the renegade ingratiated himself into the garrison here? What if I called him out at this moment, sword to sword? Maybe Colonel Aucoin and the other officers would join me against this upstart and demand that he produce Harry!
As I stewed, a black servant annoyingly tugged my sleeve. “Monsieur, a messenger for you in the kitchen.”
“I’m busy.”
“Pardon, but he says he’s ready to carry again.” The Negro looked at me intently.
At first I didn’t understand, but then I did.
Jubal. Of all the worst times!
“Can it wait?”
“Please. It’s safe, but urgent.”
Things were happening too fast. Heart hammering, hating the idea of leaving my wife to lechers, I reluctantly followed the slave. Surely she’d not go upstairs to Rochambeau… except she was entirely too self-sufficient, which is why I loved her.
“Here, monsieur.” To my surprise, a shelf of books rotated and I stepped into a passageway. It wasn’t secret, but rather a hidden corridor to bring refreshments to private meetings in the library. In twenty paces another door led us into the pantry, with the clatter of the kitchen beyond. Black cooks were singing as they worked, while butlers shouted orders and curses. Hams and fowl hung from the pantry ceiling, jars of pickled preserves lined the shelves, and barrels of flour and meat crowded the floor. It was a hoard of food in the midst of a siege. A few miles away a vast dark army loomed, waiting to liberate all the servants working here. What must the blacks think of nights like this?
Emerging from the dark of a pantry corner was the large form I knew well.
“Jubal, you risk coming here?”
“I risk what my commander orders,” he said. “Dessalines has sent a patrol for you. It’s the best time to escape, with army officers preoccupied. While they drink and eat, we’ll climb the mountains, wading up a stream to throw off any dogs.”
“I can’t go tonight. We’re honored guests, ambassadors, and my wife has urgent business with Rochambeau.”
“There’s no choice if you wish to meet Dessalines. It must be on his schedule, not yours, lest he fear that you set a trap. We go in one hour.”
“An hour! What about our belongings?”
“Leave them. Take them back when we take the city.”
“My wife will not agree.”
“Leave her if you wish. Then, if you want her back, you’ll join us in storming the walls.”
By that time she’d be Rochambeau’s forced concubine, or worse. What wretched timing! “Things can’t happen that fast. I’m looking for my boy.”
“If you don’t come in an hour, you’ll never meet Dessalines, unless it is to hang from the gibbet with the other whites when he conquers Cap-Francois.”
Damnation. Yet I also knew Jubal was right: the ball was a perfect time to creep away from Cap-Francois. Could I persuade Astiza? “I have to ask my wife.”
“Command her. Then meet me in the park just beyond here in one hour. Don’t let yourself be followed.”
He melted into the shadows. For a moment I hesitated, frustrated, and then I realized that Jubal’s deadline was a partial solution to my problems. It meant Astiza and I must flee before her flirtation with the general went too far. I had an excuse to get her away! She had a mother’s instinct to stay close to her son, but the strategic thing to do-the fatherly calculation-was to throw in with L’Ouverture’s successor.
Wasn’t it?
I hurried back toward the celebration. The level of noise had risen as guests plumbed the punch. Dancers twirled faster but more tipsily. Laughter was a shriek. In the corners behind the pillars, couples were kissing. Officers without women stumbled drunkenly together, telling crude jokes.
I didn’t see Astiza.
Nor Rochambeau.
Nor Martel.
By the beard of Odin, was I too late?
I spied Aucoin, my earlier escort, and risked pushing through the crowd to him, betting Martel had left the ballroom. “Colonel!” I greeted.
“Ah, Monsieur Gage. So we fiddle while Rome burns.”
“Have you met my wife?”
“I wish to. I saw the two of you together earlier. She’s beautiful, Ethan.”
“Yes, but now I’m looking for her. It’s rather urgent we leave.”
“You may have to wait. I believe she ascended the stairs with an aide to our general named Leon Martel. Rather formidable in personality, and forbidding in appearance. He arrived a few months ago and has cast a spell on our commander.”
“Have you seen Martel with a young boy?”
“There are rumors of several boys, but they are just rumors.”
My jaw ached from its clenching. “I need to get a message to her.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “Best not to disturb Rochambeau. It hurts, but politics comes first, no?”
“Fidelity first, Colonel. And honor.”
“Of course. But he has many soldiers; she is there, and you are here. Have a drink and wait as other husbands have waited.”
“The hell I will.”
“Or risk being ordered to a doomed patrol.”
Chapter 22
No one takes my advice, including my wife. This may be because of my tendency to fall into political tangles, military brawls, debt, and ill-considered romantic affairs, but still-did Astiza have any inclination to honor and obey my admonition not to go upstairs in her desperation to gain information about our son? Apparently not. Posted on the balcony that fronted Rochambeau’s office and bedchamber were sentries with muskets and bayonets. Somewhere beyond those closed doors were Astiza, two men I despised, and a grandfather clock imported from Breguet that was ticking remorselessly toward my rendezvous with Jubal.
I’d make no progress on finding Montezuma’s hoard without fleeing to Dessalines and the rebels, and no progress toward regaining my son and the confidence of my wife without keeping close to Martel and Rochambeau.
But what if I could retrieve my bride from General Rochambeau, castrating the bastard in the process? What if I could capture Leon Martel and take him with us into the mountains? No doubt he’d be a worthy prize to bring to the Negro general. Maybe I’d have the pleasure of trying to mock-drown the renegade policeman just as he’d drowned me in Paris. A warm-up before black rebels invented even more hideous tortures? I was weaponless in a house with a hundred French officers, but doesn’t fortune reward the bold?
Yes, I’d capture Martel, retrieve Astiza, castrate Rochambeau, flee to Dessalines, find the treasure, get the emerald, and somewhere along the way rescue my son.
I hurried back to the library, swung the bookcase open once more, and made my way down the private passageway to the pantry. The same servant as before intercepted me.
“Monsieur? It’s not yet time for Jubal.”
“I need to get upstairs first, but the main way is guarded.”
“Strictly forbidden during celebrations. General Rochambeau entertains in private.”
“My wife is up there.”
