Barrow shook his head. ‘There is no intention to call witnesses, Your Honour.’
The judge martial now turned to the defending officer. ‘Mr . . . Beale-Browne, may I take it that Cornet Daly will not be entering any plea in mitigation to this effect?’
Lieutenant Beale-Browne’s first instinct was to check the certainty of this with Cornet Daly, but he recognized the difficulties of doing so in front of the court. ‘No, Your Honour.’
‘Very well, then. The remarks will go unrecorded and are to be entirely disregarded by the members of the court. Proceed please, Mr Barrow.’
Lieutenant Barrow found the page in his notes. ‘Serjeant Treve, what happened when Cornet Daly . . . lunged towards you?’
‘Mr Hervey stepped in front of Mr Daly, sir.’
‘And?’
‘I didn’t actually see that well, sir, it being dark, but Mr Daly seemed to be very angry and lunged again, and then I saw him fall to the ground. At that stage, sir, the veterinary came.’
It was the truth, Hervey knew, and if it was not the whole truth then that must be because Treve genuinely could not have seen. The court must conclude that his own blow was gratuitous.
The adjutant turned to the president. ‘I have finished with this witness, sir.’
‘Very well, Mr Barrow. Mr Beale-Browne, do you have any questions of the witness?’
Hervey was conscious of renewed, and urgent, whispering behind him, and wondered what might be Daly’s objection to a most impartial account. How he wished the adjutant had questioned Treve about Daly’s condition that night: it could only have helped his case. Except, of course, that to do so would have risked suggesting the regiment’s discipline was defective, as the president had already intimated, and that would go hard with mess and canteen alike.
Lieutenant Beale-Browne stood up. ‘Only one, sir. Serjeant Treve, the language in which Mr Daly addressed you: though it sounds indelicate, no doubt, in a court such as this here, now, was it unusual for the horse lines?’
‘Sir, with respect, it is most unusual to hear an officer speak in that way.’
There was a degree of throat-clearing in various quarters. Beale-Browne, having done Daly’s bidding in asking the question, might now have withdrawn decently, saving himself – and others – the risk of ridicule. But strong though his own distaste for Daly was, Lieutenant Beale-Browne perceived he had a duty to perform, and when this business was over, from which he knew that none could emerge with much honour, he was damned if he was going to give anyone the opportunity to find him wanting. ‘Serjeant Treve, have you ever before heard Mr Daly speaking in the language, let us say, of the horse lines?’
Treve hesitated. ‘Sir, if I might put it this way, Mr Daly, sir, is known for his colourful language.’
There was more throat-clearing. Hervey groaned inwardly again. Daly would now appear to the court as the quintessential Irish squireen, fond of the bottle, as all his fellow countrymen – ‘splendid fighting men, if unruly’ – his language strong, but affectionately so. Hervey felt the court turning against him even before he had had the opportunity to speak.
‘I have no more questions, sir.’
The president looked at Lieutenant Martyn, who rose quickly.
‘I have no questions, sir.’
The president turned to the judge martial, who shook his head, and then to the members of the court. None had any question.
‘Thank you, Serjeant; dismiss.’
Serjeant Treve sprang up, replaced his Tarleton, turned to his right and saluted, then left the room at a brisk march.
The adjutant got to his feet again. ‘Mr President and gentlemen, I wish to call as witness Veterinary Surgeon Knight.’
The president nodded, and the court orderly went out to summon him.
A full minute passed. Hervey was aware of half a dozen whispered asides and exchanges, but he said nothing, looking straight ahead throughout, conscious that the members before him must now think the regiment to be little more than a collection of—
The heavy oak doors opened and John Knight entered. He had the gait of a man used to marching in his own company, his right arm describing curious and erratic patterns as he swung it, his left elbow sticking out as if to barge someone out of the way, and the hand grasping a borrowed sword scabbard without its slings. His right spur was adjusted too high and the roundel was jammed, so that only the left spur rang as he marched, which made for added curiosity among the members of the court. He came to a halt, more or less precisely, and saluted by placing several fingers to the point of his bicorn.
‘Remove headdress, sir,’ said the court orderly, voice lowered.
Knight took off his hat and handed it to the serjeant, who, surprised, found himself trying to hold it while handing him the bible. It was managed, but not as a serjeant of Foot Guards would have preferred, and to the amusement of the junior members.
The court orderly cleared his throat pointedly, composing himself and the court for the due gravity of the swearing-in.
‘I swear, upon the holy Evangelists, that the evidence which I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth; so help me, God.’
Hervey heard Daly whispering to Beale-Browne again, and insistently. He could not imagine to what he might already be objecting.
‘Be seated, Mr Knight,’ said the adjutant, respectfully.
The court orderly brought a chair. Knight sat down, letting his sword clatter to the floor, and crossed his legs.
‘Please state your name, appointment and qualifications.’
‘John Knight, veterinary surgeon, Sixth Light Dragoons, licentiate of the London Veterinary College.’
‘Would you tell the court what happened on the evening of the twenty-fourth of July in respect of a colt belonging to Cornet Daly.’
‘At about nine o’clock I received an urgent summons to attend at H Troop’s horse lines. On arrival there I saw Daly’s colt lying on the ground – as well as Daly himself, I might add. I attended at once to the colt, but the animal had died.’
‘Did—’
The defending officer rose, hesitantly.
The president glowered at him. ‘Yes, Mr Beale-Browne?’
‘Sir, I . . . I beg you would forgive the interruption, but . . . Mr Daly would know why it is that the veterinary officer was sworn, since he is an officer.’
The president was taken aback. He turned to the judge martial.
‘Really, Mr Beale-Browne,’ began the judge martial, laying down his pen and taking off his spectacles. ‘Such enquiries are not appropriate at this time.’
Beale-Browne cleared his throat apologetically. ‘I am sorry, Your Honour, but Mr Daly is very desirous to know why it is that an officer is sworn to tell the truth, which is not the usual practice, his word being always taken for the truth.’
‘Mr Beale-Browne,’ replied the judge martial, sounding more than a shade irritated, ‘it has not been the practice for an officer to take an oath in a regimental court martial, but it has ever been the practice in a general court martial. And, I might add, parliament has very recently passed an act requiring the same of regimental courts martial. So, I hope that is an end to it.’
Beale-Browne looked deeply embarrassed. ‘Thank you, Your Honour.’
The president sighed, audibly. ‘Proceed, Mr Barrow.’
Barrow bowed. ‘Mr Knight, did you ascertain the cause of death?’
‘Yes. It was from the shock, occasioned, in my opinion, by the introduction of a red-hot cautery into the animal’s mouth.’