William Monk 07 - Weighed in the Balance

honor forbids you to mention names, may I ask you if you believe the Queen would have approved your cause?”
    Florent smiled. He was extraordinarily handsome. “She would have approved Friedrich’s return to lead the party forindependence,” he replied. “Providing it met with her terms, which were absolute.”
    “Are you aware what they were?”
    “Naturally. I would not be party to negotiating any arrangement which did not meet with her approval.” His face relaxed into a kind of black humor. “Apart from any loyalty to her, no such plan could work.”
    Rathbone relaxed a little as well, giving a slight shrug. “I assume the Queen is a woman of great power?”
    “Very great,” Florent agreed. “Both political and personal.”
    “And what were her terms, Mr. Barberini?”
    Florent answered intently, with no pause, no consciousness of the jury, the judge or the gallery listening.
    “That he come alone,” he said. “She would not tolerate the Princess Gisela’s coming with him as his wife. She was to remain in exile and be put from him.”
    There was a gasp around the court and a sigh of exhaled breath.
    Gisela lifted her head a little and closed her eyes, refusing to look at anyone.
    Harvester’s face was grim, but there was nothing for him to say. There was no legal objection.
    Zorah remained expressionless.
    Rathbone was again obliged to break all his own rules. He must ask a crucial question to which he did not know the answer, but there was no alternative open to him.
    “And were these terms made known to him, Mr. Barberini?”
    “They were.”
    Again there was a rustle from the crowd, and someone hissed disapproval.
    “Are you certain of that?” Rathbone pressed. “Were you present?”
    “Yes, I was.”
    “And what was Prince Friedrich’s answer?”
    The silence prickled the air. A man in the very last seat in thegallery moved, and the squeak of his boots was audible from where Rathbone stood.
    The bleakest of smiles flickered over Florent’s face and disappeared.
    “He did not answer.”
    Rathbone felt the sweat break out on his skin.
    “Not at all?”
    “He argued,” Florent elaborated. “He asked a great many questions. But the accident happened before the discussions were concluded irrevocably.”
    “So he did not refuse outright?” Rathbone demanded, his voice rising in spite of his efforts to control it.
    “No, he put forward his own counterproposals.”
    “Which were?”
    “That he should come and bring Gisela with him.” Unconsciously, Florent omitted the courtesy title of Princess, betraying his thoughts of her. To him she would always be a commoner.
    “And did Count Lansdorff accept that?” Rathbone asked.
    “No.” It was said without hesitation.
    Rathbone raised his eyebrows. “It was not open to negotiation?”
    “No, it was not.”
    “Do you know why? If the Queen, and the Count Lansdorff, feel as passionately about the freedoms of which you spoke, and if those who would form any political fighting force do also, surely the acceptance of Princess Gisela as Friedrich’s wife is a small price to pay for his return as leader? He could rally the forces as no one else could. He is the King’s eldest son, the natural heir to the throne, the natural leader.”
    Harvester did rise this time.
    “My lord, Mr. Barberini is not competent to answer such a question—unless he makes some claim to speak for the Queen, and can demonstrate such authority.”
    “Sir Oliver”—the judge leaned forward—“do you proposeto call Count Lansdorff to the stand? You cannot have Mr. Barberini answer for him. Such an answer will be hearsay, as you know.”
    “Yes, my lord,” Rathbone replied gravely. “With your lordship’s permission, I shall call Count Lansdorff to the stand. His aide informed me he is reluctant to appear, which is understandable, but I think Mr. Barberini’s evidence has given us no choice in the matter. Reputations, and perhaps lives, depend upon our knowing the truth.”
    Harvester looked unhappy, but to object would make it appear that he believed Gisela could not afford the truth, and that was tantamount to defeat, in public opinion if not in law. And by now the law was only a small part of the issue. It hardly mattered what could be proved to a jury; it was what people believed.
    The court adjourned for the night in a bedlam of noise. Newspapermen scrambled over each other, even knocking aside ordinary pedestrians, to make their way outside and