The prisoners had been herded to stand before the Crimson Priest, and told of their crimes against the state. One man tried to speak, but a Knight cuffed him on the ear, splitting the skin. ‘Silence!’ roared the Crimson Priest. ‘This court has no wish to hear the filthy words of traitors.’
‘Why then is it called a court?’ came a voice from the gallery. The words hung in the air. Norwin had glanced up at the priest, and seen the shock on his face.
‘Who spoke?’ he shouted.
‘Persis Albitane,’ came the response. Norwin was stunned. He looked back to see fat Persis rise from his seat. ‘I am a citizen of Stone,’ said Persis, ‘with full rights and privileges. I see before you at least seven people I know. All are citizens. How dare you suborn the law! In the earliest articles of the city it was laid down that every citizen would have the right to speak in his own defence, and to have others speak for him. You make a mockery of Stone justice.’
The silence in the courtroom was almost palpable. Norwin looked back at the priest. At first it seemed his anger would explode, but then his eyes narrowed and he leaned back in his chair. ‘Step forward, Persis Albitane,’ he said. ‘Step forward and speak on behalf of these traitors.’
Persis did so, easing his large frame past the silent spectators, and moving to stand before the Chair of Judgement.
‘I do not know all the defendants,’ he began. ‘But those I do know have been good citizens, and have never spoken against the emperor, and never sought to bring ills upon the empire. This man’, he said, pointing to Norwin, ‘is my former slave. He is as good a man as any I have met. I have never known him to lie or to steal, or to show malice against anyone. His crime, as I understand it, is that he and others chose to walk quietly into a wood for the purposes of praying together. To call this a crime is a travesty of justice.’
‘It is not called a crime. It is a crime,’ said the priest. ‘Cultists have been named as traitors by the Stone elder himself, and these views have been enshrined in law. Merely to be a Cultist ensures the sentence of death. Are you a Cultist, Persis Albitane?’
Persis stood very still, and Norwin saw him draw in a deep breath. ‘Had you asked me that question a few moments ago I would have told you – with all honesty – that I have never been a Cultist, that I have never attended any of their meetings. But as I look at you and the evil you represent I realize I was wrong to avoid them. I was not a Cultist. But you have convinced me that I should be. And I thank you for it, priest.’
‘Condemned out of your own mouth!’ shouted the priest. ‘And you will die with these other traitors.’ Surging to his feet, his face almost as crimson as his beard, he gazed malevolently at the public gallery. ‘Does anyone else here wish to speak on behalf of these enemies of Stone?’
No-one had, and the prisoners, including Persis, were herded back to their cells. They were held for three days, then transported in chains to Stone. Norwin and Persis had been separated for most of the journey, and had only been reunited that day, being transported from the dungeons under the Stone Temple to this place beneath the arena of Circus Palantes. One of the guards had taken great delight in telling them of their fate. ‘Your teachings say you are to be a light to the world,’ he told them, with a wide grin. ‘And tomorrow you will be. You will be dressed in oil-soaked rags and nailed by your arms and legs to tall posts set around the arena. Then you will be set afire, my dears. And you will scream and burn.’
‘You are a sad man,’ Persis had told him. ‘And I pity you with all my heart.’
The guard swore and ran at Persis, punching his face and knocking him to the ground. Savagely he kicked the fallen man, then turned and strode from the dungeon. Norwin had helped Persis to sit upright. ‘Oh, my friend, what have you done to yourself? You shouldn’t be here.’