Daughter of Silence Read online

  ‘Thank you. You may step down.’

  In the brief, tense pause that followed, the only sound was the muffled weeping of Maria Belloni. The Prosecutor made another, more restrained appeal: ‘Mr President, I should like to call to the court’s attention the fact that payment of maintenance through an official and confidential channel reflects credit and not dishonour on the memory of Gianbattista Belloni.’

  The President assented, urbanely. ‘No doubt my colleagues will take this fact into consideration at the proper time. Mr Rienzi?’

  ‘With the permission of the court, I should like to re-examine Sergeant Fiorello.’

  ‘Permission granted.’

  The burly sergeant took the stand and again Landon was struck by his air of competence and composure. He blinked a little when Carlo requested permission to conduct the interrogation himself, but otherwise he showed no sign of emotion. Carlo’s examination began in a flat, prosy style: ‘Sergeant Fiorello, I want to recall to you some of the details of your service as a police officer. You entered the service twenty years ago under the Fascist administration and after training you were posted to San Stefano. You remained there all through the war. And after the war you were promoted to the rank of sergeant and given charge of the post. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘After the war many of your colleagues in the service were dismissed on the grounds of Fascist sympathies or on charges of oppression and cruelty?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And during the war some of them had been shot by the Partisans for the same reason?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you escape? How did you achieve promotion?’

  ‘The official inquiry showed that I had been active in the underground movement and had worked in secret with local Partisan leaders.’

  ‘Especially with Gianbattista Belloni?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the records of the inquiry contain an official letter of commendation from Belloni?’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘What was your opinion of him?’

  ‘A patriot and a brave man.’

  ‘You have since had no reason to change that opinion?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I call your attention, Sergeant – and I call the attention of the court – to item number 75 in the summary of evidence handed down to this court from the judicial inquiry.’ He waited a moment while the judges leafed through their papers and then went on: ‘This item is a photostatic copy of an entry annexed to the Records and Charges Book of the Public Security Division in San Stefano. The entry is in fact an account of the trial, sentence and execution of Agnese Moschetti, mother of Anna Moschetti, in November 1944. The account is attested by Gianbattista Belloni and five other participants in the military court. You will note that the date of the statement is 16 November 1944 – three days after the death of Agnese Moschetti. But it was not annexed to the police record until 25 October 1946, long after the armistice, a month after the appointment of Sergeant Fiorello to command the post. Can you explain these dates to the court, Sergeant?’

  ‘I can. The account of the trial was made and attested while the Fascist administration was still in power and the Germans were in occupation of the country. It was, therefore, an incriminating document. Belloni kept it until after the war and then handed it to me for inclusion in the official record.’

  ‘Would you regard it as an unusual document?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘In the context of the times and the local conditions, the trial and execution of Agnese Moschetti were acts of war. Why did Belloni feel it necessary to record them? Can you tell me of any other Partisan proceedings that were similarly recorded?’

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘Then why did Belloni take this unusual step?’

  ‘As he explained it to me, the execution of a woman was a bitter business – those were his words, “a bitter business” – and he wanted the facts recorded and known.’

  ‘And that was the only reason?’

  ‘I don’t know of any others.’

  ‘There had not been, for instance, any demand for public inquiry?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘No rumours or doubts or questions about the real nature of the Moschetti affair?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘As a matter of interest, Sergeant, where did the trial take place?’

  ‘That’s in the statement. Anna Moschetti’s house in San Stefano.’

  ‘Where were the police on that night – and, specifically, where were you?’

  ‘We were out on patrol, miles away. Belloni had faked a telephone call and a report of a Partisan attempt to blow up the railway line.’

  ‘Did you know what was being planned?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But I thought you had his confidence and that you cooperated with him?’

  ‘It was the method – nobody knew more than he had to. It was safer that way. I did what I was told and asked no questions.’

  ‘Sergeant, you understand that you are testifying under oath?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then let me repeat an earlier question. After you were appointed to command the post, did anybody at any time ask you to open an inquiry into the circumstances of Agnese Moschetti’s death?’

  ‘No!’

  Rienzi’s finger stabbed at him like a scalpel. ‘You lie, Sergeant! You lie under solemn oath – and I shall prove it to this court!’ He turned and made a small, apologetic bow to the judges. ‘I am finished with this witness, Mr President.’

  ‘But the court is not finished with him!’ The President turned a cold eye on the burly, impassive fellow on the stand. ‘You still have time to amend your testimony, Sergeant. If later testimony proves you guilty of perjury, you may face grave punishment.’

  For a moment, Landon thought he would brazen it out, but at the last moment he wavered and stammered: “I – I answered the questions as put to me. There was no demand for an inquiry, but – but there was talk about having one. It didn’t come to anything.’

  Carlo leapt to his feet. ‘Please, Mr President, I should like to have the Clerk read a transcript of my earlier question which specified “rumours, doubts or questions”.’

  ‘We may dispense with the transcript,’ said the President firmly. ‘The question is still fresh in our minds. The Chancellor and the Public Minister will take note of the conduct of this witness and that charges may eventually lie against him for perjury, obstruction of justice and conspiracy. Step down, please.’

  As Fiorello walked back to his place, he seemed to have shrunk six inches in height and girth. Rienzi, on the other hand, seemed to take on new stature with every moment. For all his grey, insomniac complexion and his drawn, peaked face, strength went out from him and authority increased in him. In the intervals of interrogation or while the judges conferred, as they were conferring now, he seemed able to efface himself from one’s attention, so that each new appearance had a new impact and each interrogation a new aspect of drama. After the short discussion on the rostrum, the President recalled the court to order and put a new question to Rienzi: ‘My colleagues point out, with some justice, that the testimony of the defence seems to be placing considerable emphasis on the character of the deceased and on an event which took place sixteen years ago – the execution of Agnese Moschetti. They feel, and I feel too, that the defence should help us by establishing the relevance of such testimony.’

  ‘It is our submission, Mr President, that the testimony is relevant to every issue in this case: to the nature of the crime, to motive, provocation, premeditation, to the moral and legal responsibility of the accused and to the question which is paramount in the mind of every member of the judiciary and every member of the body politic: how justice may be done within the limitation of the law.’

  A faint smile of approval twitched the thin lips of the old jurist. ‘If the evidence of the Counsel for Defence ma
tches his eloquence, the court will be well served. Your next witness, please.’

  ‘I call Fra Bonifacio of the Order of Friars Minor, parish priest of San Stefano.’

  There was a curious pathos in the spectacle of the stooped, weather-beaten cleric padding across the court in his sandalled feet. In spite of his tonsure and habit of an ancient Order, he looked exactly what he was – an ageing shepherd of an unruly flock who had found the world too big for him.

  The Clerk stepped forward to administer the oath: ‘Do you swear before God to tell the whole simple truth without concealment or addition?’

  The friar hesitated a moment and then turned to the judge. ‘May it please the President?’

  ‘Yes, Father, what is it?’

  ‘I cannot swear to tell the whole truth – only that part of it which lies outside the seal of confession and which comes within my knowledge as a public citizen.’

  ‘We will accept your oath on those terms.’

  ‘Subject to the seal, then, I swear.’

  ‘Defence may question the witness.’

  Rienzi’s method with the old priest was deferent and almost humble. Once more, Landon was struck by his chameleon talent for adaptation to a situation and a person. He asked quietly: ‘How long have you lived in San Stefano?’

  ‘Thirty-two years.’

  ‘You know everybody in the town?’

  ‘Everybody.’

  ‘You knew the mother of the accused, Agnese Moschetti?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And you knew the accused as a child?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘After her mother’s death, you were the one who took care of her and later made arrangements to send her to relatives in Florence?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘During the war you were a member of a Partisan band fighting against the Fascisti and the Germans?’

  ‘That is not quite correct. My first duty was always that of a priest ministering to the spiritual needs of my flock. I did, however, on many occasions work with local Partisans.’

  ‘Specifically, you worked with Gianbattista Belloni?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘What did this work entail?’

  ‘Carrying information, hiding fugitives, looking after the wounded, sometimes transporting guns, food and ammunition.’

  ‘You did all these things right up to the armistice?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Will you explain that to the court, please?’

  ‘In the last stages of the war and immediately afterwards, I felt bound in conscience to withdraw from Belloni and in fact to reprove him openly.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I believed that many of his actions were dictated not by the needs of war but by a desire for private vengeance or private gain.’

  ‘Can you give the court any examples?’

  ‘Belloni and his men took away our local doctor and shot him, simply because he had given medical care to a wounded German. He ordered the execution of a peasant and his wife whose land adjoined his own property. Later he bought this land at a trifling price. Immediately after the armistice he directed the summary trial and execution of seven townspeople. Continued complaints were made to me by women and girls who had been molested by him or by members of his band.’

  A flutter of comment broke out in the court and the Prosecutor leapt to his feet. ‘Mr President! I must protest in the strongest terms against the irregularity of these proceedings. Belloni is dead and beyond the jurisdiction of this court. We are concerned only with a charge of murder against Anna Albertini, which I submit we have proved beyond question. Belloni is not here to answer for himself. We are not trying him but Anna Albertini.’

  For the first time, Rienzi made his own emphatic rebuttal: ‘Mr President, gentlemen of the court! Our concern is justice, an assessment of guilt. Our judicial system defines and graduates the crime of murder, not only in terms of the act, not only in terms of premeditation or provocation, but in terms of motive and mitigation. I submit with all respect that you cannot arrive at a just decision without knowing all the circumstances and all the characters concerned in it, including the character of the dead man.’

  The President nodded assent. ‘The Counsel for the Defence may continue his examination.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr President.’ He turned back to the witness. ‘Now, Father, the court would like to hear what you know of the death of Agnese Moschetti, mother of the accused.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The old man drew himself up and answered firmly: ‘I cannot answer that question. I was not an eyewitness. Much of the knowledge I have came to me first under the seal of confession. I do not feel free, therefore, to give any evidence on the point.’

  ‘Would it be true to say, Father, that people gave you this information in the confessional because they were afraid to give it publicly?’

  ‘I cannot answer that, either.’

  Rienzi accepted the answer respectfully. He waited a moment and then moved off on to another tack. ‘Let me ask you a personal question, Fra Bonifacio. Did you yourself make any public protests about the trial and execution of Agnese Moschetti?’

  ‘I did. I condemned it in the strongest terms from my pulpit. I made mention of other acts of violence committed not only by the Partisans but by those in power. I tried to initiate punitive action through the former police representative, Sergeant Lopinto.’

  ‘But after the armistice, when Sergeant Lopinto was dead and Sergeant Fiorello was in charge, and Belloni was back as Mayor and master of the village – did you take any action then?’

  ‘Yes. I asked Sergeant Fiorello to reopen the case and institute a public inquiry. He refused.’

  ‘Did he give any reason?’

  ‘Yes. He said many things had been done during the war which were better forgotten. People had to start living normally again. There was no point in continuing old hates.’

  ‘And you agreed with that?’ asked Rienzi, softly.

  For the first time the old man hesitated. His face clouded, his lips trembled and he seemed to stoop a little more as though weighed down by the burdens of guilt and memory. ‘I – I was not sure. There was much to recommend the thought. This is the tragedy of war, that men of good will are committed to evil courses and wicked things are done in the name of good. Besides, we had to rebuild our lives and we could not rebuild them on bitterness.’

  ‘So you did nothing more about the inquiry?’

  ‘Until the death of Gianbattista Belloni – no.’

  ‘So, in fact, Father,’ said Rienzi, with cold precision, ‘you too lent yourself to a conspiracy of silence on this matter?’

  ‘A man can only take the path he sees at his feet. It appears I chose the wrong path. I am sorry for it now. A priest has so much more to answer for.’

  There was no one in court who did not feel for the old man in this moment of bitter avowal. But Rienzi was not finished with him yet. He walked back to his table and unwrapped, with theatrical deliberation, a small, brown-paper parcel. Then he walked back to the witness stand, holding in his hands what appeared to be a piece of broken masonry. He held it out to the friar. ‘Do you recognize this?’

  ‘I do. It’s a piece of stone from the wall of the churchyard at San Stefano.’

  ‘There are words written on it. I do not ask you to read them, only to tell me by whom they were written.’

  ‘By Anna Albertini, the accused.’

  ‘Do you know when they were written?’

  ‘The day after her mother’s death.’

  ‘Did you see them written?’

  ‘I did. I came on her scratching them into the wall with a piece of tin.’

  ‘Thank you, Father, that is all.’

  As the friar stepped down from the box, a bowed, shambing man, Rienzi turned to the judges’ rostrum. ‘With the permission of the court, I propose to return to this object in later evidence and to identify it more fully for the court. For the present, I would direct the
attention of the court to the condition of my client. She has been, as you know, under grave strain. She is, as you see, very much reduced and in need of rest and medical attention. I beg the clemency of the court and request that this hearing be adjourned until tomorrow, when we shall present the final evidence for the defence.’

  The President looked up, sharply. The court has already allowed a great deal of latitude to Counsel in the presentation of his case. I must warn him against leaning too much on tactic and stratagem.’

  ‘This is not a stratagem, Mr President,’ said Rienzi hotly. ‘It is a request made out of consideration for my client, who is on trial on the gravest possible charge. We are content to abide by the decision of the Bench, but we submit that medical advice may be indicated.’

  The President bent down to talk with his judicial associates and then with the people’s judges. After a moment, he said: ‘Will Professor Galuzzi step forward, please?’

  The whispering in the court went on unchecked as Galuzzi conferred with the President and the other members of the Bench. Finally, the President announced, formally:

  ‘In compliance with the request of the defence, this court is adjourned until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr President,’ said Carlo Rienzi, and walked back to his table like a man who had just staked his life’s savings on the last roll of the dice.

  ‘I hope –’ muttered Ascolini, ‘I hope he has good cards for tomorrow. If not, they will crucify him.’ Then, abruptly, he said: ‘Carlo’s dining with you tonight. I want to talk with you before you see him.’

  Landon frowned dubiously. ‘I doubt I’ll have time. Ninette’s not here, and I promised to wait for him after the session.’

  ‘Then send him a note.’ The old man’s tone was testy. ‘Tell him to go directly to the apartment an hour from now.’

  ‘But why, Doctor?’ There was a note of irritation in his voice. His patience was frayed thin by the exactions of these people.

  Ascolini was subtle enough to take the point. He spread his hands in apology: ‘I know! I know! We ask too much and give too little. We draw you into our intrigues and wound you because you are our friends. I’m sorry. I promise you this will be the last time.’ He fished out a small note-book and a silver pencil. ‘Please indulge me this time. Write a note to Carlo and have one of the clerks take it to him.’