Contempt of Court – Part 2: Sentence

"The sentence of this Court," said Helena, "is as follows."

It was delivered with the full ritual of the bench: the pause, the long look over her glasses, the carefully chosen words. A night of the Court's discipline. Obedience, silence unless asked. Correction at the Court's discretion. He listened with his head bowed, in the plain chair, and a deep, shaky calm washed through him.

"Does the defendant accept?"

"I accept, Your Honour."

"Approach the bench."

She directed the rest as she had directed a thousand hearings, with economy and authority. She told him to kneel; he knelt. She told him to wait; he waited, her pen scratching, her eyes never leaving the page. She corrected him with a word, a look, the tip of a finger under his chin. Her severity was exact and unhurried and entirely controlled, and every time the study clock chimed the half hour she lifted her eyes and asked, in her courtroom voice, "Does the defendant wish to proceed?" and every time he answered yes, and meant it.

By eleven he was beyond argument. That was what he had craved: a night without the endless, exhausting work of being right.

"This hearing is adjourned," said Helena.

The gavel fell. The robe came off, and she dropped into the armchair with a long breath and held out her arms. He crossed the carpet and sat at her feet with his head on her knee while she stroked his hair.

"How are you?"

"Silent," said Adam, and laughed. "For once."

"Good. You are wonderful." She bent and kissed his head. "Court will resume at the next convenient date."

"I shall plead guilty in advance."

"I'd hoped you would."

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