‘Stop it,’ Sybilia cried out. ‘Please. Please, Jock. No more. It’s over. It’s over, I tell you! Stop torturing me.’
‘The prisoner must keep silent or be removed from this court.’
Sybilia pulled herself together and stood staring in horror.
‘Then I found this skull,’ I said. ‘There are four bullet holes from pistols fired at point-blank range.’
As I held it up, Sybilia moaned softly. She looked as if she were trembling on the very lip of hysteria. I had to push her over the edge. All that icy calm wasn’t going to help her in a Mediterranean court.
‘From these holes we know that someone, or more likely several men, held pistols to the back of Robin’s head and pulled the trigger, blowing his brains out. A horrible death for a very brave man.’
Sybilia screamed, a long, anguished scream. There was a sudden cry from Ursuline as her mother collapsed. A moment later she was carried out of the court. There was an angry buzz around the gallery, which was quickly stilled by the president. The jury looked moved, I noticed. Two of the women were dabbing their eyes.
Quinel jumped up. ‘Mr President, with respect, could the prisoner be given medical attention?’
The court was adjourned. Half an hour later the president returned, and Sybilia was led in, looking contrite. Tm all right, thank you,’ she said in reply to the president’s query. T’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’
Turning to me, the president spoke sternly. T’m well aware of your tactics, Dr Walters. You will kindly complete your testimony without any further melodrama.’
T apologize to the court,’ I said. T didn’t realize she’d be that upset. After all, she’s seen these bones before, only she was all alone that time. Just imagine how she must have felt as she pieced together the story of her husband’s last hours, how he dragged his maimed body through the maquis until he was cornered, shot like a dog, and buried without a funeral by her own father-in-law. She knew exactly what had happened. A horrible ending for the man she loved."Objection.’ Duval jumped up angrily. There’s no proof at all that Xavier Rocca murdered this man.’
‘Dr Walters,’ the president said sternly, ‘this is my last warning. Answer the questions put to you only and refrain from extraneous comment, or I shall hold you in contempt of court.’
Quinel was smiling quietly. ‘So, Dr Walters, on the morning of the shooting, Sybilia Rocca had just retrieved from the Algerian diggers her common-law husband’s bones and a chain. She took his remains and buried them together with his pistol and dog tag, which she had found in your desk drawer the previous evening?’
‘Exactly so.’
‘Then she went down the mountain, took Xavier Rocca’s gun, and shot Captain Moore’s murderer.’
‘Objection.’
‘Sustained.’
‘Thank you, Dr Walters,’ Quinel said, but his words were almost lost in the tumult from the public gallery. ‘You may step down.
‘My apologies, Mr President, gentlemen of the court,’ Quinel continued. ‘Please bear with me. I am about to call to the witness stand an eyewitness to the murder of Captain Robin Moore.’
Chapter 88
The villagers watched uneasily as Maria hobbled painfully to the witness stand, eyes blazing with anger. I could see that the truth about Michel’s death had hit her badly.
‘You are Maria Rocca, widow of the deceased Xavier Rocca?' Quinel began when he had dispensed with the formalities.
‘Yes.’ Her voice was low and vibrant and carried well — a stage voice when she chose.
‘Madame Rocca, could you repeat, how long has your daughter-in-law, Sybilia Rocca, shared your home with you?’
‘On and off for twenty-two years.’
‘Happy years?’
She snorted. ‘Happiness? What’s that? I put no store by it. Ido my duty.’
‘Very well. That’s good. You must know her well.’
‘I do. I know her very well.’
‘Would you say that until this event took place she was a good person?’
‘The kindest, sweetest girl that ever lived.’ For a moment her eyes moved restlessly toward Sybilia with a look of infinite sadness and despair. ‘I wronged her.’
The president thumped his gavel on his desk. ‘Madame Rocca, kindly confine yourself to answering the questions put to you. You may continue,’ he told Quinel.
‘Madame Rocca, please tell the court all that you can remember of the night of the fifteenth June, 1944.’
‘I will try,’ she said simply. ‘It was the night Ursuline was bom.
‘The men were gearing up for a hunt all evening, but I never knew what it was about. Later, when it was dark, a knock came on our front door. Xavier went to open it, and I heard a voice saying, “He’s nearly here.” Then the door was shut. By the time I got to the window, Xavier was standing by himself at the bottom of our front steps. Then he whistled: three short, sharp whistles. That had been his signal in the war. I watched the lights go up in the windows around the square and saw the men hurrying out of their front doors. Like dogs! Xavier’s dogs. That’s what I used to call them.
‘They went down the cliff face. Sybilia was calling for me to fetch the midwife. She was in labour with Ursuline, you see. So when Marcel Leca came to the door for Jules, I told him to wait there until I came back.
‘I went to fetch Madame Rossi, and when I returned I found Leca had gone, taking Jules with him.’
‘And then?’ Quinel prompted her.
‘I felt frightened. I knew something was wrong, but I had to wait for the midwife.’ As soon as she came, I went after the men to bring Jules home. I could see their lights spread out through the maquis.’
Maria was woman of powerful imagery, I discovered. Within a few minutes of listening to her, I was back in Taita watching Robin’s last, hopeless, desperate flight through the maquis.
She paused and glanced worriedly toward Sybilia, as if she had just remembered her presence. She said: ‘To cut a long story short, they drove him up to the old quarry.
‘Castelli saw me coming. He pushed me aside. He said, “This is men’s business. This is the vendetta. Keep away, Maria.”
‘I told him to give me Jules, but he refused, so I went on toward the cave.’
Quinel interrupted her. ‘Madame Rocca, was Captain Moore dead when you arrived?’
‘No, he was alive. He was exhausted, moaning slightly, but lucid.’
‘Did you hear him say anything?’
‘He spoke to me quite clearly. He said, “For the love of God, help Sybilia.” ’
‘Was that all?’
‘Yes. Jules was crying. It’s like my dream,’ she said. ‘Now I remember, the boy on the wolfs back.’ She closed her eyes but recovered when her warder handed her a glass of water.
‘I begged them not to kill Robin, but Xavier said that Michel must be avenged. Moore was shot up badly, but they were still lusting for blood. Pineili was there, and Padovani…’
There was a sudden uproar in court. Men were shouting, and a woman screamed, ‘She’s mad. She should be put away.’ The woman was removed bodily by two hefty police guards. It was Madame Padovani.
T also saw Pascal,’ Maria was redting, ‘Romanetti, Giacobbi, Castelli, Leca, Bonnelli… all the village elders. Moore was at the end of his strength. He’d lost a lot of blood.
'Romanetti didn’t want them to kill him. I remember he said, “Let him go. He’ll probably die anyway. If he lives, he’ll never come back here. He helped us in the war. Why are we killing him?”
‘Xavier shouted, “For Michel.’’
‘Romanetti said, “You killed Michel.”
‘Of course, I should have realized then. Xavier gave him a punch that knocked him unconsdous. Then he put the pistol against Robin’s head and said to Jules, “I’ll show you how to avenge your father’s death and your mother’s honour.’’ Then he shot Robin, and I grabbed Jules.
‘The villagers left as quickly as they could.
Xavier took a spade and began to search for a place to bury the corpse. I ran home with Jules. He was silent all the way. I remember how heavy he was. When we got home he said, “I’ll never be afraid again, Grandma. When I grow up I’m going to kill all the bad men. Like this: bang, bang.’’ For days afterward he went around pointing his wooden gun and saying, “Bang, bang.” Sybilia never knew. When she got up a week later, he’d grown tired of that game and found something else.
‘Still, he was never the same again,’ she told a courtroom stunned into total silence. ‘He used to be such a happy child, always laughing and kind to everyone, but after that he became surly and bad-tempered. He was only three and a half years old and he soon forgot, but I think it was there in the back of his mind.’
‘Madame Rocca, why did you keep silent for so long?’
‘I respected my husband. He never forgave Moore for making Sybilia pregnant and bringing disgrace to our family when Ursuline was bom.’
‘And you never told her? You let her wait all those years, never losing faith, but always believing that Robin would come?’
‘I believed Xavier when he told me that because of her and Captain Moore, my son was killed. Now I know it wasn’t like that at all.’
She looked around at Sybilia, a fearful, lonely old woman begging for forgiveness.
‘Thank you, Madame Rocca. You may step down.’
Maria stumbled on the stairs, and Jules jumped up to help her.
After silence had been restored, Quinel consulted his assistants and then stood up to address the court.
‘Mr President, I should appreciate the leniency of the court. Bearing in mind that this evidence has only just come to hand, I should like to change Sybilia Rocca’s plea. She is undoubtedly guilty, but of homicide with extenuating circumstances. I plead a crimepassionnel.'
The president stood up. ‘The court is adjourned until ten A.M. tomorrow morning to consider this plea in the light of the new evidence,’ he said, and left hurriedly.
Sybilia seemed to be in a state of shock. She made no move to leave as the guard took her arm and shook her.
Another adjournment, another night to spend alone in the cell. Would she make it? I watched Sybilia moving as if sleepwalking out of the dock to her cell.
Chapter 89
This was the last scene of the drama. Prosecutor Duval, tall and predatory, had taken the floor. His confident bearing made me cringe.
‘Mr President, gentlemen of the court, I too feel moved by the story of Sybilia Rocca. Her tragedy has touched my heart, as I know it has yours. Nevertheless, we must not allow our emotions or our pity to cloud our judgement. She took the law into her own hands, and she shot a man as a reprisal. Whichever way you look at Madame Rocca's — Sybilia’s — vendetta, one point is clear: murder is wrong, it is punishable by law, and the law must be upheld. If it is not, we could be thrown back into the hell on earth that this small island once was, when entire villages were wiped out as reprisals for long-forgotten crimes. The vendetta must never be allowed to flourish again, not even in cases where the law has failed to prevent wrong doing.'
Masterly oration, superb timing, total confidence — and no wonder, I thought bitterly as I listened to a performance that would have won a Tony if we were in a theatre instead of a court of law.
At several points the prosecutor, in his lengthy final address, actually resorted to histrionics, speaking with tear-streamed eyes of Maria’s love for her husband and the desperate loneliness that had finally brought the poor old lady to the sorry mental wreck the court had witnessed. It was all good stuff, but predictable, and it was clear that although the prosecutor had the law on his side, public sympathy was running against him.
That wasn’t enough, of course. Not nearly enough. I felt that I had failed dismally. My evidence had been designed to bring about Sybilia’s collapse. Unfortunately I’d not wrung as much anguish out of her as I’d hoped. Apart from the one lapse, she had remained in full control of herself. Sybilia was too proud and self-possessed. I’d wanted her to sob her heart out, until even these stem-eyed patricians were prepared to bend the rules for her.
At last it was QuinePs turn. He stood up tentatively, almost as if he were uncertain of what he would say. I felt I hated him at that moment. What was it to him? Just another case. His reputation was hardly at stake, since everyone knew it was a bad case; but Sybilia was fighting for her life.
‘My friends,’ Quinel began hesitantly, ‘you’ve heard a great deal about duty and law and the code, but very little about mercy or understanding, without which there can be no justice.
‘There wasn’t very much justice for Sybilia Rocca in Taita. Because she loved without a legal license, she endured irreversible social ostracism. She became an outcast.
‘As for her bravery and her patriotism… well, gentlemen of the court, that was quietly forgotten. There was no medal, no praise, not even a thank-you note from the government. This tragic woman never complained. She simply made the best of a bad job.
‘Between the spite and the jealousy and the lies you’ve heard from witnesses in this trial, you’ve probably pieced together her true story for yourself. It goes like this…’
Quinel led the court through Sybilia’s story, starting with the young, sensitive girl suffering from an arranged marriage until the birth of Ursuline.
‘So strong was the bond between them that Captain Moore sensed she needed him and that she was carrying his child.’ Quinel continued. ‘He applied for compassionate leave to legalize their marriage, and made his way to Corsica. But there was to be no happy ending for the couple who loved each other dearly. While Sybilia lay in labour, Xavier Rocca, inspired by fear and guilt, called on his wartime squad to help him destroy Captain Moore. Rocca had already blamed him unjustly for the capture of his son, Michel. Now he was afraid that Moore would tell the truth about his fiasco, and he would lose his political support. So he summoned his village cronies to a macabre hunting expedition.
‘Let’s look at it from the villagers’ point of view. What was in it for them? Sybilia Rocca, lovely, coveted, but disgraced, returned to Taita to have her child, much to the villagers’ interest. No one would marry her now, but they all awaited their chance. Sybilia was earmarked and labelled the village whore. They did not want a foreigner to take her away.
‘So when Xavier Rocca called on the villagers to help him destroy this young American agent, they readily agreed. They believed his story about Michel’s death, and, as we have all heard, they also blamed Captain Moore for trying to push home the Allies’ strategy during the occupation.
Together they stalked him through the mountains and brought him to bay in an old quarry, where they shot him several times through the back of the head at point-blank range. They buried him there without a proper grave, and that — to all intents and purposes — was the end of Captain Robin Moore. A sad end for such a brave man.’
In the dead silence that followed his words, Ursuline suddenly burst into muffled sobs and buried her head on Jules’s shoulder.
‘It was not the end for Sybilia,’ Quinel said softly. ‘There was nothing so merciful for her. Instead she waited — and waited. Almost everyone in the village knew that Captain Moore was dead and buried in the quarry, but no one told her. They watched her hoping, year after year. She never gave up hope. She knew beyond any shadow of doubt that her Robin would never let her down, and she was right. After many years she began to recognize that he must have died. But how?
‘Then Dr Jacklyn Walters came and started excavating around the cave where Moore was murdered. Jointly and severally the villagers tried to keep Dr Walters away from the place. But eventually his workers uncovered the personal effects which Sybilia recognized one evening in Dr Walters’s desk drawer.
‘The next morning she went up to the trench where they were digging for a new latrine, and she uncovered these few shattered bones.’
Quinel mopped his brow. I knew he was gearing up for the climax
of his plea.
‘Now what was Sybilia to do? I want to ask you that question, gentlemen of the court. Was she to go to the police? Would they nail up a few more posters. You all know that Rocca had been wanted for murder for some years, yet he was still at liberty and living at home most of the time.
‘So was she to go on living in the same house with the monster who murdered the father of her child — the man she loved.
‘Sybilia had relied on State justice before. Now she knew that she had only herself to rely upon. That, my friends, is the terrible sad truth of the matter.
‘It is the duty of the State to impose law and order, but what if the State fails? What then? Surely the onus falls upon the individual. For what is the State? It is merely the collective will of the people — an extension of our own innate desire for justice, freedom, and righteousness. If the State fails to provide these basic requirements, then the responsibility falls upon our own shoulders. Then each one of us must stand up and be counted. Our moment of truth arrives, as did Sybilia’s.
‘How many times in the war crimes trials has the plea “I only did as I was ordered” been rejected as not sufficient justification to commit a crime? The moral behind that rejection is that each man is responsible for upholding goodness. We may all have to face such a moment of truth: a moment when we must stand up for what we believe in, even at the cost of our lives, or lie down and submit to evil. Sybilia chose the former.
Quinel walked to his table and sat down. He looked drained. The public seemed to be stunned into silence. The president toyed with his pencil. The jury stared at Sybilia. Everything had suddenly come to a halt.
Then, in the silence, a woman stood up and called out, ‘I demand justice for Sybilia Rocca. I demand — ’ There was a scuffle. The police gripped her arms, but as she was led from the court another cried out: ‘She’s not guilty. Let her go!"Free her!’ The cries now reverberated through the courtroom.
The Corsican Woman Page 44