White Feathers (23 page)

Thomas and Ben both knew that shell shock was very unlikely to be considered a mitigating factor, especially after the recent edict from British High Command that left no doubt that a failure of mental equilibrium would not be accepted as an excuse for indiscipline. And a bleeding backside or the shits wouldn’t help either, as many men, officers and enlisted alike, were suffering from the same unpleasant complaints. James knew this too, and perhaps that was why he seemed to have given up. But still, Thomas simply could not believe that his brother, normally such a stringently ethical and honourable man, could have shot someone in cold blood without any apparent justification.

‘But why, James?’ he asked again, almost desperate now. ‘I just don’t understand what happened. There must have been
some
reason, for God’s sake!’

James, his head bowed, didn’t reply.

‘We’ve been over and over this,’ said Ben reluctantly. ‘He won’t offer anything in his own defence.’

‘And you were there but you didn’t see anything?’

Thomas had asked Ben the same question several times now.

‘Yes, but I’d already gone over, and I didn’t find out about it for quite a while. I thought James was out in front of me somewhere. And as for Tarrant, well, I hadn’t even expected him to be there. I’d assumed he was holed up somewhere as usual, suffering from some dreadful, debilitating illness.’

‘Will you say that? This afternoon, I mean?’

‘That I thought Tarrant wasn’t there?’

‘No, that it wasn’t uncommon for him to be left out of battle.’

‘Oh, well, I shouldn’t think I’d even need to mention that. I gather his windiness was fairly common knowledge.’

‘Was it? To what’s his name? Major Lyndon, is it?’

‘Lydon. Well, he’s been told about it often enough, by the chaps, the other officers, if that’s what you mean. Never did anything about it, though. Birds of a feather, I suspect.’

‘And you think something happened with Tarrant that might have pushed James over the edge?’ Thomas turned to his brother. ‘Is that what happened, James? Something that Tarrant did?’

Again there was no response, although Thomas waited for a full minute for one. Finally, he kicked out at the stone wall in anger.

‘For Christ’s
sake
, James, will you bloody well wake
up
! If you’re found guilty you could be shot!’

Ben said, ‘There are plenty of rumours flying about. Tarrant wasn’t a popular officer. I’ve asked the chaps to keep their ears open, although apparently there weren’t any officers there at the time. But, you know, the men talk.’

‘What sort of rumours?’ asked Thomas.

‘Just what I’ve already told you. That Tarrant caused a lad’s death, although nobody seems to be clear about exactly how.’

‘And you’ll bring that up as well?’

‘Of course, but it’s not really hard evidence, is it?’

James finally stirred himself. ‘I’m tired,’ he said, and lay back on his cot with his arm over his eyes.

Thomas and Ben looked at him, then at each other, and Thomas said gently, ‘We’ll leave you alone to rest for an hour then, all right?’

They banged on the door to be let out.

‘There’s something seriously wrong with him,’ said Thomas as they stood in the garden behind the house. He began to roll a cigarette.

‘Have one of these,’ said Ben, offering a packet of Capstan.

‘Oh, thanks.’ Thomas lit the tailor-made and breathed the smoke in deeply. ‘I really do think he’s shell-shocked. And I should know — I see it every day.’

Ben agreed, ‘Yes, the MO’s report says that. Any way it’s obvious and it has been for ages, although he thinks no one else has noticed.’

‘So why didn’t he do something about it?’

‘Well, Christ, I don’t know. And think about it — would you, in his position?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, here he is, a bright young infantry captain, good at his job, been trained for years to do it, loves the life, and now he’s finally in the middle of it and he finds he can’t cope. And of course it got worse after your brother was killed. It’s not the sort of thing a chap puts his hand up about, is it?’

‘Yes, but shell shock’s a very serious illness. It’s not just some bloody airy-fairy state of mind that only ever affects incompetents and cowards. We’ve plenty of quite outstanding soldiers sitting in hospitals in England right now because of it. Who do you think goes to those nice, quiet convalescent homes? And they’re bloody well full too, I can assure you. In fact, it sounds like Tarrant himself should have been in one.’ Thomas drew on his cigarette for a moment, then flicked the butt into an overgrown flowerbed. He asked, ‘
Is
he good at his job?’

‘James? Yes, he’s an excellent soldier. Sound, level-headed, certainly not lacking in guts, and genuinely popular with his men, which is no mean feat. He never avoided his duties no matter how rotten he was feeling, he always led from the front and he
always
, no matter what, thought of his men first. In fact, I suspect they’d do just about anything for him.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

The two men looked at each other with thinly disguised hope.

‘How serious is this?’ Thomas asked eventually.

‘Well, you know the law far better than I do. But they’ve been coming down hard lately, thanks to Major-General Russell’s zeal for improved standards of discipline. No doubt you heard about Private Hughes’ execution, and Sweeney just the other day. And James
has
been charged with murder.’

‘So it’s very serious?’

‘Yes.’

‘But would they execute an officer?’

Ben shrugged uneasily.

‘Who brought the charge?’ Thomas asked.

‘Lydon. He had to, really, because he’s James’s commanding officer, but I’m sure he hasn’t lost too much sleep over it. He never much liked James. Chapley, our battalion commander, he’s a reasonable man as far as I can tell. We don’t really have much to do with him. And I don’t know the other officers on the panel, except for Lieutenant-Colonel Proffitt from the 1st Brigade. He’s the president, I think.’

‘And will there be witnesses?’

‘I think so. There was talk of getting some of the enlisted men who were there to give eyewitness accounts, given that James won’t provide any of the relevant details himself. Except to say he did it.’

‘But he hasn’t actually been appointed a lawyer, has he? He hasn’t
a hope in hell of defending himself in the state he’s in.’

‘Well, no, but this isn’t a civilian court, remember. I’m supposed to be representing him but not in a legal sense, and any way I don’t know the first thing about law. I can give a character reference, though, for James. No doubt Lydon will be effusive about Tarrant’s many virtues, although I think you’ll find that otherwise the general feeling is that if James did kill Tarrant, he did us all a favour. It was only a matter of time before he made a horrible mistake.’

‘Bit harsh.’

‘Yes, but it’s true. I don’t know how it is in the Medical Corps, but with the infantry your life depends on the men on either side of you, and very little else. No one wanted to fight alongside someone they couldn’t trust, myself included.’

The court martial, which began at three in the afternoon, was held in a large room of the house where James was being held. At the allotted hour he was led into what was clearly the parlour, although all the furniture had been removed except for a long, heavy table facing several wooden chairs, with extra seats arranged to the left and a small desk each for the court clerk and the court scribe.

The five officers of the panel sat behind the table, with a carafe of water, a small sheaf of papers each and a copy of the
Manual of Military Law
arrayed in front of them; at the door stood two military policemen looking impassively ahead. Together with Ben, James was directed to sit in one of the chairs facing the table.

He felt nothing at all now, and was barely aware of his surroundings. Since Ron’s death he had wanted only to sleep. He knew Thomas was here, but he had the strangest sensation that he wasn’t the real Thomas, the one he had grown up with. And it was the same with Ben Harper, and everyone else he had seen since the incident — these were people he knew, but he could no
longer quite connect with them. It was as if a huge black spider had come and spun a web around him, muffling him from the outside world, rendering him unreachable and, thank God, safe at last. In his cocoon he no longer felt dread, or pain, or despair, and he felt shielded from the smells and the noise and the faces of the dead.

Lieutenant-Colonel Proffitt shuffled his papers, cleared his throat and stood up. ‘Captain James Andrew Murdoch, you are charged here today at this general court martial with the murder of Captain Ronald Stephen Tarrant. It has been recorded that you plead guilty. Is that correct?’

Proffitt sounded embarrassed, as if the murder of an officer by a fellow officer was almost too unpleasant to contemplate and certainly not a matter to be discussed openly.

James didn’t respond, and Proffitt repeated himself.

There was still no answer.

Proffitt turned to Chapley and whispered loudly, ‘What’s the matter with the man? Can’t he speak for himself?’

Chapley thumbed through his papers and extracted several sheets. ‘Er, no, apparently not. Says here he has acute neurasthenia, according to the MO.’

Proffitt snapped impatiently, ‘Is he in a fit state to be tried then?’ He turned to Lydon and waved the medical report at him. ‘You’re his commanding officer, aren’t you? Is this true?’

‘No,’ said Lydon immediately. ‘To my knowledge he’s always performed perfectly well as an officer.’ Then he promptly shut his mouth as it occurred to him that such ready confirmation of Murdoch’s ability could well prejudice the charge against him.

‘God,’ muttered Proffitt. ‘Well, someone’s declared him fit for trial. Who was that?’ He glared suspiciously at Lydon, who refused to look up, then said, ‘Captain Harper, are you acting as Captain Murdoch’s friend?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Ben replied.

‘I plead guilty,’ said James suddenly, his voice devoid of emotion. ‘I killed Ron Tarrant.’

Ben closed his eyes in despair.

‘Right then,’ said Proffitt, ‘the accused has accepted the charge.’ He sat down. ‘May I remind the court that we will be operating strictly within the rules of procedure as outlined in the manual. This is an extremely serious offence.’

The court clerk read the evidence as summarised by the accused’s senior officer. On the morning of the assault Major Lydon, who had been unavoidably detained in his dugout, had been advised that there had been some sort of accident in the trenches just after the first whistle, and when he arrived at the site he had encountered Captain Murdoch sitting in the bottom of the trench near the body of Captain Tarrant. When Major Lydon asked what had taken place, Captain Murdoch confessed to having shot Captain Tarrant in the head with his service pistol. After it had been ascertained that Captain Tarrant was indeed dead, Captain Murdoch had been placed under arrest and escorted from the scene.

The clerk stopped and when it became clear he had nothing else to add, Chapley demanded, ‘Is that it?’

‘Yes, sir,’ the clerk replied.

‘No corroboration from anyone else as to what happened? No eyewitnesses?’

‘Yes, sir. There were plenty of witnesses.’

‘Well, then, why aren’t there any other statements?’ asked Chapley, clearly perplexed.

‘Hang on,’ interrupted Proffitt. ‘Captain Murdoch, do you have anything to add to the clerk’s description of the evidence? Major Lydon’s statement, that is.’

James remained silent.

Proffitt shifted his gaze and addressed Ben. ‘Captain Harper, do you have any knowledge that might in any way contradict what the
evidence suggests, that Captain Murdoch shot Captain Tarrant? Anything he might have said to you in private perhaps, either before or after the incident?’

Ben wanted desperately to lie, but he couldn’t. ‘No, sir, I do not.’ He added hurriedly, ‘But I have known James Murdoch for over a year now and I can testify to his character and to the fact that there’s more to this than …’

Proffitt held up a hand. ‘That will do, Harper. I’m not asking for a character reference and you’re not a lawyer.’ He turned back to the clerk. ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Chapley asked about witnesses. We’ll hear from them now, thank you. One at a time, of course.’

The first witness, a short, stocky private with an exaggeratedly deferential air, was called into the room and ushered to a chair. ‘Private Bob Smythe,’ announced the clerk.

‘Right, Private Smythe,’ said Chapley. ‘You understand the charge against Captain Murdoch?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you were present at the time of the incident?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Now, can you relate your version of the events, please.’

Private Smythe looked Chapley directly in the eye. ‘I were waiting in the trench for the second whistle, sir, you know, to hop the bags, when I looked up and seen Captain Tarrant come barrelling over the parapet. Then about two feet behind him come Captain Murdoch, that man over there …’ he added, pausing to point at James.

‘Yes, yes, we know who Captain Murdoch is,’ snapped Chapley. ‘Get on with it.’

‘… and they both fell in the trench,’ continued Smythe as if he hadn’t been interrupted. ‘Then Captain Murdoch jumps up and yells at Captain Tarrant, something about him murdering one of the lads. Tarrant, I mean.’

‘Yes, and what did Captain Tarrant do then?’ asked Chapley in patiently measured tones.

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Well no, sir, he were dead.’

‘Dead? You mean after Captain Murdoch shot him?’

‘No, sir, before that. He were dead when he come over the bags. Bullet right between the eyes. Hit the ground and just lay there. Captain Murdoch were screaming his head off at a corpse.’

There was a long silence.

Eventually Chapley made a few notes and said, ‘Thank you, Private Smythe, dismissed,’ and turned to the clerk. ‘Get the next one in, will you?’

The next witness was Private Harry Villiers.