for a few moments about his understanding of the oath, then turned to Rathbone and told him to commence.
"Did you know General Thaddeus Carlyon, Valentine?" he asked quite conversationally, as if they had been alone in some withdrawing room, not in the polished wood of a courtroom with hundreds of people listening, craning to catch every word and every inflexion.
Valentine swallowed on a dry throat.
"Yes."
"Did you know him well?"
A slight hesitation. "Yes."
"For a long time? Do you know how long?"
"Yes, since I was about six: seven years or more."
"So you must have known him when he sustained the knife injury to his thigh? Which happened in your home."
Not one person in the entire court moved or spoke. The silence was total.
"Yes."
Rathbone took a step closer to him.
"How did it happen, Valentine? Or perhaps I should say, why?"
Valentine stared at him, mute, his face so pale it occurred to Monk, watching him, that he might feint.
In the gallery Damaris leaned over the rail, her eyes desperate. Peverell put his hand over hers.
"If you tell the truth," Rathbone said gently,"there is no need to be afraid. The court will protect you."
The judge drew a breath, as if about to protest, then apparently changed his mind.
Lovat-Smith said nothing.
The jury were motionless to a man.
"I stabbed him," Valentine said almost in a whisper.
In the second row from the front Maxim Furnival covered his face with his hands. Beside him Louisa bit her nails. Alexandra put her hands over her mouth as if to stifle a cry.
"You must have had a very profound reason for such an act," Rathbone prompted. "It was a deep wound. He could have bled to death, if it had severed an artery."
"I - " Valentine gasped.
Rathbone had miscalculated. He had frightened him too much. He saw it immediately.
"But of course you did not," he said quickly. "It was merely embarrassing - and I'm sure painful."
Valentine looked wretched.
"Why did you do it, Valentine?" Rathbone said very gently. "You must have had a compelling reason - something that justified striking out in such a way."
Valentine was on the edge of tears and it took him some moments to regain his composure.
Monk ached for him, remembering his own youth, the desperate dignity of thirteen, the manhood which was so close, and yet so far away.
"Mrs. Carlyon's life may depend upon what you say," Rathbone urged.
For once neither Lovat-Smith nor the judge reproved him for such a breach.
"I couldn't bear it any longer," Valentine replied in a husky voice, so low the jury had to strain to hear him. "I begged him, but he wouldn't stop!"
"So in desperation you defended yourself?" Rathbone asked. His clear, precise voice carried in the silence, even though it was as low as if they were alone in a small room.
"Yes."
"Stop doing what?"
Valentine said nothing. His face was suddenly painfully hot as the blood rushed up, suffusing his skin.
"If it hurts too much to say, may I say it for you?" Rathbone asked him. "Was the general sodomizing you?"
Valentine nodded very slightly, just a bare inch or two movement of the head.
Maxim Furnival let out a stifled cry.
The judge turned to Valentine.
"You must speak, so that there can be no error in our understanding," he said with great gentleness. "Simply yes or no will do. Is Mr. Rathbone correct?"
"Yes sir." It was a whisper.
"I see. Thank you. I assure you, there will be no action taken against you for the injury to General Carlyon. It was self-defense and no crime in any sense. A person is allowed to defend their lives, or their virtue, with no fault attached whatever. You have the sympathy of all present here. We are outraged on your behalf."
"How old were you when this began?" Rathbone went on, after a brief glance at the judge, and a nod from him.
"Six - I think," Valentine answered. There was a long sigh around the room, and an electric shiver of rage. Damaris sobbed and Peverell held her. There was a swelling rumble of fury around the gallery and a juror groaned.
Rathbone was silent for a moment; it seemed he was too appalled to continue immediately.
"Six years old," Rathbone repeated, in case anyone had foiled to hear. "And did it continue after you stabbed the general?"
"No - no, he stopped."
"And at that time his own son would be ... how old?"
"Cassian?" Valentine swayed and caught hold of the railing. He was ashen.