Page 66 of Highland Sword
Still, their long period of incarceration and the first day of trial had been hard on them.
The charges of treason were heavy. Conspiring to devise plans to subvert the Constitution. Conspiring to murder the Military Governor of the Highlands and the Lord Mayor of Elgin and a dozen other charges.
If they were found guilty of any one of them, the punishment would be swift and brutal. Aidan overheard that the plans were to erect a scaffold on Castle Hill for the execution. The Home Office wanted the spectacle to be as public as possible. The Chattan brothers were being portrayed as monsters, and their end would be seen as righteous, swift, and final.
Aidan knew who was directing these dramatics. Sir Rupert Burney was sitting in the front corner seat of the spectators. He and the judge, Lord Ruthven, exchanged a discreet nod of greeting. Known for his speed and lack of mercy, the judge was the scourge of the Outer Court of Session in Edinburgh. Loose in his interpretation of law, careless of justice, Ruthven rode roughshod over the rights of the innocent.
It was Lord Ruthven who was brought in to see that “justice” was done when young Hardie and Baird were duped into marching to the Carron Iron Works to seize weapons there. After a quick trial at Stirling, the two men were executed.
Aidan knew the judge well from skirmishes they’d had previously in Edinburgh. He was not just merciless; he was a fawning tool of the Crown. The man had been maneuvering for years for a position on the High Court of Judiciary. Hanging these men—after finishing the case with an eloquent final address to the jury—would serve him well. He had no more thought of fairness for a defendant than a butcher had for a side of old mutton.
As far as Aidan was concerned, there were only two monsters present in this courtroom, and one of them was presiding over this sham of a trial. The other, Sir Rupert Burney, sat wearing the alert look of a fox about to devour a hen he’d made off with. And he was not about to let this prize get away.
Lord Ruthven peered over his spectacles at his courtroom. Everyone was in place. Two journalists from government-supporting newspapers were in attendance, as they had been the first day of the trial.
Ruthven turned his attention to Aidan, gesturing for him to stand. “Before we begin today, Mr. Grant, I’m warning you that I’ll not put up with your disruptions and the verbal gymnastics with which you clearly attempted to confuse the jury. Neither will this trial be used as a platform for your radical views. This is a court of law, sir. I insist that your addresses be pertinent to the grave matter your clients have been charged with. Do I make myself clear?”
Aidan scoffed, making certain his disdain was evident. “Since you appear to have brought your schoolmaster’s rod to court with you this morning, Your Lordship, let me remind you that my duty here is not to sit by and allow my clients to be given short shrift by the prosecution nor anyone else… sir.”
Yesterday, the groundwork for this mockery of justice had been established. After the jury was seated and the charges explained, the prosecution had made a daylong presentation of irrelevant argument, fabricated evidence, falsified documents and letters, and hearsay testimony sworn to by lying witnesses who’d obviously been coached and paid for their perjury. Aidan had spent most of the time on his feet, objecting and arguing with both the judge and the prosecutor. Once, when he’d caught his opponent directing the most condescending of smirks toward him, he’d been sorely tempted to drag the barrister over the table and thrash him. Instead, Aidan had to be satisfied with simply crushing him with a verbal assault that left the man ashen and humiliated.
“If you are suggesting, sir…” Ruthven sputtered angrily. “Ifyou are suggesting that this court is interestedin anything but the even-handed dispensation of justice, then your defense of these men shows a warped bias that will not be tolerated.”
“My lord, I have not even begun my defense, so I question such an expressed judgment of ‘warped bias’ on the part of the court.”
“Take care, Mr. Grant. Your attitude is veering dangerously close to contempt of this court. You are treading on exceptionally thin ice.”
“Pray understand, my lord, that when it comes tocontempt, I make a clear distinction between thecourtand theindividualspresent.”
Aidan thought for a moment that, judging from the scarlet color of Lord Ruthven’s face, his judicial wig might burst into flames. Hewastreading close to the line, but Aidan knew exactly where that line was located. If he nudged a bit over it, he was willing to take the risk. Arrogant bullies like Ruthven needed to be kept off-balance, even in their own court.
Especially in their own court.
While the judge was still searching for the correct words of admonishment, Aidan gestured toward the wide-eyed jury and the prosecutor, who was staring stony-faced at the table before him.
“If Your Lordship wishes,” Aidan said calmly, “I am prepared to begin my defense.”
Hardly happy with the exchange, Lord Ruthven glared at him for a full minute before nodding curtly. “Proceed.”
Aidan looked casually at the notes he had spread on the table. At the back of the courtroom, the door opened, and two men entered, carrying satchels. He turned and gestured to the chairs reserved for the press.
“See here,” the judge snapped. “Who are you?”
“Journalists, my lord,” Aidan replied.
“I’m not addressing you,” Ruthven stormed, turning his attention to the newcomers. “Whom do you represent?”
“The Edinburgh Review, Your Lordship,” one replied.
“The Scotsman, my lord,” said the other.
The judge scowled at them before glancing at Sir Rupert.
“Is there a problem, my lord?” Aidan asked innocently. He knew perfectly well the problem. They were independent publications, highly critical of Parliament and Crown policies in Scotland.
Before Ruthven could respond, the door opened again, and two more men appeared and made their way toward the press section.
The judge sat back in his chair, his gaze following them as if they were pheasants fluttering into range.
