— The environs, sir, are poor indeed. If you’re familiar at all with Greece, you’ll be reminded of the southern Peloponnese.
— I’m sorry to say, sir, that I’ve never been to Greece, but those who have speak of a resemblance, and I’m merely passing on their judgment. The olive groves and vineyards, for example, or the bare, round hills, primitive villages, and black-robed shepherds. And of course, one musn’t forget Bethlehem, which is only a few miles away. It’s a pleasant, gentle sort of place that nestles in the hills quite gracefully; there’s the famous Church of the Nativity, and a most jovial Anglican priest who can tell you all about it in biblical English — he’s really quite entertaining. I would also recommend, sir, an excursion to Jericho, and to the Dead Sea and the mouth of the Jordan, where the Australians are encamped. If Baedeker is right about its being the lowest spot in the world, then having come this far, sir, you wouldn’t want to miss it. It’s certainly a sight closer than the world’s highest spot, what?
— I’m sorry, sir, but I didn’t quite catch the name.
— I’ll make a note of it at once, sir. Is it a new label?
— There’s an Irish officer in our section who’s quite a grog fancier, sir. He has excellent connections with the Armenian church, which has a most presentable cellar. I’ll ask him to see to a bottle.
— Very well, sir, five…
— I’ve made a note of it, sir. Will any other label do as well?
— In that case, sir, we’ll spare no effort. In any event, I’ll report back to you during the day. Will there be anything else, sir? Cigarettes? Tobacco?
— Very well, sir. The trial begins tomorrow morning. There will be a car waiting for you in front of your hotel at eight o’clock sharp. It’s about a five-minute drive. A small courtroom has been prepared in the Russian Compound, which is outside the walls, not far from the Eastern Orthodox Church. I believe it’s fairly comfortable, sir, as local standards go.
— Sir?
— Ah, yes. I haven’t looked into the matter, sir, but I’m quite sure we’ll have no acoustical problems. The fact is, Colonel, that there won’t be many of us, and the prosecution will ask the court to conduct part of the proceedings in camera so as to protect our sources of information behind enemy lines, which have done excellent work. Indeed, sir, barring the unexpected, the trial is unlikely to last more than a few days…
— No doubt you know their names already, Colonel. They’re listed in the brief that the sergeant gave you yesterday, and I believe you’ll meet them tonight at the governor’s reception in your honor. On your right will be Lieutenant Colonel Keypore of the Australian Battalion, who drove up from the Jordan yesterday, and on your left Major Jahawala, an Indian from Intelligence. As for counsel, sir, the defendant has none, nor could he be persuaded to take any, neither Jew, Arab, nor Englishman. He’s quite determined to defend himself, having studied law for a year or two in Beirut when he was young, and he seems confident he can do it. However, I’ve asked First Lieutenant Brian Oswald to be prepared to assist him, if necessary. I believe that’s all, sir. Saving the witnesses, of course.
— Oh, dear, sir, of course. I beg your pardon. I myself will prosecute, with the help of First Lieutenant Harold Gray.
— Yes, sir.
— Quite so, sir.
— Yes, sir. Major Clark is our chief advocate.
— Oh. I thought, Colonel, that you already knew of Major Clark’s absence. His personal correspondence to you should be in this brief.
— I see. Well, sir, in short, Major Clark sailed for England three weeks ago for his wedding in Oxfordshire. With the brigadier’s permission, of course.
— There’s not much I can tell you, sir. I only know that the young lady is the daughter of Lord Barton, and that the wedding was best held without delay to prevent any possible embarrassment. I believe that’s enough said, sir.
— He made her acquaintance in Paris, sir. Did you never meet Major Clark? A most delightful chap.
— I’m afraid that’s all I know, sir. But I can find out if you wish whether the young lady is Lord Barton’s elder or younger daughter.
— As you wish, sir. In any event, that is the reason Major Clark could not prosecute the case and I shall be taking his place.
— Quite so, Colonel. I am not the ranking officer in his absence. But Major Clark preferred to entrust the task to me.
— I read law at Cambridge, sir, from 1913 until my call-up in October 1915.
— King’s, sir.
— I was unable to take my degree, sir, because of the war.
— No, sir. I was first in France.
— No, sir. With the 38th Infantry Regiment, 42nd Division.
— From March through August of 1916, Colonel.
— No, sir. I was at the front. In eastern France.
— No, sir. I was a private at the time.
— Naturally, sir, in the trenches, sir, in combat and in frontal assaults, sir. What else could I have been doing at the front?
— In April and May of 1916.
— On the Somme, sir. Between Dompierre and Maricourt.
— On the northern flank.
— Quite so, sir. The night of May seventeenth is a horror to remember. It was the ghastliest of them all.
— I’m speaking for myself, of course. We lost three hundred men in two hours, including two platoon commanders.
— So he was, sir. How astounding that you knew him!
— I was fortunate, sir. Just a bit of shrapnel.
— Thank you, sir, I’d be glad to. It’s very kind of you. If you don’t mind, Colonel, I’d prefer to sit by your side, so that I can show you a few documents.
— Thank you, sir. We can manage without the desk. I won’t be long and you needn’t trouble yourself. Now that the main features of the case are clear to you, there is something… something else that I wish to take up with you… I mean now, before the trial begins… since once it does, I shan’t be free to raise the matter with the court, as you will have seen for yourself from the brief…
— I beg your pardon, sir.
— Indeed, sir, I was afraid you might not have time to read it all.
— Oh.
— Oh, dear…
— Oh, dear me, Colonel, we had no idea. I’m flabbergasted.
— Oh, dear, sir. I’m so dreadfully sorry. I’m quite devastated. We knew, of course, that you were wounded at Verdun. Your name, sir, has been a byword in our division ever since the Battle of the Marne.
— I’m so sorry, sir. No one breathed a word to us. Had anyone told me, I would have come to read the brief to you myself.
— Now? Well, why not! I’d be delighted to, Colonel. I’m entirely at your disposal, and I’m quite prepared to read you the brief and all its documents.
— I’d be delighted to, sir. A résumé, as the French say. It will be both jollier and quicker…
— Thank you, sir. With pleasure.
— Just a bit, sir… that will do for this hour of the morning… cheers, sir…
— So this is the whiskey, then, is it? It’s superb… no wonder you insist on it, Colonel!
— Indeed, it is… that, sir… I mean… that’s the very subject… you’ve hit the nail on the head, sir! The prosecution will ask for the death penalty in accord with wartime regulations, whereas… you see, that’s just what I wished to talk to you about…
— Sir?
— Quite so. It’s best to begin from the beginning. But just where is the beginning, sir, if you’ll allow me to reflect for a moment? Suppose we say on the twenty-eighth of February, on a cold, foggy, rainy night, indeed, on a sleety night turning to real snow in the morning, the kind that falls here no more than once a year to the great consternation of the natives. That, sir, was the night the accused was apprehended. It happened some ten miles north of Jerusalem, just outside a small town called Ramallah, which means the hill of God, in a hamlet called el-Bireh, which is the biblical Bethel, I believe. It’s a small village of olive groves and little vegetable gardens that marks the farthest point of Allenby’s advance after taking Jerusalem in December. It’s not at all clear why he stopped there — perhaps he wished to rest his forces after the excitement of Jerusalem. But since he didn’t strike while the iron was hot, it grew cold and gray until its jagged lines hardened like fate. That’s where the front runs now, with the Turks sitting on the other side of it, out of sight behind a ridge of hills. It cuts right through the village, several of the houses on the lower slope of which are in no-man’s land. The Arabs living in them are poor shepherds who are allowed to come and go, and one of our more enterprising officers even issued them certificates of good conduct granting them freedom of movement among the hills and between the two armies. There’s a platoon of Ulstermen there with a brave bucko of a commander who’s actually just a first sergeant. They’ve dug trenches and deployed their machine guns, and they sit there breathing the winter fog that rolls in from the sea to the desert and thinking of Ulster. Now and then they cluck to the goats, or call to some shepherd grazing his flock down the hill to come show them his certificate. Since they speak no Arabic and have no interpreters, they have no dealings with the natives, who pay them as much attention as you would to a lot of flitting shadows. Which is what makes it so extraordinary that he was even noticed that foggy dawn, let alone apprehended. And it’s even more remarkable that, once he was apprehended, it was decided to detain him… so that, looking back on it now, I can’t swear that he didn’t do it deliberately… that he didn’t do everything, in fact, for the sole purpose of being caught, so that he could have his day in court…