Love and War

that of a nigger. No, I'm too generous. You are lower than niggers, and you will learn to feel that — sleep and eat that — breathe that every minute you are in my care. Now —'

A long inhalation. Then he smiled.

'Show me that you understand what I just told you. Show me what you are. Get down on your knees.'

'What the hell —?' Billy growled. Behind him, another officer said, 'You fucking reb ape —'

'Murch?' Vesey gestured. Using his side arm, the private hit the outspoken officer in the back of the head. The man staggered. A second blow laid him on his side, barely conscious.

Vesey smiled again. 'I said,' he murmured, 'kneel down. Heathen niggers. Kneel — down.'

The artillery captain dropped first, panting. Someone cursed him. Vesey dashed to the third row and hit the offender, then seized his shoulder and forced him to his knees. Anxious looks flashed between the prisoners, tired men who wanted to save themselves from this lunatic. Slowly, one by one, they knelt, until just three naked officers remained standing. Vesey studied the trio and walked to the nearest — Billy.

'Kneel down,' Vesey purred, smiling broadly and fixing him with those October eyes.

Heart hammering, Billy said, 'I demand that this group of prisoners be treated according to the rules of war. The rules your superior surely understands even if you do no —'

He saw the hand flying toward his face, tried to jerk aside but was slowed by his fatigue. The open-handed blow hurt more than he anticipated. He lurched sideways, almost fell.

'I told you before. There are no rules here but the ones I make. Get down.'

He dug immaculate fingernails into Billy's bare shoulder. 'Jesus,' Billy said, tears in his eyes. Vesey's nails broke skin; blood oozed as he dug deeper.

'Now you blaspheme. Get down!'

Wanting to stay on his feet, Billy felt his legs giving out. His head began to vibrate like some faulty part in a machine. He clenched his teeth, resisting the steady downward pressure —

Unexpectedly, Vesey pulled. The shift unbalanced Billy, and he tumbled over, knees whacking the floor, bare palms skidding along it; a long splinter drove into his right hand.

He raised his head and saw the corporal turn away. 'Murch?'

'Sir?'

'What's his name?'

'Hazard. William Hazard. Engineers.'

'Thank you. I want to be certain to remember that,' Vesey said through lips so tight with rage they had lost all color.

His eyes shifted to the two other officers still standing. First one, then the other, knelt down. 'Good,' Vesey said.

Billy scrambled up on his haunches. Blood leaked along his forearm from the wounds left by Vesey's nails. He watched the bright October eyes return to him again, marking him.

That day, just at five, the wind strengthened, the sky blackened, the heat broke under an assault of raging rain, pelting hail, thunder loud as massed field guns. Orry started across the capitol rotunda as the storm burst, and, with no gas jets lit as yet, found himself in near-darkness. He blundered into another officer, stepped back, astonished.

'George? I didn't know you were in Richmond.'

'Yes,' said his old friend Pickett in a peculiar, detached voice. Pickett's long hair was uncombed, his eyes ringed by shadows. 'Yes, for a while — I'm temporarily detached. Good to see you. We must get together,' he said over his shoulder as he hurried into the dark. Thunder tremors vibrated the marble floor.

He didn't recognize me. What's wrong with him?

But Orry thought he knew. He had heard the stories. Once so courtly and light-hearted, Pickett had gone up Cemetery Hill, leading his boys to a slaughter. He had come down a ruined and a haunted man. Orry stood motionless in the center of the rotunda. The whole building shook, as if the elements wanted to tear it apart.

On the same day, in Washington, George received a bedraggled envelope forwarded by means of a three- cent stamp added at Lehigh Station. So far as he could tell, the envelope bore no other franking. Curious. He opened it, unfolded the letter, saw the signature, and whooped.

Not only was Orry in Richmond, he was with Madeline, who was now his wife. George shook his head in amazement as he read on through the letter obviously sent to Pennsylvania by illegal courier. Fate had ironically shunted the two friends along similar paths. Like George, he could barely tolerate most of his war department duties.

In spite of the letter's tone of melancholy, it brought a smile whenever George read it. And he read it, aloud to Constance and silently to himself, many times before he put it away with his permanent keepsakes.

None of the drinkers in the hotel bar laughed; few raised their voices above a mutter. What was there to be cheerful about? Not even the weather. The heat wave had broken, but relief had come with a storm so fierce it sounded as if it might level all of Richmond.

Trying to shut out the voices of discontent all around him, Lamar Powell worked on a draft of a letter to the foreman of the Mexican Mine. He had chosen a table in a back corner for privacy and was writing to advise the mine foreman that sometime within the next twelve months he would personally appear at the site to take charge.

When he was satisfied with the wording, he began to consider ways to get the letter out of the Confederacy He distrusted the illegal mail couriers who operated between here and Washington; they were a duplicitous lot, sometimes dumping a pouch of letters into some gully or creek and disappearing with their meager profits. Still, they represented the fastest and most direct means of sending mail across enemy lines. Perhaps he should use a courier but send a copy of the letter by another route. To Bermuda, via Wilmington. That way —

A fraction late, he heard the wet boots squeaking. He quickly folded the draft and glanced at the man whose shadow had fallen on the table. The man was fat, huge, his fusty suit large as a tent. He had dark hair, sly eyes, a conspiratorial air. He licked his lips.

'Have I the honor of addressing Mr. Lamar Powell?'

Powell wished that he had brought his four-barrel Sharps tonight. Could this gross fellow be some spy of Winder's on the prowl for critics of the President?

'What do you want?' Powell retorted.

Put off by the nonanswer, the stranger cleared his throat. 'You were pointed out as Mr. Powell. I've been searching for you for several days. I am interested in, ah, certain of your plans. May I sit down and explain? Oh, forgive me — my name is Captain Bellingham.'

That night, Bent celebrated by drinking himself into a stupor in his rooming house. Mr. Lamar Powell was shrewd. He had not uttered so much as a syllable to confirm his part in any conspiracy against the government, nor indeed given the slightest indication that such a conspiracy existed. Yet by glance and inflection and gesture, he left no doubt. He was involved, and he could use trustworthy recruits — especially a Maryland-born Southern sympathizer lately wounded in service with General Longstreet.

Not only had it been necessary for Bent to tell those lies, but he had been required to state some fundamental beliefs — extremely risky, but vital if he was to convince Powell of his sincerity. He said he hated to see the South misruled, the war lost, the great principles sullied by King Jeff the First. He wanted the dictator removed, if not by the ballot, then by other means.

Powell had listened, then made a small concession. After further reflection on the captain's story, he would be in touch at the address the captain had provided, if — if — there was any reason for contact. He didn't state that there would be, but his manner clearly suggested it.

Powell questioned him hard as to how and where he had heard Powell's name. Bent refused to answer. Being stubborn on that point was a risk, of course. Yet if Powell deemed him too pliable, he might not want his services. So Bent dug in and repeatedly said no, he could reveal nothing about his sources.

He left Powell in the hotel bar, got drunk in his rooming house, and settled down to wait. A week, a month — whatever it took. Meantime, he had another little scheme to occupy him now that he was in the same city as Orry