Fear soaked through Ramage like fog forming in a forest; slow and almost imperceptible, yet irresistible. It was the creeping fear that dissolved energy and left the victim lethargic, accepting his fate. It was quite different from the fear of the moments before battle which sharpened the senses and strengthened the muscles.
Once again Napier rapped the table. "The court is now in session," he announced.
He looked at Syme, who was waiting with pen poised to take down his words.
"The court has considered the prosecution's application to withdraw the charges against Lieutenant Ramage, and it has considered the prisoner's application that the trial should be continued to give him an opportunity of making a defence."
He paused and glanced round the court. His voice was neutral. He'd make a good judge, Ramage thought.
"The court can find no precedent for accepting either application."
Again the pause to allow Syme to write. It'll go on for days, Ramage thought; I'll just sit here and wait and wait...
"Whatever the court decides will thus set a precedent for the future."
Go on, for God's sake, Ramage said to himself; you can't set a precedent for the past.
"The court has considered whether or not the prosecution, in making the charges in court, has started a judicial process which can logically and legally end only when the court, having heard all the evidence in support of the charges and all the evidence of the defence against them, has returned a verdict."
Ramage leaned forward slightly. Was there a slight chance?
"On the other hand, it has had to consider the position of the prisoner. He is charged with capital offences, and he has a defence against them. A defence which he no doubt considers will result in a verdict of not guilty. Yet the court has to decide whether the prosecution's withdrawal of the charges is not tantamount to a clear verdict of not guilty. The prosecution is saying, in fact, that at first it thought the prisoner was guilty of certain charges, but has now decided he is not."
There's not the slightest chance now, Ramage thought. Those captains must know of the vendetta - it's been common knowledge for several years - but they're ignoring it. Or perhaps they genuinely believe what Napier has just said. But they are forgetting the stigma and the gossip; they're forgetting the new charges that will follow. They're taking the safe course -and who could blame them?
Still speaking in the same tone, Napier said: "After mature consideration, the court rejects the prosecution's application. The trial will continue and the prosecution will call its next witness."
It took Ramage several seconds to appreciate what Napier had said. He glanced at Goddard. The Admiral was staring at Napier, his features frozen. Then slowly the muscles of his face went slack and the flesh sagged. Ramage realized that Goddard was staring not at Napier but at the prospect of complete professional ruin.
Napier and the other six captains had obviously tried to reach a just decision. Although they knew Goddard would be their senior officer again the moment the trial was over, and able to ruin each and every one of them in pure revenge, they had made a decision which would stand the scrutiny of the Lord Chief Justice of England.
Napier turned to Goddard and said crisply: "Everyone is still on oath; call your next witness, please."
Goddard lurched to his feet. "Call Sydney Yorke," he whispered.
Yorke walked in, as debonair and nonchalant as the day Ramage first saw him on board the Lion at Barbados, and as he took the oath Ramage wondered what questions Goddard could ask him that would back up any part of Croucher's evidence.
Ramage guessed that Yorke's attitude would be offhand and flippant. This always angered Goddard, and making the Admiral lose his temper was the best way of provoking him into some damaging admission, or throwing him off his stride.
He looked at Goddard curiously. There was something strange about the man now that he was standing: his movements, such as they were, seemed jerky, like a wooden soldier. His eyes were remote, almost glassy, as though staring at alarming sights beyond the confines of this stuffy cabin. He looked like a man paralysed by fear.
Napier asked patiently: "The prosecution is ready?" When Goddard remained silent, he went on: "The court has some questions to ask. We might take those first."
Yorke bowed, unaware of what had happened, but obviously puzzled by Goddard's behaviour.
"You were the master of the Topaz merchantman?"
"Master and owner."
"You were commanding her in a convoy escorted by the Lion and the Triton brig on the eighteenth of July last?"
"I was."
"Tell the court what happened that night."
"My ship was attacked by a French privateer, the Peacock, which was sailing in the convoy and masquerading as a merchant ship. Fortunately Lieutenant Ramage had suspected this ship because of something she had done the previous night. The result was that he was able to board the French ship before she could capture us."
"Where was the Peacock at this time?"
"Almost alongside the Topaz. Or, rather, the Triton ran aboard her a few moments before she ran aboard the Topaz"
"Could you have beaten off the attack without assistance?"
"Indeed not!" Yorke exclaimed. "The Peacock had more than a hundred men on board - quite apart from a hundred or so on another ship she had captured the night before. We had no warning, so there was only the usual watch on deck."
"We haven't questioned you about the other ship: please confine your answers to the questions asked."
Yorke bowed.
"You went on board the flagship the next day?"
"Yes."
"Tell the court the purpose of the visit."
"To protest to the Admiral about his carelessness in allowing a French privateer to join the convoy openly; to protest that this privateer had been allowed to capture another merchant ship and, while she was still in the convoy, turn her into another privateer; to tell -"
Syme was waving frantically, "Give me time to write!"
Yorke waited until he saw the man's pen stop.
"-to tell the Admiral that in the view of the Duc de Bretagne, whose care was his special responsibility-"
"Do you know that for a fact?"
"I suppose that's hearsay," Yorke said cheerfully, "but it's easy enough to check."
"Confine yourself to fact, please."
"Very well. To convey M. le Duc's protest to the Admiral and to inform the Admiral that it was M. le Duc's intention to make sure that Lieutenant Ramage's gallantry was given the highest reward - by writing to the King. That letter is written, incidentally, and ready for the post."
"Tell the court how you came to be here." Goddard had found his voice at last.
Yorke shrugged his shoulders. "The Topaz was dismasted in the hurricane at the same time as the Triton. By good fortune, the two ships managed to stay together. Eventually they drifted onto a reef."
"And then?" Napier prompted.
"Lieutenant Ramage managed to get everyone on shore by rafts."
"What land was this?"
"Snake Island, at the eastern end of Puerto Rico."
"What happened to the ships?" Goddard asked harshly.
"They were abandoned."
"Badly damaged?"
"Dismasted, certainly, and stranded. But not badly damaged."
"You saw the wreck of the Triton with your own eyes?"
"Yes."
"Did the accused destroy her to prevent her falling into Spanish hands?"
"No," Yorke said cheerfully. "In fact he decided not to set fire to either ship."
"Do you know why?"
"He didn't want to alarm any Spanish garrison there might be on Snake Island."