Weighed in the balance - Anne Perry [136]
Harvester smiled bleakly.
“Baron, if this was the purpose of the visit to Wellborough Hall, and I am sure that you believe it was, then perhaps you will answer a few questions which arise from that supposition. If Friedrich had declined the invitation, would that have given anyone motive to wish him dead?”
“Not so far as I am aware.”
“And if he had accepted?”
Stephan’s mouth tightened with distaste at being forced to express his beliefs aloud, but he would not equivocate.
“Possibly Baron von Seidlitz.”
“Because he was for unification?” Harvester’s eyebrows rose. “Is it so likely Prince Friedrich, single-handedly, could have achieved that end? You made it sound far more difficult, problematical, in your earlier answers. I had not realized he still commanded such power.”
“He might not have achieved our continued independence,” Stephan said patiently. “He might well have achieved a war for it, and war is what von Seidlitz dreads. He has far too much to lose.”
Harvester looked amazed. “And have not you all?” He half turned towards the gallery, as if to include them in his surprise.
“Of course.” Stephan took a deep breath. “The difference is that many of us also believe that we have something to gain. Or perhaps I should say, more correctly, to preserve.”
“Your identity as an independent state?” Harvester’s voice was not mocking, not even disrespectful, but it did probe with a hard, unrelenting realism. “Is that truly worth a war to you, Baron von Emden? And in this war, who will fight?” He gestured in angry bewilderment. “Who will lose their homes and their lands? Who will die? I do not see it as an ignoble thing to wish your country to avoid war, even if it is a horrific thing to murder your prince in that cause. At least most of us here could understand that, I find it easy to believe.”
“Possibly,” Stephan agreed, his face suddenly alight with a passion he had kept tightly in control until now. “But then you all live in England, where there is a constitutional monarchy, a Parliament in which to debate, a franchise in which men can vote for the government they wish. You have the freedom to read and write what you wish.” He did not move his hands, but his words embraced everyone in the room. “You are free to assemble to discuss, even to criticize, your betters and the laws they make. You may question without fear of reprisal. You may form a political party for any cause you like. You may worship any God in any manner you choose. Your army obeys your politicians, and not your politicians the army. Your queen would never take orders from her generals. They are there to protect you from invasion, to conquer weaker and less fortunate nations, but not to govern you and suppress you should you threaten to assemble in numbers or protest your state or your labor laws, your wages or your conditions.”
There was not a murmur in the gallery. Hundreds of faces stared at him in amazement—and in silence.
“Perhaps if you lived in some of the German states,” he went on, his voice now raw with sadness, “and could remember the armies marching in the streets a decade ago, see the people manning the barricades as suddenly hope flared that we too might have the liberties you take so lightly, and then afterwards see the dead, and the hope ended in despair, all the promises broken, you would be prepared to fight to keep the small privileges Felzburg has.” He leaned forward. “And in memory of those who fought and died elsewhere, you would offer your life too, for your children and your children’s children … or even just for your country, your friends, for the future, whether you see them, know them, or not, simply because you believe in these things.”
The silence prickled in the ears.
“Bravo!” someone cried from the gallery. “Bravo, sir!”
“Bravo!” A dozen more shouted, and they began to stand up one by one, then a dozen, then a score, hands held up, faces alight with emotion. “Bravo!”
“God save the Queen!” a woman called out, and another echoed her.
The judge did not bang his gavel or make the