There was silence in the courtroom after the sentence. Probably the spectators were expecting him to say something. But there was nothing. He nodded his head slightly and turned to go. The guards stepped forward. Then he climbed down from the dock and walked slowly away between them.
I recalled another departure he had made from the courtroom and the parallel I had attempted to draw from the trial of Socrates. My memory of it was better now. There were words more apt than the others I had chosen.
‘ But, sirs, it may be that the difficulty is not to flee from death, but from guilt. Guilt is swifter than death.’
‘That’s the lot,’ said the cutter. ‘Would you like to see the assassination of Brankovitch? I’ve got it here.’
‘No, thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen it.’