The Day of the Court Martial

[Forgot that bit. Ah well.]

[OOC: edited by agreement after the following post (and a short night's sleep)]

Willis's smile brought Williams' wits fully back. Bastard, he thought. I ain't dead yet.

"Private Williams. According to your statement you are very much the Good Samaritan, going to the help of the man who had fallen among thieves. Not only chasing off the man who attacked Lieutenant Sharpe, but then going to offer assistance, and finally being maligned and mistreated, arrested for a crime you didn't commit."

The pause probably meant the idiot wanted an answer. "That's a fair description, Sir. Of course, we don't hear that's what happened to the Good Samaritan. Looks like he got away with being decent and all that." Clearly he wasn't a private in the British Army. He realized how close he had come to saying that last piece.

Willis did not comment on his answer, but had a private smile, as if to encourage more of such frankness. "Let us take this by stages then. Did you chase off the attacker?"

"I don't know, Sir. It might have been it was the gun going off. But he ran off as I ran up, that's the truth. So if you want to give me the credit, I don't mind."

"And did you see the attacker in a way that you could identify in future?"

Williams glanced towards Padstowe. His defence officer hadn't liked his answer to his own questions, but had done nothing to suggest that the main tactic had changed. "No, Sir. I think he might have been a redcoat - not a local, I mean. And I might recognize his run - you know how it is." Willis's eyes had no humour in them. Careful, Williams, this man is not going to smile and let you off. "I can't say I would be able to swear to it, Sir, even if I saw him again."

Willis nodded. "And having failed to catch this unknown attacker, you returned to help the Lieutenant. You say - you insist, despite your own officer's apparent belief - that you did not touch the garotte. Is that true?"

"I wouldn't have said it on oath if it wasn't. Sir." Slightly heated, cool down. "When I got back, Lieutenant Sharpe had already got the ends loose. He didn't need my help. He just wanted me to help him up."

"And did you do so?"

"I started to." Williams frowned. "It's easier if I say how we were. The officer was kneeling and I crouched down beside him. I put a hand on his arm, here," on the upper arm, "and asked if he was all right, like you do, if someone's down. You don't just stand over them and ask questions. You know that, Sir." Well, if you've ever been in a fight, you know that. "And he asked me to help him up. So I put my other arm across him, and that's when the sergeant turned up."

A look at the Sergeant was not reassuring, but there was a slight frown in Willis's eyes. Maybe he was getting through to the cold bastard.

"Thinking about it - and I've done a lot of that, Sir - I can see what it must have looked like, at first glance." And I'd rather be taking my oath about what I know happened, not trying to save the lying bastard's skin for him. Even if it does mean my own skin. "I had my arm across the Lieutenant. It could have looked like I was trying to choke him. But I wasn't. And the Lieutenant says that's so. He wouldn't lie for me. He got the cord off his own neck and dropped it, just as the Sergeant grabbed me. The Sergeant must have got confused in the dark. Seeing as how he'd only just arrived, and had to make a snap judgement."

He could do the look. He'd used it successfull on Corporals, Sergeants, even officers. Most of them hid a smile, and gave him the least punishment they could, or just another warning. If you have the reputation as a joker, it can sometimes carry you through things that weren't jokes. This was far from being funny, and he couldn't hope to make anyone laugh, but the same look of slightly guileless innocence might still work. It bloody well ought to work, since he was more innocent than he had ever been before.

Willis continued to stare at him: "And that is your answer - that it was all a mistake and that the Sergeant misread the situation. You seem very calm about it, if that is so."

Calm! You ought to look at my hands now. No, perhaps not. "I think it could all have been sorted out on the spot. Mr Sharpe would have explained things to the Sergeant, and no harm done." The glance he gave Hakeswill was as limpid as a deep, drowning pool. "But then Captain Padstowe and the other officers arrived, and things just went from bad to worse. Like they do."

He couldn't bring himself to say that he trusted the court's judgement, or to thank everyone for listening to him. But when he was dismissed he could make his way back to the seat by Padstowe, his head up, and his breathing only slightly ragged.

The captain felt he could have kissed Williams for his reply, but fortunately restrained himself as the private was returned to his seat. Then the president asked the defence to make its closing speech.

Padstowe rose from his chair and addressed the presiding officials.

“Gentlemen, throughout this trial the defence has sought to prove only one thing; that in this circumstance there is no case to answer.”

There was a low murmuring of voices around the court and Padstowe waited for it to die down.

“My learned friend of the prosecution has sought to convict Private Williams of assault on an officer based upon the evidence of one man alone; that of Sergeant Hakeswill – but I put it to you, gentlemen, that this evidence in itself is unsafe. Lieutenant Sharpe did not see his attacker for he had his back to him, Private Williams saw somebody attack Lieutenant Sharpe but does not know who, and Sergeant Hakeswill saw Williams bent over Mister Sharpe with his arms around him, but the sergeant did not see Williams actually attack Lieutenant Sharpe. Let us consider the conditions of the night, gentlemen. It is a dark, shadowy alleyway with a lot of noise and movement; could it be that in the gloom Sergeant Hakeswill was mistaken, and what he thought to be an attack of an officer was merely a young Private doing his best to assist a man whom only seconds before has barely escaped an attempt on his life? Also, Lieutenant Sharpe is convinced that he saw Williams at the end of the street at the moment he was attacked – I have yet to meet a man who can manage to be in two places at once, and I am inclined to believe that Williams was merely attempting to assist Mister Sharpe, as he says he did.

And finally we come to this.”

He took the garrotte from his pocket and held it up for the court to see.

“Lieutenant Sharpe’s throat was marked most severely by this cord. In order for this to be achieved then would not the assailant’s hands be equally as marked? Yet at the scene of the crime it is noted in the officers’ statements that Williams bore no such marks on his hands. It may be suggested that he wore gloves, but no gloves were found discarded at the scene of the crime, and nor were any found on Williams person – and as you will note, the private’s sleeves of his jacket are too short to pull down over his palms, so not protection could be achieved that way.”

He took a breath.

“I therefore put it to you, gentlemen, that the attack was not the work of Williams, but that of a hitherto unknown third party, and that Private Williams was merely the unfortunate victim of an honest mistake by Sergeant Hakeswill. I therefore say again, that I believe there is no case to answer.”

He sat down to soft murmurs from the court, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest. Not the most eloquent of speeches, nor the most ordered but it would serve. He had done all he could. It was now in the hands of the court.

Sheppard conversed with the other two members of the panel for a short while before they straightened up in their seats. Captain Pierce, the most junior member, gave his verdict first. "Not guilty."

Major Davy echoed it. "Not guilty."

Sheppard finally permitted himself to smile at Williams, a small smile but definitely a smile. "We find you not guilty of the assault on Lieutenant Sharpe. You were merely the unfortunate victim of appearance and circumstance. You are free to go."

Cotton could have kissed the man, if he didn't feel as though he was about to pass out with relief. He hoped he'd be able to get a chance to talk with Williams soon, but as it was he just grinned in the Private's direction.

Not guilty.

The relief was immesurable, but there was no sense of triumph to it - how could there be when Hakeswill remained at large? He turned to the private, a small smile curling at his lips, and offered his hand. But Williams had survived, and for Padstowe there was nothing but cold, cold relief.

However, as he looked across to the witness bench and caught Hakeswill's stricken expression, the capatin sensed that their troubles were just begining.

Well, there was some sort of justice in the world, then, even if it wasn't the sort Sharpe would have preferred. But Hakeswill would try again. He could only hope the man didn't end up pursuing the sort of vendetta against Williams as he did against Sharpe himself.

Across the courtroom Hakeswill could not believe his ears. Not guilty. But how? He'd had Williams where he wanted, he'd persuaded Willis to take on the prosecution, the firing squad had been practically biting into their cartridges... but he had been acquitted. And Hakeswill was furious.

He looked across the courtroom to where Padstowe was sitting with Williams. He saw the captain's gaze directed at him and he could not fully supress the hatred of his glare. The sneaky little sod...! Officers supporting Welsh bastard privates of a sergeant...! He'd get him, and Williams, and Sharpe, along with the rest of them. But for now he had been defeated again, and it stung. Bitterly.

After the words "Not guilty", repeated by the other officers, Williams felt frozen, unable to respond with anything like the joy he should have felt. He had been so sure that they would find him guilty - with all that that meant - that he couldn't find the expression to replace the one he had assumed. He couldn't even respond to the President, for all he had seen a smile, and Padstowe was just a red blur. He could only mutter: "We did it. You persuaded them. Now, for God's sake. Get me out of here." Or get that bastard Hakeswill out. He might have lost, but the sight of his victim passing out would probably give him pleasure, and a sense of achievement. And the certainty that Williams would fall next time. And now, at least, there might be a next time. "Please, Sir, if it's the last thing you do for me..."

Padstowe frowned at the murmured words in his ear, but clarity dawned as he saw the fixed look on Williams' face. The man was within an inch of loosing his dignity. He took hold of the private's arm and placed his other hand on the small of his back, gently urging him to rise.

"Come on, then," he said softly. "Let's get you somewhere and find you a drink."

He glanced in desperation at the back of the courtroom hoping to see either Harper or Cotton and that they would come to his aide.

There was a press of people all trying to leave at once, after they'd recovered from the shock of the verdict. Cotton tried not to hit anyone on his way through; there were far too many officers in the crowd for that to be good for his health, but he finally it made to the front of the room to find Padstowe guiding Williams out.

"Here, sir, let me," he said, coming to the redcoat's other side and taking his weight. "A bit of air and some water and he'll be right as a trivet."

"Something stronger than that I should think," Padstowe said, picking up his folders and hat before taking up Williams' other arm again. "Do you know where his billet is?"

"Down the hill, that way, I think, sir. Or we could wander the streets till we come to a group of drunk Irishmen and leave him with them." He spoke jestingly for there was no telling how, where or when Hakeswill would try again. He might be planning something even now, and that thought made Cotton's skin crawl.

"Hopefully the correct drunk Irishmen."

Padstowe looked over his shoulder, wondering what was keeping Sharpe.

Sharpe finally made it out of the courtroom and stood enjoying the sunshine. An incongruous group caught his eye; a rifleman and an officer helping a redcoat stay on his feet. He went over to join them.

"Everything alright, Richard?" Padstowe asked. The rifleman's expression was unreadable.

"Everything's fine. Would've been better if we could have strung Hakeswill up somewhere, but at least Williams here is still with us." He sighed. "I swear that bastard's worse than he used to be."

"I'm not too sure on the 'with us'," said Padstowe glance at Williams' face again. He seemed to have gone very pale and somewhat glassy-eyed. "We need to get him somewhere where he can lie down for a bit where he canbe kept an eye on."

"Mostly with us, then," Sharpe said. Looking at the Private again, he agreed. "Anyone know where his billet is?"

Padstowe shook his head.

"Cotton?"

"I don't know where Wiliiams' billet is, exactly, sir, but the 27th are down this way."

The thing was, how was he to get back to his own billet and the safety of Captain Vickery's Company, now that that bastard Sergeant was free to wander Lisbon, wreaking havoc?

"We'd better and go and find them, then," said Padstowe, hefting Williams' weight so as to make it more comfortable. "Come along Cotton, we should get moving. Where's Sergeant Harper?"

"Gone to make sure the Chosen Men are all right," Sharpe answered, watching the officer help the rifleman half carry the private. Interesting; it was usually riflemen and privates who had to half-carry their officers back home.

"Suppose that was wise." He hefted Williams again. The man's legs weren't exactly working, and he was reminded of the many times when he was still with the 50th that he'd had to drag his friend Harry Everett home from too merry a night out. He missed Harry. He did not miss the dragging him home, but they had been friends since childhood, a long and lasting friendship which had ended with the poor man's death at Vimeiro. He sighed, and did his best to move Williams along.

"Shame - he could have helped with Williams here."