“No one in the cabinet supports him?”
Bierce’s eyebrows hung like clouds on his face; he picked up his sword letter-opener. “That Catholic priest sitting by the throne—he’s loyal; the king’s naval adviser.”
“He doesn’t know you’re a Unitarian assassin?”
“Damn it, Armstrong, I am neither a Unitarian nor an Episcopalian nor a Baptist nor a snake-charming Hindu! He knows exactly where I stand on that—but he also knows that for now, anyway, I stand with the king, who is himself a rather profane defender of the faith, which I suppose makes it more palatable.”
“How close are the rebels to the capital?”
“They can mount raids like San José. If they mounted a raid here, the copperheads would hand them the keys to the city. But I’ve got things pretty well-guarded; the capital is very defensible. We’ve got two rivers crisscrossing behind us; we could easily withstand a siege. The likeliest approach would be from the northeastern hill country. It’s broken ground—easier for guerillas to hold. From there, they might sweep down and cut us off from the coast. And if they got that hill country, they’d have Father Gonçalves; that’s where he lives. His family is rural nobility. He’s a farmer, when he’s not saving souls or advising the king; and his farm overlooks the ocean, where he experiments with boats. The rebels hate him more than anyone, except for El Caudillo himself.”
“Interesting.”
“Isn’t it? You remember that señorita whose life you supposedly saved—the one who brought me here—she’s his niece. She lives at her parents’ hacienda. Her father is one of my Colonels—or I would spend more time there. That area’s potentially vulnerable, so we keep Cavalry on patrol. And some of those troops, you lucky man, will soon be yours.”
“And with them I ride on Santiago?”
“That assignment was going to the Colonel. Now it’s yours, I guess, by royal decree.”
“Tell me about the city.”
“It’s the westward-most town under our control. The rebels have chipped away at it, never cracked it, but now it’s surrounded. You’ll have to fight your way in and fight your way out.”
“How many men will I have?”
“Maybe a hundred—I hate to strip our patrols, but any fewer than that, and it would be impossible.”
“What’s the enemy strength?”
“Easily ten times that.”
“How soon can I have my troops?”
“A couple of days at most; you’ll want to train them for the task—get to know your officers.”
“No time for that. If I move tomorrow, I’ll surprise the enemy. It’s a small island, right? Santiago can’t be far.”
“About fifty miles—the whole island is about a hundred miles across.”
“So tomorrow we could go out, as if on patrol—and then attack the following day.”
“Maybe—at least half the cabinet will try to get word to the rebels that you’re coming. But I doubt they’ll expect you in two days.”
“The road is good?”
“As far as we control it, yes—but they’ll try to block it.”
“When can I meet my officers?”
“I have to select them.”
“If I could meet with them at four in the morning, we could be out the city gates before dawn.”
There was a rap at the door. A guard announced, “The Minister of State and the Minister of Finance.” The door opened to reveal the grave, handsome, distinguished Matteo Rodríguez and a thin, beetle-browed, blonde-mustached man with a receding hairline, spectacles, and the stoop of an accountant. The guard shut the door behind them.
Matteo Rodríguez said, “Gentlemen, I am sorry to intrude, but I must congratulate Generalissimo Armstrong. I understand your position is now official. I cannot tell you how gratified I am to have another American in the service of Neustraguano.”
“Generalissimo Bierce and I were just discussing the details of my appointment—and my duties.”
“Ah, then perhaps my entrance was well-timed, for I can tell you your duties. As Generalissimo, Bierce commands the household Infantry; you will command the household Cavalry, which I trust will be a small, elite unit: something El Caudillo can watch at parades—colorful, harmless, and taken from our existing troops. In fact, if I might introduce our Minister of Finance, Carlos Blandino—I believe he will insist on that. He will not allow you anything as elaborate as the horse guards of Queen Victoria.”
“Indeed not,” confirmed the Minister of Finance. “There is a difference between a monarch governed by a constitution and a tyrant, though El Caudillo blurs those lines continually. He cannot just divert funds whenever he feels like it. He cannot just snap his fingers, declare a new unit of Cavalry, and put you in command of it. That is an act of tyranny.”
“My appointment is an act of tyranny?”
“You may call it that. If he spends unallocated government money on it, it certainly is. You are aware we have a legislature, and we are governed by laws. Our legislature decides how the government spends its money. That is not El Caudillo’s prerogative. He must ask the legislature for funds—and he has not done that. We must have a royal submission to the treasury asking that funds be provided for a new regiment of Cavalry, and it must be approved by the legislature.”
“But the legislature is full of rebels—or so I’ve been told. They’ll try to block that, won’t they?”
“Yes—and quite right they will be. We do not need another unit of Cavalry. The truth is, we do not need Cavalry at all. This is a small island. It is not your wide-open plains, your American West. The legislature understands, even if the king does not, that people will not vote for you if you insist on fighting them with mounted Cossacks. The sad fact is that we have a war only because the king and his party demand one. If he stepped aside, the war would be over.”
“But if he stepped aside,” I said, “if he abdicated his crown—the rebels would win.”
The Minister of Finance scowled at me. “What is winning in this circumstance? There is no profit—nothing constructive—in this war. If El Caudillo were not such a cretin, he would realize that western Neustraguano is a great opportunity. That’s where the rebels are. If we stopped fighting them, we could reason with them.”
“Reason with them,” I repeated.
“Yes. Instead, he talks about recovering statues, which is pointless—who cares about El Cid?—or defending the Church, which is divisive; not everyone accepts it.”
“Or accepts the king, apparently.”
“Precisely. We do not need a monarchy. We do not need statues and churches. What do they matter? As I said, we are an island. We need to trade with the world. What matters is whether we have farms and businesses and free trade that create jobs and wealth. Are you familiar with Richard Cobden?”
“A famous medieval cobbler?”
“No, not a famous medieval cobbler. Do you know what he said?”
“Was he a farrier, then?”
“No, he wasn’t a farrier. He was an English statesman, a Liberal, who said that free trade was a principle that was as true as gravity and as moral as any gospel. It would draw men together regardless of race or creed or language; it would unite everyone in peaceful cooperation. Liberalism is a universal language of reason and enlightened self-interest that everyone can understand—except for El Caudillo. He would take us back to the Middle Ages of throne and altar. If he would just step aside, our country would reunite; we would be a free republic; and we could tax the rebels. We can’t tax them now—it is too dangerous—but if we could end the war…”
“Do you really think the rebels want to be taxed? Do you really think you can reason with them? I saw what they did at San José.”
Matteo Rodríguez said, “I told you: they were provoked—El Caudillo provoked them. And I tell you this: the king needs good advisers. Your position is an opportunity. Use it wisely; work with us. Perhaps you, like Bierce, will have special influence with the king, a position of tru
st and proximity. I trust you will do your duty and protect our country from its greatest enemy.”
The Minister of Finance added, “The man is a menace, a moron, a disgrace.”
“El Claudio?”
“Yes, El Claudio—I mean, El Caudillo. You heard him talk. The man cannot string two sentences together without saying something inane, idiotic, or untrue.”
“Really? I found him eloquent, moving, even profound. I tell you frankly, his call for more attractive women and abundant children; for stamping out cannibalism and child sacrifice—that is a platform I can wholeheartedly support.”
Minister Blandino scowled. “Yes, El Caudillo is full of such insights. I’m glad you appreciate his genius.”
“Perhaps you forget, gentlemen, that in the United States, our president is Sam Grant. He is not nearly so eloquent—and yet he holds the highest office in the land.”
Bierce said, “Generalissimo Armstrong is a Democrat.”
“Ah, a democrat,” Matteo Rodríguez said, “then I believe we understand each other. As commander of the household Cavalry, you serve the monarch, but you are also subject to parliamentary law. I, as a Senator and Minister of State, represent parliamentary law, democratic law—you understand that?”
“In the United States military, Senator, every high-ranking officer has the misfortune of answering to meddling politicians.”
“Ah, a sardonic wit—like you, Bierce!”
The Minister of Finance, however, was not amused. “Let me say plainly, Generalissimo Armstrong, I will authorize no funds for additional Cavalry troops or for the recovery of statues. Bierce knows the penalty for violating the law. He saw the Ministers of the Army and the Navy pay the price.”
“Senator Rodríguez told me they were sacked to save money.”
“Senator Rodríguez is diplomatic; he said that to shield them; the Ministers were prosecuted for misappropriating funds. El Caudillo wanted a ship to patrol the inland waterways behind the capital; he wanted the army to build entrenchments in front of San José. When the legislature and my department refused those requests, the Army and Navy Ministers attempted to divert money from the Minister of State.”
“Yes,” Matteo Rodríguez said, “that is true. The Minister of Finance and I had allocated money for trade missions—one to Mexico and one to the outer areas of the Ottoman Empire, where we believed we could find new markets for our exports and gifted minority populations for future immigration—Albanians and Kurds, mostly. It was quite the opportunity. But the Minister of the Army and the Minister of the Navy claimed that El Caudillo’s war took priority. When they tried to misappropriate those funds from us, we were obliged to prosecute them. I told El Caudillo to fire the Army and Navy Ministers for their incompetence. I would assume those roles, and the matter would end; it would protect him legally—and save the government money.”
“Those men are now in prison,” said the Minister of Finance, “and that is where you will be if you overstep your bounds.”
“If you call me impetuous,” I said, “you’ll regret it; and if you jail a prominent American citizen like me, it’ll be an international incident.”
“Are you so prominent?” asked Blandino. “My colleague had heard of Generalissimo Bierce; he had never heard of you.”
Bierce came to my rescue. “Generalissimo Armstrong has a certain renown in American military circles—but, in any event, his duties should never put him athwart the law.”
“I should hope not,” Blandino huffed. Wagging his finger at me, he said, “And I warn you: if that statue of El Cid turns up in the plaza, I will authorize no funds for its protection. I see that statue as nothing more than another provocation of the rebels and their elected representatives. More than that, it would be an impediment to future Mohammedan immigration.”
“Mohammedan immigration?”
“Yes, as we just said, from the Ottoman Empire. Unfortunately, our trade mission was canceled. We have lost many such opportunities because of El Caudillo.”
“There are other, more immediate opportunities,” said Matteo Rodríguez. “Your position gives you access to them. We ask only that you do your duty—and that justice is done.”
Minister Blandino looked at me over his spectacles. “Is that quite clear?”
Bierce used his sword letter-opener to probe the eyeball socket of the skull on his desk. “We understand, Minister Blandino. We will do our duty and see that justice is done.” He looked up at the Minister of Finance, smiled, and gave the eye-socket a good thrust.
The Minister’s fingers fluttered about his tie. “Well, then, perhaps we should go, Senator, I have other urgent matters requiring my attention.”
Matteo Rodríguez said, “I trust, gentlemen, that you will faithfully—and swiftly—execute your duties. I sometimes fear that El Caudillo might achieve his ends before we achieve ours. Good night, then, buenas noches.”
Rodríguez reached for the door—but it slammed into his face. Rachel bustled her way into the room, shrugging off the uncertain grasp of the guard.
“I gave orders not to be disturbed,” said Bierce; but then, taking in an eyeful, he added, “Nevertheless, madam, you are welcome.” He waved the guard away.
“Thank you, sir—being a Generalissimo’s wife should have its privileges, don’t you think? And you, sir, Senator Rodríguez, I must say: you are the most statesman-looking man in the king’s court. Wouldn’t you say so, Armstrong? Why, you just resonate with integrity, honesty, warmth, and intelligence. And, oh my, is your nose all right?”
Rodríguez held a handkerchief to his face and said, “Yes, it just made unfortunate contact with the door.”
“My, my—but it is a prominent nose, a Senator’s nose, just like the noble Romans.”
“I thank you, Señora Armstrong, for your consideration.”
“And I thank you, Senator, for all your courtesy to us.”
“I trust, señora, that I do my duty before God and man, as well as your husband does his.”
“Oh—I do hope your nose is all right; your handkerchief is looking a little red—but Armstrong is the perfect slave to duty, as I’m sure he told you. And who is this other man?”
“Forgive me,” Rodríguez said, tipping his head back to slow the blood dripping from his nose. “May I introduce, Carlos Blandino, Minister of Finance.”
“You must both be such busy and important men, I hate to interrupt, but I just came to fetch my husband. I figure if I didn’t, he might end up in some new trouble—trouble, as you know, is his business.”
“Ah, so it is,” said Rodríguez, moving the handkerchief up the bridge of his nose to intercept tears before they became visible, “as a soldier, an adventurer perhaps.”
“Oh yes, life with Generalissimo Armstrong is quite an adventure, but I’m getting used to it.”
“Good evening, madam, if you will excuse us,” Rodríguez said, hastening to the door, Blandino on his heels. “I hope to see more of you in the future.”
“Good night, Senator Rodríguez and Minister Blandino. It was a pleasure. And do be careful; there are other doors.”
Rodríguez made his exit, and once the door was closed, Rachel looked at Bierce and me like we were naughty schoolboys.
“Let me guess, you two are devising a plan to divide the island between yourselves—or with that politician.”
“Really, Rachel, we were discussing important military affairs.”
“Whatever you were discussing, I’m glad to see it was civil. We Americans need to stick together. I don’t mind telling you, I don’t trust that Matteo Rodríguez,” she said tilting her head to the door. “He’s slicker than a greased spoon.”
“Handsome too, I thought.”
“You never mind that,” she said. “And that Minister of Finance—he wasn’t discussing your salary, was he?”
“We never got that far.”
“Well, you, Generalissimo Bierce, can take of that. I’m taking my husband away. They’ve assigned
us a wonderful little house across the plaza. I wanted to make sure he didn’t get lost finding it. It’s quite charming. Just what I dreamt of as a girl—adobe with a white picket fence outside, and two guards just to make sure we’re not captured by Neustraguano Indians and fed to a volcano.”
“Those guards are my men,” said Bierce. “I’m responsible for the security of El Caudillo and his guests at the capital. You are quite safe here. We are far from the frontlines.”
“Not far enough, from what I saw.”
“If you mean San José—that won’t happen here. If you mean the mob outside—they’re being dispersed.”
“Yes, I saw your men encouraging them—quite effectively.”
“Mrs. Armstrong, may I ask you a personal question?”
“Seeing as you are an officer and a gentleman, I assume it won’t be too personal.”
“How long have you and your husband been married?”
“That is rather personal, Generalissimo Bierce.”
“I am also involved in military intelligence. My sources tell me that you were once a nun.”
“Well, once a nun always a nun, I suppose, but I never completed my vows, and, as you can imagine, when I came across Generalissimo Armstrong while doing missionary work among the Indians, I was simply swept off my feet. We have been together ever since—with the blessing of clergy, I might add.”
What an incorrigible little liar she was, but in this game of ever-shifting alliances, I decided to play along. “Yes,” I said, “with all the blessings of the clergy; and that Indian too, he’s a Catholic, by the way. Dearest, did you know that Bierce is a Unitarian?”
“Damn it, Armstrong—I am not. I am a heathen and proud of it.”
“Don’t let him kid you,” I said. “Just ask Matteo Rodríguez.”
Armstrong Rides Again! Page 11