'Clear the court!' he ordered. 'But you stay,' he said to Ramage, 'and you too, Madam, if you please.'
The Bosun, and the few officers who had been sitting in the row of seats behind Ramage, filed out, while Croucher ordered the lieutenant who had followed Gianna into the cabin to put another sentry on the door.
Within two minutes the cabin was quiet again. Gianna quickly composed herself and, womanlike, turned slightly so that the captains saw her left profile, and not the right, which was red from Pisano's blow.
Ramage sat down again in his own chair. Except for the sentry's musket still lying diagonally across the white and black squares of the deck - from butt to muzzle it had made the knight's move, he noticed - there was nothing to indicate what had happened. The chessboard had been swept clean of the pawns... who was going to make the next move?
'Well,' said Croucher lamely, 'well...'
Ramage promptly put himself in Croucher's position, ran through the courses open to him, and was ready when Croucher said:
'... Frankly I don't know how we should proceed now.'
'I am still on trial, sir....'
The perplexity showed in Croucher's thin, foxy face: Ramage sensed the man knew he was standing on a powder barrel and was afraid Ramage was lighting the fuse.
Five minutes ago, the trial was just going as Croucher had planned; but now the Marchesa di Volterra had been assaulted in his own court by his most important witness.
Ramage watched Croucher's face closely and thought he could detect one unpleasant realization after another galloping through the man's mind: the Marchesa must have a great deal of influence in high places ... What would Rear-Admiral Goddard say and, more important, Sir John Jervis, the Commander-in-Chief ... Did her influence spread to St James's Palace . ..? Goddard would wash his hands of the whole affair - there might have to be a scapegoat....
And, thought Ramage wryly, his name might well turn out to be Captain Aloysius Croucher. The more he thought about it - and his brain seemed to be working at enormous speed - the angrier Ramage became: although all six captains and Barrow were soaking with perspiration, he began to feel cold -the icy coldness of rage.
He knew he was blinking rapidly and he guessed his face was white; but he felt a violent revulsion against the Pisanos, the Goddards, the Crouchers: he was sick of these men who would go to any lengths - or depths - to satisfy their pride or jealousy. None of them was any better than a Neapolitan hired assassin, who, for a few centesimi, would knife anyone in the back. In fact each was worse, because the assassin made no pretence at being any better than he was.
Suddenly Ramage understood something which had puzzled him for years: why, at the trial, his father had eventually refused to make any further defence. His enemies claimed he'd finally admitted his guilt; his friends, for the lack of any other explanation, assumed he was just worn out.
But now Ramage knew his father had decided his accusers were too despicable to warrant him continuing to defend himself against their charges; charges which were so gross that if he was to clear himself he would have to use the same crude and dishonourable weapons.
But why not use them? Why, Ramage thought, should the despicable always win against the honourable? Why should men like Goddard and Croucher, lurking in the shadows, using assassins - whether assassins destroying a man's life with lies in a court of law or with a stiletto in a dark alley - why should such men always escape? They always did: the Duke of Newcastle, Fox, Anson, the Earl of Hardwicke for instance - they'd engineered Admiral Byng's execution and escaped; and less than thirty years later their successors had ruined his own father, although mercifully they hadn't stooped to judicial murder.
The tactics, Ramage realized, were not to waste time with the assassins, but instead go straight for the men who employed them: the men in the shadows.
Ramage suddenly knew he didn't give a damn if his own career was wrecked: that was little enough to gamble if it meant squaring Goddard's yards...
Croucher was saying something.
'I beg your pardon, sir?'
'I was announcing, for the second time,' Croucher said acidly, ‘that the court feels since the prosecution has not offered any evidence in support of the charge, the court should record the fact and dismiss the charge.'
How blatant can you be, thought Ramage.
'The prosecution has only been interrupted, sir.'
‘Yes, I know,' Croucher said testily, 'but—'
'I assume the prosecution actually possesses evidence, sir, so with respect I feel the trial ought to continue.'
Croucher looked wary: he could see many traps ahead. But he had several advisers, apart from the legal books on the table in front of the Deputy Judge Advocate.
'Very well, then, you and the Marchesa will leave the court while the members discuss the situation. You will not, of course, have any conversation together. Tell the sentry to pass the word for the Provost Marshal.'
Chapter 17
Fifteen minutes later a sentry came into the Captain's clerk's cabin, where Ramage was waiting with Blenkinsop, to tell them the court had re-opened. When Ramage walked back into the great cabin he saw the seats behind his chair were now fulclass="underline" every officer not on duty in the ship had come in to watch, hoping for more excitement.
Captain Croucher looked up at Ramage.
'The court has decided that no reference to the recent interruption shall be recorded in the minutes, and the trial will continue. Do you agree?'
'It is not for me to agree or disagree, sir,' Ramage said coldly. 'With the greatest respect, you are the President of the court. If the court is in error, no doubt the Commander-in-Chief or the Admiralty will take the appropriate steps.'
He wasn't going to fall into that trap; if he agreed, Croucher was cleared of any possible charge of misconduct over the trial. Croucher had set a trap and - thanks to Gianna -was now in danger of himself being caught in it; but that was the risk people took when they set traps. Croucher was a fool anyway, because Gianna wasn't on oath; none of the court seemed to have realized the minutes should record only evidence given on oath: if a ship blew up alongside, there would be no need to record it - unless to explain the court's adjournment. Ramage decided to bluff.
'I think,' Croucher said uncertainly, 'the court has the power to order anything to be omitted from the record.'
His voice did not carry much conviction; clearly he wanted to lure Ramage into a discussion, so that he could suggest in a friendly way that he was causing a lot of unnecessary bother.
Ramage stood up.
'With respect, sir, and admittedly with no knowledge of legal procedure, surely a court can't ignore and thus virtually destroy evidence already given? Otherwise minutes could always be edited or censored, like some penny broadsheet, to prove a guilty man innocent - or an innocent man guilty.'
'Good God, young man, no one's suggesting the minutes should be censored: the court just feels it would be the wisest way of disposing of a very disagreeable situation.'
'By disagreeable, sir,' said Ramage politely, 'I assume you are concerned that it is disagreeable for me; but the court must ignore my feelings and get at the truth, however disagreeable it may be....’
'Very well, then,' Croucher said, obviously admitting defeat, 'call the first witness.'
Ramage interrupted: 'Can we follow the normal procedure, sir, and have the Deputy Judge Advocate read over the minutes from the time the first witness was originally called?'