Three witnesses were produced from Heaven knows where among the trees, and these rascals, men whom I had believed to be on my side, described how both I and Bedinsky and others—still to be arrested—had gone among the people canvassing for supporters, promising reward and favour to all those who would assist in ousting the Hetman last elected and in raising another in his place.
‘Save yourself the trouble, Mazeppa,’ I cried, bitterly scornful, ‘all these things are admitted. I am the culprit: Bedinsky and the others named are but private friends of mine and not responsible for the “revolution”—if so you must call it—which is the child of my own brain.’
‘A fool-child, like its father,’ said Mazeppa. ‘Did I not say from the first you were a fool, Chelminsky? Too great a fool to be Hetman, even as I told Peter the Tsar! He believed me, my friend, and would not have nominated thee in any case.’
‘That is a lie, Mazeppa,’ said I. ‘Maybe I shall yet prove it!’
‘That must be as the court wills,’ he replied. ‘The offence is admitted, gentlemen of the court: the culprit Chelminsky has confessed his crime. Proceed to judgment and sentence.’
The witnesses were put back and the judges—three colonels of Cossack regiments, my equals in rank—deliberated. Their deliberations did not last long—but five minutes at the most—and they presently announced themselves agreed.
‘The prisoners are guilty,’ said the senior colonel, and it will scarcely be believed, but both we and others who were named, but not present, were then and there sentenced to death by beheading.
‘My God, Mazeppa!’ I cried. ‘Do I dream? Am I to be done to death by thee because from first to last we have been rivals in love and politics? Dost thou fear I shall win in the end? Keep thy Hetmanship and let me go!’
Mazeppa held up his hand.