tradesmen. Or soldiers. And by all accounts, in Saint-Domingue they are beating the finest troops that France can send against them.”
“Disease and climate are beating the French. We English beat superstition and savagery out of the Negro. It’s God’s work, what we do.”
I’ve noticed that whenever men want to justify what they desire, they attribute their choice to God. The meaner the ambition, the more they swear it is the Almighty’s desire, and it is the very greediest who insist most vigorously that their covetous hoarding is the Creator’s will. Judging by what’s claimed, God blesses the armies of both sides, kings indiscriminately, and the poor not at all. Ben Franklin and Tom Jefferson were both skeptical of this truck, but even they seemed to hope there was some divinity or destiny to make sense of life. Some slaves, I knew, had converted to Christianity, but their new god didn’t seem to have improved their lot, and I wondered what they thought about fate. What was life like, laboring like an animal, with no hope of change? “It certainly must be complicated to organize,” I said, needing Lovington as an ally.
“Only condemn us when you’re willing to stop eating sugar,” the lord replied. “Your Southern Americans understand what I mean. Ask your Virginians. Ask your President Jefferson. The French are oscillating between anarchy and tyranny, Gage, and must not win. You and I will not let them.”
“Which brings us to Saint-Domingue.” I had not just the fate of races but a missing son to worry about, and every minute of factory tour slowed my search for Harry.
He nodded. “Let’s ride where we can’t be overheard by the blacks.”
“I can’t understand them. They can understand us?”
“More than you know.”
We took a lane through the cane fields to a rocky outcrop with a view over a forested valley. Beyond was the deep blue of the Caribbean, its shallows the color of angel eyes, its beaches seemingly poured from the produced sugar. What might such an island be like with a less ruthless economy? Even in the wind I continued to sweat in my coat and vest, a necessary uniform when visiting with a governor. I kept sipping from my flask.
“I’m told by Sidney Smith that you’re the last man to see L’Ouverture alive,” Lovington said. “Is this true?”
“Yes. Except for the guards who killed him, I suppose.”
“In his introductory letter, Smith said you found part of an ancient treasure the French believe could hold strategic secrets.”
“A cad named Leon Martel apparently has a strong imagination, but yes.”
“Do you know where the rest of the hoard is?”
“No.” I thought it best not to mention L’Ouverture’s enigmatic clue; let that be a card that Astiza and I kept until we learned more. “But if the Black Spartacus knew, probably other blacks in Saint-Domingue know, too. That’s why you must send us there.”
“I hear they want to call it Haiti. Imagine that, choosing their own name.” He was pensive, a man who suspected that his way of life was slipping away as we marched into the modern nineteenth century. Everyone gets old, and all of us are eventually defeated by change.
“I need passage to the island so I can contact their generals,” I said. “I understand a man named Dessalines has taken charge.”
“A black butcher. Worse than Toussaint L’Ouverture.”
“But a winner, too. The French are falling back.”
“Yes.” Lovington bit his lip.
“I’ll learn what I can from the French, trade it to Dessalines for their own secrets, and discover whether this treasure exists and how to get it.”
“And then what?”
“Get your garrison’s help to fetch it.” It was a lie, but a necessary one. I’d no idea who would prevail if the blacks, French, and English battled over treasure, but I didn’t see any of them deserving it more than me. I hoped to use the secret of its whereabouts to get back Harry and the emerald long before the rest of them had at it, and then take all I could carry. I’d also give payback to Martel, killing the villain once I had my boy.
“How will you persuade Dessalines?” the governor asked.
“First, I’m American, and the blacks have relied on trade with my country the entire decade of their revolt. They will listen. Second, I tried to save L’Ouverture, and they’ll be curious about his fate. Third, I’m going to spy on the French and offer my military expertise to their Negro strategists.”
“You’re going to help the blacks win?” The thought made him uneasy.
“To help Britain conquer the French. It’s a game of enemy and ally. You know that.”
He nodded reluctantly. “You’re white. Dessalines may just impale you on a stake as he has many others.”
“But affable.” Actually, I was fearful of going to Saint-Domingue, but what choice did I have? “Once we betray the French positions, everyone may want to hang us. A pox on all of them. They shouldn’t have taken my son.”
Astiza smiled at this, a reassertion our host noticed.
“Your wife should stay here. Lady Lovington would enjoy the company.”
“You’re very kind,” I said, as a way of sparing Astiza from having to answer.
“You’ll find Carlisle very comfortable,” the governor told her. “And safe.”
“I care more about my son’s safety than my own.”
“Yes.” I was surprised he wasn’t more insistent at her keeping to a woman’s place, but he was shrewd in his own way, and maybe not all that eager to have my spouse give his wife odd ideas. “And there is one advantage to going with your husband.”
“What’s that?”
“The French commander, Rochambeau, has a weakness for ladies.”
“Your meaning?” I asked, even though I knew perfectly well his meaning.
“He’s the son of the general who helped your nation win independence at Yorktown, but he doesn’t have his father’s intelligence or character. His strategy is terror, which has united the whole island against him. His distraction from disaster is women.”
“You want me to prostitute my wife?”
“I think he’s suggesting I play a role again,” Astiza said.
“Exactly. Rochambeau is the French weakness, not their strength. Instead of leading an attack on Dessalines, he holds balls and carnivals. If you want to learn the French strategic positions, I believe Mrs. Gage may discover more with flirtation than you will with a sketchbook and telescope.”
Well, she’d already posed as L’Ouverture’s concubine. And we needed something to take to Dessalines. “Flirt, nothing more.”
“Of course.”
“I know where to draw the line, Ethan.”
“Rochambeau is ruled by his emotions,” Lovington said. “Such a man is vulnerable.”
This was a terrible idea, except it wasn’t. Astiza would cutlass her own arm off before being stuck for weeks or months with an aristocratic twit like Lady Lovington. She was hot to hunt for Harry and would castrate Leon Martel herself if she got the chance. Her sorceress reverie in the ship’s hold had warned her of things, and she wanted to manipulate fate by doing the unexpected. And I would be along to defend her honor. “Surely this French general is too cautious to woo the wife of an American diplomat,” I said.
“On the contrary, I think making men cuckolds gives him as much pleasure as the sex itself. He beds with impunity, protected by his soldiers.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Ethan, it will never go that far; I’m pretending only.”
I sighed. “Yes. What could ever go wrong?”
Astiza turned to the governor. “You must deliver us to Saint-Domingue.”
Lovington nodded. “Your wife has a decisive frame of mind.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“We’ve captured a French privateer. We’ll take you to Cap-Francois in that, still posing as a frog vessel. You’ll both row ashore as Yankee diplomats.”
