'That must make you good for something,' Swynyard insisted.
'Not one whole hell of a lot,' Starbuck said, 'except maybe discovering unmapped fords.' He crossed to a hand- drawn map of the area that lay on a claw-footed table. 'Just here,' he said, 'not a long rifle shot away from the lines.'
For a moment Swynyard thought Starbuck was being jocular; then he crossed to the map table. 'Truly?' he asked.
'Truly,' Lassan confirmed.
'Right there.' Starbuck pointed on the pencil-drawn map. 'It's called Dead Mary's Ford.'
'We waded across it, Colonel,' Lassan said, picking up the tale, 'knee deep, passable by artillery, and as wide open as a barrack-town whorehouse on a Saturday night.'
Swynyard shouted for his horse. Now that he had released his slaves, he was using Hiram Ketley, Colonel Bird's half-witted orderly, as his servant. Bird himself was on his way home to Faulconer Court House and was expected to survive so long as his wound stayed clean. 'You don't have a horse, Starbuck?' Swynyard asked as his own mare was brought to the front of the house.
'No, Colonel. Can't afford one.'
Swynyard ordered another horse saddled, and then the three men rode north through the woods to where the ruined house stood beside the river. Swynyard rode across the ford, then back again. 'Our lord and master,' he said to Starbuck, 'ordered me not to change the Brigade's dispositions without his permission, but even Faulconer, I suspect, would agree that we have to put a guard here.' He stopped talking, distracted by the stooped, ragged figure of Mad Silas, who had suddenly appeared out of the bushes in his ruined house like a beast scuttling out of a burrow. 'Who's that?' Swynyard asked.
'Some poor, old, mad black,' Lassan said. 'He lives there.'
'Is that a skull he's carrying?' Swynyard asked in a tone of horror.
Starbuck stared and felt a sudden shock as he realized that the object in Silas's hands was indeed an old yellow skull. 'Jesus,' he said faintly.
'It's more likely to belong to Dead Mary,' Lassan said dryly.
'I suppose he knows what he's doing,' Swynyard said as Silas crossed the river and disappeared into the far woods, 'which is more than we do.' He returned his attention to the ford. 'If we've not heard of this crossing, then I can't believe the Yankees know about it, but even so we can't take a chance. Why don't you bring your company here, Starbuck, with B and E as well? I'll make you a separate command, which means you'll bivouac here. You'll have to dig in, of course, and I'll inspect your earthworks at sunset tonight.'
For a second Starbuck did not quite understand the implications of the Colonel's words. 'Does that mean I'll be in command?' he asked.
'Who else? The tooth fairy?' Swynyard's conversion had not entirely robbed him of savagery. 'Of course you're in command. B and E Companies are commanded by lieutenants, in case you hadn't noticed. But, of course,' he added, 'if you don't feel equal to the responsibility of command?' He left the question dangling.
'I'm up to it, sir, and thank you,' Starbuck said, and then he saw Swynyard's triumphant grin and realized that he had actually called the Colonel 'sir.' But then this was a special occasion, the first time that Captain Nathaniel Starbuck had been given the responsibility of an independent command.
'I suspect the ford is in safe hands now,' Swynyard said, pleased with himself. 'So, Colonel'—he turned to Lassan– 'you've plainly seen more adventure than most. Like me!' He held up his left hand with its missing fingers. 'So let us exchange stories of scars. Off you go, Starbuck! Fetch your men. Leave the horse with Ketley.'
'Yes, sir,' Starbuck said and felt his spirits soar. He had a ford to guard.
Priscilla Bird had taken over her husband's responsibilities in the small schoolroom of Faulconer Court House where, day by day, she taught fifty-three children whose ages ranged from five to sixteen. She was a good teacher, patient with the slow, demanding of the quick, and firm in her discipline, yet since the war had begun, there were two sounds that were guaranteed to erode all order in her schoolroom. One was the noise of marching feet, and the other the clatter of massed hoofbeats on the road outside, and despite all Priscilla's strictures the older children would always respond to those sounds by first sidling along their benches to see out of the windows, and if they saw soldiers passing, they would then ignore her protests and insist on hanging over the sills to cheer their passing heroes.
Yet as the August temperatures rose to record levels, Priscilla became as sensitive to the sound of horses as any of the children. She expected her wounded husband's return, and that expectation was shot through with apprehension, love, relief, and fear, which was why she no longer protested when the children crowded at the windows, for she was as keen as they to investigate every odd sound in the street. Not that troops passed very often, for, since the Faulconer Legion had marched away a year before, the town had seen precious few soldiers in its streets. The townsfolk read about the battles in the
One or two of the troopers smiled at the cheering children, but most stayed grim-faced as they passed the school. There were only twenty of the horse soldiers, but their arrival was stirring the town with excitement and the expectation of news. 'Are you with Jeb Stuart?' one boy called repeatedly from the schoolhouse. The Confederacy still buzzed with the remembered pleasure of Stuart's mocking ride clean around the whole of George McClellan's army. 'Are you Jeb Stuart's men, mister?' the boy called again.
'Damn Stuart, you black-assed bastard,' one of the dusty troopers called back.
Priscilla frowned, stared, and hardly dared to believe the suspicion that suddenly crossed her thoughts. These men wore blue coats, not gray or brown, and the leader of the troop was suddenly familiar beneath the mask of dust on his suntanned face. The man had a square, golden beard and blue eyes that looked up to meet Priscilla's gaze. He half smiled, then courteously touched the brim of his hat. It was Adam Faulconer.
'Get back!' Priscilla shouted at the children, and such was the fear and anger in her voice that all but the most rebellious of her pupils obeyed.
For there were Yankees in Faulconer Court House. Adam had known it was imprudent to take his men through the very center of his hometown, but once he had thought of the notion, he could not shake it free. He wanted to flaunt his new allegiance in front of his father's neighbors, and the very hurtfulness of that disloyal act made it all the more appealing. He suddenly felt free of both his father and of his father's money, and that liberation had made him cast all caution to the wind and bring his blue troopers into the heart of his hometown. 'Sergeant Huxtable!' he shouted when he saw Priscilla Bird pull back from the open schoolroom window.
'Sir?' Huxtable called.
'Let the banner fly, Huxtable. Let's not be coy!' 'Yes, sir.' Huxtable grinned, then ordered Corporal Kemp to pull the cloth cover off the Stars and Stripes. Kemp unrolled the banner, then raised it high on its lance shaft-pole. A last child had been cheering from the schoolroom but fell abruptly silent as the old flag unfurled to the bright Virginia sun. Adam, looking at that flag, felt the familiar catch in his throat.
It was a sweet moment for Adam as he rode through Faulconer Court House beneath his proper flag. He rode proud in a strange uniform, and he enjoyed the astonishment on the townspeople's faces. 'Good morning, Mrs. Cobb!' he called happily. 'Your husband's well? You'll doubtless be hoping for some rain for your vegetables.' He waved to Grandmother Mallory, who was on the steps of the bank, then greeted the blacksmith, Matthew Tunney, who was one of a group of drinkers who had crowded out of Greeley's Tavern to watch the strange horsemen pass. 'Keep your hand off your gun, Southerly!' Adam warned an elderly man whose face displayed a livid outrage. Adam's own men had unslung their Colt rifles.
'Traitor!' Southerly called, but kept his hands in clear sight as the dusty, hard-faced horsemen passed by. The horses, some of the townsfolk noted, were mangy and ill-kept. 'Should be ashamed of himself, a Faulconer, riding nags like that,' Matthew Tunney observed.
Adam led the nags past Sparrow's Dry Goods Store, then by the Episcopal church and the Baptist church, the courthouse and the livery stable. Sleeping dogs were startled awake and slunk out of the road as the horses
