may proceed with your opening remarks, Justice.” Then he invoked the traditional phrase in High Saxan which preceded every trial and which translated as “be as lions in the courthouse, but as brothers in the common room”, and which meant in essence that the lawmen were to be professionally courteous to one another.
Vonvalt paused deliberately for a moment, then turned to the jury. I fancied I could hear a general intake of breath.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Justice Sir Konrad Vonvalt. I am an Emperor’s Justice, a member of the Imperial Order of the Magistratum and empowered by the Crown to investigate, using any and all means at my disposal, those crimes taking place within the borders of the Empire.” He pointed to the defenders’ bench. “I am before you today because of those three men there: Lord Leberecht Bauer, Obenpatria Ralf Fischer and Mr Zoran Vogt. These three men are responsible, ladies and gentlemen, for a litany of crimes so heinous that they deserve nothing less than death.”
A murmur of excitement rippled through the courtroom. The defending lawmen, Garb and Beyers, shook their heads theatrically. The accused sat in stony, anxious silence. I wondered how they must have felt, knowing that in a few hours they could well be dangling from the hangman’s noose.
“The tale I am about to tell, ladies and gentlemen, is not some flight of fancy, nor some lawman’s conjecture. It is hard fact, solid truth pulled from these men’s throats like a difficult calve. I have on the desk in front of me three signed and witnessed confessions, which together tell in detail the full extent of the criminal empire which these men are guilty of running. It matters not what these men say to you today, nor what inventive stories or concoctions they turn out to try and lessen their culpability. The fact stands that they each from their own mouths confessed to these crimes, and in the Emperor Lothar Kzosic IV’s name, they should die for them.”
My skin broke out in gooseflesh. I could feel Vonvalt’s power of speech radiating out of him with that same eldritch energy that Justice August exuded. The jury looked as though they had been jolted by lightning.
“Our tale begins, ladies and gentlemen, two and a half years ago, with Mr Vogt making a trip to the bank. Mr Vogt’s financial records will tell you that he went to the Guelan bank Konig and Keller Mercantile Trust, which specialises in shipping finance; but in fact he went to see Obenpatria Fischer in the kloster. Obenpatria Fischer had amassed quite a fortune from the generous handouts sent from the town’s coffers, and he had decided to branch out into, shall we say, investment.
“Mr Vogt told Obenpatria Fischer that he required a large loan in order to cover the cost of a hundred tonnes of coarse grain. Mr Vogt knew that the Legions along the River Kova were ill-supplied and that the Autun quartermasters were paying over the odds for fodder. Mr Vogt proposed to purchase cheap grain and sell with a substantial margin. With the profits he could pay back Obenpatria Fischer with interest and still line his own pockets with a substantial sum. In fact the grain was so cheap that it was unfit for consumption, but that did not matter. All the men cared about was maximising their profit. Obenpatria Fischer readily agreed to the plan.
“Mr Vogt then did what any prudent fraudster would do: he arranged to have the cargo guaranteed. Enter Lord Bauer, a well-known and successful figure working in the nascent but lucrative business of merchant assurance. I shall take a moment to explain what that is.
“Let us imagine, for a moment, that I have a shipment of… a hundred tonnes of coarse grain.” There were some more scattered sniggers. This was what the modern Sovan court was all about, after all: theatre, dramatic and bombastic advocacy – mummery. Vonvalt played the wry man to devastating effect, deploying a joke here and there, getting the crowd on side and then suddenly eviscerating his witness as effectively as any sword swipe. “I want to ship my grain from the wharf here in Galen’s Vale all the way to the Kova. It’s a long journey and there are many different routes to take, each with its own perils. I might be faced with Grozodan pirates, or Northman raiders, or the Kova Confederation Navy. If I go by sea it will be quicker, but I run the risk of storms. If I go by river, it will be slower – perhaps too slow, and I may miss my delivery window.
“A gambling man would simply set sail and pray to Nema for the best. But luckily – or unluckily – I am not a gambling man. No, I would do what any sensible merchant would do and seek to have my cargo guaranteed. And in order to do this I would speak to a guarantor, one such as Lord Bauer. A trusted and well-known businessman, like Lord Bauer, would evaluate my ship, my crew, the cargo, my planned route and a dozen other factors, and using his practised eye he would offer to assure the cargo for me. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, I would pay Lord Bauer a sum of money, carefully weighed against the foreseeable risks of my journey, which would ensure that, were the cargo to be lost, Lord Bauer himself would pay me its agreed value as underwriter. A simple and effective transaction in which there are few losers, right?
“Except that that is wrong, in our case, because Lord Bauer is a devious, deceitful rogue!” He smacked his palm on the desk for each of the three final words, making half the courtroom start. One of the defending lawmen made to stand, but Vonvalt bade him sit back down with a dismissive wave of his hand. Such was the force of his power and authority that I think the lawman did it almost without thinking.
“Lord Bauer did not know the grain was spoiled of course, but it was his practice to pay a member of the crew to spy for him. It was just as well: that same accomplice informed Lord Bauer via a network of fast riders that Mr Vogt was concealing mouldy grain under good. Lord Bauer now realised that he was at risk of having to pay out under the guarantee – which, at the inflated prices the Imperial quartermasters were paying, would leave him substantially out of pocket. He therefore arranged to have the shipment impounded at the Kzosic Principality border by Imperial customs under the false pretext of Mr Vogt having arranged the incorrect import warrant.
“In doing this, Lord Bauer frustrated Mr Vogt and Obenpatria Fischer’s plan on several levels. The first was to stop the grain reaching the Kova at all, which caused not just the conspirators’ profit to evaporate, but left them to swallow the initial outlay too, since the grain was completely worthless and could not be sold on to anyone else. The second was to prevent Mr Vogt from claiming the price of the grain back under the terms of the guarantee. Lord Bauer, himself as crooked as a broken back, was able to do this by claiming that Mr Vogt’s failure to arrange the correct import warrant invalidated the contract. The fraudsters had been themselves defrauded!”
“Preposterous,” Vogt muttered.
“Preposterous!” Vonvalt roared, causing the room again to start. “Preposterous, Mr Vogt says, except we don’t have to take my word for it; we can look at the complaint that Mr Vogt himself made to the watch right here in Galen’s Vale!”
Here he pulled up the criminal complaints log from the watch house, the one I had pored over several weeks ago. He put his finger to the correct place and began to read.
‘On the fifteenth day of the month of Golrich, Mr Zoran Vogt attended the watch house to lodge a complaint against Lord Bauer… shipment held at Kzosic Principality customs house… incorrect import warrant from Imperial customs… Mr Vogt adamant he had arranged for the correct warrant… delay caused termination of contract and left Mr Vogt in debt with Guelan bank… Mr Vogt convinced that Lord Bauer arranged for this to happen to withhold a significant guarantee payment.”
He snapped the ledger closed and returned it to his bench. Sir Radomir moved it to one side. Consternation rippled through the room. “Two days later the complaint had been withdrawn. Mr Vogt had gone from adamant – adamant – to withdrawing the complaint entirely. What made him change his mind so completely and so quickly, and over so important a matter?
“It seems strange, does it not, ladies and gentlemen, that a man involved so heavily in a criminal enterprise would approach the town sheriff for satisfaction. The fact of the matter is, these two men were stupid and arrogant enough to believe that their criminal scheme was so beyond detection that they could afford to involve Imperial lawkeepers and still operate it with impunity.” I watched the defendants bristle at this. One of the lawmen settled them with a subtle gesture.
“Of course, the pair quickly realised that Lord Bauer was as crooked as the two of them, and clearly a talented fraudster in his own right. The best way to recoup their losses was not to go through the Sovan justice system, but to recruit Lord Bauer and make common cause. How, then, to achieve this? Lord Bauer would never have gone willingly to join them. He had too good a scheme going on himself. But he was a family man. And family men always have a weakness that other, predatory men are quick to exploit.”
Vonvalt paused, expertly feigning a kind of avuncular disappointment. “Some of you may have heard of the death of Lord Bauer’s son – perhaps you may even remember it. Taken by a pox, so the story ran. In fact, having exhumed the corpse, and having interrogated these men, we now know that the young boy was in fact murdered.”
There were shocked gasps, followed by a hum of conversation. Bauer looked wretched, his comportment completely fractured. The other two remained impassive. I felt a surge of anger that made it difficult to concentrate. Bressinger, too, bristled.
“Quiet, please,” Warden Dietmar said, and then, “Silence!”
The hubbub died like a pinched candle flame.
“He was killed by a blow to the head, by a thug employed by Fischer, to serve both as vengeance and a warning to Lord Bauer,” Vonvalt continued. “And the message was clear: ‘Lord Bauer, you have defrauded some very dangerous people’.” He paused, and sighed theatrically. “And then, as if that were not enough, Sanja Bauer was abducted and held in the kloster vaults as further collateral.”
There was another eruption, and another series of attempts by Warden Dietmar to silence the chamber. Vonvalt was happy to let the outcry run its course. The mob-hate it was generating could only help his case.
“Sanja Bauer is alive, but she is not here today,” he said softly. “She is too exhausted and frightened out of her wits after having been kept a prisoner in the kloster for over two years. But do not be troubled by her absence; it does not bolster the defendants’ case. Not only do I have their signed statements by which they confess to having abducted the girl, but I also have three Crown witnesses sitting here next to me who will all give evidence of what they have seen. My clerk here, posing as a novice, infiltrated the kloster and discovered Sanja Bauer living in a filthy gaol cell, half mad with fear. She will relay to you what Miss Bauer told her. You will hear how Sanja was snatched up, visited only occasionally by her father and otherwise left to rot, a different kind of guarantee to keep the man in line and ensure that he shared with his new compatriots the fruits of his assurance fraud – not to mention the fruits of the other criminal schemes the men devised going forwards.
