anything in their absence. Every man has the right to face his accusers and defend himself….”
“They chose not to do that,” Faulkner pointed out. “They gave it up; it was not denied them.”
“Nevertheless, we will not try them in their absence,” Hook repeated. “You are appointed prosecutor, not judge. Captain Reavley will do all that he can to trace the men’s whereabouts, and—”
“For God’s sake, man!” Faulkner snapped. “They’ve deserted! They are probably halfway to Switzerland by now.”
“They may be,” Hook agreed. “Or not. All we know is that they are not here, except Cavan.” He looked at Joseph.
“Yes, sir,” Joseph said quickly. “I will do all I can to determine exactly what happened, and if possible find the men and return them. Apart from anything else”—he studiously avoided Faulkner’s eye—“it will be extremely difficult to try Captain Cavan if none of the other men are here who could testify in the matter. There will be no one to give evidence or be questioned. I believe he has not confessed to anything…has he?”
“No,” Hook said instantly. “Quite right, Captain Reavley. Begin immediately. If there is any help you require, I’ll see that you are given it.”
“Report back in twenty-four hours, Captain,” Faulkner said stiffly. “Although I can’t imagine what you think you will find. They have deserted, apart from Cavan. And he may well also be guilty of conniving at and concealing the escape of the others. Certainly he has refused to tell us anything.”
“Or he may be innocent,” Joseph said sharply, a raw edge of anger to his voice. “And feel that he will get a fair hearing, and be able to prove it.”
“You are excused, Captain,” Faulkner told him. “The sooner you begin your inquiries, the sooner we may proceed.”
Joseph saluted, then turned on his heel and left. He had no intention whatever of finding out where the men had gone, even if there had been the remotest chance of succeeding. Privately he thought Faulkner was right and they would almost certainly have made for the Swiss border. However, he was afraid that the regiment in general might suffer, especially anyone who had either positively assisted them, or negatively turned a blind eye. And profoundly he did not wish Cavan to be tried at all, but if it was inevitable, then it should be on a lesser charge, simply of having been aware that some of the men were unhappy with Major Northrup and not reporting it. The general might still succeed in getting the charge reduced.
He was also sure that Hook felt as he did, and had asked him to make the inquiries precisely because he knew he would appear to be busy, but actually do nothing at all.
Some of the men were suspicious at first, resentful that he should appear to be cooperating with Faulkner, but a couple of sharp words from people like Barshey Gee and Bill Harrison and goodwill was restored. Some even joined in a little play-acting, as if determined to help.
But of course it deceived no one. Joseph reported to Faulkner twenty-four hours later.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, investing his voice with as much apology as he could. “None of the men appear to know anything useful. I daresay those accused were very careful to keep it all secret.”
Faulkner listened to him with open disbelief, but he could prove nothing.
At noon the day after that, on Faulkner’s orders, Joseph was arrested for failure to obey a direct order of a superior, and locked up in the same farmhouse from which the eleven men had escaped.
This time there were regular military police on guard, not wounded men, and in order to preserve their own liberty, they were determined that there should be no further breakouts.
They were embarrassed to lock up a chaplain and apologized awkwardly. They treated him with the greatest respect. He did not want to assault their consciences by obliging them to be other than courteous.
By two o’clock he was sitting on the floor in what had once been one of the smaller bedrooms of a farmhouse. The only window gave onto the roof, but from there it was a sheer drop to the ground, where a soldier stood on duty, his rifle at the ready. Not that Joseph had considered escaping. It would only make a desperate situation even worse.
There was nothing to do. Time crept by. Joseph stood up and paced back and forward again. Where were the men? Had they gone east, making for Switzerland? Perhaps they believed the Germans would break the line and the war was lost anyway. It was painful to accept that Morel would desert now. Joseph would have imagined him doing something more dramatic, more imaginative, truer to his roots and his nature than flight. Possibly he would have gone over the top in a grand gesture, giving his life in a way none of his fellows would ever forget.
This escape was tragic, tired and grubby, and the pain of it cut deep.
Food was brought to him at about six o’clock. It was hard rations, much the same as if he were still free. The young soldier looked embarrassed as he put it on the floor just inside, then backed away.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Joseph said wearily. “You don’t need to look like that.”
“No, sir, but I got to be careful. Can’t afford to have anyone else go, or I’ll be the one shot.”
“Why? Was it your fault?”
“No!” He looked indignant.
“How did they get out?”
The soldier shook his head. “You won’t be able to copy ’em, sir. Please don’t try. I really don’t want to shoot you. We’re on the same side, sir. We all are.”
Joseph looked up quickly.
“Who else is in here?”
“Just you an’ Treffy Johnson, an’ the doc, of course.”
“Treffy? What is he here for?” Joseph was startled.
“Insubordination. Nothing much. Probably let him out tomorrow.”
“And send him back up to the line?”
“Yes, of course. Poor little sod.”
Joseph waited.
The soldier pulled his mouth down in a grimace. “He’s only fifteen. Scared stiff, and can’t hardly bring himself to shoot another man, Jerry or not.”
A dozen ideas flashed through Joseph’s mind: to keep Treffy Johnson in here on some other charge, to find a medical reason why he should be invalided out, even as a last resort to put him beside someone who would care for and protect him. They were all pointless. He was one of thousands. He might survive. Even if he did, he would never be the boy he was before. No one would.
“Eat it.” The soldier indicated the tray of food on the floor. “It’s rotten, but it’s probably better than you’d get up the line. And at least it isn’t raining in here.” He went out and closed the door. The moment after, the lock turned and the tumblers fell home.
Joseph walked back to the window out of curiosity. How had the eleven men gotten out, then tied up the guards, and left? The more he thought of it the more obstacles there seemed to be.
He stared over the roof. A man with a good head for heights could probably manage it quite easily and reach a place where there was a down pipe. Except that the whole place was in such disrepair after three years of neglect, and the occasional bombardment extremely close by, that he could not see any down pipes left fully attached. The weight of a man, let alone eleven one after the other, would rip them off altogether. The yard below was paved. Anyone landing on it would be likely to break an ankle at the very least.
He tried to remember the other walls as he had seen them when he came in. There had been nothing to give a firm enough hold to climb down: no outhouses attached, no woodshed or apple house or milking shed. Nothing of half the height to form a safer landing. Certainly there were no trees left within half a mile. And that meant there was also no cover to hide anyone fleeing. But then they had gone at night. Still, the distant artillery lit the sky and would have made any figure on the barren landscape as obvious as a fly on a whitewashed wall.
There had been twelve men imprisoned here, and Treffy Johnson. How had they been separated? There were not thirteen rooms in the house, so at least some had been together. There were no blankets in his room, only a straw palliasse. But then one had no blankets in trenches. And it was August. Could they have used their own clothes to make a rope to descend from the window? All of them? At the same time? Were they even in communication with one another?
The light faded outside and it began to rain again. He could hear it on the window.
He sat on the palliasse in the dark. The more he considered and weighed what he knew, the more it seemed impossible that the men had all gotten out at the same time and tied up the guards. Without help, how had they
