Moxey grimaced at the thought of walking a quarter-mile through the mud, but then pulled himself out of his chair and set off through the dusk toward the Legion's lines. The rain had stopped, and campfires pricked the gloom as men emerged from their shelters and blew kindling into life.
Faulconer admired the two dismissal orders. 'And I give them passes for Richmond?'
'Good for tomorrow only,' Medlicott suggested slyly. 'That way if the bastards linger you can have them arrested again.'
Faulconer filled in the two passes, then, his work done, walked across the veranda and down to the stretch of muddy grass that lay between the house and a peach orchard. He stretched his cramped arms. The clouds had made the dusk premature, casting night's pall over what should have been a sweet summer evening. 'You'd have thought the rain would have broken this humidity,' Medlicott said as he followed Faulconer down the steps.
'Another storm might do it,' Faulconer said. He offered Medlicott a cigar, and for a few moments the two men smoked in silence. It was hardly a companionable silence, but Medlicott had nothing to say, and the General was evidently thinking hard. Faulconer finally cleared his throat. 'You know, of course, that I've friends in Richmond?'
'Of course,' Medlicott said gruffly.
Faulconer was silent for a few seconds more. 'I've been thinking, you see,' he eventually said, 'and it occurs to me that we've done more than our fair share of fighting since the war began. Wouldn't you agree?'
'Hell, yes,' Medlicott said fervently.
'So I was hoping we could have the Brigade assigned to Richmond,' Faulconer said. 'Maybe we could become the experts on the city's defenses ?'
Medlicott nodded gravely. He was not sure just how expert a brigade needed to be in order to garrison the star forts and trenches that ringed Richmond, but anything that took a man away from the slaughterfields of open battle and closer to hot baths, decent food, and regular hours seemed pretty inviting. 'Experts,' Medlicott said, 'indeed.'
'And some of my friends in the capital are convinced it's a good idea,' Faulconer said. 'You think the men will like it?' He added the question disingenuously.
'I'm sure, I'm sure,' Medlicott said.
Faulconer examined the glowing tip of his cigar. 'Politically, of course, we mustn't look too eager. We can't have people saying we shirked the burden, which means I'll probably have to make a show of refusing the job, but it would help me if my regimental commanders pressed me to accept.'
'Of course, of course,' Medlicott said. The miller did not really understand the prevarication but was quite happy to agree to anything that might get the Brigade back to the comparative comforts of the Richmond defenses.
'And I was thinking that I might make Paul Hinton my second-in-command,' Faulconer went on, 'which means that the Legion will need a new commanding officer.'
Medlicott's heart gave a leap of anticipation, but he had the sense to show neither surprise nor delight. 'Surely your brother-in-law will be back soon?' he said instead.
'Pecker might not want to return,' Faulconer said, meaning that he hoped he could persuade Bird not to return, 'but even if he does it won't be for a long time and the Legion can't manage without a new commanding officer, can it?'
'Indeed not, sir,' Medlicott said.
'Some people, of course, would say the job ought to go to a professional soldier,' Faulconer said, teasing the eager Medlicott, 'but I think this war needs fresh eyes and ideas.'
'Very true, sir, very true.'
'And you managed a fair number
Medlicott's gristmill had never employed more than two free men at any one time, and one of those was usually a half-wit, but the miller now nodded sagely as though he was accustomed to giving orders to hundreds of employees. 'A good few,' he said cautiously, then frowned because Captain Moxey, muddied to his knees, was returning. Just a few seconds more, Medlicott thought, and he would have been the Legion's new commanding officer, but now an excited Moxey was demanding Faulconer's attention.
'Moxey?' Faulconer turned to greet his aide.
'Major Hinton's not here, sir. Not in the lines,' Moxey said eagerly.
'What do you mean, not in the lines?'
Moxey was clearly enjoying making his revelations. 'He's gone to McComb's Tavern, sir,' he said. 'It seems it's his fiftieth birthday, sir, and most of the Legion's officers went with him.'
'God damn them!' Faulconer said. They were plotting. That was what they were doing, plotting! He did not believe the story about a birthday for one moment; they were conspiring behind his back! 'Don't they know the tavern's off limits?'
'They know it's off limits,' Captain Medlicott intervened. 'Of course they know. It's downright disobedience, sir,' he added to Faulconer, wondering whether he might not end up second-in-command to the whole Brigade after all.
'Fetch them, Captain,' Faulconer ordered Moxey. Goddamn it, Faulconer thought, but Major Hinton would have to learn that there was a new tight discipline in the Faulconer Brigade. 'Tell them to come here immediately,' Faulconer said, then paused because Captain Medlicott had raised a warning hand, and the General turned to see a horseman approaching. The General recognized the rider as Captain Talliser, one of Stonewall Jackson's aides.
Talliser saluted Faulconer by touching a gloved hand to his hat brim, then fetched a packet of papers from his saddlebag. 'Marching orders, General. Reckon you'll be busy packing up tonight.'
'Marching orders?' Faulconer repeated the words as though he did not understand their meaning.
Talliser held on to the orders, offering a scrap of paper and a pencil instead. 'I need your signature first, General. Or someone's signature.'
Faulconer took the proffered paper and scribbled his name to confirm that General Jackson's orders had indeed been received. 'Where are we going?' he asked as he took the orders.
'North, sir, over the river,' Talliser said, tucking the receipt into a pouch on his belt.
'You'll eat with us, Talliser?' Faulconer asked, gesturing toward the farmhouse, where his cooks were busy preparing supper.
'Real kind of you, General,' Talliser said, 'but I should be getting back.'
'You'll surely take a glass of something before you go?'
'A glass of water would be real kind.' Talliser was not one of Jackson's favorite aides for nothing. He swung himself out of his saddle and winced at the soreness in his legs. 'Been a long day, sir, a real long day.'
Faulconer turned and was about to shout for Nelson, his servant, then remembered that the wretched man had not yet returned from his errand to Faulconer Court House.
'Moxey,' he said instead, 'before you go to McComb's Tavern, be kind enough to fetch a glass of water for Captain Talliser.'
But Moxey was no longer paying attention. Moxey was instead staring slack-jawed and wide-eyed past the farmhouse. Slowly Moxey's hand began to point; then he tried to speak, but the only sound he could make was an incoherent stammer.
'What the hell?' Medlicott frowned at Moxey's pathetic display; then he, too, turned and looked south. 'Oh, dear Christ!' he blasphemed; then he began to run away.
Just as the Yankees opened fire.
It all started so much more easily than Major Galloway had dared to hope. The raiders, riding in column of pairs, stole through the dank twilight to the empty road that stretched between the rebel encampment and the crossroads, where dim candlelights gleamed behind the tavern's windows. No one saw the cavalrymen move through the half-light, and no one challenged them as they urged their horses up the small embankment that edged the road. Galloway chuckled as he heard singing coming from the tavern. 'Someone's sure having a good time,' the Major said, then turned to Captain Blythe. 'Billy? Take your men south a little. Just make sure no one from the tavern interferes with us. And listen for our bugle.'
Blythe touched his hat and turned his horse southward. 'You take care now, Major,' he called softly as he led his men away.
The rest of Galloway's Horse rode north. The horses' hooves sank into the mud, but the going was not nearly
