Chapter Forty-eight

At dawn, John Latimer was again kicked and dragged out of his cage. Brack Cooley frog-marched him in front of the podium where Rupert Bentley-Foulkes was waiting, his face stern. Two other young men were also present, and Latimer assumed that they were the two lieutenants who would sit in judgment of him.

“Captain Latimer, you know why you’re here,” Bentley-Foulkes said. “Let’s not drag this out any longer than we need to. How do you plead?”

“I need a drink of water,” Latimer said.

“You will get water before your execution,” Bentley-Foulkes said. “I will not send a man to hell thirsty. Lieutenant Allerton, please enter a plea for the defendant.”

“Not guilty,” the young man said. He looked as though he’d just sucked on a lemon.

“Very well then, let the trial commence,” Bentley-Foulkes said. “We will return to the events of the twenty-third of June, 1879, on the Indian Northwest Frontier. Captain Latimer, you will now tell the court about that day and the death of Lieutenant Thomas Bentley-Foulkes of the Fifty-first Lancers at the hands of a small party of Afghan tribesmen.”

“Go to hell,” Latimer said. “This trial is a farce and you know it, Bentley-Foulkes. Shoot me and get it over with, you damned scoundrel.”

Bentley-Foulkes shook his head. “I will see justice done,” he said. “Lieutenant Wood, read the official report of the action.”

“The only official report was mine, and it was given verbally,” Latimer said.

Wood ignored that and said, “This report was later submitted to General Sir Frederick Roberts by a member of his staff.”

Bentley-Foulkes said, “Let it be entered into the record. Proceed, Lieutenant Wood, but it’s a lengthy document, so just cover the main points.”

“Yes, sir. On the twenty-third of June, 1879, Captain Latimer led a scouting patrol of nine lancers into India’s Northwest Frontier of which Lieutenant Thomas Bentley-Foulkes was a supernumerary, having volunteered for the reconnaissance in the hope of getting to grips with the enemy.”

“Indeed, he did,” Bentley-Foulkes said, smiling. “Carry on, Lieutenant Wood.”

“Certainly, sir. Captain Latimer sent his command into an abandoned village to ascertain if there were any Afghan tribesmen present, and then sat his horse at some considerable remove while his order was carried out.”

“That’s a damned lie,” Latimer said. This earned him a slap from Cooley.

“Carry on, Lieutenant,” Bentley-Foulkes said.

“Yes, sir. A large force of Afghans attacked the patrol from the cover of an adjoining thorn-tree patch, and Lieutenant Bentley-Foulkes and his lancers were quickly overwhelmed. At this point Captain John Latimer had already fled the field and took no further part in the action.” Then, after a short pause. “The bodies of a sergeant and three privates were later recovered from the abandoned village, but the remains of Lieutenant Bentley-Foulkes were never found. It is thought the officer’s body was carried away by the Afghans and burned.”

“The facts seem to speak for themselves,” Bentley-Foulkes said. “Lieutenant Allerton, have you anything to say on behalf of Captain Latimer? Confine your remarks to the events of the twenty-third of June.”

“Yes, sir. Captain Latimer said he discharged his revolver into the ranks of the Afghans, killing several. But it was only when he saw that his men were already dead did he retreat.”

“Sir, we only have Captain Latimer’s word for that,” Lieutenant Wood said. “May I remind the court that he is not a gentleman and as a consequence is not bound by truth?”

Lieutenant Allerton, warming to his task, said, “Captain Latimer is the son of an impoverished country parson who had ten children that he could ill afford to feed and clothe. That is why his oldest son, twelve-year-old John, went for a soldier and joined the army as a drummer boy. Through dint of hard work and obedience to orders, he quickly moved through the ranks and was commissioned a second lieutenant when he was twenty-three years old. The trial counsel is correct that Captain Latimer rose from humble beginnings and is not a gentleman. It is the opinion of the defense that he should therefore not be held to a gentleman’s code of conduct.”

Lieutenant Wood said, “May I remind the court that, apart from Lieutenant Bentley-Foulkes, the lancers who died were not gentlemen, but by God, sir, they fought and died as though they were. Should we not expect the same behavior from their commanding officer?”

“A point well taken, Lieutenant Wood,” Bentley-Foulkes said. “Now, let us consider the military events in India that led up to the twenty-third of June and the death of the gallant Lieutenant Thomas Bentley-Foulkes. . .”

John Latimer, his head reeling from a lack of water and food and his ribs throbbing from the kicking they’d taken from Brack Cooley, listened in growing disbelief and horror to the travesty of justice unfolding around him. He would be found guilty, that was inevitable . . . He just wished it would soon be over.