The Horns of the Buffalo (43 page)

The blue eyes turned on Simon. ‘So my advice to this young man is to control his imagination if he wishes to stay in the army.' He swung back to the tribunal. ‘I don't know about the situation in which Fonthill now finds himself, but to sum up, I do not now believe he was malingering back in Brecon, and having seen him in action at Rorke's Drift, I do not believe that he is a coward. Now, gentlemen, may I return to my patients?'

Once again there was complete silence in the little room. Most of the tribunal members, including the lawyer, had been busily making notes as the surgeon spoke, and Simon's eyes were wide as he stared at the little man before him - the rock-hard veteran who was now saying that he was no coward.

Glyn coughed and cocked a quizzical eye at Simon.

‘Eh . . . what?' Simon stuttered. ‘Oh yes, indeed, sir. Do. And thank you very much, Doc - Surgeon Major.'

With a curt nod to the tribunal, Reynolds stumped out of the room, leaving it in silence and Simon lost in thought.

‘Well come on then, Fonthill,' said Glyn. ‘Do you wish to question Colonel Covington on his evidence or not? We can't wait all day.'

Simon thought quickly. What could he gain? Reynolds's evidence had surely destroyed Covington's claim about malingering and it would be better to give the man no chance of casting doubt upon what the surgeon had said.

‘Thank you, but no, sir,' he replied. ‘I believe that the Surgeon Major's evidence has poured light on the charges made against me by Colonel Covington and I have no need to recall the Colonel.'

‘Very well, then. We must now turn to the witnesses for the defence, and I shall begin by reading the affidavits we have received from Major Baxter and Colonel Lamb. Then we shall call Mr Chard.'

The affidavits were short, to the point and similar in tone. That from Baxter expressed surprise at Simon's predicament and told the story of the shipwreck and of Simon's part in it in a matter-of-fact way, but commending the young man's initiative in lowering the boats and getting the troops away from the foundering ship. ‘I find it most surprising that a young officer who I mentioned in my dispatches for cool leadership should have these charges levelled against him.'

Simon bit his knuckles and silently recorded a vote of thanks to the artillery major who was afraid of the sea but not afraid to admit it.

Lamb's submission was less eulogistic - not that Baxter's language had been anything but formal. It recounted the task that had been given to Simon and to Jenkins, and the receipt of Simon's coded message, and informed the court that the contents had been of assistance to the General Staff, although they had been received only after the decision to invade had been taken. Lamb then related how he had instructed both men to return to their base in Natal and that some concern had been felt at their continued absence. Fonthill, wrote Lamb, had appeared to be a good officer who had shown initiative in a difficult task, although the Colonel could not verify any account of his activities in Zululand.

It was clear to Simon, looking along the row of faces on the tribunal, that these officers were less than impressed by the two affidavits as strong bulwarks in his defence. And in all honesty, he had to agree with them. Lamb's statement, in particular, was objective but almost disinterested. He would have to do better with Chard.

The big lieutenant was announced by the sergeant major with a noise level several decibels higher than for any who had been introduced before. The bearded commander of Rorke's Drift had clearly become the Empire's hero, as was evident from the heartfelt tone in which Glyn congratulated him on his achievement and, it seemed to Simon, almost apologised for bothering him with attendance at something as unsavoury as a court martial when there were so many other calls on his time. God, thought Simon, this is becoming even more of a stacked deck as the trial goes on. Well, thank God for Reynolds and to hell with them all! He stood and began his questioning to a subdued and clearly rather puzzled Chard.

‘When I rode up to the drift, what was the first thing I said to you?'

‘You said that you had come from Isandlwana and that a large force of Zulus were on their way to attack us and then, presumably, to go on to invade Natal.'

‘Did I believe myself to be the first man to convey the news to you of the imminent attack by the Zulu impi?'

‘It seemed so. I had to explain to you that others had already brought the news of our defeat at Isandlwana and of our danger.'

‘Did I urge you to pack up and leave?'

‘Yes, but I explained that it was too late for us to do that because we would have been cut down on the road to Helpmakaar, and that we were staying to defend the mission and were prepared to fight.'

‘Quite so.' Simon took a breath and decided to venture down a high-risk route. ‘I was delayed on my ride to warn you. If I had arrived, say, twenty minutes earlier, might it have been possible for you to have packed up and gone to Helpmakaar and so defended that place with the help of the garrison there and with almost certainly fewer lives lost?'

Chard frowned for a moment. ‘I suppose it would have been possible, but to be honest, I don't think another twenty minutes or so would have done us much good. We would never have got the wounded away in time. We had to stay.'

Damn! But it was worth the try. Simon reverted to his original line of questioning. ‘When you explained the problem to me, did I then ride away as,' he shot a scornful gaze at Covington, ‘a coward would surely have done?'

‘No. I offered you the chance to do so.' Chard turned to the tribunal with a wry smile. ‘Several others had previously ridden by, but Fonthill agreed to stay and help us defend the station. We had only two commissioned officers.'

‘Indeed. During the defence, did I play a full part, manning the walls where ordered?'

Chard nodded vigorously. ‘Very much so. Bromhead and I were glad to have you with us. You fought through the night with the rest of us.'

Thank goodness for that, thought Simon. An unequivocal tribute at last! He decided to leave it at that.

‘I have no further questions,' he told Glyn.

The chairman nodded to Bradshaw, who rose slowly to his feet. ‘I won't keep you long, Mr Chard,' he said. ‘But tell me. How long after Mr Fonthill's arrival at the drift did the Zulus begin their attack?'

Chard pulled at his beard. ‘Oh, very soon afterwards, I would think. They seemed to be on his heels. Perhaps three minutes. Maybe even less.'

‘Ah.' Bradshaw nodded sagely. ‘So isn't it true that Mr Fonthill
really
had no choice in staying to fight? The Zulus were so closely on his heels - and he must surely have known this - that they would have cut him down in the open ground beyond the mission station, particularly with him riding a horse which must surely have been exhausted.'

Chard shrugged his shoulders and looked embarrassed. It was clear that he would rather have led a thousand bayonet charges against the Zulus than be forced to pin down a colleague from the witness box. ‘I suppose so. But it didn't seem like that at the time.'

‘You suppose so,' repeated Bradshaw. ‘Yes. Quite. Just one further question. During the defence of the mission station, did Mr Fonthill play a
particularly
distinguished role? In other words, did you give him any task that demanded special standards of bravery and leadership - such as leading a sally against the attackers? After all, he was one of only three officers in the defending force and you must have been in need of senior soldiers who could take a leadership role. Or did he just take his place along the walls with the rest of the men?'

Once again Chard looked embarrassed. ‘I . . . er . . . don't think so. He was very tired, you see, having been at Isandlwana. I let him play his part, with the men, on the walls.'

‘Ah yes. Thank you, Mr Chard, I shall not bother you further.'

Simon had to admit that Bradshaw had done a good job. Suddenly his role at Rorke's Drift had been cut down to size: not being able to run like a rabbit, he had been put on the mealie bag wall with the men, leaving the leadership to the hard-pressed subalterns Chard and Bromhead. Surely the young captain of artillery could earn a good living at the bar - particularly with Covington as his briefing solicitor! But Glyn was addressing the court.

‘. . . will now adjourn this court martial. You, Mr Fonthill, and you, Captain Bradshaw, will now write your cases for the defence and the prosecution respectively and mail them to the court by eight a.m. tomorrow morning. The tribunal will read them and then the court will reconvene to hear the Deputy Judge Advocate's summing-up, after which we will adjourn again to consider our verdict. I estimate that we shall be able to reconvene for the last time to deliver our verdict by approximately four p.m. tomorrow afternoon.' He sounded pleased that the miserable business was being concluded so expeditiously.

‘AttenSHUN!' once more, and then Simon was back in his cell, sitting at the small camp table, hearing again Reynolds's opinion of him as neither a malingerer nor a coward. It was the only good news he had received since first he and Jenkins had crossed the Tugela. Not a coward! Of course not. He had always known it - but how good to have it confirmed! What effect would Reynolds's evidence have on the court martial, though? Covington's case against him on the second charge was now circumstantial, although the QM's evidence remained potentially damaging. He must now write a reasoned defence, one that would save his life.

It fell, of course, into two parts. The justification of his knock-down of Covington must be that he felt that his arrest could delay the news of the Zulu attack so that the border post would be taken by surprise. Violence was the only route he could take to do his duty - and Covington
had
manhandled him . . . The second charge was more amorphous. Lamb had confirmed that his orders were to play an intelligence role behind the Zulu lines, but, dammit, he had no witnesses to show that he
had
played the role. That was the rub. Best simply to tell the truth and make it sound as plausible as possible. At least this time he had a serviceable pen and not a stub of pencil. He began scratching away.

 

The court was reconvened at eleven o'clock the next morning to hear the Deputy Judge Advocate give his summing-up, after he and the other members of the tribunal had read the written cases for the prosecution and the defence.

The tall man rose, arranged his notes on the small table in front of him, grabbed his gown with both hands at his breast and looked around him. His face was thin and clean-shaven and the years of studying briefs showed in his eyes, which, behind his spectacles, were pale and watery. He began by explaining that his role was to help the members of the tribunal by advising on points of law and, specifically, by summing up the written cases and the evidence that had been heard. The sentences on both charges could be challenged on appeal by Simon to the Commander-in-Chief in South Africa - if it was decided that he had grounds for doing so - and the C-in-C, if he wished, could pass the appeal on to the Commander-in-Chief of the British Army at the Horse Guards in London.

Simon looked to the back of the court. The camp stool had been untenanted after the first few minutes of the first day. Alice, it seemed, had better things to do. He tried to concentrate on the words that were being dropped into the quietness of the courtroom like dry pebbles plopping into a tranquil pond.

The prosecution case, as summarised by the lawyer, was pure Covington. Simon had hit him to resist arrest after fleeing from Isandlwana when the fighting became difficult before the line broke. He and Jenkins had been nowhere near Cetswayo's capital - how could any British officer who spoke no Zulu have survived there? - and had camped out in Zululand, sending back speculative information to the Cape, planning to rejoin the British column after it had successfully defeated the Zulus. However, they had got their timing wrong and had arrived at Isandlwana by mistake
before
the battle. The Surgeon Major's view on the accused's coma was, by his own admission, speculative, given the unknown nature of such a condition. Better to trust the judgement of Fonthill's CO, who had known him for three years. The judgement on both counts must be guilty.

The lawyer's summation of Simon's case was equally balanced and forensically presented. However, here the Deputy Judge Advocate began, almost imperceptibly, to interpose some doubts of his own: the blow
had
been struck, the defendant was not denying it, but was the justification for it warranted, even in time of stress and war? Also it might be felt that the accused's story of his four months in Zululand did seem perhaps to have been unusual, if not highly coloured. After all, he had been given an order by Colonel Lamb to return immediately to Natal and he had not done so. On the other hand . . .

The lawyer's dissertation continued, the cool, carefully balanced phrases dropping limpidly into the humid little room. Colonel Glyn hardly took his eyes off the tall man throughout his summing-up; and then Simon realised, with a start, that Covington was sitting in the room, listening intently, one elegant leg crossed over the other, a finger stroking his moustaches.

Eventually the lawyer finished and, with a half-bow to Glyn, sat down. Simon felt that the delicate balance of the scales had been marginally tipped against him.

The Colonel took a gold watch from his pocket, consulted it and said, ‘We will now break for luncheon and consider our verdict. We will reconvene as soon as possible afterwards.'

Once again Simon was led away to his room in the shack, but this time he had no appetite for the simple fare provided for him. Whatever euphoria had been created by Reynolds's evidence had now disappeared under the probe of the lawyer's analysis. It was clear which way the verdicts would go: he would either be cashiered or shot. Both ways would bring dishonour and, quite soberly, he decided that he would prefer the latter. He was well aware of how structured was the society in which he had been brought up and of how heavy were the penalties for those who broke the rules. It was quite acceptable to be a
privately
dishonourable man; many men were, and even flaunted it. It was the
public
disgrace that was unforgivable - and it would be shared, in that cruel fashion of the day, by his parents. He would rather join Jenkins, that inestimable man who had lived by his own clear and, to the sensible mind, quite moral set of rules.