‘On the contrary, Miss Lemos, I’m simply repeating what you’ve said. It appears that the only persons who were absolutely clear as to the contents of the will were you and Mardo Zemaille.’
‘No, that’s . . .’
‘That wasn’t a question, Miss Lemos. Merely the preamble to one. Since you are likely to benefit greatly from your father’s conviction, since that will in effect prevented him from initiating a competency hearing, doesn’t that color your testimony the color of greed?’
‘I never wanted anything except Mardo.’
‘I believe everyone within earshot will second your characterization of Mardo Zemaille as a thing.’
‘No need to object, Mister Mervale,’ said Judge Wymer; then, to Korrogly: ‘I’ve given you a great deal of leeway. That leeway is now at end. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, Your Honor.’ Korrogly crossed to the defense table, picked up some of his notes, and leafing through them, walked to the witness box and stood facing Mirielle; her face was tight with anger. ‘Did you believe in Mardo Zemaille, Miss Lemos?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I mean did you believe in what he said, in his public statements, in his theological doctrines? In his work?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was his work? His great work?’
‘I don’t know . . . nobody except Mardo knew.’
‘Yet you believed in it?’
‘I believed that Mardo was inspired.’
‘Inspired . . . I see. Then you accepted his precepts as being the code by which you lived.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it would be illuminating to examine some of those precepts, might it not?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh, I think it would.’ Korrogly turned a page. ‘Ah, here we are.’ He read from his notes. ‘“Do what thou wilt, that is all the law.” Did you believe that?’
‘I . . . yes, I did.’
‘Hmmm. And this, did you believe this? “If blood is needed for the great work, blood will be provided.”’
‘I don’t . . . I never knew what he meant by that.’
‘Really? But you accepted it, did you not, as part of his inspired doctrine?’
‘I suppose.’
‘And this? “No crime, no sin, no breach of the rules of what is considered ordinary human conduct, shall be considered such so long as it serves the great work.”’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘And I assume that included under the label of sin would be the sin of lying?’
Her stare was hard and bright.
‘Do you understand the question?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well?’
‘Yes, I suppose. But . . .’
‘And included under the label of crime would be the crime of perjury?’
‘Yes, but I no longer hold to those beliefs.’
‘Don’t you? You’ve been heard recently to characterize Mardo Zemaille as a paragon.’
Her mouth thinned. ‘Things have changed.’
Korrogly knew he was invading dangerous territory, that she might make specific reference to the changes he had brought to her life; but he thought he could make his point and clear out before damage was done.
‘I submit that things have not changed, Miss Lemos. I submit that the great work, whatever its nature, will go on under your aegis. I submit that all the miscreant rules attaching to that work still hold, and that you would tell any lie, commit any . . .’
‘You bastard!’ she cried. ‘I’ll . . .’
The courtroom was filled with babble, Mervale was objecting, Wymer pounding his gavel.
‘And commit any crime,’ Korrogly went on, ‘in order to assure its continuance. I submit that the great work is your sole concern, and the truth is the farthest thing from your mind.’
‘You can’t do this!’ she shrilled. ‘You can’t come to my . . .’
Judge Wymer’s bellow drowned her out.
‘No further questions,’ said Korrogly, watching with mixed emotions as the bailiffs led her, still shouting, from the courtroom.
Shortly after beginning the examination of the first witness for the defense, the historian and biologist Catherine Ocoi, a striking blond woman in her late thirties, Korrogly was summoned to the bench for a whispered conversation with Judge Wymer. The judge leaned over the bench, pointing at the various displays that Catherine had brought with her, indicating with particular emphasis the huge painting of the mountainous dragon set beside the defense table.
‘I warned you not to turn this into a circus,’ he said.
‘I scarcely think that displaying Griaule’s image . . .’
‘Your opening statement was a masterpiece of intimidation,’ said Wymer. ‘I didn’t censure you for it, but from now on I will not allow you to intimidate the jury. I want that painting removed.’
Korrogly started to object, but then saw virtue in having it done; that it was deemed important enough to be removed only gave added weight to his thesis.
‘As you wish,’ he said.
‘Be careful, Mister Korrogly,’ Wymer said. ‘Be very careful.’
As the painting was carried out, the jury’s eyes followed it, and once the painting was out of sight, they expressed a visible degree of relief. That relief, Korrogly thought, might be more valuable than the oppressive presence of the painting; he would be able to play them, to remind them of Griaule, to let them swing between relief and anxiety, and so exercise all the more control.
