In the morning, Count Rolf Lansdorff took the stand. He did so grimly, but without protest. To show his displeasure would have been beneath the dignity of a man who was not only a soldier and a statesman, but brother to the most formidable queen in the German states, if not in Europe. Looking at him as he stood upright, head high, shoulders back, eyes level and direct, one was not likely to mistake him.

"Count Lansdorff," Rathbone began with the utmost politeness. The man was already an enemy, simply by the act of Rathbone's having called him to stand witness and be questioned like a common man. He did not know whether it was a mitigating circ.u.mstance, or one which added to the offense, that it had not happened in the Count's own country. It was not the law which had compelled him to be here, but the necessity of answering public opinion, of defending himself, and then his dynasty, before the bar of Europe's history.

Rolf was listening.

"Mr. Barberini has told us that while you were at Wellborough Hall this spring you met a number of times with the late Prince Friedrich," Rathbone began again, "in order to discuss the possibility of his returning to his country to lead a fight to retain independence, rather than be swallowed up in a unified Germany. Is this substantially correct?"

Rolf's muscles tightened even more until he was standing rigid, like a soldier on parade in front of a general.

"It is..." he conceded. "Substantially."

"Are there details in which it is...inadequate or misleading?" Rathbone kept his tone almost casual.

There was not a sound in the room.

He turned and took a step or two, as though thinking.

Gisela sat with an expressionless face. Rathbone was startled how strong it was in repose, how p.r.o.nounced the bones. There was no softness in her mouth, no vulnerability. He wondered what inner despair filled her that she could look so impervious to what was going on around her. It seemed as if truly, now that Friedrich was dead, nothing could touch her. Perhaps it was only for his sake, for his memory, that she had brought this action at all.

Rolf's lips closed in a thin, delicate line. He took a deep breath. His expression was one as of a man biting into something that had turned sour.

"The offer was conditional, not absolute," he replied.

"Upon what, Count Lansdorff?"

"That is a political matter, and a family matter, both of delicacy and confidentiality," Rolf replied coolly. "It would be cra.s.s to discuss it in public, and extremely insensitive."

"I am aware of that, sir," Rathbone said gravely. "And we all regret that it should be necessary...absolutely necessary, in order that justice should prevail. If it is any service in sparing your feelings, may I ask you if the condition was that Prince Friedrich should divorce his wife and return alone?"

Rolf's face tightened till the light shone on the smooth planes of his cheeks and brow and his nose seemed like a blade.

The judge looked deeply unhappy. It occurred to Rathbone with a jolt that doubtless the Lord Chancellor had sent a word of warning to him, too.

"That was the condition," Rolf said icily.

"And did you have hopes that he would meet it?" Rathbone pressed relentlessly.

Rolf was startled. It was obviously not the question he had expected. It took him an instant to collect his thoughts and reply.

"I had hoped that I would be able to prevail upon whatever sense of honor he had left, sir." He did not look at Rathbone but at some point on the wooden paneling in the wall far above the lawyer's head.

"Had he given you indication of that before you came to England, Count Lansdorff? Or was there some other circ.u.mstance or event which led you to believe that he had changed his mind since his original abdication?" Rathbone pursued.

Rolf still stood like a soldier on parade, but now one who heard the steps of the firing squad come to a halt.

"Sometimes one's obsession with love subsides into something of better proportion with time," he replied with intense dislike. "I had hoped that when Friedrich learned of his country's need, he would set aside his personal feelings and follow the duty for which he was born and groomed, and whose privileges he was happy to accept for the first thirty years of his life."

"It would be a great sacrifice..." Rathbone said tentatively.

Rolf glared at him. "All men make sacrifices for their country, sir! Does any Englishman whom you respect answer the call to arms by saying he would rather remain at home with his wife?" His voice almost choked it was so thick with disgust. "d.a.m.n the invader or the foreign army which would trample his land! Let someone else fight him. He would rather dance in Venice and float around in a gondola making love to some woman! Would you admire such a man, sir?"

"No, I would not," Rathbone replied with a sudden sense of the shame which burned in the man in front of him. Friedrich was not only his prince but his sister's son, his own blood. And Rathbone had forced him to this conclusion in front of a courtroom of ordinary people of the street-a foreign street at that. "Did you put this to him at Wellborough Hall, Count Lansdorff?"

"I did."

"And his reply?"

"That if we needed him so profoundly in order to fight to retain our independence, then we should make the allowance and accept that woman as his wife."

There was a wave of emotion around the room like the backwash of a tide.

For once Gisela too reacted. She winced as if she had been threatened with a blow to the face.

"And considering how much might ride on his return, were you willing to accept those terms?" Rathbone asked in the silence.

Rolf's chin rose a fraction. "No sir, we were not."

There was a sigh across the gallery.

"You say 'we,' " Rathbone said. "Who else do you mean, Count Lansdorff?"

"Those of us who believe the best future for our country lies in our continued independence and the laws and privileges which we presently enjoy," Rolf answered. "Those who believe that the alliance with other German states, in particular Prussia or Austria, will be a step back into a darker and more repressive age."

"And have they declined you as their leader?" Rathbone inquired.

Rolf looked at him as if he had spoken in an unintelligible language.

Rathbone moved a little across the floor, to command his attention again.

"Is your sister, Queen Ulrike, of that conviction, Count Lansdorff?"

"She is."

"And your nephew, Crown Prince Waldo?"

Rolf's face remained almost expressionless, only an increased rigidity in his shoulders betraying his feelings.

"He is not."

"Naturally, or he would lead the party and Friedrich's return would not be necessary. I understand the health of His Majesty the King gives cause for great concern?"

"The King is extremely ill. He is failing," Rolf agreed.

Rathbone turned again, facing slightly the other way.

"Your motives for wishing Prince Friedrich's return are very easily understandable, sir. Indeed, I imagine almost every man or woman here could sympathize with you and, given the same circ.u.mstances, would probably do as you have done. What is far harder to understand-in fact, for me it is impossible-is why your hatred of Princess Gisela ran so deeply as to make her abandonment a condition of Prince Friedrich's return. It does not seem to make sense."

He turned his head to glance momentarily at Gisela. "She is a charming and attractive woman, and has proved an excellent wife to Prince Friedrich-loyal, dignified, witty, one of the most successful hostesses in Europe. There has never been a word even whispered against her reputation in any sense. Why were you prepared to jeopardize your battle for independence simply to see that she did not return home with her husband?"

Rolf stood stiffly in the box. He did not move his hands from his sides but remained at attention.

"Sir, the situation is an old one, of some twelve-odd years. You know nothing of it except the last few months. For you to a.s.sume that you could possibly understand it is ridiculous."

"I need to understand it," Rathbone a.s.sured him. "The court needs to."

"You do not!" Rolf contradicted. "It has nothing to do with Friedrich's death or with the Countess Rostova's slander."

The judge looked at Rolf, a slight frown creasing his forehead, but when he spoke his voice was still infinitely polite.

"You are not the jury in this matter, Count Lansdorff. You are in an English court now, and I will decide what is necessary and what is not, according to the law. And those twelve gentlemen"-he indicated the jury-"will deliberate and decide what they believe to be true. I cannot force you to answer Sir Oliver's questions. I can only advise you that should you fail to do so, you will invite an adverse opinion as to the reason for your silence. And murder is a capital crime. This particular murder was committed on English soil and is subject to English law, whoever the man or woman who committed it may be."

Rolf looked ashen.

"I have no idea who killed Friedrich or why. Ask your questions." He did not add "and be d.a.m.ned," but it was in his face.

"Thank you, my lord," Rathbone acknowledged, then turned back to Rolf.

"Was the Princess Gisela aware of your negotiations, Count Lansdorff?"

"Not from me. Whether Friedrich told her or not, I don't know."

"You could not deduce from her behavior?" Rathbone said with surprise.

"She is not a woman whose thoughts or feelings are readily visible in her expression," Rolf answered coldly and without even glancing towards Gisela. "Whether her continued"-he searched for the word-"enjoyment of the party was due to ignorance of our mission or to confidence that Friedrich would never leave her, I have no way of knowing."

"Had you ever joined such a party before, Count Lansdorff?"

"Not if Friedrich was there, no. I am the Queen's brother. Friedrich chose to go into exile rather than fulfill his destiny." The d.a.m.nation was complete in his expression and in the tone of his hard, precise voice.

"So we may deduce that Gisela believed Friedrich would not leave her?"

"You may deduce what you please, sir."

Harvester smiled bleakly. Rathbone caught it out of the corner of his eye. He tried another approach.

"Were you empowered to make any decisions regarding terms or concessions to Prince Friedrich, Count Lansdorff? Or did you have to refer back to the Queen?"

"There were no concessions to make," Rolf answered with a frown. "I thought I had made that plain, sir. Her Majesty would not countenance the return of Gisela Berentz, either as crown princess or as consort. If Friedrich did not accept those terms, then another leader for the cause would be sought."

"Who?"

"I do not know."

Rathbone thought that was a lie, but he could see from Rolf's face that it was the only answer he would receive.

"It is a very extreme hatred the Queen has for the Princess Gisela," he said thoughtfully. "It seems contrary to the best interests of her country to allow such a personal emotion to govern her actions." It was not really a question, but he hoped it would sting Rolf into a defensive response.

He was successful.

"It is not a personal hatred!" Rolf said. "The woman was unacceptable as Friedrich's wife...for many reasons, none of which are merely personal." He used the term with the utmost derision.

Rathbone deliberately turned and stared at Gisela as she sat beside Harvester. She was a picture of grief, a perfect victim. Harvester did not need to defend her from Rolf, her own demeanor did it better than any words of his could have. He looked angry, but satisfied.

Zorah was sitting upright, tense, her face white.

Rathbone turned back to Rolf.

"She seems eminently suitable to me," he said innocently. "She has dignity, presence, the admiration, even the love or the envy, of half the world. What more could you wish?"

Rolf's mouth twisted with an emotion which was as much pain as scorn.

"She has the art to seduce men, the wit to make herself the center of attention, and the style to dress well. That is all."

There was a hiss from the gallery. One of the jurors let out an exclamation of horror.

"Oh, come sir..." Rathbone protested, his pulse suddenly racing, his mouth dry. "That seems, at the very kindest, ungallant and highly prejudiced-at the worst, as if founded in some acutely personal hatred-"

Rolf lost his temper. At last he unbent and leaned forward over the railing, glaring across at Rathbone.

"That you should be ignorant of her nature, sir, is hardly your fault. Most of Europe is ignorant of it, thank G.o.d. I would that they could have remained so, but you force my hand. Like any other royal house, we need an heir. Waldo will not provide one, through no fault of his own. That is not a matter I can or will discuss. Gisela is childless of her own choice-"

There was a wave of reaction from the gallery.

Harvester half rose in his seat, but his protest was lost in a general noise.

The judge banged his gavel for silence and a return to order.

Rathbone looked at Rolf, then at Gisela. She seemed almost bloodless, her eyes huge and hollow, but he had no idea whether it was fear, horror, mortification at such public disclosure, or an old grief reawakened.

The noise still had not subsided. He turned to Zorah.

She seemed as surprised and confused as anyone.

The judge banged his gavel again. Order returned.

"Count Lansdorff?" Rathbone said distinctly.

Rolf would not now be stopped. "Had Friedrich put her aside, he could have married a more suitable woman, one who would have given the country an heir," he continued. "There are many young women of n.o.ble birth and spotless reputation, pleasing enough in manner and appearance." He did not look away from Rathbone, but his face tightened in reluctance. "The Baroness von Arlsbach would have been perfect; she would always have been perfect. The Queen begged him to marry her. She had every virtue, and is deeply loved by the people. Her family is unblemished. Her own reputation grows higher by the month."

He ignored the people, even the jurors, every set of eyes scanning the benches to see if she was present. "She has dignity, honor, the loyalty of the people and the respect of all those who meet her, native and foreigner alike," he continued. "But he chose that woman instead." His eyes flickered for a moment to Gisela and away again. "And we are left barren!"

"That is a tragedy which has affected many dynasties, Count Lansdorff," Rathbone said sympathetically. "We are not unfamiliar with it here in England. You will have to amend your const.i.tution so the crown may pa.s.s laterally through the female line." He ignored Rolf's expression of incredulity. "But you could not know when Prince Friedrich married Gisela that that union would be childless, and it is unjust to be so certain that it is Gisela's doing, and willfully so."

He lowered his voice a little. "Many women long desperately to have a child, and when they do not have one, they put a brave face to the world and hide their grief by pretending it is not there. It is a very private and deeply personal affliction. Why should anyone, even a princess, parade it for the public to see, or to pity?"

Rolf said with tense, almost sibilant bitterness, "Gisela's barrenness is of her own choosing. Do not ask me how I know it!"