Out of the Darkness

Nose in the air, she stalked past them as if they didn’t exist. A bailiff led her to the courtroom and had her sit in a row of chairs reserved for witnesses. Lurcanio himself sat not far away. He grinned and blew her a kiss. Her nose went up higher. He laughed, outwardly as brash as ever. To her dismay, more reporters in the courtroom scribbled notes about the byplay.

A panel of judges came in. Two of them wore black tunics and trousers of a cut even baggier than the ones she had on. They were supposed to be dressed as ancient Kaunian judges, she thought. The third was a soldier. His uniform glittered. He had two rows of medals on his chest. He sat in the middle, between the other two.

Everyone rose and bowed when the judges took their places. Krasta was a beat behind most people, because she didn’t know she was supposed to. “Be seated,” the soldier said in a voice that sounded as if he’d used it on the battlefield.

To Krasta’s indignation, she wasn’t the first witness summoned to the box. A weedy little commoner stood there and droned on and on about captured documents. It would have had to be more exciting to rise to dullness. Krasta yawned, buffed her nails, and yawned again. The judges kept on questioning the fellow for what seemed like forever. Then, when they finished, Lurcanio started in on him. She didn’t like that. If he could ask her questions, too . . .

At last, the military judge dismissed the boring commoner. “Marchioness Krasta, you will come forward,” he said. “The clerk will administer the oath.”

Forward Krasta came. The clerk took away her summons and stamped it. Then, in a monotone, he said, “Do you swear the testimony you give here today and in any subsequent appearances will be the truth and nothing but the truth, knowing you may be sorcerously monitored and you are subject to the kingdom’s statutes pertaining to perjury?”

“Aye,” Krasta said.

People tittered. One of the judges in old-fashioned black said, “The customary response, milady, is, ‘I do.’“

“I do, then,” Krasta said with a toss of her head.

“Having sworn, the witness may enter the box,” the military judge intoned. When Krasta had taken her place, he went on, “You are the Marchioness Krasta, sister to Marquis Skarnu?”

“That’s right,” she answered.

“And, during the late war, you were mistress to the Colonel Lurcanio, the defendant here?”

However much Krasta wished she could deny it, she had to nod and say, “Aye, I was.” Lurcanio could give her the lie if she did say no, and doubtless would take malicious glee in doing just that. She scowled at him. She’d been so sure Algarve had won the Derlavaian War. Mezentio’s men had beaten Valmiera, hadn’t they? What else was there? Five years ago, she hadn’t thought there was anything else. She’d learned differently since.

After rustling a couple of leaves of paper to find the name, the chief judge asked, “And Colonel Lurcanio is the father of your son, Gainibu?”

If Krasta had wished she could deny the one, she wished even more that she could deny the other. But it wasn’t Lurcanio who would give her the lie if she did: it was her own son’s sandy, all too un-Valmieran hair. As venomously as she could, she said, “Aye,” again.

“I note, milady, you are not on trial here,” the judge said. “We seek information against the Algarvian. Now, to resume: being Lurcanio’s mistress, you yielded yourself to him of your own free will?”

.  “Not always,” Krasta exclaimed. “Why, there was this one time when he--”

Lurcanio burst out laughing, a coarse, rude, raucous laugh. “You deserved that, you miserable bitch,” he said. “I caught you rubbing up against Valnu. He must have been tired of boys that day, but I wanted to remind you he liked them at least as well as he liked you.”

All three judges rapped furiously with their gavels. All three of them were red-faced. One of the civilians said, “The recorder will expunge that from the transcript of this proceeding.”

“For the most part,” the military judge resumed, “you did yield yourself of your own free will to Colonel Lurcanio? Is that correct, Marchioness?”

“I suppose so,” Krasta said, most unwillingly.

“Very well, then,” the judge said. “You being his willing mistress, do you believe you were in his confidence? Did he trust you enough to talk to you of his affairs?”

“If he’d had affairs and I found out about them, I wouldn’t have let him touch me, the miserable whoreson.” Krasta tossed her head again. Did they think she had no pride at all?

Several people laughed, which puzzled and angered her. The judges gaveled them to silence. The senior man, the one in uniform, said, “That is not what I meant. What I meant was, did he talk to you about his duties during the occupation?”

“To her!. Powers above, sir, do I look so foolish?” Lurcanio said. “I am affronted that you should ask such a thing.”