Burgoyne had never left studying him. A hand reached up to him, dropped back. ‘You have it?’
‘I … think so, sir. The mask is imperfect so you may not get it all but … perhaps enough.’ Jack picked up a pencil and traced the shape of the mask around the isolated words. He then studied it again to make sure he’d got all he could.
Dear Coz.
Have you lately seen that cur Will Piper? He owe me
5 pounds and so his vile attempt to avoid me is contimtible.
I mean therefore to push ahead with your order, for because
I riecievd on Hudson’s looms a delivery of fine cloth. Shall
make coats then go fort’sell ’em. Give kind’st to my financee,
Marge. I see her in two or three weeks but it will seem no more
nor less than three thousand.
Yr. Affectionate Coz.
T. Rhodes
‘Colonel Carleton!’ Burgoyne gestured down to the slashed handkerchief and letter; his adjutant carefully reached over and began to transcribe into a notebook. The General squeezed Jack’s arm. ‘I lied, dear Jack. I do have one more bottle of the Santa Vittoria. And it’s yours.’
‘May I suggest that we all drink it together, General?’
A cheer went up at that, the sherry was broached, decanted into the revealing crystal, poured out. Carleton meanwhile scratched with his pencil while men sipped and never took their eyes from him. Fraser came and clapped Jack on the back while Balcarras, ever the Old Harrovian, whispered, ‘Not bad for a Westminster boy. I thought all you learned there was billiards and buggery.’
Jack picked up one of the fair copies of the letter. ‘I’ll take one, Captain Money, if I may. There might be something further.’
A much-relieved young officer was happy to agree.
The men watched the adjutant. Carleton scratched at his temples. ‘Well?’ barked the General.
Carleton showed the extract to Burgoyne, who closed his eyes for a moment and smiled. He then nodded to Carleton, who read aloud, ‘“Will attempt to push ahead on Hudson’s forts in two or three weeks.”’
The company sighed out as one.
‘So Clinton assaults the Highland forts of the Hudson in two or three weeks. Could the man not have been more specific?’ Burgoyne raised his eyes to the roof. ‘Still, since the letter has taken six days to arrive, the attack, gentlemen, is imminent. A week or two at most.’
Burgoyne looked around at each of his officers to make sure they understood the import of those words.
‘And it is inconceivable that even if General Howe continues his operations further south, he would not have left Clinton significant numbers in New York to both take the forts then march on to us here.’ Burgoyne was once again leaning on the table. But whereas before his attitude had been one of exhaustion, now his stance betokened vigour. ‘We can anticipate a force at least seven thousand strong. That Rebel facing us, General Gates, will have to split his forces here to deal with the threat … or retire entirely. Either way, gentlemen, retreat for us is no longer a consideration, for Gates could then turn his full might on Clinton. We must hold the Rebel here, pin him down. When Clinton breaks through, or Gates turns to face him, we will catch the Yankee between us and crush him.’
‘Does that mean the attack for tomorrow is off?’ General Fraser asked.
Burgoyne smiled. ‘It does, Simon. The men may stand down and rest. Issue an extra tot of rum and give three cheers for the King. We will convene in the morning to discuss fortifying our position. Yet I fear our Sergeant Willis, who has proved himself so fine a deliverer of good news, must haste again to New York at dawn to inform General Clinton that we are most happy with his plans and to find out a more definite date for his arrival here. So get some rest now, man. You’ll need it.’
The Sergeant took the news well, considering his obvious exhaustion. He saluted and left the room, the others taking this as a signal to disperse. Burgoyne’s voice halted Jack at the door.
‘Captain Absolute, a word if I may?’
Balcarras whispered, ‘I’ve a fine Bordeaux saved. Join me later.’ With a quick squeeze of Jack’s arm he was gone. The General and he were alone.
On the very click of the door, Burgoyne sat down heavily, his head coming to rest on the palms of both hands. ‘Not so young as I was, Jack.’
‘We none of us are, sir.’
‘And perhaps I was a little hard on that boy, Money.’
‘It appears to have been a hard day for all.’
‘Indeed it has.’ Burgoyne knuckled his eyes, then raised them to regard Jack. ‘A nasty discolouration of your neck, my boy.’
‘You should have seen it three weeks ago, when the snake had just struck.’
‘Ah, so the Count’s story was true?’
‘Only to a point, General. I’m sure it left out some essential points. Such as how it was Von Schlaben who introduced me to the snake. Or vice versa.’
‘He did indeed fail to mention that.’ Burgoyne smiled. ‘Damn, Jack! I can always rely on you for an interesting tale. Would you care to tell it while we dine?’
‘I would. But first I have to know – is the Count still here?’
‘He is not, I’m afraid. You missed him by hours.’
Jack leaned back. He suddenly felt very tired, as if the thought of an imminent revenge had been the only thing that had kept him awake. Meanwhile, the General’s servant, Braithwaite, had entered with a bowl, placing it on the table. Burgoyne bent over it with distaste.
‘I’m rather afraid that when I was forced to cut the rations for the army I let it be known that I would only eat the same as the common soldier. Pure bravado.’ He looked up, smiled. ‘I did not, however, mention what I would be drinking. To celebrate … the Chateau Veracin, I think, Braithwaite. And a bowl – this purports to be stew, does it? – for the Captain.’ As his servant went off to obey, Burgoyne turned back to Jack. ‘Your report, sir, if you will.’
They ate and drank, the wine exceptional, though he would have expected no less from Burgoyne’s cellar, while Jack recounted all that had happened in the months since they’d last seen one another. The General had received St Leger’s self-excusing reports though not the letter Jack had entrusted to Captain Ancrum; withheld, no doubt, by the drunken Colonel, fearful of Jack’s truer version of the events at Fort Stanwix. Throughout the tale, Burgoyne swore and chewed, drank and whistled, as good an audience as he was a dramatist.
‘You say the Indians deserted in droves?’ he interjected. ‘It is the same with my campaign. I have scarcely ninety of the brutes left and I awake every morning expecting to see those gone. Even that Brant fellow, who at least came back from Stanwix, has disappeared again.’
He topped up Jack’s glass, then continued. ‘Which reminds me, your friend Até was with Brant. I think he would have stayed but as soon as he was informed that you were not here, he took himself off again. Wish I could have kept him. Apart from his fighting skills, the fellow has the damndest ideas on Shakespeare I ever heard. I believe he considers Hamlet to be part Mohawk!’
Jack sipped and cursed. ‘We were meant to rendezvous. Von Schlaben’s assault and my capture meant I failed to appear. Até has gone to look for me as I would for him.’ He swirled his wine, considering. ‘And you say the German only just departed?’ He received a nod. ‘That is a great pity, for I believe – and I feel, sir, after what I have just told you of the debacle at Fort Stanwix that you must believe it too – that not only is the Count Von Schlaben Diomedes, he is also now one of the most dangerous opponents we have.’
Burgoyne too swirled the wine in his crystal, observing the play of red against the lamplight. ‘I do agree, Jack. And I must apologize. I promised to keep him close. I did not know for a week that he was missing, for I was … somewhat distracted. And then Von Riedesel told me he’d gone – hunting, would you believe? I did not think that you were part of the quarry he sought. That sot St Leger never mentioned his arrival or influence
. I probably should have had him seized the moment he returned here. But there was a battle to fight and I was set to rely on the skills of his cousin, the Baron von Riedesel.’
‘Do you believe, sir, that the Baron knows of his cousin’s activities?’
‘Von Riedesel? Countenance treachery?’ Burgoyne shook his head emphatically. ‘Impossible. I sometimes believe the Baron seeks to win this war single-handed, so ardent is he in our cause. Indeed, if he had not marched his men in at double time and turned the Rebel flank … well, we might even have lost this day. Not the actions of a traitor.’ He reached out a hand, laid it on Jack’s shoulder. ‘No, my lad, I alone am to blame for Von Schlaben’s attempt on you. Apologies, again.’
‘Forgiven, sir. I believe you had enough to think on.’ He glanced to the world outside.
Burgoyne sighed. ‘Hot work today, Jack, as hot as you and I saw at Valencia de Alcantara. These Rebels have learned to fight, curse ’em. We held the field but …’ He passed a hand over his eyes. ‘As to the damned Count, he only arrived here on the eve of the battle. When the business today was concluded, I immediately sent my first messenger for New York and Clinton. Von Schlaben, bearing personal dispatches from the Baron von Riedesel, set out shortly afterwards.’
‘He followed your messenger?’ A confirming nod. ‘Then I doubt your dispatch will make it through.’
‘He will kill my messenger?’
‘He will try. You must send another.’
‘Sergeant Willis goes at dawn. But I always send at least three because it’s possible, nay, likely, that two will be caught. There are spies everywhere. I sometimes believe that Gates knows my movements before I’ve issued the orders.’
‘Speaking of which, that mask you were so in want of? Lost, you said, but stolen perhaps?’
‘Stolen, for certain. And it was discovered missing before Von Schlaben arrived back.’
Jack nodded. ‘So we do have another spy among us. The Count may not be Diomedes after all. Perhaps he is, in fact, Cato, the other name in the coded message from Quebec.’
‘He may well be.’ Burgoyne drained his glass and regarded Jack for a long moment over the rim. ‘You look tired, my lad. Positively gaunt. I am loathe to ask—’
‘Yours to command, General, as always.’
Burgoyne nodded. ‘Then … care to be my third messenger?’
‘Do you not need me here?’
‘I always delight in your company, dear Jack. But I do not need you to help me build redoubts and dig entrenchments. I need you to persuade Clinton that he must not dally at the forts on the Hudson but come on with all dispatch. For if he does not …’ Burgoyne stared above the younger man’s head. ‘Then we are finished.’ He leaned across the table. ‘That, I’m sure you realize, is for your ears only. Yours and Clinton’s. He must come or …’ he looked up at Jack and the younger man again noted in the elder’s eyes that hitherto unseen desperation, ‘… or he must order my retreat. He is still my senior officer. He is aware of what General Howe is about if I am not. If he ordered me to retire in good order to Canada, to conserve my army to fight again then I would do so. I would, by God!’
Burgoyne’s eyelids, which had begun to flutter, closed. As if summoned to the stage Braithwaite appeared, carrying what looked like a bundle of polished wood in his arms. ‘Shall I, sir?’ the servant said.
Burgoyne nodded. ‘I’m afraid I must sleep, Jack. I’ll dictate the letters to Clinton for you and Willis and sign them on the morrow. Not so young as I was …’
He got up and moved across to where his servant had transformed the sticks into an ingenious folding bed. A mattress appeared from behind a screen – there was always a screen with Burgoyne though Jack was relieved, for the General’s sake, to see that this one concealed no mistress. Burgoyne swayed above the bed, as his servant decanted blankets and pillows from a chest.
Jack crossed to stand beside him. ‘Three final things, sir.’
‘Hmm?’
‘I will report to Captain Money all I have learned of the Rebels during my stay with Benedict Arnold.’
‘Yes,’ Burgoyne yawned, ‘do that, please.’
‘Até.’
‘If he returns, I shall hold him here for you.’
‘Thank you. And finally – the Count von Schlaben.’
The exhaustion left the General’s eyes. ‘There is no further point in keeping “mine enemy close”. He must not be allowed to cause any further harm to us, nor threaten you. Kill him.’
‘It will be my especial pleasure to obey that order, sir.’
The General was snoring by the time the sentry had swung open the door. Jack felt nearly as exhausted himself. Survival had taken precedence over sleep in the previous weeks. He would take up Pellew’s offer of a pillow. However, he had one call still to make.
He found her at the flap of her tent, watching. As he approached, Colonel Reardon rose from his cot behind her.
‘Jack.’ She raised a hand to him, then, aware of her father, let it fall back.
‘Have you come for that Madeira, Captain?’ Colonel Reardon said as he reached the entrance.
‘I fear I should be asleep before the glass was poured, thanks kindly just the same. I merely came to bid you and your daughter a good night.’
‘On the morrow, then?’ Louisa smiled.
‘Perhaps, if there is time. I am away again.’
‘When? Where?’
‘Noon. I leave for,’ he hesitated, ‘a small mission of the General’s devising. Nothing dangerous, I assure you.’
‘Do you think me a child, sir, to be pacified with little lies?’ The instant transformation of her face was again remarkable, the spirit he’d noticed sometimes when they ‘jousted’ on board fully and immediately in evidence, flushing crimson to her cheeks. ‘“Not dangerous?” You go to New York as one of the messengers, I am certain. There is not a more dangerous job in the army.’
Jack stepped closer. In a low tone, he said, ‘If that were true, Miss Reardon, you would do such a mission no good by declaring it so loudly.’
She had the decency to look a trifle abashed. Yet in a tone that matched his, she continued, ‘I must go with you.’
Jack, not for the first time in her presence, was astounded. His reaction was, as hers had been, monosyllabic. ‘How? Why?’
‘I have been awaiting just such an opportunity, haven’t I, Father?’ She turned to rest a hand on the old gentleman’s arm. ‘We received a letter from New York. Sickness has broken out there and my mother has been taken by it. She is gravely ill, and almost unattended. I begged the General to let me go to her but he would not allow it. He could not spare sufficient troops to ward me and would not let me travel alone.’
‘I should think not. And even if I was going there, you would not be much safer with me. The woods abound with desperate men, of both allegiances and neither. Alone, I have a chance of getting through but …’
The obstinacy never left her face. He turned to the Colonel. ‘Sir, I appeal to you. I must travel at speed and will live in the roughest of conditions. It will not be the place for a—’
‘A lady? Do you think I was spawned in silks, raised in lace? Before my father made his fortune, before he ever commanded a regiment in the field, we were ten years on the frontiers. I was formed in the very forests you will travel through.’
‘It is true, Captain, she was.’
‘But the speed at which I must move—’
‘And I was born astride a horse. I have my own, my beautiful Caspiana right here. It is you, sir, who will be chewing my trail mud.’
The older man said, warningly, ‘Louisa—’
Jack felt he was drowning. ‘Sir, I entreat you—’
But Colonel Reardon gave him no succour. ‘Captain Absolute, I confess I fear to let my daughter go. But I fear even more to leave my wife friendless and alone in New York. She is, according to the letter my daughter received, very ill. Deathly, I might say.’ His voice caught at the word.
‘And the Lord, in whom we must place all trust …’ He paused and looked at his daughter. ‘Well, at times, even the Lord needs a little help.’
In the twin appeal of their eyes, in his fatigue, Jack faltered. ‘Well, sir, I suppose if you can get the General’s permission—’
‘Done!’ said Louisa, as if she had just concluded a purchase.
‘Shall we go now, child?’
Louisa took a step forward then halted. ‘No, Father. The General will be sleeping and will not be apt for our appeal if disturbed. Besides …’ and here a smile displaced the obstinacy, ‘I have been saving a dress for just such an occasion. Nancy! Nancy!’ She took a step towards the next tent from which there came a distinct groan. Over her shoulder she called, ‘Noon then, Captain. At the farrier’s.’
The words he would speak were lost to her retreating back.
‘Since she was three years old I have been able to deny her precisely … nothing.’ Reardon turned to a still-speechless Jack. Hesitantly, in a lowered voice, he continued, ‘One thing remains. A boon I must ask of you. My daughter is … fond of you, Captain Absolute. By her talk, fonder than she has ever been of any man. She was heartbroken when she thought you gone. You would not … not take advantage of her … regard, would you?’ Off Jack’s puzzled stare, he added, ‘As her father, I ask for your word as a gentleman.’
It was a consideration he had not yet had the leisure to dwell upon. Louisa and he, alone in the woods. No cramped sea quarters, close neighbours and resonant wooden walls, just the trees and the stars and themselves. It was the stuff of more than a few of his most pleasant dreams.
Yet … here was another man asking if he was a gentleman. The Count von Schlaben had discovered that he was not, not entirely. Indeed, he felt that if he had ever deserved that title, it had not been for many years; not in India nor the Caribbean, nor when living as a Mohawk. But now he had again assumed the role, if not the uniform, of a captain in the 16th Dragoons, he supposed he once more also assumed certain obligations. Gentlemanly ones.
Sighing, he said, ‘You have my word, sir.’