South Carolina
November 1784
Early morning on a surprisingly mild day, surprising at least to the New York cavalry making its way through gentle, rolling hills north and east of Columbia. The lashing rains of the night before softened just before daybreak and felt almost warm after recent chills.
They'd crossed the Conagree River at a small covered bridge north of town just after dawn, choosing to allow any defenders in Columbia to mass his forces rather than risk a river crossing if they managed to blow the bridge. Leyton trained his men to rely on speed and surprise. They didn't intend to lose either.
Colonel Leyton had no say in the matter. He sat, straight backed, on his horse and stared straight ahead at nothing. As far as he was concerned they were riding through a dream, a decidedly unpleasant one where he had little choice but to let it take him where it would. Major Whiteaker constantly asked after his health, and after receiving unhelpful answers took out his frustration by viciously chewing out anyone who dared report on the regiment's progress.
You are cruel, Bast scolded Thomas Heyward in the recesses of his mind, running straight over the whispered voice encouraging him to slaughter and mayhem.
He rode 'Death' near the front of the long, winding column. John protected Cassie and the baby somewhere in the middle, safely out of harm's way. Heyward patted his saddle bag roughly.
Since when do cats have the right to talk about cruelty?
You took away his free choice. You took away his liberty. You...
He wanted to take us to Philadelphia. I stopped him.
You could have done that without dominating his will.
His men are also useful. Charleston may be defended. I don't need the extra distraction.
So you're forcing them as well through their loyalty? They're nothing more than pawns? How about your friends? Are they nothing as well?
ENOUGH! Tom slapped the saddle bag again.
You're the one who keeps insisting I have a job to do. Fine. I'm doing it. You have no right to question how.
Do I not? Let me ask you something: Our brother enjoys possessing people, breaking their spirit so he can use their bodies and connections to his own advantage. How is what you're doing here any better?
"Sir?" piped a nervous youth. "Major Whiteaker's compliments, and he asks for your counsel."
Tom looked up to find the column had stopped. Whiteaker sat next to the motionless Leyton, turned in his saddle to glare at him. He rode up.
"Yes, Major?"
"You're the one who convinced the Colonel to attack Columbia," Whiteaker said. Colonel Leyton turned slowly to regard them, but didn't speak.
"Yes."
"I think it's a mistake. Colonel Leyton disagrees, but offers no insight so I'm asking you. We've taken the fort northeast of the city and control the northern roads. How do you want to proceed?"
"I would assume you're the expert on cavalry tactics, Major. Unless you wish to consult Colonel Preston."
"Bugger Preston. This is your idea. Do you mean us to hold the town? That will be diffi..."
"No, Major. Take it and rout any defenders. Allow those defenders to retreat towards Charleston. Take what you need from the town to keep us in the field, then we can go there ourselves."
"Charleston? And do what? Attack? Are you out of your mind!?"
"I doubt you will be attacking the city. The Carolina Guard will deploy to retake Columbia. They will be out of their entrenchments and you can use your men to advantage. Rout them, then we march in."
Whiteaker shook his head rapidly. "Our mission here is not to march into Charleston or anywhere else! Colonel!?"
Leyton gave them a distant smile. "We will proceed with General Heyward's plan."
"Charles!"
"Deploy for battle, Major. A few more days and you and your men can go home."
*******
The defenders in Columbia, mostly militiamen, knew very well there were hostile American horsemen operating northwest of town. They certainly didn't know the Americans' changed character, however, and so most learned of the pending attack from their homes while a handful defended the Indian Trail leading west.
(PIC)
They did their best and gave us good as they received, but the Carolinans were surprised and dispirited. They were men rushed to action with little more training than that their fathers gave them while hunting, while the New York cavalry had been together for years in numerous campaigns. Just as the Carolinans weathered the first thunderous charge and stabilized, rifle and bayonet vs. sword and pistol amidst screams and shouts, Major Whiteaker's reinforcements struck their flank. Hooves clattered on cobblestone as startled citizens who'd actually come out to watch the excitement scattered along with their shattered defenders.
*******
Later that evening Major Whiteaker sat in the parlor of a plantation house appropriated for Army use. Despite several lamps shadows still shrouded the corners of the room as if the house itself mourned Carolina's defeat. He nodded brusque thanks at the slave who brought him his tea, sipped and grimaced. After a few moments he snarled and dashed the cup against the walls.
"Major?"
He turned as a small, thin man in civilian black removed his hat and bowed.
"Doctor Sutton. How is the Colonel?"
"It is a strange malaise," he replied. Sutton saw nothing wrong with treating a technical enemy. His oaths outweighed his patriotism, and anyway it hadn't been that long since he'd called himself American. "May I?" He indicated a chair. Whiteaker grunted his assent.
"Boy. Tea. Two of sugar, and cream if your master has it," he addressed the slave who bowed and ran inside.
"What the devil is a malaise?" Whiteaker asked when they were alone.
"A sickness, but I am not sure of what. I found no wounds. He has no symptoms that I can certainly ascribe to illness. Has he acted like this before? Distant? Quiet?"
"No," Whiteaker scowled. "He is the most vibrant of men."
"Then there is certainly something amiss," Sutton said. "Perhaps instead of the body it is an illness of the mind, or the spirit."
"There's nothing wrong with his mind!" Whiteaker paused. "He was deep in counsel with General Heyward. Some say he is ill. Could it be contagious?"
"I know little of mental ailments. It would not surprise me."
Whiteaker slammed his fist down. At last! Answers! "So what do we do? A quarantine?"
Sutton nodded. "The sooner the better, Major. If this person you named is ill, then you don't want to start an epidemic."
He stood as the slave returned with Sutton's tea. "I will take care of it." He paused, uncertain. "You
will see to the Colonel?"
"I'll do everything I can, Major. I do not yet know what afflicts him, but I will try to find out."
*******
Less than a mile away Colonel John Preston sat on the second floor balcony of the boarding room given to him and Cassie. The word
traitor echoed in his mind over and over. No one dared say it to his face, not with American soldiers everywhere, but he could see it in their eyes, hear it just behind their motionless lips as they acted with the coldest, most polite reserve.
So far Colonel Leyton's men acted with reasonable reserve. They took what they needed (and in some cases wanted), but there'd been no horrible excesses, no cases of murder or rape. Except for the stars and stripes flying from town hall and the unusual uniforms on some of the men, one might explain the town's silence away as being Sunday.
Cassie came out. After weeks on the road she was leaner, her face harder, but now she just looked sleepy after eating her fill. This was the first time she was truly warm in a long time, and the first time she hadn't had to worry about Christina's survival, let alone her comfort. The soldiers downstairs intent on keeping them in nominal custody didn't signify.
"What troubles you, husband?" she asked, standing beside him.
He leaned his head into her hip. "It wasn't so long ago I'd have been on the other side of this fight. I don't know whose side I'm on."
She stroked his hair gently. "Yours. And mine."
He looked up and smirked. "I know. I just feel a bit like a turncoat."
"For wanting to kill...?" She closed her eyes. "For wanting to kill him? Isn't that your duty?"
"It's more than my duty," he growled. "It's just..." He nodded at the street below. "
They didn't attack you. Aren't I betraying them?"
"Betraying them? Or freeing them? Didn't you fight England precisely to prove that sometimes you have to stand up to your own government if they're wrong? How is this different?"
John grunted.
"And you can stop that, sir," Cassie snapped.
"What!?" He looked up, startled.
"Brooding!" She paced in front of him, turned and folded her arms. "You've changed, Johnny. You're more cautious now. More serious. In some ways that's good. I always worried when you'd fly off!" she laughed. "But don't start second guessing yourself. You're doing the best you can. No one said this is going to be easy!"
He nodded and stood with a small smile. She stepped closer and placed her hands on his chest. "That does remind me, however."
"Of what?"
"I need to speak to General Heyward."
*******
A few minutes later Thomas Heyward opened his eyes. He was lying in bed, in the dark, puzzling over new insights and old doubts. Specifically, was Bast right? Or, when confronted by evil such as Black's, did the ends justify the means? The cat didn't choose to share her insight. She'd left soon after Columbia fell.
He stood at the second knock and crossed the room. "Who's there?"
"Cassandra Preston."
He opened the door, squinting at the lamp she carried in her hand. Cassie peered past him into the darkened room. "I apologize, General. I didn't know you were sleeping."
"I wasn't. What can I do for you?"
She hesitated. "I... I may... Can I come in?"
Heyward stepped aside. She tightened her cloak about her shoulders and walked in, setting her lamp on the table. He closed the door and turned.
"General," she faltered and busied herself with loosening her cloak. Heyward folded his arms.
"General, I may be mistaken...it's just a feeling I have...but I suspect you've divined what happened to me. In Charleston."
"Yes." He didn't react or even blink.
Cassie lowered her head and nodded. "Then... then you know why I have a boon to beg of you."
