At Some Disputed Barricade_ A Novel - Anne Perry [141]
“No, sir,” Black replied. He looked uncomfortable and confused. He was very young, perhaps sixteen.
“But you say they were extremely angry?”
“Yes, sir. At least, they were cussing a lot, and swore he was…well…not up to much as a soldier.”
“Did anyone suggest that he should take advice in the matter from some of the more experienced men?”
“I dunno, sir.”
“Are you quite sure about that, Private Black?”
Black glanced at Faulkner, then back at Joseph. It seemed to occur to him for the first time that he was out of his depth, and that whatever Faulkner promised him, it was the men of his own regiment whom he would have to live with, and very possibly die with. He stood fidgeting slightly, clenching and unclenching his hands.
Joseph could not afford to be sorry for him. Everyone in the room—and especially the officers who would have to make the judgment—must surely have seen that look.
“Do you know why you in particular were asked to give evidence today?” Joseph pressed his advantage.
“No, sir.”
“You did not have a particularly good view of the accident?”
“No, sir.” Black was now visibly unhappy.
“Nor much knowledge of field guns, horses, mud, bad weather?”
Black was sweating. “No, sir. I only just got here, sir.”
“Did you volunteer to testify?”
“No, sir!” That was from the heart.
“I see. Perhaps you simply represent a certain point of view, a very impartial one?” Joseph suggested.
“I think impartiality is what we are seeking, is it not?” Faulkner interrupted coldly. “It is the indulgence of emotion and personal opinion over obedience, discipline, and loyalty which has brought us to this place.”
“Impartiality perhaps,” Joseph said, knowing his voice was rough-edged with the power of his own feelings. “But not apathy, indifference, or, above all, total ignorance.” He stopped himself from continuing only with an intense effort. In spite of himself, of seeing it open in front of him and knowing its exact nature, he was still overbalancing into the trap.
Faulkner smiled. “I have nothing further to ask Private Black,” he said.
Hardesty turned to Black.
“Did you hear talk of mutiny, Private?”
“No, sir!”
“Simply distress at an accident?”
“Yes, sir!”
He was excused, and Faulkner proceeded with perhaps a little less assuredness. He called more witnesses of military misjudgment, lack of knowledge or foresight, but always making it seem like no more than the misfortunes of combat that happened all the time, and to other men as well as Northrup. He built up a careful picture of resentful men who were desperate to escape the battle line, to blame someone else for their pain and fear, and their helplessness to alter the terrible fate ahead of them.
The case closed for the day.
Joseph left the farmhouse and walked alone back toward his dugout. It was more than four miles, but he wanted the time alone to think. If there was to be justice then eleven of the twelve men would be found guilty of no more than insubordination, and that even with understanding; but Howard Northrup would not be exposed to the whole army as an arrogant and incompetent man, a failure. He had been placed by circumstances into a position he was not suited to fill. Possibly an ambitious father who saw what he wished to was additionally responsible. But was there any justice served by forcing him, publicly, to see every bitter moment of his own mistakes, and what they had cost?
Joseph would like to have saved them all.
He trudged through the mud in the dying sun, refusing to accept that it was impossible. Was he capable of virtually crucifying General Northrup?
If he did not, then his evasion, his cowardice, would condemn Cavan and Morel and the others. And it could also betray the rest of the regiment who trusted him to fight for them all. And they did see the fate of them all in whatever happened to the twelve, he had seen that in their eyes, the tension in their movements, the questions they did not ask. They believed they knew him.
Perhaps that was the decision