Author's Note: This story is alternative history. For those of you unfamiliar with the work of writers like Harry Turtledove, alternative history finds a turning point, and develops the "what ifs" of human events. The film The Patriot implies that its hero, Ben Martin, pretty much won the Revolutionary War for the Patriots. But what if he never joined the militia? I sought out a critical moment, and changed an event. Everything flows from there!

I also used some characters from my other long Tavington fic, Et In Arcadia Ego. Those of you who haven't read that one should still be able to follow the story just fine. Those who have may enjoy the alternate timeline and experiences I devise for my creations.

1. Dreaming of Destiny

The trunk in their father's room was the supreme mystery in the Martin children's lives. Gabriel, who had once explored it completely while Father was visiting a neighboring plantation, tantalized his younger brothers and sisters with whispers about 'Father's Uniform,' 'Father's Weapons,' and 'Father's Meritorious Service in the War.' Gabriel was the eldest, and in the opinion of Thomas, the second child, entirely too full of himself.

A new war was coming, and Gabriel, quoting Colonel Burwell's views as if they were his own, told them that South Carolinians must stand for freedom, that taxation without representation was tyranny, and that it was time for the New World to cast off the shackles of the Old.

Abigail, their housekeeper, who had been a slave, actually worn shackles, and been bought from a tyrant of a master and later freed, smiled gently and shook her head at Gabriel's passionate new politics. The younger children simply accepted his words for deepest wisdom.

Thomas heard only the word "War." He had always wanted to be a soldier; and not even because of Father. From his first memories, he had loved toy soldiers -- even tried to swallow them a few times, said Gabriel -- but that was when he was very young. Now Gabriel was talking about being a soldier, and it made Thomas sick with jealousy.

He had tried to tell Gabriel how he felt, up in their room one night. The house was quiet but for the crickets, and the distant hooting of an owl. "I always thought I would be the soldier," he said. "You're the eldest -- you're Father's heir, and you'll inherit Freshwater someday. You should be the one to stay home with Father, and learn all you can about tobacco and corn, and when to breed the horses. It's not fair."

"Fair has nothing to do with it, Thomas,' Gabriel said impatiently, distracted from reading Mr Paine's pamphlet. "I'm not fighting because I want to be a soldier. I'm fighting because I believe in the just cause of independence. It's my duty to support it. It's not like I'm choosing a new career. When the war is over, I will come home, and I will learn from Father. I just have to do this first." He saw Thomas was still resentful, and tried to smooth things over with a smirk. "The war may last longer than anyone thinks. You might find yourself taking orders from me yet. "

Thomas fumed silently, promising himself, he would never, ever address his brother as 'Sir.' A better vision flashed before him--

Thomas, in scarlet regimentals, glowed with the fire of a martyr; and cried, "For England and Saint George!" The soldiers all roared out, "God Save the King!" The old recruiting sergeant had tears in eyes. "Bless you, laddie! His Majesty will never find a better, braver young officer" He wiped his honest eyes, and the other soldiers stood by, marveling at the scene.

Then Gabriel laughed, which brought Thomas back to reality with a disagreeable thump. "You're only a child. Maybe you'll decide you'd rather go into the law or the Church. Maybe you'll want to go into trade with Mr Howard. He's always looking for a likely young clerk."

"Clerk yourself," muttered Thomas. "I thought you wanted to be Mr Howard's partner. No, wait -- that's his daughter Anne, the one with all the teeth -- that's the one you want to parrtner!"

Gabriel reached out quickly and clouted him over the ear -- just hard enough to hurt. "Mind how you talk about Miss Howard."

"Oooh, Gabriel!" cooed Thomas in a squeaky falsetto, showing all his teeth. Gabriel got up, furious, and Thomas prudently ducked toward the door.

"I'll talk to Father about the Army," he declared.

"Go ahead," Gabriel answered indifferently, sitting down again at their table. "He won't be any help. I've never been able to get him to talk about his service in the war, and neither will you." He returned to reading, ignoring Thomas until the next day.

Gabriel was irritatingly right about Father. Thomas chose what he thought would be a favorable moment; when he had done an exemplary job with his chores, and had earned a word of approbation. Walking back to the house, he began to ask (in what he fondly imagined was a subtle way) what war was like. He was rewarded with a tortured glare and a sharp order to exercise Tobias and Piper, their riding horses. So a direct approach was no good.

When the assembly met in Charlestown, just before the war broke out, Thomas tried to talk to Colonel Burwell alone about Father, and about his own ambitions. Colonel Burwell was a good friend of Father's and must know all about Father's service in the War; but the colonel was too busy with politics and organizing troops to do more than give Thomas a kind, dismissive smile, and confirmation that "Captain Martin was a brave soldier, and did his duty." Thomas could tell that Colonel Burwell was disappointed that Father was not joining the Continentals. Thomas himself was disappointed that Father never called himself by his rank of Captain, as a retired captain was entitled. 'Captain Martin' had dash and distinction: 'Mister Martin' had neither.

When they were there in Charlestown, Gabriel stopped talking about it, and actually joined the Continentals. They went back to Freshwater without him, and sure enough, it was Thomas who would stay home, plant the fields, and herd the beasts. It was sickening. Father was worrying about Gabriel. Thomas could see it. It was "Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel," just as it always had been, and Gabriel wasn't even there. And it wasn't like the Continentals were a real army. Some of them wore a kind of blue uniform, somewhat like the French, but it just did not have the panache of scarlet. Thomas' toy soldiers were all in scarlet. It was the proper colour for a proper soldier's uniform.

Father was gone one day, and Thomas slipped out of his room, taking a candle from the table beside him. He went into Father's room, ignoring the feeling of dread. A true soldier was daring, and faced danger 'even in the cannon's mouth.' He could surely face sneaking into his father's room.

The trunk was large, and Thomas took a deep breath before opening it. Inside were treasures beyond belief.

Father's uniform was there, still brightly scarlet, and splendid with gold lace. On top of it lay an Indian hatchet, inscribed with Father's name.

Thomas was impressed. He suddenly had a glimpse of Father -- not just as Father, the kind and strict man who taught them to read and hunt and fish, who put the little ones to bed at night and soothed their childish troubles -- but as a young man who was not yet Father, a bold stranger who had killed men in fierce battle, a stranger in a red coat facing danger, even in the cannon's mouth. Thomas had for the first time imagined his Father as a separate human being, and it frightened and awed him a little.

Still, it would be foolish to have risked coming into the room to go through Father's things and not do the chief thing he had planned. Carefully lifting the uniform coat from the trunk, he slipped it on, fitting his arms into the too-large sleeves. He looked at himself in the mirror.

A stranger in a soldier's scarlet coat looked back. The face was a little too young, and the coat a little too big, but he could see the soldier he would be, all the same.

Thomas Martin, King's Ranger, led his band of Cherokee scouts on their most dangerous mission yet. He had earned his warrior's name of White Eagle in a dozen single combats, and was the most renowned tracker and woodsman in the entire British Army. He paused thoughtfully, his young brow furrowed with wisdom and experience beyond his years --

'What are you doing?" Father's voice startled him. Father was standing in the doorway, looking at him gravely. He walked over to Thomas and said, "Turn around."

All too soon, Thomas shed his borrowed glories, as Father quietly slipped the jacket from his shoulders. Without it, Thomas felt smaller, a boy again, and he braced himself to endure Father's anger.

Father, it seemed, was not angry, but serious. "Not yet, Thomas," he said.

Thomas, not to be put off, asked, "When?"

Father thought a moment, and then suggested, "Seventeen?" It was more a question than a statement, as if Father were trying to make a bargain Thomas could keep.

"That's two years!" Thomas objected. "It's already been two. The war could be over by then!"

"God willing!" Father muttered fervently.

Seeing further concessions were unlikely, Thomas said, "All right, seventeen." It was the best deal he could strike with Father, under the circumstances. They shook hands gravely, sealing the agreement. Thomas felt a great burden lifted. He had won his main point. Father now accepted that he would be a soldier. Gabriel had read a poem to them all once, that ended with the line, "They also serve who only stand and wait." Thomas understood it at last.

Father was turning away, and on impulse, Thomas again asked the question always on his mind. "Father -- what happened at Fort Wilderness?"

Father's expression, as he stood motionless in the doorway, was unreadable. He only gave a nod toward Thomas, holding the axe.

"Put it away."

Thomas tried to be satisfied with the bargain he had made, but he was not satisfied. He had seen his future in the mirror, and it could not come too soon.

It came sooner than he had hoped. The British, being professionals, had taken Charlestown and were moving up the Santee. One night, Thomas heard thunder, but there was not a cloud in the sky. He knew somehow that he was hearing the sound of distant cannonfire. Soldiers were coming. He had brought a pair of muskets out onto the porch, where the family was standing, watching the distant flashes. Father sharply told him to put the weapons back in the house.

Thomas tried to point out that they might need to defend themselves, but Father would brook no arguments. "Must I tell you again?" he said, in the tone Thomas knew too well to disobey.

Father then said, "Let's all stay close to the house tonight."

It was a long night. Nathan terrified the little ones at supper, promising them horrors. Thomas concentrated on painting some new lead soldiers he had recently added to his collection. He now had enough to make a complete recreation of the Battle of Blenheim.

The slender, elegant, young lieutenant had taken command when all the other officers were killed. Calm and resourceful, his example had inspired the men, and he had maneuvered them effortlessly into line. The enemy ranks were almost upon them -- they were overwhelmingly outnumbered, but Lieutenant Thomas Martin knew he would triumph, as he always had. "Make ready!" he shouted, in a deep, manly voice. Attired in a perfectly tailored uniform of almost lethal good taste, he held his sword, unwavering, waiting for the critical moment. He could see the fear in the eyes of his enemies. They were hesitating -- and Thomas' sword dropped relentlessly with his clarion command of "Fire!" The thunder of the volley shook the ground; the smoke cleared, and showed the enemy utterly overthrown.

Thomas smiled blissfully, and wished Gabriel were here. He would have appreciated all his work.

It was odd that he happened to think then of Gabriel; for that night, Gabriel came home.

He was hurt. Father put him to bed, just as he had years ago, when Gabriel had had scarlet fever. Thomas shivered at the thought. Gabriel had a new kind of scarlet fever: wounds made by the men in scarlet whom Thomas secretly admired. He loved his brother, even if he envied him, and he certainly did not want him to die.

Father and Abigail were tending to him, and Thomas rushed to his bedside. "Where was the battle? Were you there?"

Gabriel did not answer directly, but asked Father, "Have you seen any of our troops?"

"No, not yet," said Father, more concerned with the extent of Gabriel's wounds.

Abigail was hustling them all away, but Thomas lingered on the stairs. Gabriel's wound was a dark slash across his ribs. Thomas forced himself to look. Soldiers had to bear these things.

Gabriel, almost babbling, was telling Father about the battle: about how the Green Dragoons 'cut them to pieces.' Thomas shivered, wondering what that had looked like.

His brother was carrying dispatches for the Continental Army. Thomas was curious about them. The dispatch box did not look like a box, but was a round leather case, contained rolled-up paper. Plainly this was important. Father shooed him up to bed at last, and Thomas stared blindly into the darkness, unable to guess what the morning would bring.

In the first hazy light, he and Father went out armed to look for the wounded. And thus, the first soldiers Thomas saw did not come marching to the door, but were found in the fields in a bloody tangle of blue and scarlet. Some of the bodies were horribly disfigured from combat, but calm in a fellowship of death. Thomas knew he was seeing what could happen in his chosen profession, and was a little chastened. Lawyers, merchants, and clergymen need not fear this. Soldiers were the most glorious, the most tested of men, because they faced and endured this without flinching. Out of respect, Thomas must not flinch from their poor mangled bodies.

One of the bodies looked up at him, and Thomas jumped back, horribly startled. Father had him help carry the wounded man to the house. They spent the early morning helping soldiers of both sides back to the front porch of Freshwater, and gave them what care they could. Even silent little Susan brought water around, and the soldiers smiled and thanked her, or nodded wearily, or simply drank, suffering like dumb animals.

A little after nine o'clock, the British came out of the cornfield. One moment they were not there, and the next they were.

In a flash, Thomas understood their danger. His brother was a rebel, carrying important dispatches. He would be found, and their whole family would suffer. Father would not tell them he had been a Captain in His Majesty's Army. Father would do anything to help Gabriel. Thomas, feeling his new responsibility, knew he must do something to help them all.

Gabriel came out onto the porch. He was not wearing his uniform coat, but anyone could see he was wearing a rebel uniform. Thomas dashed over to him.

"Gabriel! I need to talk to you."

"Not now, Thomas. The British are here."

"Yes, I know, but come on!" Pulling his brother behind him, he was soon inside the shaded coolness of the house.

'Where are the dispatches?"

"What do you know about -- ?" Gabriel was shocked.

"I just know, that's all -- where are they? Won't the British be looking for them?"

"They're here in the kitchen."

Walking toward the kitchen, Thomas had a sudden inspiration. The trap door of the cellar was only feet away. Thomas lifted it, and Gabriel looked puzzled.

"Thomas -- what -- ?"

Immediately, Thomas rushed at his brother, knocking him down the cellar stairs. Gabriel cursed with pain, and shouted up at him.

'What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

"I know what I'm doing. Be quiet! You don't want the British to find you, do you?"

"I'm not ashamed of my service to the -- "

"Oh, shut up! Think of somebody beside yourself for once! The British are burning rebel farms! Do you want Father hurt, or the little ones to lose the roof over their heads?"

There was a silence below, and Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. Snatching up the dispatch box from the kitchen table, he ran through the house, out the back door, and into the privy. He dropped the dispatch box with a nasty "plop" into the malodorous muck below.

He had been mentioned in dispatches. Captain Martin's resourcefulness and coolness in the face of the enemy --

Satisfied with his plan so far, he ran back to the front of the house. There was a sudden thunder of galloping hooves, and he wondered if it would be British or rebels, and if there would be a battle right on their doorstep.

They were the Green Dragoons. Thomas had heard of them before -- everyone had. Their leader, Colonel Tavington, was known as the Butcher of the Carolinas and the Terror of the Santee. These were names to inspire delight and fear, and Thomas had briefly imagined some such names for himself once. As they rode up, Thomas looked at the man in the lead, and was sure this must be the Terrible Tavington himself.

He was resplendent in his scarlet and green uniform. His plumed helmet was an object of reverence, and Thomas had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to be garbed in such glory. The Dragoons were all wonderful: a splendid, swaggering, soldierly lot, high on their handsome horses. Thomas' former dreams of leading infantry in line of battle and giving the order to fire abruptly evaporated. Replacing them was the vision of --

of Colonel Thomas Martin -- aye, they call him the Dark Knight of the South -- mounted on a ferocious charger, huge sabre flashing in the air, riding down on the enemy, shouting "Charge!" The terrified enemy turned tail and fled before his wrath, and the Dark Knight -- laughed -- laughed -- as he smote them down.

Thomas shook his head, trembling with excitement. It was not impossible. The Green Dragoons were part of the British Legion, largely composed of fellow Americans. Loyal to the King, they had been created out of a number of provincial troops, then unified under the famous Tavington. Thomas looked over the faces of the dragoons, and saw many who looked as young as Thomas himself. They did it, so can I.

Father was on the steps, speaking to a British infantry lieutenant, who was thanking him for "his care of His Majesty's soldiers," and Thomas felt a glow of pride.

He took his place by Father, and waited for his destiny to rein up before him.

2. Green Destiny

Colonel William Tavington felt cool displeasure as he looked at the jumble of Colonial and British wounded at the nearby farmhouse. He believed in making examples, and considered such a fate for this farm. He supposed the untidy man in the bloody shirt must be the farmer himself, ungentlemanlike as he looked. It was hard to know if the fellow was a rebel or not. Still, it might be best to burn the place. The farmer had aided rebels, and Tavington had decided to consider a rebel anyone who aided rebels in any way. Before he could give the order, however, a boy appeared at his stirrup.

"Colonel, may I speak to you?"

Tavington looked down. A pale, thin, young Colonial was looking up at him, anxiously excited. Certainly he must belong to the farm -- probably the farmer's son, for the man looked over at him, worried.

"What is it?" Tavington snapped impatiently. Their wounded had been cared for by the farmer, it was true, but still --

"I would very much like to join the Green Dragoons, sir!" burst out of the boy in a single breath. Tavington was amused, and distracted from the business of example-making. The boy looked so painfully eager. Tavington thought nostalgically of himself at that age, dreaming of conquering the world, like a new Alexander.

Well, he was thirty-five, older than Alexander had been when he had died master of the world. He was no conqueror, but a commander of a provincial legion, fighting rebels in a colonial backwater. So much for the dreams of youth.

The boy looked a little young, and the farmer more than a little distressed. Well, if the boy was volunteering for the King's service, this must be a loyal household, and Tavington mentally dismissed example-making for the present.

"Lieutenant, have a detachment take our wounded to our surgeons at Winnsboro," he ordered. His gaze returned to the boy. Recruits were always welcome, but the boy probably would need his father's permission, and that did not seem forthcoming. They were squabbling together, and Tavington overheard them.

"You said I could go!"

"I said in two years!"

"Really," interposed Tavington. "I very much enjoy listening to your family disputes, but I do have a war to fight. Not that I expect you to understand that."

"Father was a Captain in the last war!" cried the boy, defensively.

The father seemed very put out, which puzzled Tavington, but not enough to care much about it.

"Well," Tavington suggested to the farmer, "if you were a captain (may I have your name, sir?), perhaps you would equip your son for a cornetcy open in Captain Bordon's troop?"

"Martin," said the farmer, dully. "Benjamin Martin. He's only fifteen."

"Captain Martin,' said Tavington. "I was but sixteen when I first entered His Majesty's service." The boy glowed with a pale fire. That father ought to be proud of such a high-spirited lad.

"Colonel," asked Martin, "do you have any children?"

Annoyed at such a personal question, Tavington answered rather superciliously. "No, I do not, sir."

The farmer seemed to be suppressing an explosion of rage. "Well, Colonel, I hope someday you do. I hope you have many children -- "

Tavington smiled uneasily and started to interrupt, but Martin continued with quiet fury.

"I hope you have many children, and that all of them torment you as much as mine have me!"

"Really, sir! This is most extraordinary -- "

The farmer's rage had left him, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned to his son. "You can go, and you can take Piper," and the boy nearly jumped with elation, "but only if you can jump the paddock gate cleanly on the first try."

Tavington saw that his men, having fought hard, were in the mood for entertainment, and were interested in seeing if the boy could rise to the challenge. Tavington quickly ordered the infantry lieutenant -- Grayson was his name -- to take charge of the enemy wounded and return them under guard to the encampment. Some of them would die, some would recover. Of those, some could probably be persuaded to promise allegiance to the King, and would be useful replacements.

The boy raced to the stable, and cantered back in a few moments on a good-looking bay gelding. He had been taught well -- the seat was good, and he kept his back straight. Tavington thought the heels not quite right, but that could be improved with proper attention. The boy kicked the bay into a gallop and headed for the gate.

----------

Thomas felt like he was flying. All of his dreams and aspirations were focused in a moment's jump over a three-barred fence. Piper seemed to understand this, because the tall horse was running smoothly, as concentrated on the path before him as Thomas himself.

Thomas felt the horse gather himself for the jump, and then they were soaring over, without the least sound of a hoof touching the wood below them. Piper was running free toward the meadow, but Thomas pulled him smartly about, and headed toward his father and the Colonel. From his vantage point on Piper's back, the Colonel no longer looked like a giant, but like a fellow man and a soldier.

The dauntless young cornet leaped the chasm effortlessly. He and his mount were as one, as they brought vital intelligence to the Colonel --

The dragoons were cheering him. Thomas was too young to hear the irony in some of the voices, and flushed happily. This was as good as any of his dreams. The Colonel was smiling and speaking to another officer beside him. His father was looking at him, his face a mixture of pride and grief.

"Well done, young Martin," purred the Colonel. Tavington turned to Father, "Captain, I believe you must, in honour, keep your bargain."

"Yes, well ridden, Thomas," said his father quietly. "Colonel, you and your men are welcome to refresh yourselves. I need a little time to get Thomas' necessary equipment together. My housekeeper can offer you tea."

"Thank you, sir," said the Colonel, dismounting. "Come along, Bordon, we must let the Captain prepare your new cornet."

Bordon smiled. "Indeed, sir, we are grateful for your hospitality."

While Colonel Tavington and four of his officer entered his home, Thomas was taken upstairs by Father to pack his few possessions.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Father whispered to him, "Have you seen Gabriel?"

Thomas whispered back, "He's in the cellar. I got rid of the dispatches in the privy."

His father looked briefly furious, but then dismissed the matter. "I know you did what you did to protect us, Thomas, but sacrificing yourself by joining the British is going too far!"

"I want to go, Father! You know I've always wanted to be a soldier, and this is my chance. I'll be an officer right away!"

Father was busily pulling out linen from the clothes press. He muttered, "There's no time to prepare you properly." Nathan and Sam were standing wide-eyed in the doorway.

The dauntless young cornet knew he must be prepared for anything --

Father said, "Nathan, Sam, go up to the attic, and bring down the small trunk. There's an old saddlebag up there too."

"Yes, Father." The two little boys ran up the attic stairs, and Thomas could hear them thumping over his head, dragging something along.

"Thomas," Father said, his face grave. "I know you think that war is a glorious thing. It is sometimes: but it is also a terrible thing and a cruel thing. It will change you. The next time I see you, you will be a different person. You may be wounded -- " He stopped and rubbed his eyes. "Your mother, when I was troubled, always told me to 'stay the course.' That's what you must do. If you take the King's shilling, you will serve. If you change your mind later, I cannot get you out of it. You must obey Colonel Tavington as you have never obeyed me. You cannot question him, and you cannot shirk his orders. He is a hard man, and he will ask things of you that you cannot imagine yet. Remember, no matter what happens, that I love you. Remember that you will always be my son, and that this will always be your home."

The boys were back, half-carrying and half-pushing the trunk. Nathan had draped the dusty saddlebag over his shoulder. Most of Thomas' possessions, including his copy of Shakespeare's Henry V, were packed into the small trunk. Father packed the saddlebag with some linen and toilet articles "because sometimes you will be traveling light."

Father whispered, "You're not even shaving yet." He took Thomas into his own room, and pulled out the wonderful trunk. Reaching in, he retrieved a pair of pistols, and a fine, but tarnished sword. He looked at the weapons thoughtfully, and then gave them to Thomas to carry.

Father took the trunk and bag downstairs, and Tavington, looking up from his tea, directed a waiting dragoon to load the trunk in the baggage wagon. Thomas, burdened with his new weapons, felt a brief thrill of fear, remembering that Gabriel was in the cellar, right under their feet, and could doubtless hear everything going on in the kitchen. He prayed that his brother would be quiet, just a little, little longer.

The officers all smiled at Thomas' appearance. Captain Bordon, in whose troop he was to serve, was a stocky, red-haired man, with an affable air. He spoke kindly to Thomas, and told him his lieutenant would be Duncan Monroe.

----------

Tavington finished his tea, and set down the cup, in a thoughtful mood. He had been ready to despise the farmer and the farm, but on reflection, he was no longer comfortable with this. His own goals in life included the reward of a land grant. It was possible that he might be in the same situation as this Captain Martin in a few years. A retired soldier with a prosperous farm and a large number of children to care for -- and where was the wife? Apparently Mrs Martin had died. Women died all the time in childbirth.

He laughed to himself, a little bitterly. He was borrowing trouble. He had not even found a lady whose family particularly wished to ally themselves with Tavington, he of the tarnished name and impoverished means. Once the war was over, he must resign himself to some very diligent fortune hunting....

The paymaster had found the boy and his father outside, and was completing the regimental paperwork. Tavington wondered how he would feel about a son of his joining the Army so young. Naturally, he would have the benefit of his own experience in advising his child. Of course, he thought reluctantly, the farmer had been a soldier too, and presumably had used the same arguments....

Tavington silenced his irritating inner voice, and focused on the present. They had a new recruit. That was a good thing. He and his officers were resting comfortably, drinking good tea and eating the housekeeper's excellent biscuits. That was a good thing too. Duncan Monroe was a good lieutenant, and would train the boy well. Everything was as it should be.

The farmer's little golden-haired daughter was half hiding in the housekeeper's skirts, staring at him. A pretty child. He essayed a winning smile, but the little girl was not so easy to please as the flirtatious Charlestown ladies. Tavington shrugged. He really did not care much for children, but had been told it was different with one's own. He hoped so.

----------

Thomas was leaving; he was really leaving, and he felt afraid for a moment. Lieutenant Monroe greeted him, and told him that they would fit him with a proper uniform back at camp. Thomas' spirits lifted, as he imagined himself in red and green, and crowned with a fearsome plumed helmet.

The dauntless young cornet bade farewell to his family --

Then he saw Father, and Abigail, and his brothers and sisters, lining up to say goodbye. Susan's thin little face was shocked, and his little brothers looked bewildered. He kissed his sisters, and Margaret murmured fiercely, "You mustn't sacrifice yourself! Maybe they would take me instead!"

"Don't be silly, Margaret." He gave her shoulder a squeeze: they had always been fond of each other. "Why in the world would the Dragoons carry off a girl? You'd just slow them down!"

She sniffed tearfully and pressed a pair of handkerchiefs of her own making into his hand. He pocketed them, hoping the watching dragoons would not laugh. He shook hands with his brothers, and whispered to Nathan that he could have his collection of toy soldiers.

Abigail kissed him, and sobbed, "Mr Thomas, don't let those soldiers lead you astray!"

There was some muffled laughter at this, and Lieutenant Monroe, tall in the saddle, said, "Don't worry, we'll teach him everything he needs to know." Some of the dragoons grunted their assent at this, and the Colonel and Captain Bordon exchanged amused and expressive glances.

Thomas put out his hand to shake Father's, but was pulled instead into a crushing embrace. "Good luck, Thomas. God bless you." He released Thomas and looked away, his eyes red.

Thomas mounted Piper then, and rode over to Lieutenant Monroe. The Colonel was ready to lead them out, and Thomas straightened his shoulders, trying to look like the men around him.

A random thought struck him, "Lieutenant Monroe, sir? We're called Green Dragoons. Shouldn't we be wearing -- well, green?"

Monroe looked at him, astonished. "Green? No, Mr Martin: you must be thinking of some other Green Dragoons."

Thomas nodded, and shrugged off the thought. As he rode away, he shed tears: tears of grief at leaving his family, and tears of joy that he was at last embarked on a great adventure. He would serve his King, serve his idol Colonel Tavington, and serve both in a uniform infinitely surpassing in smartness anything his elder brother would ever wear in the service of the rebels. A last whisper of fantasy blew across his imagination.

The dauntless young cornet -- -

-- -is me.

3: Destiny Rides to Camden

Benjamin Martin sat on the front porch with the letter. The heat of August made the sun unbearable, and he was grateful for the slight breeze. The boys had gone fishing in the shade by the creek, and the girls were staying for a few weeks with their Aunt Charlotte. Martin had toyed with the idea of a governess now and then, but disliked the idea of a strange woman living in such close proximity. He knew he should be doing more for the girls. With the country so unsettled because of the war, though, it would be unwise to try to send them to school. Besides, with Susan's condition --

Hesitantly, he opened the letter. It was addressed in Thomas' own hand, so he need not fear the dreaded epistle from a commanding officer, advising him of his son's death. He had spent the last few months in nearly unceasing anxiety. Gabriel had sent word when he had made it back safely to Harry Burwell; and rumour had it that Gates and the Continentals were readying themselves for a major battle with the British, now under Cornwallis.

Where was Thomas? Rumour also had it that the Green Dragoons were everywhere, stamping out the few remaining flames of rebellion in South Carolina. Peter Howard in Pembroke had written him, trying to persuade him to join "in the common struggle," but Martin could not take sides. Much as he sympathized with the views of his Patriot friends, he had too much at stake here at home to risk his children's safety. With Gabriel serving under Harry, and Thomas in the British Legion, he had to strike a neutral balance between the two warring parties.

Smoothing out the paper, he smiled at the boyish scrawl before him.

August 8, 1780
Fort Carolina

My dear Father,

I am well and safe, and hope you and my brothers and sisters are as well. We are encamped near Camden, in a newly built log fort. It is more comfortable here than camping on patrol, as here we all have tents and cots, and the food is better. I wish you could see me in my uniform. Now that I have turned sixteen, I've grown into it more. I'm even shaving (a little) now!

Everyone is very kind. My officers are good men, and take great pains to train and prepare me for my duties. Lieutenant Monroe is an excellent swordsman and is teaching me the finer points (haha!) of fencing. I also practice with the pistol and am learning about keeping troop accounts. Some of the men are pretty rough, and Lt. Monroe has told me I must be fair but firm with them.

The women here are very kind too. Many of the soldiers have wives and families at camp. Mrs Poole, a widow, washes and mends my linen, and refuses to take any money for it. She is very nice.

You remember Mr Wilkins from the Assembly? He is serving as a Captain in the Dragoons now, and sends you his respects. It's good to see a familiar face among so many strangers.

I'm sure you heard the story about how the British Legion tricked the rebels, pretending to be the rebel Colonel William Washington and his men. It is all true. I was with the body of the dragoons who arrested the band. The Colonel is a very great soldier, and is very brave, but he has a good sense of humour too, as you can see.

We may be having a big battle soon. Word is that Gates is headed toward us. He'll be sorry if he tries to fight us, but it's best that he comes and we whip him and get it over with. The sooner this war is over the better for everyone.

Please take the money I have enclosed and buy presents for the children, especially something pretty for the girls. Give them my -- well, say hello to them for me. I don't want Nathan to think I've gotten soft.

I know that you did not want me to join the Army so soon, but I think it was for the best. I endeavor everyday to conduct myself in a way that would make you proud of me. I remember you told me 'to stay the course.' I think about that, and all the other important things you have taught me.

Your loving son,
Thomas

P.S. If you happen to hear from Gabriel, please say hello to him for me. I hope he understands that he is still my brother, and is not too angry about you-know-what.

Martin gave a wry chuckle. Thomas was still Thomas -- still a boy; and best of all, still the sweet, idealistic boy he had raised. He could picture Mrs Poole, too: a plump, motherly kind of woman, looking after Thomas, washing his linen, and doling out good-natured advice. There had been few women with his company in the last war. Perhaps this was better. Women might certainly provide a civilising element in a rough army camp.

----------

Cornet Thomas Martin of the British Legion awoke with an excruciating headache. He lay still a moment, fighting off nausea, and promised himself he would never, ever, engage in a drinking contest again -- especially one involving the vile local rotgut. The light filtering into the tent was painfully bright, and he threw a forearm over his eyes. The girl cuddled next to him on the narrow cot objected sleepily as he poked her with his elbow.

"Sorry, Dinah," he groaned.

Dinah, otherwise known as Mrs Poole, or the Widow Poole, or Darling Dinah, slid a companionable arm around him. To Thomas, in his current condition, it was like being hit with a rough-split log. He groaned again, and Dinah, with a sympathetic pat, was unabashedly out of bed and rummaging through her belongings for her trusted cure-all.

Thomas squeezed his eyes open, and was rewarded by the sight of the comely Dinah. She was indeed an army widow, but only two years older than he. She had lost her husband in a skirmish five months before and had stayed with the Legion, making a living as best she could. He gave her a weak smile, and she smiled radiantly in return: grabbing up her shift and slipping it over her head not a moment too soon.

Thomas' friend and fellow cornet, Sam Willett, came bursting through the tent flap, out of breath, but full of news.

"Up and at 'em, Thomas! Word is that the Lord General thinks we've got the rebels cornered, and the Colonel himself will be leading us into battle today! Best you smarten yourself up a bit!" He gave the girl an appreciative leer. "'Morning, Dinah." She responded with a demure smile, and a murmured appeal to keep his voice down.

"You up -- you at 'em," snarled Thomas. The tenderhearted Dinah mixed her eye-opener, and offered Thomas a sip from a flask. He took a swallow, trying to keep it back in his throat and away from his tastebuds. He still could not repress a shudder. He could not be sure of all the ingredients, but he knew it contained sloe gin, antimony, mustard, and a little laudanum. It was truly, truly vile, but Dinah swore it would cure anything from a hangover to the pox, large or small.

Sam hurried out to spread his news, and Thomas, with Dinah's help, was soon dressed and groomed as befitted a young officer of dragoons. The small shaving mirror did not allow Thomas to gloat over his appearance in full, but he never lost the thrill of pleasure he felt when seeing himself in uniform.

Swaggering out, the complaisant Dinah hanging on his arm, he soon saw and respectfully acknowledged Captain Bordon and Lieutenant Monroe. Lieutenant Hunt came up to them and the older men started laughing at some joke of the night before. A groom brought him Piper, who was looking glossy and well fed.

Dinah wanted another kiss; and blushing, he obliged her there in front of everyone. His superiors seemed amused. Dinah clung to him, a little teary-eyed.

"Come back to me," she whispered. "I couldn't bear to lose you, too." Thomas held her close, and then released her to mount Piper. The girl touched his boot, smiling up at him tenderly.

"Like a knight in shining armour," she sighed. Thomas blushed proudly, and took the laughter and inevitable remarks of his friends with good humour.

His colonel had ridden up, and viewed the scene with distaste. The boy does not know what he is doing, he thought. Someone must tell him. The Martin boy was not the first young man, away from home for the first time, to make an ass of himself; but Tavington remembered the embarrassments and complications of his own foolish, unguided youth well enough not to wish them on any young officer under his command. He would make a point of talking with the boy later.

----------

Within the hour, Tavington looked over the rebel ranks, and smirked unpleasantly. The continental regulars were not bad soldiers, but their militia units were worse than useless. They were advancing unsteadily, and seemed ready to break and run if anyone so much as said "Boo!" to them.

Shifting the focus of his telescope to the left, he saw that Cornwallis had ordered Webster and his men to challenge the rebels. He lowered the instrument, and waited. With minutes, the militiamen were in flight. Webster obviously did not consider them worth pursuing, and had transferred his attention to the Maryland and Delaware regulars. It was still early in the morning, and the sun was not yet beating down relentlessly. A pair of butterflies fluttered together in the tall grass in front of him. He watched them in silent pleasure, enjoying an ephemeral moment of peace and beauty. The butterflies hovered near a flower, and then flew their separate ways. Tavington heard hoofbeats approaching, and he gave the smallest of sighs.

A messenger from Cornwallis rode up to him with an order. His captains were watching him with excited curiosity. Tavington read the message, gave a nod to the galloper, and sent him back to his commander.

Tavington turned in the saddle to Bordon. "Well, Captain, ready the men for a little excursion."

"We are to charge, sir?"

"No, not yet." He could not help smiling. Little as he liked Cornwallis, he had to admit that the man had a sound grasp of battlefield tactics. "Now that the rebels are engaged and distracted, we are to maneuver behind them, and charge from their rear at the Lord General's command."

The dragoons were marshaled, and set out quietly at the trot. Thick gunsmoke, with its smell of rotten eggs, rose from the incessant musket fire in the battlefield; distant screams from men and horses floated on the warm, fetid breeze. Within a quarter of an hour, they were in position, and watching the battle from the other side. No one had noticed them, no one had fired upon them. The rebel regulars had withstood repeated bayonet charges, and had taken heavy casualties.

Thomas could see it all from their position near the trees. He knew they would soon be charging, and his throat was parched with anxiety. He tried to swallow, but was too dry even to manage that. He took a quick sip from his canteen. Lieutenant Monroe had taught him all about charges. The most common injuries, Martin, are broken knees, from crashing into fellow dragoons. You've got to keep your wits about you. Thomas practiced twisting his wrist out and up, remembering how Monroe had told him to hold his sword. Don't hold the sword blade down, young Martin -- you'll cut your horse's head off. Twist it blade edge up: you'll protect your horse if you're shot -- and more importantly, the hold will give you better leverage and more force when you cut down at the enemy. Thomas felt a twinge in his wrist, and looked quickly about him, to see if anyone had noticed his fidgeting.

Sam Willett caught his eye, and gave an uncertain grin. Some of the men were cracking jokes; some were tense, and their tension was reflected in their horses, which pawed the ground and twitched nervously. The Colonel sat on his splendid mount with Olympian calm. Thomas felt some comfort in looking at him. At least someone knows what he's doing.

Tavington was watching the conflict before him intently. Early on, he had spotted the huge German volunteer calling himself "Baron" DeKalb, who commanded the Delaware Regiment. The German was a brave fellow, and had rallied the Colonials repeatedly. Tavington gaze swept along the rebel ranks. They had lost a lot of men, but were still full of fight. He looked back toward DeKalb's position. DeKalb was not there! He must have fallen, for there was a little group of soldiers crowding around the place where he had stood. He took another look through the telescope. Yes! DeKalb was on the ground and motionless. This is the perfect moment to attack!

Tavington looked anxiously toward the command group. There was no sign of a courier: probably the Lord General had not seen DeKalb go down. It would be pointless to inform him, for by the time the couriers finished their errands, one of the Colonials would have had the presence of mind to assume command. It must be now!

With his best pretense of calm, he said to his captains, "Prepare to charge, gentlemen." The men were quickly deployed, and set out first at a trot, then at a canter, and with Tavington's shout of "Charge!" to a full-out, thundering gallop.

Thomas, surrounded by his friends and comrades, and nearly deaf with the sound of pounding hooves, shouting men, and gunfire, had never felt such passionate intensity. This was life; this was glory. He saw some of the men, waving their sabres wildly. He saw the Colonel, out in front, effortlessly holding his blade in the exact manner recommended by Lieutenant Monroe. He looked proud and elegant, even in this moment of danger and chaos and risk. Thomas glanced at his arm, and tried to make his grip more like the Colonel's. They galloped on, the wind rushing past their faces, pulling at the plumes of their helmets.

The Colonials had seen them now. Faces were turned toward them, mouths open in 'O's' of shock. Thomas could not hear their exclamations, so great was the din around him. Most of the dragoons were shouting oaths, or inarticulate battlecries. Trooper O'Neill, one of his own men, was yelling "Hail Mary, full of grace! Hail Mary, full of grace!" over and over again, like a threat or a curse.

The Colonials were running away now. Here and there, a brave rebel made a stand. They were slashed down: but they took dragoons with them. Flying by, Thomas saw a fight two horses to the left, and a man mutilated in a way he would not have thought possible. He glanced again, but was already too far away. A rebel with a musket was looking around, as if unsure what to do. Thomas cut down at him, hesitantly; he missed, and galloped on.

Some of the Colonials were throwing down their arms, and a few of the dragoons were assigned to rounding them up. This was a dangerous duty, for occasionally it was only a trick. The bulk of the dragoons were past the regulars now, and were coming up on the fleeing militia. Many more of these had already thrown aside their weapons, but were still running, panicked as rabbits.

They were riding into a sparse wood now, and the fleeing men were trying to hide behind the trees. The horses slowed as they twisted through the maze of pine and cedar. Thomas arm was aching, and he began to think about camp and Dinah and a hot meal, when a rebel leaped out at him from behind a tree; and swinging his musket, knocked him out of Piper's saddle.

Thomas hit the ground hard, landing partly on his back. He was a little dazed. The man who had jumped out at him was rushing at him, shouting. He seemed to be moving very slowly, but he kept coming; and Thomas thought, this man will kill me, if he lives to do it.

He fumbled for his sword, and realised that he had dropped it. He was up, scrambling on hands and knees, and saw the precious sabre a yard away. He flung himself on it as the rebel flung himself on Thomas. Thrashing together, Thomas could smell the fellow's unwashed clothes, and felt his breath hot against his face. He flinched away at the feel of the man's rough young beard scraping his cheek. He was thinking less about Monroe's careful instruction than about his many boyhood scuffles with Gabriel. He brought his knee up; and the man cursed, letting go of Thomas and falling back. Thomas snatched desperately at the sabre and without thinking, stabbed it into his enemy's chest.

Time stopped. The rebel stared at him and down at the sword blade penetrating him, eyes full of horror, disbelief, and an odd kind of disappointment. Thomas stared back. The rebel was young: only a few years older than himself. He looked like a regular person -- someone he might have seen at the storee in Wakefield, or fishing on the Santee. Now blood was dripping from the man's mouth, and a horrible gurgle bubbled up from inside him. Thomas stood there, holding his sabre hilt, not knowing what to do. He had a wild impulse to help the man -- take him to the surgeons, see he was bandaged -- and he was bewildered.

A calm voice came from behind him. "Pull out your sword, and he will die."

Thomas gripped the hilt more tightly, but could not move.

"Pull out the sword," and Thomas realised that it was the voice of his Colonel, giving an order. Thomas took a deep breath, stifled the urge to apologise to the man, and pulled hard. Steel scraped against bone with a rasp that set Thomas' teeth on edge. Blood gushed from the torn body. The man groaned, and collapsed, and then sighed his last breath out.

Tavington, on horseback, looked down at Thomas with cool approval. "Well done, Mr Martin."

Thomas looked up at him, back at the dead man, and was suddenly and humiliatingly sick: puking out his tea, his breakfast, and Dinah's cure-all, which was infinitely more vile the second time.

----------

Within a few days, they were back in Camden, victorious. They had continued their chase after the action at Camden, and had eventually run down Sumter's band, capturing wagons of supplies and rescuing over a hundred of their own men. Sumter had eluded them, but he was a spent force, at least for the time being.

All in all, Thomas felt he had just lived through the most important events of his life. He had killed a man. He had proven to himself and others that he could fight, and win, and endure days in the saddle and all the hardships of war. He had been thinking about Dinah during the entire ride back, and wondered if it would be possible to contrive anything resembling a bath. Perhaps Dinah would bathe him. He smiled, thinking of the line 'None but the brave deserves the fair.' He intended to savour his reward to the utmost.

"Mr Martin!" Thomas turned at his name. Roarke, the Colonel's orderly, was before him. "The Colonel wishes to see you, sir."

With some trepidation, Thomas entered the command tent, and bowed to his Colonel. Tavington was not quite his usual impeccable self. Blood marred his white cravat, and there was a streak of it below his right ear. Still, he looked most awe-inspiring, and Thomas concentrated on keeping his face impassive and his back straight.

"Come in, Mr Martin," said the Colonel. He was not in the best of moods. Thomas wondered that he was not in a state of elation over the victory, and his own very great part in it. The Colonel, in fact, looked more like someone who had lost the battle, than like a man who had been key in winning it. Tavington was going through some reports on his desk: probably the casualty figures. Thomas tried not to peer impudently at his Colonel's papers, which he sensed would not be well received.

Colonel Tavington sat back in his chair, and looked Thomas over thoughtfully. Thomas hoped he would not be rebuked for his unfortunate lapse a few days ago. What a wretched stroke of bad luck, that the Colonel himself should see me at such a weak moment.

The Colonel's lips quirked slightly. "Your first real battle, Mr Martin. You did well."

Hugely relieved, Thomas could not help apologising for his conduct. "I'm sorry, sir, about -- well, you know -- it won't happen again."

Tavington looked momentarily blank. Then his face cleared, and he seemed to be having trouble keeping his face straight. "That! It's happened to us all, sir -- it's nothing to be ashamed of. Time and too many such sights will soon have you as hardened as the rest of us." He frowned, glancing over his reports. "You acquitted yourself well in your first major action. As to your other duties, I hear nothing but good of you from Captain Bordon and Lieutenant Monroe."

Thomas felt himself blushing like a girl, and embarrassed at such another lapse, blushed even more. "Thank you, sir!"

"That is not why you are here, Mr Martin," said Tavington. "I am concerned about other aspects of your conduct."

Thomas, in a panic, searched his memory for any other fault. If the Colonel was not annoyed with him for puking at the sight of a dead man, what could it be?

"Mr Martin," began Tavington, with a slight edge in his elegant voice. "You are an officer and a gentleman in His Majesty's service, and as your commander, I stand in place of a father to you."

An uneasy, wormish feeling crept over Thomas. Colonel Tavington was beginning to sound eerily like Father when Thomas had gotten into trouble back home. Mr Martin, you have neglected to exercise the horses. Mr Martin, did you hoe the beans, as I told you? Mr Martin, why are these toy soldiers still all over the floor? Completely at a loss, Thomas waited to hear how he had disappointed his admired commander.

"Mrs Poole is a good-natured, pretty creature, is she not?" The Colonel raised an eyebrow. "I take it that your time in the Legion has seen you introduced to more than battle."

Thunderstruck, and unspeakably embarrassed to find himself in such a conversation with his Colonel, Thomas began to sweat. This really was as bad as Father.

The Colonel eyed him with cool interest, ignoring his cornet's embarrassment. "Well, sir?"

"Rmphhugggggh," replied Thomas, feeling as if his mouth were stuffed with cotton. Tavington's eyebrows rose even high.

Thomas cleared his throat. "I mean, Colonel, Mrs Poole has been very kind to me. She washes and mends my clothes, and helps me -- " Thomas blushed at Tavington's expression. A flash of memory -- of finally performing as a man with Dinah at satisfactory length -- filled him with secret pride. Defiantly, he added, "And she refuses to take a penny for anything! Sir!"

His Colonel, rather than seeming pleased at this bit of news, frowned again. "Mr Martin, a soldier has a right to a soldier's pleasures and pastimes, but they must not be allowed to compromise his honour or his future career. Mrs Poole is indeed pretty, and indeed good-natured, and she is as free with her favours as one would wish a camp woman to be, but a camp woman is precisely what she is."

Thomas looked a protest, but Tavington continued ruthlessly. "She is not the stuff of which romance is made. A young woman in her situation often looks to better herself by presenting herself as a damsel in distress, and thus ensnaring a young gentlemen; but think, Mr Martin!" said his Colonel, lashing him with every word. "Do you imagine your father would welcome a camp follower as a daughter -- and would you wish her as a companion for your innocent sisters?"

The Colonel rose, looking down at Thomas, who tried not to wriggle as a drop of sweat trickled down his spine. "The news that she does not take money from you I find alarming, as I did that tender scene in camp the morning before the battle. She is trying to create in you a sense of obligation. You do not want to be made use of, in such a way that would make not just you, but your entire family, a laughingstock. You do not want to injure your military career; for you must be aware that any marriage you might make would be subject to my approval as your commander."

Thomas forced himself to keep his head up, and look at the Colonel. Tavington seemed pleased, and added more mildly. "Now listen to me. I am not going to order you to discard Dinah Poole, but I strongly advise you to begin paying her as you ought. As you cannot offer her marriage, the kindest thing is to see that she has the money she has earned. And do consider what you are about, and how your father would feel about you bringing home from the war a by-blow, or a case of the pox, or both. A little discretion, Mr Martin."

----------

Thomas nearly ran from the Colonel's tent, aflame with embarrassment. Captain Wilkins, on his way to report, stopped him.

"Is the Colonel still in his tent?"

Thomas pulled himself together sufficiently to answer the captain politely. Wilkins, seeing that something was wrong, smiled kindly. "Anything wrong, Thomas?"

"No, sir," Thomas replied. "It's just -- " Seeing a face he had known for years, he felt the need to talk. "The Colonel saw me with Dinah Poole, and told me to be more discreet." He stared at the ground, knowing his face must still be red.

Wilkins grinned at him. "The Colonel's just trying to look out for you, son. He's a little standoffish where camp women are concerned. Doesn't want to lower himself in the eyes of the men, I reckon. And now, of course -- " He stopped, and smiled again at Thomas. "He's right, you know. It's all right for some of the others, but you're from around here, and you don't want talk to get back to your family."

Thomas was wondering about something else. "Captain, why isn't the Colonel happy about the battle? He seemed a little -- out of sorts, maybe?"

Wilkins looked down at him. He had heard that the Colonel had received a royal dressing-down from the Lord General for charging without orders, but he thought it wrong to gossip about such a thing with the Martin boy. There were all sorts of ways to be discreet, after all.

"Never you mind. He's probably just tired, is all." He grinned again. "I'll tell you a secret. The dragoon captains are going to a surprise party for him tonight. After I report, I'll head out to town, and when the Colonel goes to visit some friends for dinner, we'll all be there. That should perk him up some." He strode away, toward the command tent, leaving Thomas to plan his own victory celebration.

Thomas found that a bath could indeed be contrived, and that Dinah was the most obliging of bath attendants. And he found further, that she was not entirely displeased to have an extra shilling or two.

4: Destiny Takes a Detour

William Tavington had left Charlestown in great good humour: the British campaign in South Carolina had been an unqualified success. Since Camden, the rebel militias had been utterly crushed, and the Continental regulars were nowhere to be seen. Now back at camp, he could look over the past few months with a feeling of accomplishment.

His uneasy relations with the Lord General, too, were mending. Cornwallis had not taken to Tavington when the Lord General had first replaced Sir Henry Clinton, feeling he was reckless and too eager for personal glory. However, he now was willing to give Tavington his due. South Carolina had been won for the King. Their convoys were passing unmolested around the colony. Whatever pockets of rebellion still existed were subdued and quiet.

Tavington had had the distinct pleasure of driving the usurpers from his fiancée's home, Arcadia. The plantation was now partially functioning with hired labour under the care of an overseer. Elizabeth and her sisters, however, were remaining with her aunt for the foreseeable future, since Camden was more easily accessible in his current circumstances, and somewhat safer for a household of unprotected women and children in any case.

There had been a ball in Charlestown -- a gesture of fellowship towards the South Carolina loyalists. Their support had been key in consolidating control here. The ball itself had been tiresome, since his fiancée had been unable to attend, but quite a successful and glittering affair, in the main. Cornwallis, prior to the festivities, had summoned him for some words of special praise. The recognition was intensely gratifying.

Smiling to himself, he remembered another source of pleasure in Charlestown. He had seen Patrick Ferguson there: "The Bulldog" to the Army, Pattie to his friends. Now Inspector of Militia, the Scotsman was having great success in recruiting, partly due to his own skill and personal charisma, and partly due to the military successes of August. Men who might have cautiously stayed at home, waiting on events, were now flocking to the King's banner.

A voice disturbed his reverie.

"Excuse me, Colonel. You wanted the hospital list?" It was Ned Smith, their chief surgeon. Though things were going well as far the campaign was concerned, the same could not be said for the men's health. Fever had come to visit the camp, and decided to stay. A large number of their men were incapacitated. If they had not already pacified the colony, they would have been in sad straits.

"Thank you, Smith. Are we winning or losing?"

"Hard to tell, sir. As you see, we have not had many deaths, but the fever must run its course before a man can be fit for duty again. It hits some harder than others. The Lord General, as I'm sure you know, is bedridden with it."

Tavington knew all too well. Cornwallis had looked terrible, the last time Tavington had reported to him: face greenish-yellow and slick with sweat. Tavington himself had had a light case of it: two nights of alternating chills and fever. I loathe being sick. Most especially, I loathe being sick in camp.

He went over the lists with Smith, and then sent the surgeon on his way. He got up, stretching, and stepped out of his quarters to have a look around. Not all the men had fallen victim to the fever. There was the Martin boy, pale as ever, but perfectly strong and energetic. He and another young buck, Sam Willett, were trying to get up a dog race. The sensible canines were having no part of it, though; plainly not considering the maggot-infested rations the Army provided them sufficient incentive.

"Here, boy! Come on!" Martin was waving a particularly unsavory piece of mystery meat at the end of the course. "Ajax! Over here!" The dog wagged his tail, and sat down to scratch an ear. Sam Willett laughed, trying to lure his own dog toward him, with no better success. The boys looked up and saw him.

"Good day to you, Colonel!" they called out, almost in unison. Tavington acknowledged their bows, glad that there were soldiers fit enough for such ridiculous antics. I'm glad they will never know about the time when I was sixteen, and wagered I could outrun a horse. Had I not been so drunk, I would have at least run in the right direction.

Martin was interesting to him for other reasons. In the course of a conversation, it had been revealed that Martin's father did not own slaves. This was certainly unusual for a planter of his property, but Captain Martin had made a success of it. Tavington himself had no desire to be a slaveowner, despite the customs of the country. If Mr Martin's father could manage without dealing in human flesh, Tavington felt he could as well.

South Carolina planter society was a small world. Young Martin had met Elizabeth's father a number of times, and knew of Elizabeth by reputation. Tavington deplored the heat and humidity of South Carolina summers, but it was truly a beautiful country: everything grew here. With Elizabeth and her family, her ties to her cousin Wilkins, and now with his own acquaintance with the Martins and the connections he had made in Charlestown at the ball, Tavington felt he was beginning to establish a web of personal relationships that would give him a place in this world. Perhaps this was the home he had always searched for.

----------

A week later in late September, Thomas was thoroughly enjoying his free afternoon with Dinah. The two of them had remained untouched by the fever ravaging the rest of the army, and their feeling of invulnerability gave a new energy to their games. Thomas had been mortified, but also a bit smug, when the violence of their sport had demolished his cot. He had gone to the quartermaster for a replacement, and Pryor had peered at him over his spectacles and muttered, "Impetuous!" The new cot, however, was delivered as promised, and was an improvement over the old.

The canvas walls of the tent gave an illusion of privacy that was just that -- and Thomas was reminded how flimsy were the boundaries of their private Eden, as Captains Bordon and Wilkins walked by outside, talking.

"He's gone to the Lord General again -- perhaps this time he'll have his way."

Bordon paused, and Thomas could hear the conversation clearly. "If the Lord General will reinforce us with some infantry at least, it would make of up for the all the Dragoons still on the sick list."

"Oh, we'll have to have some infantry -- and maybe the Colonel will wheedle a field-piece or two from his lordship. There's no telling what kind of hornets' nest Ferguson has stirred up."

Dinah wriggled impatiently next to him, her hands wandering, but Thomas motioned her to be quiet. This was too good a chance to miss. He was tired of always being the last to know anything.

Bordon spoke up next. "The Bulldog says in his message that three or four hundred, including Dragoons, would finish the business." Thomas heard them start walking again, and their voices faded. Dinah, pleased that he was no longer distracted, proceeded to take shameless advantage of him.

----------

In the end, Tavington indeed had his way. With things so quiet in their area, the Lord General's fears were calmed; and a relief force set out on October first to rendezvous with Ferguson. The Lord General had been generous. Tavington commanded not just the British Legion, with dragoons and infantry, but a large detachment of light infantry from the 33rd and two three-pounders. Rumours flew their way of a great host of over-mountain men, under Campbell and Cleveland, who were gathering at the border between North and South Carolina. Ferguson, from his last message, was headed southeast toward them, and Tavington was moving north and west to intercept.

The scouts caught a pair of local militiamen on the night of the 6th. The men, Rollins and Billings, were close-mouthed at first about the rebels' movements, but within an hour of being offered a jug of home brew by Sergeant Davies, they were bragging about the size of the force mustered against Ferguson. They were particularly indignant about some of the Bulldog's remarks, and predicted that they would indeed be pissing on him ere long.

Tavington watched Davies play the men for fools, while he himself stood in the shadows, beyond the firelight. While the men's ignorant talk enraged him, he knew it was best to let Davies handle this his own way. The sergeant's jovial manner, his broad hints of dissatisfaction with His Majesty's Army, and his liberality with the jug had caused the men to reveal more than the worst torture could have wrung from them.

Clearly Ferguson was in dire straits. Tavington had again sent out scouts, to assess the approaches. At dawn, Tavington would lead his force to the rescue at King's Mountain.

----------

It was early afternoon, and Patrick Ferguson had gathered his forces at the top of the summit. This was sound in theory, but Ferguson could see the practice left much to be desired; for the damned rebels were making their way closer, moving from tree to tree. Sporadic shots were fired. His men had driven off one attack with a bayonet charge, but now the rebels, fearing the bayonet and growing cautious, were not showing themselves at all. Grey smoke puffed out from the woods around them, and his men were falling to snipers' bullets. He had sent messengers asking for support from Colonel Cruger at Fort Ninety-Six, but it was likely that they had never gotten through.

One of his flanks was along an escarpment that the rebels could not hope to climb. The rest of the area was heavily wooded, giving the rebels cover. It was impossible to do more than guess at the odds, but it was likely that they were outnumbered two to one.

The tents behind him were filled with wounded already. Women were helping the worst injured there, away from the lines. His own poor Sally, red hair flaming in the sun, cast him a brave smile as she bent over a fallen man. He could not allow himself to think about what would happen to her and Polly if the rebels broke through.

----------

Tavington surveyed the ground before him. The rebels had split into four columns attacking King's Mountain. He was approaching from the south; and from the gunfire, it was evident that the rebels had driven Ferguson into a defensive position atop the mountain.

"Lieutenant Marley!" he called out. "Prepare your cannon to fire at the bulk of the rebels at the left of the slope!" He hoped to create shock and panic with the cannon, and confuse the enemy. His infantry would attack in line, and trap the enemy between Ferguson's men and his own.

He turned to the dragoon captains. "Kinlock and Ogilvie -- flank around right and surround the rebels there. Attempt to push them back toward the center. Hovenden, I want you in reserve behind the infantry. Deal with any the rebels fleeing your way. I, with Bordon and Wilkins, will sweep left and head up the lower slopes of the mountain, clearing out the rebels as we go."

He glanced up at the hilltop. Smoke was rising, and amidst the crackle of rifle fire, he heard the thin high sound of a whistle. Pattie. Still alive, then.

The cannon were in position and loaded. "Fire!" shouted Tavington, and the cannons roared in reply. The balls whizzed through the air, traveling toward the enemy; and then there a cloud of dust and debris, and faint screams shrilled out.

"Take the infantry forward!" The ranks of musket-armed men started inexorably toward the rebels. Tavington took a quick look through his telescope at the milling figures on the mountainside. It was hard to see them clearly, but some units were already pulling back, their commanders wisely not choosing to remain sandwiched between two British armies.

"Dragoons, at the trot!" They began the circuit to net the militiamen. The cannons fired again, over the heads of the advancing infantry.

Thomas, in Bordon's troop, readied himself for what would certainly be a crucial battle. They were picking up speed, rounding a curve at the base of the hill. He could see a lot of horses -- probably most of the rebels had dismounted and ascended the heavily wooded slopes on foot. He heard the cannon once again, firing on the mountain, making it impossible for the rebels to hold their positions. Some would meet the advancing infantry, some would attack Ferguson and the American Volunteers at the summit, some would try to escape through the woods along the sides of the mountains. Those who came their way were in for an unpleasant surprise.

The first body of militia that came rushing out of the woods at them stopped, appalled, and headed back toward cover. The dragoons charged and cut them down. Other rebels were stopping amongst the trees. A crash of musketfire signaled a volley from the British. As their infantry pressed in and started squeezing the enemy, the line would also stretch out, allowing few of the rebels at the flanks to evade the attackers.

The dragoons were riding up a gentle slope now, weaving through the woods, but still able to run down the over-mountain men. A rebel popped up suddenly from the brush, aiming at someone else. Thomas cut down, slicing through the man's left shoulder. The rifle fell from the man's grasp, and Thomas rode on.

It seemed to take forever, but it probably lasted no more than an hour. Volleys were fired, and then ceased, as the work of the infantry changed to the shouting butchery of bayonet charges. Militiamen hid among the rocks, firing with formidable accuracy on the King's troops. They were flushed out with difficulty, but flushed out they were. Some of the rebels on the right broke out, and made a run for freedom. Hovenden's troop pursued them, and took many prisoners.

Higher up, the dragoons found paths through the woods, and more and more of the militia laid down their arms. Tavington led his captains up the rocks to the summit, and paused. The firing had stopped. He found himself confronting a man on horseback, and then looked again at the absurd checked coat and the familiar face.

The unmistakable Scottish voice was familiar too. "And who were you expecting? George Washington?"

"My dear Pattie! I am so relieved to see you alive!"

"You're relieved!" Ferguson put out his good hand for a heart-felt handshake. He turned to some of his officers around him. "This is my old friend, William Tavington, 'the Butcher of the Carolinas!' A very useful sort of friend to have! Let me introduce you to my officers, Will..."

Thomas was detailed to supervise a group of the prisoners. Weapons were confiscated, and the men put under heavy guard. Lieutenant Monroe needed a cut to his thigh bandaged, and Thomas noticed some very pretty women in the American Volunteers' camp, who came to the lieutenant's assistance.

One in particular caught his eye, a sparkling girl with blazing red hair and huge blue eyes. She smiled at Monroe as she cleaned the wound and wrapped it. Another girl, equally pretty if less showy, with shining chestnut hair and charming dimples, walked back with her to the tents.

Thomas stared after them. "Look all you like," advised Monroe, with a sardonic smile, "but touch at your peril. The Bulldog won't want anyone playing with his toys."

"The redhead?" asked Thomas. "She's really pretty." He cast another wistful glance.

"The redhead and her sister as well," Monroe informed him.

"Major Ferguson has two--" Thomas was impressed. "I guess rank does have its privileges."

Monroe snorted and clapped him on the back, as he stood up, wincing.

----------

Tavington stared into the huge mirror, and gave another anxious tug at his lace-trimmed cravat. The bloody thing was a mess, sticking out all over the place. He hated preparing for balls. Ferguson had talked him into having his hair powdered, and he felt a great fool. The Lord General was sponsoring the ball, to celebrate their victory and to raise morale. Elizabeth and her family would be meeting them here, for tonight their engagement would become known outside the circle of her family and his own officers.

"Dinna fash yourself, William!" Ferguson gave the offending cravat a touch, and achieved with one hand, what Tavington had failed to manage with two. "Your fair lady will be swooning at the sight of you in your glory!" With a sly smile he sang under his breath,

"Gi'e me a lass with a lump o' land -- "

Tavington stopped him, exasperated. "I am not marrying Miss Wilde for her estate! When you meet her you will understand."

"Aye, I know you too well to think such a thing. Of course, if a man finds a pretty girl, and the pretty girl has a wee bit of property as well as all a lady's accomplishments, it's no bad thing--"

"Stop."

Ferguson smiled mischievously, and stood by Tavington. The mirror reflected them back -- the Englishman all elegant anxiety, the Scot all debonair ease.

"Now then," said Ferguson with an arch look. "We look ravishing. Let's find someone to ravish."

He laughed and headed towards the ballroom. Tavington followed him, still worried. "I pray that you will say nothing of the sort in front of Miss Wilde."

"English! No sense of humour!"

----------

November 1, 1780

My dear Father,

You may have heard of our great triumph over the rebels near King's Mountain. Cleveland and Campbell thought they had trapped Major Ferguson and his American Volunteers, but the British Legion arrived in the nick of time, and turned the tables on them, I can tell you. The rebel militias have been decimated and scattered. Campbell and some of his men escaped, but Cleveland and his sons were captured. I am not sure what will happen to them. Rumour has it that the Lord General would like to hang them, but doesn't want to set such an example. They will probably be imprisoned in the hulks in Charlestown Harbour. It is a fate better than they deserve. Their cruelties were almost without example, but I will not burden you with a recitation of them.

We are settled in winter quarters very comfortably. The Lord General felt that a celebration of the victory would improve our spirits, and hosted a splendid ball for us, right here at camp! I heard some of the other officers complaining about the rough accommodations and the lack of some of the refinements they are accustomed to, but I had never been to a ball before, and I thought it was wonderful.

Colonel Tavington's fiancée and her sisters were there. Miss Wilde is the daughter of John Wilde, your old friend the painter. We evacuated them from their home back in July, but I was not introduced to them at the time. I had heard Miss Wilde was very well educated and a blue-stocking, but she was very kind to me and did not try to frighten me with her accomplishments. I know I should not criticize a lady, but I was disappointed that she was not more beautiful. The Colonel is so very fine a man! Miss Wilde must be nearly thirty years old. Her sister, Miss Amelia, though, is about my age, and very, very pretty. She is a little shy, and had never been to a ball either, so we danced together, and then we watched some of the other people and joked about them. Their little sister was there too, and is as talkative as Susan is silent. I thought she was a pest, but the other officers seemed to like her, even the Lord General.

Give my kindest regards to my sisters and brothers. I hope the boys are more help to you than I sometimes was. I long to see you all.

Your loving son,
Thomas

Ben Martin set down the letter and leaned back in his chair. The boys were playing with their toy soldiers in the kitchen. As they knocked them down gleefully, in a pantomime of slaughter, Martin felt his heart constrict with anxiety for his other two boys, now so far away. Thomas was becoming a man, squiring young ladies at balls, and clearly making a career for himself in the Dragoons. John Wilde's daughters? He had visited the family back in '73, before the war. He could just remember the eldest girl, a quiet, not plain young woman, very occupied with teaching her younger sisters. The younger girls were a blur: this Amelia must have been quite little at the time. Martin had spent most of his visit helping Wilde hunt for water birds to paint, accompanied by Wilde's two fine boys. He had heard that both the boys were dead, along with their parents. He supposed the eldest girl had inherited Arcadia -- maybe that was the attraction for an ambitious man like Tavington.

He had heard from Gabriel a month ago. For obvious reasons, he could not give his exact location, but he was evidently with Harry in North Carolina under Greene's command. He was a lieutenant now, and understandably proud of his promotion. Gabriel, it seemed, was still corresponding with Anne Howard, so they were more or less officially betrothed. She was a tradesman's daughter and no great match for the heir of Fresh Water, but she was a pretty enough girl and Gabriel's choice. Martin only hoped that his son would live to marry and settle down. Sooner or later the opposing armies would meet. His greatest fear, and the source of his worst nightmares, was that his two beloved sons would confront one another on the field of battle. Thomas had expressed it well in his first letter: the war could not be over too soon.

5: A Destined Wedding

"My dearest," Elizabeth had said to him, "we must put our trust in life."

Tavington had at last agreed with her. Their wedding had grown from a modest family ceremony into an enormous affair, with a sumptuous meal served at headquarters, under the benevolent sponsorship of the Lord General. The small church could not hold all of their well-wishers, some of whom waited outside to wish them joy. Tavington was happy to be in his commander's good books, but understood that the gesture was partly motivated by Cornwallis' aim to win over the locals. This was a golden opportunity to show British-Colonial amity.

Pattie Ferguson had smiled knowingly that morning, when he had come to collect Tavington and deliver him to the church. With a flourish, he paraphrased Shakespeare. "Here you may see Tavington the married man."

Happy enough to be in the same spirit, Tavington riposted, "When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married."

Now Pattie was amusing Elizabeth's elderly aunt, Miss Everleigh. Tavington could hear her raucous laugh carrying over the music accompanying the dancers. He took a moment to observe the scene. The Lord General was partnering Elizabeth, and they seemed to be engaged in pleasant conversation. Tavington had resigned himself to his commander's finery outshining every other man in the room, but as long as Tavington himself was the man who went home with Elizabeth, he would not begrudge Cornwallis his velvet and gold lace.

Elizabeth was well worth looking at herself, in the white satin gown that had cost all the women in the household many weary hours. The fragile petticoat, quilted in silver, made him think of clouds with the sun behind them. Her emerald wedding ring, her aunt's contribution, flashed richly on her hand. Tavington, full of the pride of possession, enjoyed the murmurs of admiration directed her way. Let other men admire all they liked: she was his, and would be so until death parted them.

Elizabeth's sister Amelia was dancing with Thomas Martin. This was not the first time he had seen them together. He would keep an eye on young Martin, and even more on Amelia, now that he had the rights and responsibilities of a brother. Martin was entirely too young to pursue a lady seriously. In Tavington's opinion, no officer under the rank of Captain had any business marrying. Amelia was full of silly romantic sensibilities, but Tavington would make certain she kept her behaviour within bounds.

He walked over the little group of wits. Miss Everleigh, being one to repeat her own clever sayings, was indeed twitting Patrick Ferguson about the poverty of Scotland.

"A fair place, perhaps, though one in which you cannot make a living, and must hire out your swords!"

"It's true, " Pattie answered, lightly. "We must travel abroad to seek our fortune. And in that, we are the luckiest of men."

The old lady gave him a smirk of disbelief, and Ferguson pulled his chair closer, and took her by the hand.

"It's a fine thing to live in a bonny rich land, where one need never fare far to live well. But we, bred among the rocks and lochs, must make our swords our passports to new worlds. While others lie fat and lazy, we march to the drumbeat of chance. Scotland is a wee sma' country, but you will not find a place in the wide world that has not Scotsmen in it. Whether the icy mountains of the North, or the jungles of Africa; whether in the armies of Russian princes or Chinese mandarins, you'll find a Scotsman there. And I'm lucky myself, to have taken up the sword: else I'd never made a friend of Will Tavington there, nor known the clammy touch of Death, nor the joyous sound of cavalry to the rescue, nor -- " he smiled jauntily, kissing the old lady's hand, "the pleasure of conversation with the charming ladies of the Carolinas."

"Flirt!" exclaimed Miss Everleigh, thumping him lightly with her fan.

Thomas had heard Ferguson's words, and stood transfixed. The major had been speaking of himself and other Scots, and indeed the army was full of them; but his words might as well apply to all soldiers. Only in the army would he have had the opportunity to test all the limits of human experience. We make our swords our passports to new worlds...

He had never been so grateful for the chance meeting that had brought him here. The brightly lit room, the softly glowing colours of the ladies' gowns, the bold scarlet of the men's uniforms -- everything seemed to him more than beautiful. He loved it here, and felt more and more a part of it.

Amelia Wilde caught his eye, and smiled at him. She was incredibly pretty, and he liked being with her. She was so different from a girl like Dinah Poole; but still she was a girl, and sometimes he had imagined what it would be like--

No, he told himself firmly, I'm not going to think about her that way. She's the Colonel's sister-in-law now, and I reckon he's going to be pretty particular about the men who court her. He liked Amelia, but there was a whole world for him to explore, and he didn't want to tie himself down yet. There was plenty of time for a home and family later.

The moment he thought of "home," he felt a wave of painful nostalgia. It was almost Christmas, and he wondered what Father was doing. He had asked the Colonel for leave to visit his family, and to his surprise and joy, Tavington had granted it immediately, not even waiting to hear the reasons Thomas was prepared to give him. Colonel Tavington had uttered a terse, "granted," and then had told Thomas he would be heading that way himself, taking his bride and her sisters back home. Thomas could ride part of the way with them, in fact. Thomas had walked away, floating on air. He would see his family, and they would see him, dressed in scarlet.

Tavington, too, had been struck by Pattie's words, but was soon too intent on more personal matters to heed the shafts of wit flying about. He and Elizabeth, with her sisters, would be setting out for Arcadia tomorrow. Cornwallis had granted him three weeks leave, and they would make the most of it. Elizabeth was desperate to go home: to go home to Arcadia, and to begin setting it to rights after the depredations of the rebels and her treacherous neighbors. Those last were either imprisoned in the hulks, fled westward, or fighting in the remnants of the rebel militias far up in North Carolina. Elizabeth should be safe enough with the hired men and the servants to protect her and her sisters. He was looking forward to seeing the place again himself. It would be his home, too, and he could not wait to learn every bit of the land, anymore than he could wait to learn every bit of his new wife. He smiled with anticipation.

He took Amelia's hand for the next dance. She was as fresh and sweet as a rose in her lovely pink gown, and had attracted quite a following amongst the young officers. Though she was only fifteen, Tavington imagined she would not be unmarried long. Something of the sort had occurred to her, it seemed, for she broached the subject of Mr Martin with little preamble.

"Could Mr Martin not come with us to Arcadia, Colonel? He lives only forty miles away." Martin had requested Christmas leave, and Tavington had granted it: he would have felt a great hypocrite had he not.

Tavington spoke kindly but firmly. "I have already discussed this with the gentleman, Amelia. Mr Martin can ride with us part of the way. He will not be staying with us, though, but spending his Christmas leave with his family." He really did not want to encourage Amelia in her foolish fancies. The dance over, he returned her to her female relatives, noting a slight pout on the pretty face.

Amelia told them, her disappointment evident, "The Colonel says that Mr Martin will not be visiting us at Arcadia for Christmas."

"Good," said little Julia, nibbling her share of the wedding cake. "It will be just us -- just our family, with no strangers, and no silly boys." She sat back in her chair complacently, ignoring Amelia's disappointment. "It's going to be the best Christmas ever."

Tavington smiled, and looked over at Elizabeth, glowing with happiness. She had just finished a dance with her cousin, Captain Wilkins, who had given her away today. He was towering over her, beaming. Tavington decided it was past time to claim his wife for another dance, and made his way to her. Tonight he would take the soldier's reward he had always longed for: Elizabeth would be his, and with her would come a host of other joys -- a family, a home. It was going to be the best Christmas ever.

Thomas, making plans for his visit home, was struck with another exciting thought. He had real money, for the first time in his life. He must get something pretty for Dinah, and leave her with enough money to keep her comfortable in his absence. He would visit the quartermaster today and buy presents for Father and the little ones -- for everyone. It was going to be the best Christmas ever.

----------

Young Martin was no bad companion, Tavington decided, for the time their roads lay together. At least he kept Amelia occupied and amused. She looked after the boy wistfully when their paths at last diverged. He cantered off with a wave and a smile, obviously anticipating his reunion with his family.

Elizabeth and Julia, at least, were eager to see their old home again. He had been a little concerned for Elizabeth, wondering if the ride would be too much for her after last night. He had helped her mount her new mare, Tomyris, his wedding gift to her, and had whispered, "Are you quite all right?"

She had blushed and smiled, and whispered back tenderly, "I'm wonderfully well." They had enjoyed the ride, for the December weather was mild, and the thought of seeing their home made all difficulties trifling. When they finally found the familiar sunken road, bordered by red cedars, the girls were in a fever of excitement. The first sight of the white house and its pillared veranda wrung a wordless cry from Elizabeth, and she switched her mare lightly, leaving her husband in the dust.

Not about to be outridden by a woman, even his own wife, Tavington caught up with her; and they galloped, side by side to the front steps. She smiled radiantly at him, her dark curls snapping around her face.

The hired groom had come out, hearing the hoofbeats. The other servants Tavington had hired collected to greet them.

Tavington helped each of his ladies down in turn, taking his time to hold Elizabeth close and let her slide slowly down his body. Their eyes met, and she kissed him right there and then, caring nothing for her sisters or the servants. The kiss lengthened and deepened, and finally two of the witnesses began to protest.

"Please!" objected Julia, hiding her eyes. "We're innocent little girls!"

"I'm not a little girl," Amelia contradicted, "but really -- I mean -- "

Tavington laughed, and gave Elizabeth a look that she understood, clearing telling her that this matter would be taken up later.

The servants were introduced. Some were former slaves of theirs or of the rebels, now freed. Tavington had made clear to Elizabeth that they would not be owning slaves, and she had acquiesced to what she must have considered an Englishman's eccentricity. The groom was left to care for the horses. The wagon with their baggage, trundling along more slowly, had just appeared around the bend in the road.

The girls were looking around, assessing the condition of the house and the outbuildings. The front of the veranda, especially, would need some paint come spring. The approach to the house, the grounds in front of the veranda, and the carriage sweep all looked rather weather-beaten and unkempt. The lawn was pitted, and dead weeds straggled untidily by the steps. Amelia and Julia were curious to see what their interloping neighbors had done to the inside of the house. After another quick glance about her, Elizabeth took Tavington by the hand, and led him into their home.

Phoebe, the housekeeper, and the maid Dolly began showing them the progress they had made, one room at a time. Elizabeth took a moment to discuss meal times with Phoebe, and the housekeeper pointed out some of the damage that most concerned her.

It could have been worse. The place had the look of having been lived in by a number of men who never removed their spurs. Clearly they would need more help restoring the house than just the cook-housekeeper and the single maid could manage, even though a number of rooms had been shut up for the time being.

Amelia was in the front parlour, and remarked, "They set their wineglasses on the pianoforte. Such Vandals." She pottered about, looking here and there, and tutting in tones not unlike her elder sister.

Julia ran upstairs. "I want to see my room again!"

"We'll need a carpenter out here to repair the woodwork, as soon as possible," Elizabeth said. "And then a plasterer and painter. It looks dreadfully shabby."

Tavington pulled her close. "It is our home, and it looks wonderful."

"Yes," she agreed, with tears and smiles. "Yes, it does."

A furious "Disgusting!" was heard from above, and Julia came racing downstairs, fuming. Her small face was red and wrathful and her hands clenched into fists.

"A man was sleeping in my room. A horrible man who chewed tobacco. There is a spittoon in my room, and the man spat tobacco juice in it, and sometimes he missed! It's horrible!"

Elizabeth and Tavington regarded her with carefully serious faces. "I'm sorry, darling, " said Elizabeth, "perhaps the floor can be sanded and bleached." She murmured some instructions to the servants and sent them off to prepare dinner.

Julia was unsatisfied, and continued venting her outrage. "And sometimes he hit the wall, and there are these dark brown streaks! I can't sleep in that horrid room! He ruined it! He -- " Elizabeth interrupted the little girl's tirade by pulling her close and hugging her.

"We'll go upstairs and I'll see what can be done. I want to see my own room, too. " She looked back at Tavington. "When you were here in September, did you happen to notice -- "

He gave her a naughty smile. "I did notice your room. I slept there, in fact, after we were done with the rebels, and it seemed all right." He patted Julia's head, and they all went upstairs together. "No one was chewing tobacco there."

"Men who chew tobacco should be hanged!"

"Oh, Julia," laughed Elizabeth. "Surely not all of them!"

"Men who chew tobacco and spit in my room should be," Julia insisted, stamping up the last few steps. She and Amelia went into Julia's sunny bedchamber, and exclaimed over the stained floor and walls.

Elizabeth's hand lightly brushed up Tavington's spine, riveting his complete attention. "You slept in my bed?" she murmured with a sideways glance.

He leaned down to whisper, "I did," softly in her ear, and caught the lobe lightly in his teeth, sucking luxuriously. Elizabeth managed only a strangled mew. He let go, to growl softly, "And I shall not be satisfied until I sleep there again."

----------

Thomas' heart was pounding as he saw Fresh Water in the distance, intact and prosperous, looking as if no war could ever touch it. There were small figures over by the barns, and they began running toward the house as they caught sight of him. Out of sheer high spirits, he took Piper over the paddock fence, first in, then out, and continued at the gallop to the front of the house.

A clear young voice, which he knew for Sam's, was calling, "Father! Father! There's a soldier coming!"

The gallant young officer returns to the bosom of his family --

Thomas had only a moment for the well-worn fantasy to cross his mind, when reality eclipsed it. Father had come out on the porch, and knew him at once. "Thomas!" His face was lit in welcome, and in a moment Thomas had tumbled out of Piper's saddle and into his father's embrace.

They were all there, crowding around him. Only Susan looked at him doubtfully, until he removed his helmet, and was once again the Thomas she knew. Abigail came from the kitchen, warm and smelling of spices, and hugged and cried over him. Margaret and Nathan patted him fondly. His two little brothers raised the cry, "Did you bring us presents?"

Thomas smiled. "You'll have to wait for Christmas!" His saddlebags were bursting with presents: a handsome inkstand for Father, clasp knives for the boys, silks for the girls, a soft scarlet shawl for Abigail. He could hardly wait to see their faces. Home had never seemed so wonderful. He turned to his father, and realised that either Father had grown smaller, or Thomas taller, for now he could see the top of Father's head.

Father put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Sam told me a soldier was coming. I see that he was right."

6: Destiny Amongst the Cowpens

All good things must end. Tavington received a courier from the Lord General, ordering him back to duty. They were going in pursuit of Greene and his army. Tavington, in his turn, sent word to the Martin boy, telling him to report to the army by January 6th. There would be no twelve days of Christmas. They were lucky to have had Christmas itself.

Never had he returned to duty so reluctantly. Everything had changed. Tavington wondered how much of his recklessness in the past had been the result of simply having nothing to lose. Now he bade farewell to a wife and a family, a beautiful home and a prosperous plantation: a life full of promise.

Most bitter was the loss of the magical nights alone with his bride in their bedchamber, enjoying her remarkable progress in yet another delightful accomplishment. The winter nights were cold, and they nestled warmly together, sharing their plans for the future, whispering endearments, talking with perfect freedom about the simple things of everyday life.

She had taken his premature departure hard, and when relaxing in his arms later that night, had surprised him with a suggestion.

"I could always come with you."

He had been on the verge of sleep, but this startled him into alertness.

"Absolutely not. You and your sisters must stay where you are safe. Besides, you have such plans for refurbishing the house -- "

"The girls can stay with Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva again. They'd be perfectly safe there. Of course, Julia, at least, would be delighted to join us on the march."

He turned on his side, trying to read her face in the darkness.

"You are not serious. You cannot be serious. You have no idea what this campaign is going to be like. I'm not sure I do either."

"I want to be with you."

"You shall be," he murmured, pressing her hand to his heart. "Here." She had tried to object, but he silenced her first with a long, deep kiss; and then, for the second time that night, with long, deep, and urgent love-making.

The next morning, Elizabeth kissed him goodbye on the steps of Arcadia, trying to smile, and above all, trying not to look reproachful. She whispered, "Won't you let me come with you?"

Tavington looked quickly away, trying to control his face. Yes, he longed to cry, I've changed my mind. Pack a bag, have Tomyris saddled, and ride away with me. She would do it, he knew. He had only to ask.

But he would not ask. He could not expose her to a hitherto unknown world of squalour and privation; a world of filth, blood and disease. She had come close enough to it on the road when she had refugeed to Camden.

He looked down at her, pressed close and sweet against him, smelling of rose water and her own alluring scent. "No, my love," he whispered back, their lips almost touching. "Where I'm going you can't follow. What I've got to do you can't be any part of. I need to be able think of you and this place, and to remember that I have all this to come home to."

He had returned to the army full of a grim determination to finish the business at hand as quickly as possible. Experiencing a new way of life had put him out of humour with his old. Gone was his earliest incentive as a soldier: the drive to make his fortune. Marriage, rather than battle, had given him all his wished. On reflection, of course, reasons good for continuing his career in the army presented themselves. The war was far from over. He might have acquired Elizabeth and a splendid estate, but he must still keep them safe.

----------

They moved quickly, in the wet and cold of a Carolina January. The Lord General pushed them hard, hoping to trap and crush Greene's regulars. They had left much of the baggage behind. They had left most of the women behind as well. Only Major Ferguson, among the officers, was accompanied by his two mistresses, Sally and Polly; for they had been through so much already in their travels with the Major that they were as fearless as any soldier. Dinah Poole had sobbed when ordered to stay behind, and had seen Thomas off with every expression of kindness a sweet-natured girl of loose morals could provide.

Thomas knew he would miss her. They likely would never meet again. By the time he was back in South Carolina, she would have found another protector, or maybe even a husband. It would be better for her, and, he acknowledged, probably better for him too. He was not ready to settle down, and he disliked dealing with women's tears.

This was the hardest time Thomas had yet experienced in the army. Food was short, and within a few days, everyone was living on cornpone and molasses. He had never minded it at home, but as a steady diet it lacked variety, and soon became tedious and unpleasant.

A greater worry was Gabriel. At Christmas, Father had told him that Gabriel was with Harry Burwell in Greene's army. They seemed destined to meet again, but under the worst of circumstances.

----------

The scouts told him they would make contact with the rebels within the next day. Tavington was concerned that the men were not in the best condition to engage the enemy. The cold and rain, the rapid advance and the half rations were a sure recipe for a sickly army. Major Cochrane, commanding the Legion infantry, was sallow and dispirited: his men were worse. Perhaps a few hours rest tonight would help.

Tavington struggled against his dismal mood. The leafless trees, dripping cold rain; the dank camp smells of latrines, wet wool, campfires, and unpalatable food: all of it seemed particularly unendurable, and he cast about for diversion.

A visit to Pattie Ferguson might lift his spirits. He made his way to the encampment of the American Volunteers. Pattie's tent was lit, and a girl's sweet voice within sang softly:

"Here I sit on Buttermilk Hill,
Who can blame me crying my fill,
And ev'ry tear would turn a mill.
Johnny has gone for a soldier."

"Me, oh my, I loved him so,
Broke my heart to see him go,
Only time can ease my woe.
Johnny has gone for a soldier."

"I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel,
Likewise I'll sell my spinning wheel,
To buy my love a sword of steel.
Johnny has gone for a soldier."

"I'll dye my dress, I'll dye it red,
And through the streets I'll beg my bread,
The lad I love from me has fled.
Johnny has gone for a soldier."

Tavington paused before the tent flap, hearing a murmur of voices, and wondered what state of dress or undress would greet him. "Pattie, are you receiving?"

"Always home to you, laddie! Here, Sally, go bid Colonel Tavington welcome!"

Pretty redheaded Sally parted the flap, smiling and tugging her bodice up.

"Sit, sit, man," said Pattie, gesturing at a campstool. "And how about a wee drop on a cold night?"

"I am obliged to you."

Sally served him a glass of brandy, from Pattie's cherished and carefully-packed store. Polly cast him a friendly glance, but was too occupied with braiding Pattie's long hair into a neat queue for much conversation. Tavington accepted the brandy thankfully. Pattie's strange menage was certainly not his own idea of domestic bliss, but his friend seemed to thrive on it. Sally seated herself on the ground by her lover, her bright head resting against his thigh.

Pattie took a sip and remarked, "Finishing up your rounds, I see."

"Just now. The Lord General has pushed the men to their limits. Perhaps he has pushed them beyond them."

"Now that's just Anglo-Saxon gloom. We'll get up in the morning sun, give the men their wee tot o' rum, and they'll fight like heroes. And so will we."

Tavington laughed. "This brandy of yours has me feeling pretty heroic already."

"A man needs his drink and his lasses to fight well," declared Pattie, emphasizing his words with a soft squeeze of Sally's white shoulder. "And then, with a good horse, and a good sword, a gentlemen's education, and a bit of experience in His Majesty's Army -- he can conquer the world -- with a dolllop of luck."

"We'll pray for the all luck we can get." Tavington then spoke gently to Sally. "Was that you I heard singing, Miss Featherstone? You have a sweet voice."

"Thank you kindly, Colonel."

"Aye, that's a thought. Lass, let's have anither, now."

Sally looked back at her sister, who had just finished wrapping the ribbon around Pattie's queue. "Sing with me, Polly."

Ferguson informed his friend, with genial expansiveness. "They sing together, too."

Polly dimpled. "We do everything together." Leaning over, she placed a soft kiss on Pattie's brow.

Sally began, and Polly took up a soft harmony:

"The cruel war is raging, Johnny has to fight,
I want to be with him from morning 'til night.
I want to be with him; it grieves my heart so.
Won't you let me come with you?"

"No, my love, no."

"Tomorrow is Sunday, Monday is the day
That your captain will call you, and you must obey.
Your captain will call you; it grieves my heart so.
Won't you let me come with you?

"No, my love, no."

"I'll tie back my hair, men's clothing I'll put on
I'll pass for your comrade as we march along.
I'll pass for your comrade, no one will ever know.
Won't you let me come with you?

"No, my love, no."

"Oh Johnny, oh Johnny, I feel you are unkind.
I love you far better than all of mankind.
I love you far better than words can e'er express.
Won't you let me come with you?

"Yes, my love, yes."

Tavington thought longingly of Elizabeth, and downed the rest of his brandy. He wondered what it would have been like to have his love here in camp, sharing a tent and a snug army cot; holding her fast in the teeth of death and danger. He gave a small sigh, heard only by Polly; for Pattie and Sally were exchanging a decidedly intimate nuzzle.

Pattie must have caught Tavington's expression from the corner of his eye, for he laughed and broke the kiss. "A bonny song, and well sung," Pattie said, reaching out to take Polly's hand in his. "But dinna sing the last verse. It seems ill-omened to me."

"Very nice indeed, ladies," agreed Tavington briskly, setting down the glass and getting to his feet. "And a pleasant way to end an evening."

Pattie gave him a wicked grin, his pretty mistresses garlanded about him.

Tavington rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I daresay your evening will climax even more pleasantly. Not all of us have such charming company on campaign, and a song is all the consolation we can hope for. Ladies," he gave them a nod. "Pattie. Sleep well. Good luck tomorrow."

"Aye, and to you, Tavington. Luck in battle, laddie."

----------

The battlefield itself was a good one. Cornwallis had chosen his terrain well. The only annoyance was the interminable wait before action. He took a quick look around at the Dragoons. They were looking well, all things considered. He pulled out his telescope to view the battle beyond.

The rebel militia had collapsed again. Tavington, behind much of the army, and waiting for the command to charge, saw that a great deal of their work was already done for them. The Continentals, as usual, were holding well, and were certainly no disgrace to the name of soldier, but the militiamen could not face a volley, and were already fleeing west. He sat perfectly still, hoping the Lord General would unleash him soon.

Thomas, on Piper, was close behind Captain Bordon. He wondered if Gabriel was out there, among the regulars. He longed to see him, but not here, and not now. A courier was galloping at top speed to the Colonel. Surely the Lord General is giving us the order to charge!

The Colonel took a written message from the young dragoon, and said something to Captain Wilkins that Thomas could not quite catch. The next words the Colonel spoke, however, were loud enough for the entire Legion to hear.

"Prepare to charge!"

Thomas checked his helmet strap and adjusted his grip on the reins, as the dragoons set out at a quick trot. Their own artillery had played havoc with the rebels, as the cannonballs knocked men down like ninepins. He gave thanks that he was in the cavalry and not standing there, enduring grapeshot and bayonet rushes. Piper moved smoothly, now accustomed to the sound of battle, and carrying him fearlessly toward it.

"Charge!" shouted Tavington, and the dragoons spurred their horses forward. The rebels fired a volley in their direction, and troopers toppled from their horses.

Many horses would not charge a bayonet; but the rebel regulars had been softened up by the artillery barrage, and by the musket volleys of the Legion infantry, the 33rd Regiment, and Ferguson's well-trained American Volunteers. The rebel ranks were thinning, as the dead and wounded fell, and the dragoons found plenty of openings to ride through. They hacked at the infantry, as the men tried to parry the sabres with their muskets. Horses were stabbed, rebels cut down. Here and there a dragoon was pulled from his horse and dispatched with bayonets or musket butts.

Thomas was slashing with now professional skill. A twist of the wrist, and the blade flashed down in one of the standard cuts. He had learned to be objective, and not wince in sympathy as his sword laid open a man's face, smashing away some teeth. He stayed alert, watching for careless comrades who would strike out at a fellow dragoons in the heat of battle. The rebels' resistance was wilting, overwhelmed with the force arrayed against it; and the dragoons plowed through the ranks, scything men down like ripe wheat.

Despite all this, some of the Continentals were holding firm, in little pockets of resistance. Captain Bordon had spied one such group, and headed toward them, with Thomas and some other dragoons close behind, sabres at the ready. Thomas could see that there was an officer among them, waving the rebel flag, trying to rally his men. Rebels always targeted British officers, and Thomas decided it was time to return the favour.

The officer saw him coming. He had something in his other hand. There was a sharp crack, and Thomas had hardly a moment to realise that a pistol had been fired, when suddenly Captain Bordon was falling sideways from his horse, nearly falling into Thomas. Thomas swerved to avoid a crash, and saw that his captain was badly wounded. Furious at the rebels, Thomas shouted to the dragoons, "Follow me!"

The rebel officer was only yards away and could never reload in time. Before Thomas realised what the man intended, he was riding into the rebel's flag, held like a lance. There was a tearing jolt. Piper shrilled a wild scream and fell to the ground, thrashing in agony.

Thomas was falling, but it seemed to last forever. Then he hit the ground with a stunning impact and saw only black for a second. He came to himself sluggishly, and staggered to his feet, knowing it was death to lie there helpless. Which way was the enemy? Piper was dead now, lying distorted and still, with a rebel flagstaff impaling him. Thomas felt a pang for his faithful friend.

There was the sound of a pistol cocking, and Thomas whirled instinctively. He was only twenty feet from the rebel officer who looked down the barrel at him with narrowed eyes. Thomas, in a flash of imagination, saw himself dead, saw his heart-broken father mourning over his limp body, saw himself laid out at home for burial. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

The rebel officer, his wheat-coloured hair loose from its queue, suddenly checked himself with a start. Thomas knew he had seen hair disarranged like that before, but where? Oh, no!

"You damned fool," he screamed at Gabriel, "you've killed Piper! What's the matter with you?"

One moment Thomas was looking Death in the face: the next moment, his brother was gripping a slashed shoulder. Colonel Tavington had come to Thomas' aid, and was turning his horse, to charge back on the enemy and finish him.

Thomas ran, limping, between Gabriel and his commander, trying to stop any further bloodshed.

"No, sir!" he cried, his voice cracking with anguish. "Please, sir, don't kill him! He's my brother!" Gabriel stumbled and fell, sprawling on the bloody grass.

Tavington, in mid slash, paused to look at the enemy. He had not known until this moment that Martin had a brother with the rebels. The blond boy on the ground was dazed, squinting up at him. He still had his pistol, and Tavington was not going to risk his own life needlessly.

Tavington said grimly, "Drop your weapon, sir." The wounded man, stubborn to the last, was trying to aim at him, the pistol wobbling in his unsteady hand. "Drop it or I'll kill you." His own young officer groaned and shook his head.

"Please, Gabriel! Just drop it. The war is over for you."

The pistol dropped from nerveless fingers, and Gabriel fell back on the grass. Thomas knelt beside him and took him in his arms. His brother's eyes fluttered closed, as he fainted from shock and loss of blood.

Tavington looked down from his tall horse. "Your brother."

"Yes, sir."

Tavington sighed, and looked about the battlefield, taking in the situation. "Mr Martin, I still have an enemy to pursue. You are to take charge of that enemy officer and see that he does not escape." Without another word, Tavington kicked his mount into a gallop, and led the Dragoons away, off on the hunt for the fleeing rebels.

Well, at least he didn't seem angry with me, Thomas thought. And Gabriel is alive.

The field surgeons' wagon was lumbering across the battlefield, collecting the wounded. Thomas shouted, "Mr Jackson! Over here!"

Rob Jackson called back, "One of the enemy?"

"Yes, but have a look at Captain Bordon, over there, too. I think he must be badly wounded."

Jackson slid from the wagon seat, and picked his way over to the unmoving dragoon captain. He knelt down, and felt for a pulse.

"No, sir," he said heavily. "Not badly wounded. He's dead."

----------

It was a famous victory. Greene's army had been rolled up -- smashed -- crushingly defeated. The fragmented remnants were scattered: Both Greene and Burwell had been captured.

Cornwallis, O'Hara, and the rest of the commanders were in the highest spirits. The great aim of the Southern campaign was close to realisation. With the rebel army in the southern colonies destroyed, there was nothing stopping an advance into Virginia, the heart of the rebellion. Cornwallis told his officers that Sir Henry Clinton in New York would be sending an expeditionary force under General Phillips into Virginia, to divert rebel resources and undermine their strongholds there. When the two British forces met, they would be unstoppable.

Tavington and Ferguson had held their own celebration a few days after the battle. The victory had been bittersweet for Tavington. He had lost a good friend and useful officer in Hugh Bordon. His death, compassed with dreadful irony by the brother of one of Bordon's own officers, was a blow; and all the port, the brandy, and finally the whisky that Pattie poured into him could not dispel his conviction that this was a loss that he would feel even more poignantly in time to come.

Pattie had lost some officers too: the most notable from Tavington's point of view being a relation of his wife's. Elizabeth's cousin Frank Montgomery had been eviscerated by grapeshot, and died in agony a day after the battle. Naturally, Ferguson, though he had despised Montgomery as incompetent, had written a letter of condolence to the widow, telling her that her husband had "died immediately, and suffered no pain." Tavington knew Charlotte Montgomery well himself, since she had also refugeed to Camden, and stayed with Elizabeth and her sisters in the house of their mutual great-aunt, Miss Everleigh. He had therefore written his own letter to her, colluding in Pattie's merciful lie.

Pattie poured himself another whisky, already swaying slightly on his feet. "I'm sorry indeed for the widow and her six orphaned bairns, but I canna feel sorry for the loss of Montgomery -- the great gowk! I'll put a better man in his place."

Tavington had vainly hoped that drinking spirits would raise his, and the two of them had gotten uncharacteristically drunk that night. The situation had finally gotten so far out of hand that Pattie had smilingly pushed the agreeable Polly his way, and Tavington had been on the point of enjoying his friend's generosity, when he had passed out, dead drunk, on the floor of the tent. The two men had been wretchedly sick the next day; and the two girls were amused and abashed at their own wantonness. Tavington vowed abstention from spirits until the end of the war. Ferguson, though not willing to go that far, agreed that "perhaps there might be anither, safer way to purge melancholy." The two rumpled girls had exchanged discreet, knowing glances.

"I'm going to miss him, Pattie," Tavington finally confessed, his head in his hands, sitting miserably on the edge of the cot.

"Of course you will, laddie," Ferguson said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Friends come and go throughout our lives. It's an ill thing to be mortal, and to love other mortals; but they are all we have. I am sorry for poor Bordon myself: he was a good man. Now he'll live only in our memories. So," he concluded, "let us remember him well."

----------

The Colonel told Thomas that Gabriel might go home to Fresh Water, as soon as his brother had given his parole and was well enough to ride south. The army moved on to Charlotte, where it was well supplied with foodstuffs and billeted warmly. Thomas visited his brother every day in the hospital, and they talked of home, of Father, and of fishing in the creek; but there was a wall between them. Gabriel found defeat a bitter thing, and the sight of his younger brother, dressed in the enemy's scarlet, irritated his already strained nerves. Thomas, grieving over the death of his admired and kindly captain, and grieved as well (though he was almost ashamed to own it) by the loss of his horse, felt as much resentment as compassion toward his brother.

Conversation lagged, and finally stopped. At last, Thomas thought of diverting his brother by reading to him. He borrowed a copy of Robinson Crusoe, and hearing of the castaway's troubles seemed to ease Gabriel's own. Relenting a little, he produced a packet of letters and gave a few of them to Thomas, to read out loud to him. The penmanship was a little difficult to decipher, but Thomas tried to do justice to Anne Howard's letters of love and hope. At Gabriel's dictation, a letter was written to Father, telling him that he would soon be home, a paroled prisoner of war; and another letter was composed and posted to Anne Howard.

Charlotte, North Carolina
January 31, 1781

My dearest Anne,

Words cannot express the sum of my grief and disappointment. The war is indeed over for me. I was wounded and taken captive at the Battle of the Cowpens on the seventeenth of January. The Continentals fought bravely, but were at last overwhelmed by the ferocity and skill of the enemy, and by the slack pusillanimity of our own militia. They largely fled without firing a shot.

My wound is not dangerous, and I have had the best of care. My brother, Thomas, serves as an officer in Tavington's Green Dragoons, and successfully rescued me from the very sword of Tavington himself. Had he not done so, the Butcher of the Carolinas would have claimed another life. I was forced to give my parole, and if Providence be merciful, I shall be returning home within a fortnight.

The British and their Tory allies have pushed on, and I feel certain that they are poised to strike at the Patriots to the north. Their onslaught will be swift and merciless, and the future of us all hangs in the balance. Would that I could still do my part!

I long to see you, yet I fear you may find you have made a bad bargain in me. I detest the idea of living under a tyranny, and know not where I shall find the free land of which I have dreamed. If South Carolina is indeed fated to bear the British yoke, I must forswear it utterly. I cannot ask you to come with me, but if you can endure separation from all you have known, I shall endeavour to make you a happy woman as my wife.

Your most devoted,
Gabriel

Within another two weeks, Gabriel set off on his journey home, on a horse bought for him by Thomas. The brothers shook hands in a civil enough way, but it was clear that the essential bond between them had been sundered forever. Thomas wondered what Father would say to Gabriel; and quailed at the thought of what he might say to Thomas himself someday. He suspected it would be rather worse than the rebukes they had received in years past, when he had caught Gabriel and Thomas fighting. Or perhaps, he thought, he will be so glad that we both survived, he won't think to scold us.

He watched his brother out of sight, mourning for many things: for the death of Captain Bordon, for the rupture with his brother, for the loss of Piper. His horse had been replaced by an army-issue plug not worthy of Piper's tack. In fact, he had cut some strands from Piper's tail, and braided a thin cord to keep. Maybe it was foolish, but Piper had carried him long and well all the way from home, and Thomas did not mean to forget him.

A little later, Sam Willett came by to invite him for a game of chequers. Thomas accepted gratefully, and the two boys sat quietly over the board, wondering who would replace Captain Bordon and what the new officer would be like.

"Maybe it'll be Lieutenant Monroe," Thomas suggested.

"Don't think so." Sam shook his head. "I don't think he's held his lieutenancy long enough to be promoted. Likely it'll be someone we don't know."

Thomas sat still a minute, and burst out, "I hate Captain Bordon being dead! Do you think the men hold it against me?"

Sam looked up at him in surprise.

"Why?" He remembered. "Oh, because of your brother! I don't see how -- it's not your fault, is it?"

"Maybe it is," Thomas mumbled. Gathering his courage, he confided in Sam. "A long time ago, before I joined the Green Dragoons, Gabriel was carrying dispatches, and I saved him from being captured by the British. Now I wish I'd let just him be captured. If I had, everything would have been all right. Gabriel would have been a prisoner, or already home on parole, and Captain Bordon would still be alive."

Sam stared at him, and then said thoughtfully. "You can't blame yourself. Nobody can guess the future. You did what you thought was best. Maybe it was just Captain Bordon's time. We'll never know."

"No," admitted Thomas, sick with remorse. "We never will."

7: Destiny's Interlude-- Correspondence

The Whigs in Parliament had been silenced, if only for a moment. News of Cornwallis' victory at the Cowpens was the talk of London. An unpopular war still could have its heroes, and the earl's personal opposition to the measures that had sparked the rebellion was well known. Cornwallis, at the moment, was the most popular man in England.

So said the Gazette, fresh off the packet from Liverpool only a week ago. Tavington read through the paper with some interest. There was pressure from many interests to bring the war in the Colonies to a swift conclusion. The French, mindful of the British victories, had backed off from risking any more land forces. Their navy, however, was still harassing the West Indian sugar planters. These gentlemen wanted the full power of the Royal Navy brought to bear on the French. That, of course, could not happen while the colonists were still in arms against the Crown.

"Another round, sir?"

"What?" Tavington looked up. He had been so intent on the newspaper that he had not heard Wilkins immediately. "Oh, yes, I thank you."

Wilkins waved down the red-faced barmaid, and within minutes the crowd of officers at the table had foaming pints before them.

"Good news?"

Tavington passed him the newspaper. "Good enough for us. We're not being left to twist slowly in the wind. With the campaign in the South going so well, we'll be well supplied for the time being. We're also getting some reinforcements."

"Not before time," Richard Hovenden said sharply. Hovenden was senior captain of the Dragoons now, and pushing hard for promotion. With the added troops in the Legion since Cowpens, there was no doubt the Dragoons could use a major, but that was beyond Tavington's power. He had written the recommendation to the Lord General, and it was in his hands. Tavington hoped they would have a decision shortly.

The grubby little public house here in Halifax, North Carolina, was like every other grubby little public house since Cowpens. The quartermaster got them billeted as best he could. They had done better at some of the big plantation houses along the way, but a soldier learned to bear privations on the march. The Green Dragoons were nearly a week in advance of the rest of Cornwallis' army, securing the bridge over the Roanoke. This was to be their gateway into Virginia. Their next mission was to find General Phillips' expeditionary force and join with them. There had been no word of a rebel advance. Possibly Clinton had them fully occupied in New Jersey.

His captains were already settling down for another evening of cards, women, and liquor. Tavington had long ago pledged to risk only his life, never his money. Somewhat unsteadily, he headed up the rough wooden stairs to his dank little room. At least there was a fire there, and Tavington slumped wearily into a hard, high-backed chair before it.

Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out a worn letter, and read it over by the wavering firelight.

Arcadia
March 17th, 1781

My dearest William,

I pray this letter reaches you. Having not heard from you in so long, I feared our correspondence has gone astray. We are all quite well, and hope that your difficulties are not too great to bear. Work on the house continues apace. The labourers from Charlestown arrived safely, and Julia is now happier with her room. She wants to tell you all about that herself, however.

Amelia has been restless since the Christmas holidays, and I did not want her to feel a prisoner in her own home. She has often begged me to send her to Charlestown to study drawing, and with the roads so quiet, and the situation so well in hand, I wrote my old friend Caroline Pinckney, asking her if the school we attended together was still in operation. She wrote back a very kind letter, inviting Amelia to stay with her at her mother's house. Even more generously, she and her brother came and took Amelia back to Charlestown with them. It was so very pleasant to see them after so long, but I regretted that you were not here to meet them. Caroline's brother, Stephen DeLancey, told me that the two of you had become acquainted in Charlestown last autumn, at Lord Cornwallis' ball. I am so pleased. The DeLanceys and Pinckneys are some of my oldest friends, and I know you will find them good friends as well. It was particularly kind of them to spare me a journey that would have been most disagreeable in my present condition

No, my dearest, I am not ill. I have some very good news that I know will please you as much as it has delighted me.

Whether Amelia is home by the time you return or not, you will not find the house empty. A little stranger is coming to live with us sometime in September. The girls were thrilled, and between the three of us, the baby's linen was finished in no time at all. I have been refurbishing the nursery. It was provident that Julia's room was redone to her satisfaction, for it prevented a great deal of sulking about moving the last of her personal possessions out of the nursery. I moved the small pianoforte from the nursery into her room, so the little one will not damage it when he starts walking. I had to spend some time retuning and caring for that poor instrument, which has seen its share of travels!

Amelia was very excited about going to stay in Charlestown, and of course she will like living in the DeLanceys' lovely home better than attending school. I arranged that she would have music lessons as well as visits from the drawing master, so I felt I could give up my role in her education honourably. With the house, the plantation, Julia and her antics, and now the newcomer, Amelia and her moods were more than I could manage.

As to the estate itself, the restocking goes on. The new dairymaid is proving a treasure, and with the spring, we will once again be completely self-sufficient in that regard. I rode out to look over the work on the twenty acres near the swamp (yes, my love, I was very careful, and Gideon rode with me the entire time. Besides, Tomyris would never be so ill-bred as to hurt me) and it is going well. It will certainly be ready for cultivation this year. I have talked to Mr Hamilton about the reparations. I have everything perfectly under control, and you need not worry about the plantation at all. I helped my mother manage it for years, have managed it successfully alone, and I foresee no difficulty continuing to do so.

Oh! I heard through a friend of a friend that Gabriel Martin is home with Mr Martin at Fresh Water, and that he was recently married. Perhaps now he will settle down and forget all of his nonsense, but I am not sanguine: for I was told that his bride, the shopkeeper Howard's daughter, is as red-hot a rebel as he. Easy enough for a girl who need fear nothing herself to urge men to their deaths! At any rate, they are all living at Fresh Water, and Mr Martin will see that Mr Gabriel honours his parole.

Give my regards to young Mr Thomas. He is a sweet boy, and I cannot forget his charming gallantry to Amelia. Perhaps it is as well that she does: for though she read whole novels into his behaviour, it was plain to me that it was good manners and a little flirting on his side, and nothing more. I am glad that he was not badly hurt at the Cowpens, but I am still melancholy when I think about good Captain Bordon, and his unhappy fate. I had hoped that he might settle in these parts. The Crawford plantation has been confiscated, you know, and may be put up at auction. If I had a little more capital, I would seriously consider trying to acquire it. There is some wonderfully fertile land there, down by the river, and a fine grove of cypresses.

If only the wretched rebels would give over, and the war could end! I so want you home with me. I miss our happy days together, and our sweet nights, though perhaps it is just as well that you do not see me when my condition begins to alter my appearance. I love you the better for your devotion to duty, but still wish vainly for a conclusion to all of these alarms.

Give my regards also to dear Cousin James. I know you think him a blockhead, but he really is not, and he is very devoted to you. Please be kind to him, for I have so little family left that it is all precious to me. I received a letter from Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva. Charlotte is still utterly prostrate with grief, and it is fortunate that I arranged a governess for the girls and a tutor for George, because Charlotte hardly pays them any mind at all. I think Aunt is not very well, for the letter was more affectionate than usual, and her handwriting nearly illegible. She asked me to remember her to you, and spoke very respectfully of your good sense and ability, and not so respectfully of your great good looks. She wrote that knowing you was one of the last great pleasures of her life. I am so glad she gave you the Everleigh ring for our wedding, so we will always have a token of her regard. It is very selfish of me, but I hope she is with us for a good while to come; for I have no idea what to do about Charlotte and the little Montgomerys if Aunt is no longer there to care for them!

My dearest, I conclude now, thinking of you, and picturing you vividly in my mind's eye. I am always and forever yours, and implore you to guard yourself; not just for my sake alone, but also for our child who will need you, as I do. God keep you, my dearest husband.

Your loving
Elizabeth

Tavington once again seriously considered resigning his commission. Elizabeth was going to bear his child, and he most probably would not be there to welcome it into the world. She was working hard to secure their future, and he was no help to her. She was raising her sister, carrying a child, running a household and managing a plantation, and he was sitting in an unclean little hole of a room, hundreds of miles away. If at that moment he could have laid his hands on George Washington, Sam Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and the whole lot of those disturbers of the peace, not one would have escaped alive.

Amelia's little note was folded inside Elizabeth letter, and was evidently scrawled in such haste, and in such a state of ecstasy that he could barely make it out.

March 12th
Arcadia

Dearest Colonel Tavington

I hope you are well and safe. I am very very well and I am going to Charlestown today. I am hastily writing this note to give to Lilabet so she can send it on when she finishes her own letter. I am not going to school, but to stay with our friends, Mrs DeLancey and her daughter Mrs Pinckney, who went to school with Lilabet, and Judge DeLancey who is Mrs Pinckneys brother and who was so kind to make it all possible by coming all the way here and back so I would not have to travel without an escort. Judge DeLancey and Mrs Pinckney are delightful and I am to study drawing and music and stay with them and Mrs Pinckney says that her mother will very likely give a dinner to welcome me and possibly there will be dancing, which I most ardently hope.

I helped Lilabet with baby linen, and Julia will say she helped, but she was really very tiresome and troublesome and she made horrid beetroot dye which she dripped all over everything and spoiled my best Irish linen fichu and my handkerchiefs, and Lilabet had to let me take some of hers and I have never been so angry in my life.

Do guard yourself well, dear brother, and I pray that I shall see you before the year is out. Had we but world enough and time, as the poet says, I should write more, but the horses are waiting.

Your affectionate sister,
Amelia Wilde

Tavington had indeed met Stephen DeLancey at Cornwallis' ball in Charlestown about a month after the Battle of Camden, and the two men had not taken to one another at all. Tavington was not yet secure of Elizabeth's affections at the time, and had not welcomed a rival. DeLancey was clearly of the opinion that Tavington was in no way good enough for Elizabeth, and Tavington suspected he was the source of the rumours that Tavington was a heartless fortune hunter who had ensnared the gullible Miss Wilde for her money and property. There was nothing he could say, no defense he could make against such cruel and untrue gibes. His future conduct and his obvious affection and respect for his wife would have to speak for him, but that would take time.

Now Amelia was off to live with the DeLanceys. Tavington could only hope they were well bred enough not to demean him to his own sister-in-law. At least Amelia would have something to think about other than Thomas Martin, who was already so much forgotten as not even to be mentioned in her little letter.

He pulled little Julia's letter out as well, hoping it would lighten his mood.

March 17th
Dearest Colonel Tavington,

I guess you know about the baby. When Lilabet started sewing all those little things, we figured it out, and Melly squealed so it nearly burst my ears, but I know now that babies are work. We all helped make the baby linen, though, and some of it was fun. Lilabet let me embroider the caps I made however I liked. She taught me to knit booties, and I made a pair and she let me dye them purple. I got scolded because somehow the dye got on some other things, but they are mostly clean now. Lilabet made me say sorry to Melly.

My room is beautiful. Lilabet agreed that I was old enough to have a real young lady's room, since the nursery is going to be taken over by "the little stranger." I think that is an odd expression. We'll probably get to know him pretty well. I shall be a good aunt, and tell him whenever he does anything wrong, just like Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva does. Anyway, my room is so nice. The dirty wall has been washed, and then covered with pretty rose silk, and the floor was scrubbed and scrubbed, but nothing could get rid of the horrid stains, so Lilabet bought a Turkey carpet for my room. It makes it look exotic, which is a good word I just learned. She moved the little pianoforte into my room, too. She says she doesn't want the baby banging on it, but I suspect it is also so I will practice more.

Melly has gone to Charlestown to study music and art. I miss her sometimes, but sometimes she was hard to get along with. I know I am not supposed to criticise my sister, but that is only to strangers. Since you are my brother now, I can talk about her to you behind her back all I like. Lilabet says Melly's head is full of romance. I guess that doesn't leave room for much else. Anyway, Lilabet's school friend Mrs Pinckney and her brother Judge DeLancey came and took Melly to Charlestown with them. Melly will have lessons, but I expect she'll go to parties and balls mostly now that she is out. Miss Pinckney asked Lilabet if I would like to come too, but Lilabet saw my face, and told Mrs Pinckney I would appresh -- that I would like it better when I am older. I didn't like Judge DeLancey much. Melly told me that he and Lilabet used to be engaged and that he would have liked to marry her himself, but I said ha! Because she's married to you and now that the baby is coming not even a judge can do anything about it.

Lilabet says Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva is in a decline. I didn't know what that meant at first, because she never leaves the house. I wonder if she has a made a will, because that is what people who die do, and they leave their worldly possessions to others. I am afraid that if Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva dies she will leave us the Montgomerys. Arcadia is very big, but I am not sure that it is big enough for that. If Cousin James were not with you, he could take care of them, because George and Jane and Mary all like him. I like him too, and I would like him even more if he would do that. Give him my best love, but I guess you will have to say that in a more manly way.

I can't think of any else to say, except to not let the rebels get you. Also, I wish you would come home as soon as you can. Going riding is more fun when you are here. We miss you, and talk about all sorts of things we might do when you come home for good.

Your most affectionate sister,
Julia Wilde

Tavington folded the letters carefully, and replaced them in his pocket. It was so hard to be away and not know what was happening. When the letters had first arrived, three days ago, he had passed on the news to Wilkins, who was concerned about his Aunt, and even more about the fatherless children of his cousin. Tavington had unbent to the degree of reading a little of Julia's letter aloud, though not the part that concerned Wilkins directly, of course.

Wilkins knew no more than Tavington about what to do. The family had no close male relatives other than themselves; so who could act in the case of Miss Everleigh's death was a real question. Wilkins said the family lawyer was trustworthy, but in the end, something would have to be done for the Montgomerys; and Tavington grimly acknowledged that the lot of them would probably end up on Arcadia's doorstep.

----------

Thomas was sharing a room at the same inn with Sam Willett and Billy Miller, the cornet with Captain Hovenden's troop. It was a dispiriting business, crowding into the one lumpy bed, and they drew cards for the unlucky victim who must lie in the middle. Thomas would almost rather pitch his own little tent, but that was not possible in their situation here in Halifax.

He was not particularly happy with his new commander, Captain James; and he guessed that Lieutenant Monroe was not, either. The lieutenant had said something that indicated a transfer within the Legion was in the offing, and if his Lieutenant were transferred, Thomas hoped he would be going with him. Captain James was very stiff-necked; not trusting the Lieutenant's judgment the way Captain Bordon always had.

Thomas missed the Captain horribly, and could not shake a feeling of guilt about his fate. He would never forgive Gabriel, and while he missed Father and Fresh Water, he had no desire to return and try to live at peace with his rebellious older brother.

Sam spoke up, his voice startling loud in Thomas' ear. "You know why the quartermaster has us all crowded into this room together?"

Billy Miller, nearly asleep, mumbled, "No, Sam, why?"

"He's in league with the paymaster, who's late with our money. If we're crushed together in this disgusting little room, there's no room to entertain the ladies, and if there's no room to entertain the ladies, we don't need our money. And if we're not clamouring for our money, the paymaster can get away without paying us in full. That's what I think."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Don't accuse Lieutenant Hovenden of embezzlement. I'm sure he would never embarrass the brother his Captain like that."

"You don't know him like I do. The Captain's all right, but his brother Moore is a bad lot. That's the worst of life in the Army: putting up with superiors who are idiots or worse."

Thomas was too tired for their gossip. "I'm trying to sleep here. You two can continue this discussion tomorrow morning. Good night."

"Your such a Goody Two Shoes, Thomas," Billy said. "I agree with Sam that it makes it difficult -- "

Thomas sat up and rolled out of bed. "I can't do this," he said, throwing on his uniform. "I'm going out for a walk. I expect it to be quiet in here when I get back."

"All the more room for us," said Sam, equably.

"Maybe room for company," speculated Billy. "If you move over a few more inches, Sam, and turn your back, I could go look for that Betsy--"

Thomas was out the door, still buttoning his waistcoat. He needed quiet and rest, and Billy Miller did not know the meaning of the words. He went downstairs, and walked out into the cool night air, glad to be alone with his thoughts. He had just received a letter from Father, and needed time to digest all the news. The paper in his pocket made a crinkling sound as he patted it. He would have to reply soon, and was not sure what to say.

His father had written:

March 12th, 1781
Fresh Water, South Carolina

My dear son,

I pray that you are safe and unhurt. We are all well here, but for Nathan's carelessness in the horse paddock last week that left him with a dislocated shoulder. It was set right, and is healing, but it was a painful lesson in respecting horses' tempers.

Susan has started talking: it started shortly after Gabriel returned home. She is a mysterious little girl, and keeps much to herself, but at last I am beginning to understand her a little.

Gabriel and Anne Howard were married at Pembroke church three days ago. They are deeply in love, and it is good for the place to have a mistress again. She has taken charge of the household, and Abigail finds she has much to do to discharge her duties to Mrs Gabriel's satisfaction. Gabriel is nearly restored to perfect health now, which is why the wedding could at last go forward.

As you can imagine, Gabriel is not happy about having given his parole. After expressing my views last night, I believe both he and Anne will not bring up the subject again, but I cannot control what they say to one another when alone. You know that I have always sympathised with the Patriots. While I feel the war has been a disaster, I cannot fault those who saw injustice in England's rule and tried to find a new and freer way. As Gabriel pointed out, the war is not over, however quiet things are now in the Carolinas. The same injustices that caused the war still continue. If the King truly wants peace, he will have to bring more than a sword to the Colonies.

I have recently heard from my friend Harry Burwell. You may have heard that he refused to give his parole, and is a prisoner in Charlestown. While I honour my old friend's unflinching principles, I am very glad that Gabriel did not follow his example. I will be even happier when you too are no longer in danger.

However Gabriel and Anne feel, and whatever their views, nothing changes the fact that you are still my son, and will have a home under my roof as long as I live. I will have no civil wars here at Fresh Water. You both performed your duty honourably, and you also showed true brotherly devotion, by saving Gabriel from Colonel Tavington. Gabriel knows that he owes you his life, and will not allow Anne to criticise you, I am sure.

I have received word from a fellow assemblyman that some peace overtures are being made. He was unable to give his authority, and I can only pray that this is not a false hope.

Your other sisters and brothers often ask about you. Now that Gabriel is home, they wonder why you too have not returned. I know that you are following your dreams, and I hope they are all you imagined; but remember that there are dreams to be found at home as well.

Your very loving
Father

Thomas leaned back against the log wall of the public house, thinking of home. His breath made a little white mist in the frosty air. From an upstairs window, he heard the rutting of a fellow officer--Lieutenant Davis from the incoherent noises -- and one of the barmaids. Bad luck for you, Billy, he thought wryly. He wondered if Dinah was all right and well cared for, wherever she was. The women of the British Legion were mostly in Camden with the garrison there. She's probably already forgotten me. He felt sudden, overwhelming sadness at the idea. He missed her; he missed the times they had had together. He found the idea of taking up with a strange woman in any of the anonymous little towns they went through rather nasty and unappealing. Whatever he and Dinah had been to each other, at some level they had liked and cared for each other. Maybe marriage might not be so bad someday.

That would have to wait. Colonel Tavington had stated unambiguously that he thought no officer under the rank of captain should marry. While some women would be willing to live on less, it was not fair to drag a decent woman around without providing decently for her. If the war continued, there might be promotion ahead. If Gabriel were to be securely ensconced in Fresh Water, Thomas would need to further his career in the Army. Whatever Father said, a visit under a roof already sheltering Gabriel and Anne could only be uncomfortable for everyone. Living there permanently was manifestly impossible.

8: Destiny in Virginia

It was difficult to come to grips with the enemy, when the enemy kept slipping away, and setting up a government elsewhere.

When Cornwallis' army finally joined with the force under General Phillips, the Lord General found himself in command of a respectable little army. Phillips' ill health caused many of his daily duties to devolve on his subordinate, General Benedict Arnold. Opinion in the British Legion was divided about Arnold. He was an able man, certainly; and he was not despised for being of American birth -- that would be been absurd, given that most the soldiers of the Legion were either American born themselves, or had immigrated before the war. Arnold however, had begun the war on the side of the rebels. He had changed his mind -- or, rumour had it, his pretty young wife had changed it for him -- and his new-found loyalties and arrogance sat ill with men who had held faith with the King from the beginning.

The war was going well. Sir Henry Clinton had the Continental army pinned down in New York. The success of the southern campaign had revived the Loyalists of the middle colonies. Much of the Legion hailed from New York and Pennsylvania, and they were an eager audience for stories of Loyalist militias, throwing the rebel governments of those colonies into chaos.

"I reckon your family must be in the thick of it," Thomas remarked to Sam Willett, as they set the pickets for the night. They were in Petersburg, and the locals, while not vocally unfriendly, seemed to be watching their every move with narrowed eyes.

Sam laughed bitterly. "My family will stick their collective noses in the air and hold themselves above it all."

Thomas looked at him, not understanding. "But you and your cousin -- " Sam's cousin Walter was a lieutenant in the Dragoons, and Thomas had always assumed that they came from a staunch Loyalist family.

Sam looked away from the fire, and made a face. "My family are Quakers. Didn't you know?"

"No. I never would have guessed. I mean -- "

"You mean Walter and I don't thee and thou, and pretend that the war has nothing to do with us?"

Thomas felt himself blushing in the darkness. "I suppose so. I don't know much about Quakers."

"Count yourself lucky. When Walter and I went for soldiers, we were testified against in the meeting house."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means, dear old Tom, that we were run out of the Society of Friends. 'Since they have entered into the war, and as War is so Inconsistent with Friends' Testimony, it is the sense of this meeting that they be immediately testified against.' The lot of them pulled long faces and turned their backs on us. Walter and I shook the dust of Bucks County from our feet, and we've never looked back. They can rot, the hypocrites: making their fortunes selling supplies to whichever side will pay the most!"

"I'm sorry," Thomas offered. He was so wrapped up in his own family troubles that he sometimes forgot what many of his fellow dragoons had sacrificed to serve the King.

"It's worse for Walter," Sam said. "He left a wife and children behind. His wife testified against him with the rest. He's written to her, but she never answers. There's Christian charity for you!"

"What do you think you'll do when the war is over?"

"I don't know. Do think the war ever will be over?"

Thomas gave a short laugh. "It can't last forever. So I guess you won't be going back to Pennsylvania."

"Not likely. I don't know -- the Crown has land for the taking. They want settlers up in Nova Scotia, and in the West Indies. Maybe some of the confiscated estates in the Carolinas might be parceled out. You'll go home, I suppose?"

"Probably not. My older brother is there with his new wife. Father says I'll always have a home with him, but I can't forget how Gabriel joined the rebels and how he killed Captain Bordon. I just don't see how things can ever be right between us again. Besides, I like life in the Army."

"Well then, you could marry the Colonel's sister-in-law. She's a pretty little thing, and she sure had her eye on you!"

"Stop it. The Colonel would never stand for it. I'm not exalted enough in rank to suit him, and I couldn't support a wife on a cornet's pay."

"Don't be a simpleton. A girl like that must have a fortune of her own -- maybe as much as five thousand pounds, I'd say. You could live like kings on that. Just get her to run off with you!"

Thomas laughed. "We'd have to run pretty fast. The Colonel's about the last man I'd want coming after me."

Sam shrugged. "I guess you're right."

They began the walk back to the house where they were billeted. A small brick house, owned by an elderly widow with a fat little lapdog. They were fairly well behaved under her roof, but Mrs Fletcher stared at them with bulging eyes, as if she expected them to draw their swords and attack her at any moment.

She was peering out the front window, the candle in her hand lighting her face like a grotesque mask. The horrible little dog, Marlborough, started yelping hysterically. Thomas and Sam looked grimly at each other and went up the walk.

"She always makes us knock," Sam complained.

Dutifully, Thomas knocked. After a moment, a rasping voice called from behind the door. "Who's there?" The dog whined, and started its shrill barking again.

Sam smirked and called back, "Cornet Sam Willett and Cornet Thomas Martin of His Majesty's Green Dragoons reporting, Mrs Fletcher."

"Who?"

"Open the door, Mrs Fletcher!" shouted Sam, losing his patience.

The door opened a crack, and Mrs Fletcher eyed them suspiciously. The wretched little dog growled and tried to squeeze through the door to snap at them.

"Good evening to you, Mrs Fletcher," said Thomas, forcing a smile.

She glared at him, and thrust a crumpled piece of paper at him abruptly. "A soldier came with a letter for you." She bent to pick up the wildly barking little dog. "Come, Marlborough." She turned her back on them and went back to her bedchamber. The boys could hear the new locks click into place. Even through the thick oak door, the shrill yapping continued.

Sam snorted, "Probably thinks we'll try to force our wicked wills on her in the night, the old harridan!" He deliberately made as much noise as possible, and raised his voice. "And if that goddamned little dog of hers bites me, it'll be the last thing it ever does!"

"Sam, pipe down! She'll hear you!" They went to the little spare room they shared. Sam lit the candle, and they immediately saw that there was no water there, and the chamberpot had not been emptied. Thomas lowered his voice. "You're only making it worse. She's just an old lady, after all. I'll empty the pot in the privy and you get us some water." He set down his letter and handed Sam the pitcher. The other boy snarled, still in a temper, but dutifully headed out the back to the well.

Thomas followed with the stinking pot, and set about emptying it and rinsing it with a few buckets of well water. He remembered his letter and decided to read it before he went to bed. From Father, he supposed.

When he finally pulled the letter from his pocket, he saw that the seal was broken. That old witch, he thought, furious. She's read my letter! He was going to say something to her tomorrow, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. He sat on the side of the bed nearest the candle and smoothed the torn and crumpled paper. Sam was washing himself in the dim light. Cold water was better than nothing.

Fresh Water, South Carolina
May 15th, 1781

My dear son,

We are all well here. Your sisters and brothers send their love. I pray that you are safe and unhurt.

I am sorry to tell you that Gabriel is gone. I must admit that I did not foresee this development. Two nights ago, he spoke to me with more than usual affection as we all retired for the night. I should have seen Anne's behaviour to him for what it was--a goodbye. In the morning, he did not come down to breakfast, and when I asked Anne if he were ill, she looked me in the eye and said that Gabriel had gone to do his duty to his country. Gabriel has broken his parole, and I am grieved by it, but I had sensed his unhappiness and dissatisfaction for some time. Anne declared that there was no dishonour in breaking one's word to a tyrant. I could not refrain from telling her that breaking one's word is always dishonourable, and that if Gabriel had no intention of honouring his parole, he should not have given it in the first place. We had words. She felt that it was a good trick to play on the English, and I retorted that if everyone did as she suggested, both sides would be burdened with huge prison camps; for neither would ever be able to believe a thing the other claimed ever again. Gabriel has definitely gone north to rejoin the Continentals, and Anne has gone home to her father. It breaks my heart, for she is carrying Gabriel's child. Perhaps, however, it is better so, for the children were terribly upset by our quarrel and by some of the things that were said. Abigail alone seems to view Anne's departure with unmixed satisfaction. She found her a most exacting mistress, and the two of them did not see eye to eye in the care of the youngsters.

Nathan came to me later. Gabriel had tried to persuade him to come along with him, and Nathan had even packed a bag, but in the end could not bear to leave us. I thank God for it. He is only a child, and should not be made to choose between his brothers.

Your Aunt Charlotte has reopened her house in Charlestown, and has invited the girls to stay with her for a few months. It is a fine opportunity to further their education: for Charlotte has a large circle of friends and the girls will be given music lessons, which Margaret has always longed for. I have promised her that if she applies herself and attains some level of proficiency, I will buy a small instrument for our home. I think it will also be a good thing for Susan, silent as she is, to have a way to express herself without having to speak. She has shown that she can talk, but she chooses to do so only rarely.

Through my contacts with the opposition, I have learned that an armistice may be offered within a few weeks. The Continental Congress, as you know, has in the past rejected any tenders of peace from the Crown; but with Cornwallis in Virginia, there is great pressure from all sides to cease hostilities before Virginia, the home of some of the most prominent Patriots, can be laid waste. My source informs me that this is partly due to the insularity of New England, whose representatives have banded together and are seeking a separate peace.

The Whigs in Parliament have always hated the war, as the issues at the root of the rebellion are the same that drive their reform movement. Even the King's Friends have expressed their dislike of making war against fellow Englishmen, for so they regard us. With the size of the colonies, the large population, and the distance involved, the idea of treating us as the Highlanders were after the '45 rebellion is considered neither desirable nor feasible. Instead, an armistice may be declared, with each side temporarily keeping the territory it holds, until the situation can be resolved diplomatically. The Crown hopes to persuade its erring children to return voluntarily to its dominion. The French obviously have the most to gain by prolonging the war, and are doing everything in their power to prevent such a truce.

I may be called to represent South Carolina's interests in a possible conference. If so, I shall be taking ship from Charlestown, where I shall leave the boys with your aunt. My voice shall be raised in support of peace, not only for you and Gabriel, but for all the other sons, and brothers, and fathers, and husbands whose lives are at hazard.

Your loving
Father

The letter was three weeks old. Thomas wondered what had happened since the letter was written. Where was Father? If there was to be a peace conference, where might it be held? Father might be in Charlestown, or Baltimore, or Philadelphia, or New York City, or even London!

"Thomas, are you going to sit there all night?"

"Sorry, Sam." He stripped off his uniform and washed himself, while his head spun with all that the letter had contained. Father's never sailed on a ship. I wonder if he'll like it? Easing back onto the squeaking bed, he blew out the candle, and lay there for some time, imagining faraway cities, and Father in them.

----------

"Armistice, my lord? What does that mean for our purposes, exactly?" Tavington stood before the Lord General's polished desk, not entirely surprised by the news. His intended raid into the heart of Virginia had been summarily deferred, a gesture of good faith toward the rebels, who were hotly debating making at least a temporary peace with the Crown. The Virginia Patriots had been stoic in the face of their fellow rebels' losses: they were markedly less so when their own estates were threatened.

Cornwallis looked happier than he had in some time. General O'Hara was present, looking even happier. The Lord General had been summoned to participate in the New York conference, and would be leaving O'Hara in temporary command. Cornwallis had from the first spoken out for reason, moderation, and magnanimity in the Crown's dealing with its recalcitrant subjects. When rebuking Tavington's overzealousness on occasion, he had reminded him that "These Colonials are our brethren. When this war is over, we shall reestablish commerce with them." Tavington personally thought that the Lord General's assessment of his 'brethren' was decidedly paternalistic, but it was well intentioned, nonetheless.

"Well, Colonel, first of all, it means that any raiding is suspended while the negotiations are in session. Any actions on our part must be solely defensive. If the peace conference founders, it must not be seen as our doing. You are to patrol the territory we currently hold. You are to keep the peace here, and suppress any rebel activity. You are not to cross the Meherrin River, even in hot pursuit of rebel forces. With the large number of recruits lately, I am agreeing to your request to form a new troop of dragoons. You may make brevet promotions for a captain and two lieutenants, which will be subject to my approval when I return." Cornwallis leaned back in his chair, and gave O'Hara a nod.

The general spoke up. "I am moving our headquarters to Williamsburg, as this area is obviously insalubrious. I want you to precede us there. Even though we will not be moving into any new territory, we can consolidate our control over what we hold, and above all, continue to seek out the best site for a naval base on the Chesapeake. A detachment of Royal Engineers and the American Volunteers will be joining you within the week."

Tavington's face broke into a pleased smile. Cornwallis noted it, and smiled slightly in response. "I am certain you and Colonel Ferguson will have much to say to one another. In this interval, Colonel, we must be circumspect."

"'They also serve, who only stand and wait,' my lord?" Tavington quoted innocently.

O'Hara allowed himself a snort of laughter. The Lord General nodded, and dismissed Tavington benevolently. "Exactly so, Colonel. Perhaps this war may be over by high summer. I pray so. Good day to you, sir."

Still smiling, Tavington bowed and headed to his own quarters. He had not seen Pattie in over a month, nor had the opportunity to congratulate him in person on his promotion to Colonel.

Wilkins and his troop were coming in, hot and dusty from patrol. Since Bordon's death back in January, Tavington had found himself having to make a number of reassignments within the dragoons. Hovenden had finally received his deserved promotion to major, and was as happy as a man with two very troublesome brothers could be. He had suggested to Tavington that his brother Lieutenant Moore Hovenden replace him as troop captain; but Tavington would not hear of it, when there were many better men to choose from. Alan Cameron was more senior, and a better fighter, for that matter. He was not about, however, to burden Cameron with Moore Hovenden's resentment, and in the end, had found a major reorganisation to be necessary. Now there would be this new troop to arrange. To whom would he give a captaincy?

He smiled. Duncan Monroe was conveniently next in line for promotion, and Tavington had never forgotten the high regard in which Bordon had held him. Yes, Monroe was the man, and he would need two lieutenants...

"Is the Colonel in?" Wilkins asked of the orderly just outside the door.

"Come in, Captain Wilkins," Tavington called.

Wilkins entered, ducking under the doorway's low lintel. "Reporting in, sir. We're just back from Norfolk."

"Sit down, Wilkins. Roarke, bring us some tea." Tavington waited while Wilkins carefully folded his tall body into the absurdly small chair. "Any trouble?"

"Nothing to speak of. Some children threw rocks at us on the way back, and then tried to run off. Sgt. Davies caught one of them and whacked his behind with the flat of his sabre. Then his mother comes running out of her house and screams fit to wake the dead."

Tavington laughed. "I see. The dread Green Dragoons once again leave a trail of atrocities in their wake."

Wilkins shrugged amiably. "Have you heard anything new from Lizzie since she wrote you about Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva's funeral?"

Tavington's smile soured slightly. How can I get this blockhead to stop calling her that, without thumping him? While Elizabeth allowed her sisters to call her Lilabet, a nursery name first bestowed by her brother Richard, he knew she detested being called Lizzie, Eliza, Betsy, Bess, or any of the thousand other pet names for Elizabeth. Tactful hints had so far proved useless.

"The Montgomerys are at Arcadia. The house in Camden is let, with the rents to be paid quarterly to the lawyer, who will pay Charlotte an allowance and invest the rest on the children's behalf. Your inheritance has been paid to your account at your bank in Charlestown, and you should be receiving a letter to that effect any day now."

"That's good news. Three thousand pounds will do a lot to rebuild Greenwood someday. God bless Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva. I sort of reckoned she'd leave all her money to the church or to the Royal Society, or to some crazy philosopher. I guess blood was thicker than water in the end." The tea was brought, and Wilkins drank gratefully. "Is she feeling all right -- Lizzie, I mean?"

"Well enough. She never complains, at any rate. She persuaded the governess to come out to Arcadia, so she isn't burdened with teaching the children, and they have their own nurserymaid, after all. Before the family left, George tried to enlist in the Camden garrison, but he was recognised and sent home. Now that he's at Arcadia, he's settled down a little, with all the activity on the plantation to interest him."

Tavington himself had been pleased to hear about the bequests. While Miss Everleigh's house in Camden had been left to the Montgomery's, and each of the children had been left a thousand pounds apiece, the bulk of her money had been divided among Wilkins and the three Wilde sisters. With her share of the money left by her mother, Elizabeth was the mistress --what was the phrase he had heard in England? -- of a not great, but useful fortune. In America, her well-over-five thousand pounds was a lot of money. Before the war, the plantation had brought in an income averaging two thousand pounds a year. His impoverished state was a thing of the past. Now if the war would only end, he could actually enjoy his prosperity.

----------

O'Hara was proved right: Williamsburg proved a pleasanter and healthier billet than Petersburg had been. The house Tavington was quartered in was more than comfortable, and large enough to provide lodgings for Pattie and his household when he arrived. It was here that he had finished his plans for the new troop and its complement.

Monroe was called in first, and the Virginian's grateful joy at his promotion gave Tavington real satisfaction. After breaking with his family, and enduring a host of dangers simply to find his way to the Legion, he was now reaping some recognition and rewards. Tavington discussed with him his own ideas for Monroe's two lieutenants, and the new captain was in agreement. Two new and extremely young lieutenants in the same troop would not be the best disposition of manpower; so both Martin and the Willett boy would be promoted, but assigned to different troops and paired with a more experienced officer.

"I'd prefer Thomas Martin as a subordinate, if it's all the same to you, sir. I've been with the boy for quite a while and we trust each other. I think Donald McLeod would be a good third, and then Sam Willett can take his place in Cameron's troop."

"Just as you please. The boy is young, but he's served over a year and has done well. The Willett boy is little flighty, but Cameron will settle him down. The Lord General will review all the promotions, but I cannot imagine there will be any difficulty. Congratulations, then, Captain Monroe."

"Thank you, sir," the Virginian smiled.

----------

"I can't believe it!" Thomas and Sam had maintained their martial demeanour throughout their interview with the Colonel, trying not to grin like fools; but no sooner had they been dismissed, than Sam whooped and grabbed Thomas in a bear hug, lifting him off the ground.

"Put me down, you idiot! Do you want the men to see us?"

Sam dropped him and stood there, still grinning. "We're lieutenants!"

Thomas grinned back involuntarily. "Yes, we're lieutenants. More pay, more responsibility, more respect."

"I can't believe it," Sam repeated. "We've got to celebrate."

"We've got to check the stables, and post the guards, and then, yes, maybe we should celebrate."

"We need to find some girls."

Thomas sighed. "Girls would be nice, if they were the right sort."

"Thomas, my lad, I was thinking more about the wrong sort." He waggled his eyebrows outrageously. "You need to stop moping about Dinah Poole. It's not healthy in a young man."

Faint and shrill on the breeze came the piping of bandsmen's fifes. The unmistakable sounds of approaching troops marching in to town distracted Thomas from Sam's nonsense. "That must be the American Volunteers arriving. Maybe Colonel Ferguson will have his two fancy women with him. They sure are pretty."

"I saw them, back there in Carolina. The redhead's the one for me. You," Sam offered generously, "can have the brown-haired one with the dimples."

"Thank you so much." Thomas rolled his eyes. "Still, a pretty woman is always worth a look."

Miss Sally and Miss Polly were indeed with the American Volunteers, riding along with the baggage train. The American Volunteers had plenty of other woman as well, for Patrick Ferguson had often remarked to his friend Tavington that while a cavalryman might see a pretty girl first, a infantryman moved slowly enough to properly make her acquaintance. The wagons trundled by, and Thomas and Sam leaned against the wall of the local millinery shop, enjoying the parade, and the waves of the laundry women.

Thomas' eye was caught by a girl who seemed familiar. The girl looked back at him and called out, "Mr Martin! Mr Martin!"

Sam looked too, and laughed to Thomas, "This really is your lucky day, Tom!" Sure enough, Dinah Poole, all rosy face, bright eyes, and delicious curves, was waving wildly at him.

Surprised and delighted, Thomas ran over to the wagon to help Dinah out of it. "What are you doing here?"

Her face fell and she looked at him anxiously. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Yes--yes, of course. I'm just surprised. I thought you were back in Camden."

Dinah called up to another woman in the wagon. "Throw me my bag, Bessy." The ragged leather satchel was tossed into her arms, and she neatly caught it and smiled eagerly at Thomas. "I missed you too much, so I joined up with the American Volunteers when I heard they were going north. Where are you staying?"

"At the King's Arms." They stood still a moment looking at each other, and Thomas was nearly swept away by a rising tide of excitement. Dinah bit her luscious lower lip thoughtfully and gave him the glance he knew so well.

He took Dinah's bag from her and caught her hand in his. "Sam, I just thought about something I left back at the inn. I'll see you later." Nearly running, he and Dinah headed down the street to the privacy of his room.

Sam grinned, and bowed ironically. "Take your time!" he called after them.

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