Free A Whispered Name by William Brodrick Page A

probable consequences of his actions. If the accused absented himself
to avoid a special or dangerous duty, that act raises a presumption of
intention to so avoid. You are entitled to act on that presumption unless the
accused can prove other-wise’
    ‘That’s
what I said,’ replied Glanville, ‘only in a more memorable fashion.’
    ‘Of
course, Sir.’
    ‘Third,’
resumed Glanville, ‘a couple of years back, a lad pleaded guilty to desertion
and was promptly shot the following week. Since then we take a not guilty plea
whether the accused holds his hands up or not.’
    As
Herbert tried to reconcile the implications of these last two decrees, Oakley
said, ‘I’m sorry, Sir … you mean we presume that he’s guilty, make him enter
a not guilty plea, and then see if we can find a defence to undermine our own
presumption?’
    ‘I do.’
He examined Oakley with a smile — the remote smile, Herbert thought, of a
professional soldier faced with the mystification of a volunteer. ‘There’s a
logic to it, Lieutenant, if you think about it long enough.’
    Oakley
looked like he’d only recently come out of the firing line, perhaps the night
before — it left a mark on a soldier for several days: a kind of pallor and
exhaustion of spirit. He had a broad forehead and his mouth sloped down
slightly at the sides. Not having a neck of any significant length, his head
seemed to be balanced on his shoulders.
    ‘I hope
you don’t mind my asking, Sir,’ continued the Lieutenant, ‘but why is there no
Prisoner’s Friend for the defence?’
    ‘The
lad doesn’t want one,’ replied Glanville.
    ‘And a
CMO … a Court Martial Officer?’
    ‘There
aren’t enough to go round.’ Glanville smiled again, remoter still to the
disquiet of the civilian mind. In a soothing tone — or perhaps he was lightly
mocking his own masters — he said, ‘Fortunately we’ve got Mr Chamberlayne to
keep us on the straight and narrow.
    The
prosecutor made another bow with his head. (As far as Herbert knew, prior to
his expulsion from Oxford, he’d been reading Greats.)
    Herbert
strongly suspected that Oakley’s questions were derived from a hasty reading of
Lieutenant Colonel S.T. Banning. That showed diligence, at least. But it also
demonstrated one of the realities in this endless war: most of the
college—trained officers had been killed, very early on, in fact; the
volunteers or conscripts who filled their place had little if any idea of
military law or procedure. But what did that matter? Desertion was a terribly simple offence.
    ‘A
final word of advice … and some encouragement,’ said Glanville. ‘The advice:
remember what I said earlier; don’t think about the ultimate sanction. That’s
none of your concern. Your job is straightforward: find out what happened
according to the evidence. Parliament wrote the law; all you have to do is see
if the lad fits the bill. Now the encouragement: if the offence is proved, then
there will be a sentence, like day follows night — and if it’s death, then it’s
someone else’s job to decide whether it’s the right thing to do or not. Your
hands are clean either way. It’s nothing to do with you. For what it’s worth,
most of them get reprieved. Now, let’s do our duty.’
    Chamberlayne
opened a pair of double doors and they all passed into the improvised court.
     
    2
     
    A table for the court had
been placed centrally between two windows. Upon it was a pile of paper, a
pencil, a large red book (the Manual of Military Law) and a small black
book (the Bible). To one side was a smaller table for Chamberlayne. The room
was high and airy with a fireplace in the corner. Wood panelling shaped like a
Greek temple rose from the mantelpiece to frame a cracked mirror. School desks
lined a wall as if they were seats for the jury. A chair had been placed in the
centre for the accused. At a signal from Glanville, an escort of two soldiers
marched Private Joseph Flanagan into the room.
    He