Somers could have been speaking to an anonymous interviewer, now that he had gained momentum.
'Morrel was asking questions in the House about the military handling of capital sentences before the war ended. Just a year later the Darling Committee accepted that there were grave problems in the system. Rather too late, of course, for those affected by it.'
'Yes, of course.' Laurence tried to feel soothed by this account of public service.
'And when the Southborough Inquiry reports next year, it wil certainly confirm the validity of shel-shock. Not before time. The government are currently refusing to pay pensions to men who have broken down mentaly without also having been physicaly injured.'
Somers was animated by indignation.
'They invited me to be a member of the board. And that's how I first encountered the journalist.'
Laurence was startled. For a moment he thought he'd lost the thread.
'Journalist?' he asked, with a shiver of apprehension.
'He'd contacted Lambert Ward while researching an article for his newspaper but when he let slip that he'd witnessed a firing squad, Lambert Ward persuaded him to talk at the Darling Committee sessions about the experience of being a Prisoner's Friend. He gave Lambert Ward a photograph of an incident he'd been involved in. For him, I gather, images speak louder than words. Eighteen months or so ago, we thought he might have further information for us, so Lambert Ward asked to see him again. Lambert Ward fel il. I didn't trust Bottomley. Morrel was abroad. Thirtle was in his constituency so I said I'd see him. The colonel gave me the photograph and his file.'
Laurence was becoming increasingly puzzled. Where was the story going now?
'God sent his messenger in the form of Mr Tresham Brabourne. A man who bore witness, who watched my son go to his death. A man who'd been to school with Miles and Hugh. You've met him, I know.'
Somers looked straight at Laurence, who felt a degree of foreboding.
'Keen young chap,' said Somers. 'Reminded me a bit of Miles, to be honest. But now, slowly, agonisingly, I realy learned about Harry's death. I began to get some idea of the paucity of what passed for evidence, of the flimsiness of the case against Harry. Of the carelessness with which they took his life. Speaking to Mr Brabourne took me to the firing line, as it were. But Brabourne was—and remains—quite oblivious of my connection with the man he knows as Edmund Hart. I very much doubt he would have supplied so much detailed information if he'd realised he was speaking to Edmund's father.' He gave a wry smile.
'Young Brabourne had excelent recal of the trial but he couldn't give me al the names, only those he'd served with. However, he did identify Emmett in the photograph.
'Until I spoke to Brabourne, I had no idea who the officer who commanded the firing squad was, or even if he'd survived the war. But just as I was moving towards Captain Emmett, he was moving towards me.
'The final reckoning began in November last year,' Somers said, pre-empting with his slightly raised hand Laurence's attempt to interrupt. 'The homecoming of the Unknown Warrior. A warrior stil fighting, it seems. Rising from his grave, journeying home, welcomed by the greatest in the land, sleeping among kings? Moving stuff, fine spectacle: caught the mood of the nation.'
Laurence nodded. It had al happened at a time when he was scarcely reading the papers, yet the event had slowly seeped into that selfish, armoured part of his life. Although he hadn't been inside Westminster Abbey since then, he did sometimes think, as he walked past, of the anonymous, broken corpse in the vault.
'I went and stood by the track at some smal Kentish station,' Somers said, 'and I watched the train pass from Dover to London. Five seconds of light in the darkness. He was in his box of oak, known only to God and certainly never to be known to anyone on earth. Maybe he was one of the criminal, idle sort: stealing food, cheating at cards, clipped with his head down, trying to keep out of it. Maybe he was a hero who laid down his life for his friend. Al the same, I thought my wife might have liked me to be there. Three-quarters of a milion or more British dead, ten of thousands of bodies never found, and just one man on the train. They weren't good odds but there he was, for a fragment of time, hurtling past in the dark. The possibility of Miles. The shadow of Hugh and Harry. It was foolish, of course, but I was in good company. I stood there and a made a vow to myself: Harry's death would not go unanswered.
'I wasn't the only one who had fancies after that dead man's journey,' Somers said, stil matter-of-fact. 'There was Gwen getting more concerned that she knew so little about Harry's death. But then there was Emmett himself. Things were unraveling. The turning point came when she received this letter—'
'From John Emmett,' Laurence broke in.
'Captain Emmett, on his own inexorable crusade for truth and justice,' Somers said bitterly. 'Emmett had pored over the hulabaloo in the papers. He too had been thinking about the unknown dead. In fact, it turned out he seldom thought of anything else, although at the point of contact with Gwen he was vague and said only that he had information about Harry's death.
'Gwen wrote to me. She assumed, rightly, that it was a fairly standard communication from a surviving comrade in arms, but she was puzzled by the intensity of the tone. I realised the letter's significance immediately and told her I would contact him. I didn't know what to do. I hadn't even told her the truth yet, but it was obvious Emmett fuly intended to do so. I knew then that I couldn't bear the thought of her finding out about her dear boy's sordid end yet.'
In the few minutes' silence that folowed, Laurence strained to hear movement. Wherever Gwen had gone, she was silent. He was cold and his back was stiff; his leg was going dead. He had a feeling that a dark shadow was faling on them al.
'I had waited two decades to do the right thing by Gwen and Harry. It was too late now, of course, so al I could do was intercept Emmett. So I wrote to him, expressing an official interest in his actions. I threw the names in— Darling, Southborough. Mentioned Lambert Ward,' Somers explained. 'Said that I had his name on record as commanding a firing squad. I hoped I might draw his focus away from Gwen for a while. I claimed his testimony would be invaluable.
Laurence could only imagine the effect this interrogation would have had on John, whose memories had never left him. His heart sank.
'I wrote to his Cambridge address—it was on the letter to Gwen—and he replied. I asked him to meet me in London. When he arrived and revealed that he was currently incarcerated, I was surprised. His letters were untidy
