Текст книги "Power of the Sword"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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First he detailed each of the charges, beginning with the most serious: three counts of attempted murder, two of assault with intent to inflict grievous bodily harm, one of armed robbery. There were twenty-six charges in all and it took almost twenty minutes for the judge to cover each of them.

The prosecution has presented all these charges in an orderly and convincing manner. The red-faced prosecutor preened at the compliment and Centaine felt an unreasonable irritation at this petty vanity.

This court was particularly impressed with the evidence of the main prosecution witnesses. His Excellency the Administrator's testimony was a great help to me and my assessors. We were most fortunate in having a witness of this calibre to relate the details of the pursuit and arrest of the accused, from which arise some of the most serious charges in this case. The judge looked up from his notes directly at Blaine Malcomess. I wish to record the most favourable impression that Colonel Malcomess made upon this court, and we have accepted his evidence without reservation. From where she was sitting Centaine could see the back of Blaine's head. The tips of his large ears turned pink as the judge looked at him, and Centaine felt a rush of tenderness as she noticed. His embarrassment was somehow endearing and touching.

Then the judge looked at her.

The other prosecution witness who conducted herself impeccably and whose evidence was unimpeachable, was Mrs Centaine Courtney. The court is fully aware of the great hardship with which Mrs Courtney has been inflicted and the courage which she has displayed, not only in this courtroom. Once again, we were most fortunate to have the benefit of her evidence in assisting us to reach our verdict., While the judge was speaking, Lothar De La Rey turned his head and looked at Centaine steadily. Those pale accusing eyes disconcerted her and she dropped her own gaze to the handbag in her lap to avoid them.

In contrast, the defence was able to call only one witness, and that was the accused himself. After due consideration, we are of the opinion that much of the accused's evidence was unacceptable. The witness's attitude was at all times hostile and uncooperative. In particular we reject the witness's assertion that the offences were committed singlehanded, and that he had no accomplices in their commission. Here the evidence of Colonel Malcomess, of Mrs Courtney and of the police troopers is unequivocal and collaborative. Lothar De La Rey turned his head slowly in the judge's direction once more and stared at him with that flat, hostile expression which had so antagonized judge Hawthorne over the five long days of the trial, and the judge returned his gaze levelly as he went on.

Thus we have considered all the facts and the evidence presented to us and are unanimous in our verdict. On all twenty-six charges we find the accused, Lothar De La Rey, guilty as charged.

Lothar neither flinched nor blinked, but there was a concerted gasp from the body of the court, followed immediately by a buzz of comment. Three of the reporters leapt up and scampered from the courtroom, and Abe nodded smugly beside Centaine.

I told you, the rope, he murmured. He will swing, for sure. The ushers were attempting to restore order. The judge came to their assistance.

He rapped his gavel sharply and raised his voice. I will not hesitate to have this court cleared, he warned, and once again a hush settled over the courtroom.

Before passing sentence, I will listen to any submissions in mitigation that the defence may wish to put to the bench. judge Hawthorne inclined his head towards the young barrister charged with the defence, who immediately rose to his feet.

Lothar De La Rey was destitute and unable to afford his own defence. Mr Reginald Osinond had been appointed by the court to defend him. Despite his youth and inexperience, it was his first defence on a capital charge, Osmond had thus far acquitted himself as well as could have been expected, given the hopeless circumstances of his client's case. His cross-examination had been spirited and nimble, if ineffectual, and he had not allowed the prosecution to make any gratuitous gains.

If it please my lord, I should like to call a witness to give evidence in mitigation. Come now, Mr Osmond, surely you don't intend to introduce a witness at this stage? Do you have precedents for this? The judge frowned.

I respectfully commend your lordship to the matter of the Crown versus Van der Spuy 1923 and to the Crown versus Alexander 1914. The judge conferred for a few moments with his assessors and then looked up with a stagy sigh of exasperation. Very well, Mr Osmond. I am going to allow you your witness. Thank you, my lord. Mr Osmond was so overcome with his own success that he stuttered a little as he blurted eagerly: I call Mrs Centaine de Thiry Courtney to the stand. This time there was a stunned silence. Even judge Hawthorne fell back in his tall carved chair before a buzz of surprise and delight and anticipation swept through the court. The press were standing to get a view of Centaine as she rose and from the gallery a voice called: Put the noose around the bastard's neck, luv. Judge Hawthorne recovered'swiftly and his eyes flashed behind his pince-nez as he glared up at the gallery, trying to identify the wag.

I will not tolerate a further outburst. There are severe penalties for contempt of court, he snapped, and even the journalists sat down again hurriedly and, chastened, applied themselves to their notepads.

The usher handed Centaine into the witness stand and then swore her in while every man in the room, including those on the bench, watched, most of them in open admiration, but a few, including Blaine and Abraham Abrahams, with puzzlement and perturbation.

Mr Osmond stood to open his examination, his voice pitched low with nervous respect.

Mrs Courtney, will you please tell the court how long you have known the accused, he corrected himself hurriedly, for now Lothar De La Rey was no longer merely accused, he had been convicted. the prisoner. I have known Lothar De La Rey for nearly fourteen years., Centaine looked across the room at the stooped grey figure in the dock.

Would you be good enough to describe, in your own words, the circumstances of your first meeting, It was in 1919. I was lost in the desert. I had been a castaway on the Skeleton Coast after the sinking of the Protea Castle. For a year and a half I had been wandering in the Kalahari desert with a small group of San Bushmen., All of them knew the story. At the time it had been a sensation, but now Centaine's narrative, related in her French accent, brought it all vividly to life.

She conjured up the desolation and misery, the fearful hardships and loneliness that she had endured, and the room was deathly quiet. Even judge Hawthorne was hunched down in his chair, supporting his chin on his clenched fist, absolutely still as he listened. They were all with her as she struggled through the clinging sand of the Kalahari, dressed in the skins of wild animals, her infant son on her hip, following the tracks of a horse, a shod horse, the first sign of civilized man that she had encountered in all those desperate months.

They chilled with her and shared her despair as the African night fell across the desert and her chances of succour receded; they willed her onwards, through the darkness, seeking the glow of a camp-fire far ahead, then started in horror as she described the sinister shape, dark with menace, that suddenly confronted her, and flinched as though they also had heard the roar of a hungry lion close at hand.

Her audience gasped and stirred as she described her fight for her life and the life of her infant; the way the circling lion drove her up into the highest branches of a tall mopani and then climbed up towards her like a cat after a sparrow.

Centaine described the sound of its hot panting breath in the darkness and at last the shooting agony as the long yellow claws hooked into the flesh of her leg and she was drawn inexorably from her perch.

She could not go on, and Mr Osmond prompted her gently.

Was it at this stage that Lothar De La Rey intervened? Centaine roused herself. I'm sorry. It all came back to me, Please, Mrs Courtney, do not tax yourself. judge Hawthorne rushed to her aid. I will recess the court if you need time, No, no, my lord. You are very kind, but that won't be necessary. She squared her shoulders and faced them again.

Yes, that was when Lothar De La Rey came up. He had been camped close at hand, and was alerted by the roars of the animal. He shot the lion dead while it was in the act of savaging me. He saved your life, Mrs Courtney. He saved me from a dreadful death, and he saved my child with me. Mr Osmond bowed his head in silence, letting the court savour the full drama of the moment, then he asked gently: What happened after that, madarn? I was concussed by my fall from the tree; the wound in my leg mortified. I was unconscious for many days, unable to care for myself or my son. What was the prisoner's reaction to this? He cared for me. He dressed my wounds. Tended every need of mine and of my child. He saved your life a second time? Yes. She nodded. He saved me once again. Now, Mrs Courtney. The years passed. You became a wealthy lady, a millionairess? Centaine was silent, and Osmond went on. Then one day three years ago the prisoner approached you for financial assistance for his fishing and canning enterprise. Is that correct? He approached my company, Courtney Mining and Finance, for a loan, she said, and Osmond led her through the series of events up to the time that she had closed down Lothar's canning factory.

So, Mrs Courtney, would you say that Lothar De La Rey had reason to believe that he had been unfairly treated, if not deliberately ruined by your action? Centaine hesitated. My actions were at all times based on sound business principles. However, I would readily concede that from Lothar De La Rey's standpoint, it could have seemed that my actions were deliberate. At the time, did he accuse you of attempting to destroy him? She looked down at her hands and whispered something.

I am sorry, Mrs Courtney. I must ask you to repeat that. And she flared at him, her voice cracking with strain. Yes, damn it. He said that I was doing it to destroy him. Mr Osmond! The judge sat up straight, his expression I must insist that you treat your witness in a more severe.

considerate fashion. He sank back in his seat, clearly moved by Centaine's recital, and then raised his voice again. I will recess the court for fifteen minutes to allow Mrs Courtney time to recover herself. When they reconvened, Centaine entered the witness stand again and sat quietly while the formalities were completed and Mr Osmond prepared to continue his examination.

From the third row Blaine Malcomess smiled at her encouragingly, and she knew that if she did not look away from him every single person in the courtroom would be aware of her feelings. She forced herself to break contact with his eyes and instead looked up at the gallery above his head.

It was an idle glance. She had forgotten the way in which Lothar De La Rey searched the gallery each morning, but now she was seeing it from the same angle as he did from the dock. And suddenly her eyes flicked to the furthest corner of the gallery, drawn irresistibly by another set of eyes, by the intensity of a glowering gaze that was fastened upon her, and she started and then swayed in her seat, giddy with shock, for she had stared once again into Lothar's eyes: Lothar's eyes as they had been when first she met him, yellow as topaz, fierce and bright, with dark brows arched over them, young eyes, unforgettable, unforgotten eyes. But the eyes were not set in Lothar's face, for Lothar sat across the courtroom from her, bowed and broken and grey. This fare was young, strong and full of hatred, and she knew, she knew with a mother's sure instinct. She had never seen her younger son, at her insistence, he had been taken away, wet from the womb, at the very moment of birth, and she had turned her head away so as not to see his squirming naked body. But now she knew him, and it was as though the very core of her existence, the womb which had contained him, ached at this glimpse of his face, and she had to cover her mouth to prevent herself crying out with the pain of it.

Mrs Courtney! Mrs Courtney! The judge was calling her, his tone quickening with alarm, and she forced herself to turn her head towards him.

Are you all right, Mrs Courtney? Are you feeling well enough to continue? Thank you, my lord, I am quite well. Her voice seemed to come from a great distance, and it took all her willpower not to look back at the youth in the gallery, at her son, Manfred.

Very well, Mr Osmond. You may proceed. It required an enormous effort of will for Centaine to concentrate on the questions as Osmond led her once more over the robbery and the struggle in the dry river-bed.

So then, Mrs Courtney, he did not lay a finger upon you until you attempted to reach the shotgun? No. He did not touch me until then. 'You have already told us that you had the shotgun in your hand and were attempting to reload the weapon. That is correct. Would you have used the weapon if you had succeeded in reloading it? Yes. Can you tell us, Mrs Courtney, would you have shot to kill? I object, my lord! The prosecutor sprang angrily to his feet. That question is hypothetical. Mrs Courtney, you do not have to answer that question, if you do not choose, judge Hawthorne told her.

I will answer. Centaine sai c early. Yes, I would have killed him. Do you think the prisoner knew that? My lord, I object. The witness cannot possibly know. Before the judge could rule, Centaine said clearly, He knew me, he knew me well. He knew I would kill him if I had the chance. The pent-up emotion of the courtroom exploded in ghoulish relish and it was almost a minute before quiet could be restored. in the confusion Centaine looked up at the corner of the high gallery again. It had taken all her self-control not to do so before.

The corner seat was empty. Manfred had gone, and she felt confused by his desertion. Osmond was questioning her again, and she turned to him vaguely.

I'm sorry. Will you repeat that, please? I asked, Mrs Courtney, if the prisoner's assault on you, as you stood there with the shotgun in your hands intent on killing him My lord, I object. The witness was intent only on defending herself and her property, the prosecutor howled.

You'll have to rephrase that question, Mr Osmond. Very well, my lord. Mrs Courtney, was the force that the prisoner used against you inconsistent with that needed to disarm you? I'm sorry. Centaine could not concentrate. She wanted to search the gallery again. I don't understand the question. Did the prisoner use more force than that necessary to disarm you and prevent you shooting him? No. He simply pulled the shotgun away from me. And later when you had bitten his wrist. When you had buried your teeth in his flesh, inflicting a wound that later would result in the amputation of his arm, did he strike you or inflict any other injury upon you in retaliation? No. 'The pain must have been intense, and yet he did not use undue force upon you? No. She shook her head. He was, Centaine searched for the word, he was strangely considerate, almost gentle!

I see. And before he left you, did the prisoner make sure that you had sufficient water for survival? And did he give you advice concerning your well-being? He checked that I had sufficient spare water, and he advised me to stay with the wrecked vehicle until I was rescued., Now, Mrs Courtney, Osmond hesitated delicately. There has been speculation in the press that the prisoner might have made some form of indecent assault– Centaine interrupted him furiously. 'That suggestion is repugnant and totally false. Thank you, madam. I have only one more question. You knew the prisoner well. You accompanied him while he was hunting to provide meat for you and your child once he had rescued you. You saw him shoot? I did. In your opinion, if the prisoner had wanted to kill you or Colonel Malcomess, or any of the police officers pursuing him, could he have done so? 'Lothar De La Rey is one of the finest marksmen I have ever known. He could have killed all of us on more than one occasion. I have no further questions, my lord. judge Hawthorne wrote at length on the notepad before him and then tapped his pencil thoughtfully upon the desk for another few seconds before he looked up at the prosecutor.

Do you wish to cross-examine the witness? The prosecutor came to his feet scowling sulkily. I have no further questions for Mrs Courtney. He sat down again, folded his arms and stared angrily at the revolving punkah fan on the ceiling.

Mrs Courtney, the court is grateful to you for your further evidence. You may now return to your seat. Centaine was so intent on searching the gallery for her son that she tripped on the steps at the foot of the tiers of benches and both Blaine and Abe jumped up to help her.

Abe reached her first and Blaine sank back into his seat as Abe led Centaine to hers.

Abe, she whispered urgently. There was a lad in the gallery while I was giving evidence. Blond, around thirteen years old, though he looks more like seventeen. His name is Manfred, Manfred De La Rey.

Find him. I want to speak to him. Now? Abe looked surprised.

Right now. The submission in mitigation. I'll miss it. Go!

she snapped. Find him. And Abe jumped up, bowed to the bench and hurried out of the courtroom just as Mr Reginald Osmond rose to his feet once again.

Osmond spoke with passion and sincerity, using Centaine's evidence to full advantage, repeating her exact words: "He saved me from a dreadful death, and he saved my child with me." Osmond paused significantly and then went on.

The prisoner believed that he deserved the gratitude and generosity of Mrs Courtney. He placed himself in her power by borrowing money from her, and he came to believe mistakenly, but genuinely, that his trust in her had been betrayed. His eloquent plea for mercy went on for almost half an hour, but Centaine found herself thinking of Manfred rather than the plight of his father. The look which the boy had levelled at her from the gallery troubled her deeply.

The hatred in it had been a palpable thing and it resuscitated her sense of guilt, a guilt which she believed she had buried so many years before.

He will be alone now. He will need help, she thought. I have to find him. I have to try and make it up to him in some way. She realized then why she had so steadfastly denied the boy over all these years, why she had thought of him only as Lothar's bastard', why she had gone to extreme lengths to avoid any contact with him. Her instinct had been correct.

just a single glimpse of his face and all the defences which she had built up so carefully came tumbling down, all the natural feelings of a mother which she had buried so deeply were revived to overwhelm her.

Find him for me, Abe, she whispered, and then realized that Reginald Osmond had completed his submission with a final plea: Lothar De La Rey felt that he had been grievously wronged. As a result, he committed a series of crimes which were abhorrent and indefensible. However, my lord, many of his actions prove that he was a decent and compassionate man, caught up in stormy emotions and events too powerful for him to resist. His sentence must be severe. Society demands that much. But I appeal to your lordship to show a little of the same Christian compassion that Mrs Courtney has displayed here today, and to refrain from visiting upon this hapless man, who has already lost one of his limbs, the extreme penalty of the law. He sat down in a silence that lasted for many long seconds, Until judge Hawthorne looked up from the reverie into which he had sunk.

Thank you, Mr Osmond. This court will recess and reconvene at two o'clock this afternoon, at which time we will impose sentence. Centaine hurried from the courtroom, searching eagerly for Abe or for another glimpse of her son. She found Abe on the front steps of the courthouse, in deep conversation with one of the police guards. But he broke off and came to her immediately.

Did you find him? she demanded anxiously.

I'm sorry, Centaine. No sign of anyone of that description. I want the boy found and brought to me, Abe. Use as many men as you need. I don't care what it costs. Search the town. Do everything possible to find him. He must be staying somewhere. All right, Centaine. I'll get on to it right away. You say his name is Manfred De La Rey, then he will be related to the prisoner? His son, she said.

I see. Abe looked at her thoughtfully. May I ask why you Want him so desperately, Centaine? And what you are going to do with him when you find him? No, you may not ask. Just find him., Why do I want him? she repeated Abe's question to herself wonderingly. Why do I want him after all these years And the answer was simple and self-evident. Because he is my son.

And what will I do with him if I find him? He is poisoned against me. He hates me. I saw that in his eyes. He does not know who I really am. I saw that also. So what will I do when I meet him face to face, and she answered herself as simply: I don't know, I just do not know. The maximum penalty provided by law for the first three offences on the prisoner's charge sheet is death by hanging, said judge Hawthorne. The prisoner has been found guilty of these and the further offences with which he has been charged. In the normal course of events this court would have had no hesitation in inflicting that supreme penalty upon him. However, we have been given pause by the extraordinary evidence of an extraordinary lady. The submissions made voluntarily by Mrs Centaine de Thiry Courtney are all the more remarkable for the fact that she has suffered most grievously at the prisoner's hands, physically, emotionally and materially, and also for the fact that her admissions might be construed by small-minded and mean persons as invidious to Mrs Courtney herself.

In twenty-three years service on the bench I have never been privileged to witness such a noble and magnanimous performance in any courtroom, and our own deliberations must, by necessity, be tempered by Mrs Courtney's example. judge Hawthorne bowed slightly towards where Centaine sat, then took the pince-nez from his nose and looked at Lothar De La Rey.

The prisoner will rise, he said.

Lothar De La Rey, you have been found guilty of all the various charges brought against you by the Crown, and for purpose of sentence, these will be taken as one. It is, therefore, the sentence of this court that you be imprisoned at hard labour for the rest of your natural life. For the first time since the beginning of the trial, Lothar De La Rey showed emotion. He recoiled from the judge's words. His face began to work, his lips trembling, one eyelid twitched uncontrollably, and he lifted his remaining hand, palm up, in appeal towards the dark-robed figure on the bench.

Kill me, rather. A wild heart-cry. Hang me rather than lock me up like an animal, The warders hurried to him, seized him from either side and led him shaking and calling out piteously from the dock, while a hush of sympathy held the whole room. Even the judge was affected, his features set and grim as he stood up and slowly led his assessors from the room. Centaine remained sitting, staring at the empty dock as the subdued crowd filed out of the double doors like mourners leaving a funeral, Kill me, rather! She knew that plea would stay with her for the rest of her life. She bowed her head and covered her eyes with her hands. In the eye of her mind she saw Lothar as he had been when she first met him, hard and lean as one of the red Kalahari lions, with pale eyes that looked to far horizons shaded blue by distance, a creature of those great spaces washed with white sunlight. And she thought of him now, locked in a tiny cell, deprived for the rest of his life of the sun and the desert wind.

Oh Lothar, she cried in the depths of her soul. How could something once so good and beautiful have ended like this? We have destroyed each other, and destroyed also the child that we conceived in that fine noon of our love. She opened her eyes again. The courtroom had emptied and she thought she was alone until she sensed a presence near her and she turned quickly and Blaine Malcolmess was there.

Now I know how right it was to love you, he said softly.

He stood behind her, his head bowed over her, and she looked up at him and felt the terrible regret and sorrow begin to lift.

Blaine took her hand that lay along the back of the bench and held it between both of his. I have been struggling with myself all these last days since we parted, trying to find the strength never to see you again. I almost succeeded. But you changed it all by what you did today. Honour and duty and all those other things no longer mean anything to me when I look at you now. You are part of me. I have to be with you. When? As soon as possible, he said.

Blaine, in my short life I have done so much damage to others, inflicted so much cruelty and pain. No more. I also cannot live without you, but nothing else must be destroyed by our love. I want all of you, but I will accept less, to protect your family. It will be hard, perhaps impossible, he warned her softly.

But I accept your conditions. We must not inflict pain on others. Yet I want you so much I know, she whispered, and stood up to face him. Hold me, Blaine, just for a moment. Abe Abrahams was searching for Centaine through the empty passages of the courthouse. He reached the double doors of the courtroom and pushed one leaf open quietly.

Centaine and Blaine Malcomess stood in the aisle between the tiers of oak benches. They were in each other's arms, oblivious to anything around them, and he stared for a moment without comprehension, then softly closed the door again and stood guard before it, wracked by fear and happiness for her.

You deserve love, he whispered. Pray God, this man can give it to you. Eden must have been like this, Centaine thought. And Eve must have felt the way I do today. She drove slower than her usual frantic pace. Although her heart cried out for haste, she denied it to make the anticipation keener.

I have been without sight of him for five whole months, she whispered. Five minutes longer will only make it sweeter when at last I am in his arms again. Despite Blaine's assurances and best intentions, the conditions that Centaine had placed upon them had prevailed.

They had not been alone together since those stolen moments in the empty courtroom. During most of that time they had been separated by hundreds of miles, Blaine shackled by his duties in Windhoek, Centaine at Weltevreden, fighting desperately day and night for the survival of her financial empire which was now in its death throes, stricken by the loss of the diamond shipment, no part of which had ever een recovered . In her mind she compared it to the hunting arrow of O'wa, the little yellow Bushman: a tiny reed, frail and feather-light, but tipped with virulent poison which not the greatest game of the African veld could withstand. It weakened and slowly paralysed the quarry, which first reeled and swayed on its feet, then dropped and lay panting, unable to rise, waiting for the cold lead of death to seep through the great veins and arteries or for the swift mercy stroke of the hunter.

That is where I am now, down and paralysed, while the hunters close in on me. All these months she had fought with all her heart and all her strength, but now she was tired, tired to every last fibre of muscle and mind, sick tired to her bones. She looked up at the rearview mirror above her head and hardly recognized the image that stared back at her with stricken eyes, dark with the heavy mascara of fatigue and despair. Her cheekbones seemed to gleam through the pale skin, and there were chiselled lines of exhaustion at the corners of her mouth.

But today I will set despair aside. I won't think about it, again, not for a minute. Instead I will think of Blaine and this magical display that nature has laid out for me. She had left Weltevreden at dawn and was now one hundred and twenty miles north of Cape Town, driving through the vast treeless plains of Namaqualand, heading down to where the green Benguela current caressed Africa's rocky western shores, but she was not yet in sight of the ocean.

The rains had come late this year, delaying the spring explosion of growth, so that although it was only weeks before Christmas, the veld was ablaze with its royal show of colour. For most of the year these plains were dun and windswept, sparsely populated and uninviting.

But now the undulating expanses were clothed in an unbroken mantel so bright and vividly coloured that it confused and tricked the eye. Wild blooms of fifty different varieties and as many hues covered the earth in banks and flocks and stands, massed together with their own kind so that they resembled a divine patchwork quilt, so bright that they seemed to burn with an incandescent light that was reflected from the very heavens and the eye ached with so much colour.

Closer at hand the earthen road, rough and winding, was the only reference point in this splendid chaos, and even it was soon obliterated by flowers. The twin tracks were separated by a dense growth of wild blooms that filled the middle ridge between them and swept the underside of the old Ford with a soft rushing sound like the water of a mountain stream as Centaine drove slowly up another gentle undulation and stopped abruptly at the top. She switched off the engine.

The ocean lay before her, its green expanse flecked with brilliant white and lapped by this other ocean of blazing blooms. Through the open window the sea wind ruffled Centaine's hair and caused the fields of wild flowers to nod and sway in unison, keeping time to the swells of ocean beyond.