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“About twenty years,” Niemann replied. “We met as students.”
“And you were friends?”
“Yes. Allies during the uprisings in ’48.”
“You are speaking of the revolutions which swept Europe in that year?”
“Yes.” A strange expression crossed Niemann’s face, as if the mere mention of the time brought all kinds of memories sweeping back, bitter and sweet. Hester wondered if the jury saw it as clearly as she did. Monk was not permitted in the room because Pendreigh had reserved the right to call him as witness.
“You fought side by side?” Pendreigh continued.
“Yes, figuratively, not always literally,” Niemann answered.
“Most of us in the room”-Pendreigh waved an arm to indicate the crowd-“but principally the jury, have never experienced such a thing. We have not found our government sufficiently oppressive to rise against it. We have not seen barricades in the street, nor had our own armies turned upon us.” His voice was outwardly quite calm, but there was an underlying passion in it, not in the tone, but in the timbre. “Would you tell us what it was like?”
Mills rose to his feet, his face puckered with assumed confusion. “My lord, while we sympathize with the Austrian people’s desire for greater freedom, and we regret that they did not succeed in their aim, I do not see the relevance of Mr. Niemann’s recollections to the murder of Mrs. Beck in London this year. We concede that the accused was involved, and that he fought with courage. Nor do we doubt that Mr. Niemann was his friend, and still is, and is prepared to put himself to considerable trouble and expense to attempt to rescue him from his present predicament. Old loyalties die hard, which is in many ways admirable.”
The judge looked at Pendreigh enquiringly.
“Mr. Niemann has a long friendship with the accused and the deceased, my lord,” Pendreigh explained. “He can tell us much of their feelings for one another. But he was also in London at the time of the murder, and was in Swinton Street immediately before that event-” He was interrupted by a buzz of amazement from the crowd, and the rustle and creak of two hundred people shifting position, sitting more upright, even craning forward.
“Indeed?” the judge said with some surprise. “Then proceed. But do not drag it out with irrelevancies, Mr. Pendreigh. I have already given you a great deal of latitude in that direction.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Pendreigh bowed very slightly and turned to Niemann again. “Can you tell us, as briefly as possible without sacrificing truth, the parts each of them played in the uprising, and their relationship to each other?”
“I can try,” Niemann said thoughtfully. “They were not married then, of course. Elissa was a widow. She was English, but she fought for the Austrian cause with a passion I think greater than many of us who were native had.” His voice was soft as he spoke, and both the tenderness and the admiration he felt were apparent. “She was tireless, always encouraging others, trying to think of new ways to confront the authorities and draw the sympathy of more people to make them understand the justice of our cause and believe we could win. It was as if there were a light inside her, a flame from which she would set a spark to burn in the souls of more lukewarm people.”
For a moment he was silent, as if needing to regain his self-control so he could go on trying to show these calm-faced Englishmen in their tailored suits what passion and courage had been in the streets of Vienna, facing an overwhelming enemy.
Everyone was watching him. Hester moved fractionally in her seat. She wondered what Callandra was thinking, if this memory of heroism and unity hurt her, or perhaps if all she cared about now was proving Kristian innocent, or even just saving his life. She glanced sideways at her and wished she had not. It was intrusive, looking at a nakedness that should not be seen.
Then, to her surprise, she caught sight of Charles on the other side of the aisle, and Imogen beside him. Since she had refused to testify, saying she had not seen Niemann, why were they here? Was it simply a concern to see the truth of the matter, even a loyalty to Hester, although neither of them had spoken to her? Or was there some deeper cause, some purpose of their own?
Imogen looked haggard, her eyes enormous. Could she know something after all, and if the utmost disaster fell, she would speak?
“She was the bravest person I ever knew.” Niemann’s voice filled the room again. It was quiet, as if he were talking to himself, and yet the absolute stillness carried the sound of it to every ear.
Hester turned forward again.
“She was not foolish, and God knew, we lost enough of us that she saw death intimately.” Niemann’s lips tightened, and there was a wince of pain as he spoke. His voice dropped a little. People strained to hear him. “She knew the risks, but she conquered her own fear so completely I never once saw her show it. She was a truly remarkable woman.”
“And Kristian Beck?” Pendreigh prompted.
Niemann lifted his head. “He was remarkable also, but in a different way.” His voice resumed its strength. He was speaking now of a man who was his friend, and still alive, not of a woman he had only too obviously loved. “He was the leader of our group-”
Pendreigh held up his hand. “Why was he the leader, Mr. Niemann? Why he, and not, for example, you?”
Niemann looked slightly surprised.
“Was it by election, because of superior knowledge, or was he perhaps older than the rest of you?” Pendreigh enquired.
Niemann blinked. “I think it was common assent,” he replied. “He had the qualities of decision, courage, the ability to command respect and obedience and loyalty. I don’t remember us deciding. It more or less happened.”
“But he was a doctor, not a soldier,” Pendreigh pointed out. “Would it not have been more natural to put him in some kind of medical duty, rather than in command of what was essentially a fighting unit?”
“No.” Niemann shook his head. “Kristian was the best.”
“In what way?” Pendreigh pursued. “Was he also passionately dedicated to the cause?”
