The fools were no soldiers. Artemis hadn’t tied his hands like Farkas had suggested. That was the first thing they should have done, the dumb bastards. Even a man with a rope around his neck could do a lot with free hands.
Pyke didn’t know how much farther they had to go, and he couldn’t count on any help. Who knew where Wolf Tongue was. He knew the Susquehannock had escaped these men, because Farkas had ridden ahead to warn his master about the Indian. Pyke prayed Wolf Tongue was all right then set his mind to the task. Now was the time to act. The Lord helped those who helped themselves.
Artemis was still talking. “… that old bastard sent you to kill his own blood. There’s a gentleman for you, huh, boys?”
Pyke just needed to steal a pistol and jump on a horse. Artemis, the cocksure fool, had let go of the rope around Pyke’s neck. The nearest horse was Blackstone’s, only a few yards away. Pyke could knock Artemis down, take the horse, and ride hard. None of the others were saddled. He’d have at least a fighting chance.
If he were taken to Azariah, he’d have no chance.
“… afraid he’ll lose his post and his pension. Goes to show you. Money and title are thicker than blood, aren’t they?” Artemis said.
Pyke kept his expression neutral and looked at Artemis.
“The gentleman deigns to gaze at me. I am humbled!” Artemis said, and Dean snorted a laugh.
“The Colonel has served His Majesty for over forty years. He is an honorable man.” Pyke still had plenty of misgivings about the Colonel. He was only trying to get Artemis off-balance.
“Honorable, huh?”
Pyke nodded. Here was his chance. Artemis was too busy trying to impress the brothers by making a scene, the brothers were too far away and seemed a bit dull-witted, and the surgeon was off in his own world.
“You wouldn’t know a thing about honor, duty, and service. You’re just refuse,” Pyke said. The insult caused Artemis to draw even closer. Perfect. Pyke shifted his weight forward. He would butt his head against Artemis’s, then take the horse and ride.
Less than a foot away, Artemis said, “And tell me, what did your honorable Colonel tell you to do with his daughter?”
Pyke was struck dumb by Artemis’s words. His carefully formed plan slipped from mind. What did this man know of Damaris?
“What are you talking about?”
“Damaris Bennett. What does the Colonel plan to do with her, now that she’s disgraced the family?”
Pyke’s heart thundered. His first reaction was to call the man out to a duel, but he bit back his heedless anger and tried to think clear. How would this man know about Thornwood? Why would this man know about Thornwood?
It didn’t make sense.
“That’s the reason he sent you out here, right? To kill the girl that disrespected him?”
The world seemed to stretch and pull away from him.
“He can’t have his little girl running off her cousin, the man that’s disobeying him and undermining his efforts, can he?”
The world came back into focus, but everything was different. Pyke was seeing red.
“I know nothing about Miss Bennett,” Pyke said. The double-meaning of his words stung him.
“The Colonel would not murder his own daughter.” Blackstone said.
Artemis turned on him. “But he’d murder his own nephew?”
Disapproval etched itself onto Blackstone’s face. “You are no soldier, Artemis. A ruffian like you knows nothing about honor. Or love for that matter.”
Judging by Artemis’s reaction, the words had stung him. Rather than engage the surgeon, Artemis faced Pyke once more. “Come on, I’ll bet that’s it. The Colonel was happy to let Azariah do as he pleased so long as he didn’t stir up too much trouble. It was only when the daughter took up with her cousin that things changed.”
It was unfathomable. Damaris and Azariah. Damaris with Azariah.
But the timing didn’t make sense. He’d seen her in Jenkins Town, what, a week ago? More? He tried to count the days, but they were all running together. A night here, a night there, the town, the village, the hunt, the cliff, the … he couldn’t settle on a definite number, but yes, it had been at least a week.
Was Damaris and Azariah’s a platonic relationship? Had they been together at a distance, and secretly, for a long time? Had she actually been in the camp the night he and Wolf Tongue had attempted to assassinate the man? Was she with Azariah at this moment?
He hated himself for it, but he allowed Thornwood’s slight to come to mind, and he wondered if Damaris had been intimate with Azariah …
He buried his feelings so these men would not have another method to goad him.
Pyke kept his voice level. “My mission has only to do with Azariah. I will see the man dead.”
They were silent for a moment but Artemis broke into another round of laughter while Blackstone shook his head gravely. Though he knew it was wrong, Pyke imagined them all dead, even Blackstone. He imagined what it’d be like to cut them all down, one-by-one, so they died by the steel in his hand. Then he envisioned ending Azariah.
When the moment passed, Artemis eyed the brothers. “Let’s go. I want to get there before dinner.”
Pyke eyed Blackstone’s horse. Artemis had gone back to his own animal and was re-saddling it. He paid no mind to the rope around Pyke’s neck, and his back was to Pyke. Blackstone was still sitting on that log by himself, sipping and staring into the distance.
It was now or never.
Pyke got to his feet carefully, making sure to keep the rope around his neck slack against the ground. The end was near Artemis’s feet, but the stupid man paid it no mind. If it were Pyke, he would have had the rope in hand or at least under foot. These men wouldn’t have lasted a day in His Majesty’s Army.
Pyke took two big steps and threw himself into the air, his plan to jump on the horse from behind and break away. It was a risky move, because untrained horses usually feared any sudden commotion from their rear. This one froze nervously, but did not panic and stayed in place.
Pyke was on top of the horse! He snatched the rope and pulled it to himself, just a second before Artemis bent to the earth to grab the other end. Then he kicked the horse. His plan of escape was going to work.
Dean moved so quickly that all Pyke saw was a large blur to his right. It happened so fast, he barely felt the first crash of man against man, but he definitely felt the second crash of man against ground.
The side of his head slammed into the earth, and the world spun. A foot lodged in his ribs, stealing his air. Dean kicked him again, and the blow was so hard that Pyke feared his ribs would shatter. He balled up because he had no air or strength suddenly. The other brother came over but did nothing.
Then the rope burning his neck went taut and choked him. He had to climb to his feet and follow its pull in order to get enough slack to breathe. Gasping for air, he stumbled back toward Artemis, who punched him in the jaw. Pyke’s legs wobbled, but he kept his footing.
“He told you to tie his fucking hands,” Dean said. The man grabbed Pyke’s wrists and went to work tying them securely.
Artemis punched the other side of Pyke’s jaw.
“That is quite enough!” Blackstone raced over with surprising quickness. “Any man that lays another hand on the prisoner will have to answer to me.” The surgeon drew his pistol.
“You forgetting this dog tried to kill Azariah? And murdered Hackworth in his sleep?” Artemis asked.
“No, I’m not. But you’re forgetting that he is a gentleman who was acting under orders, you mindless thug.”
Artemis and Dean shared a smirk at the surgeon’s bravado, then Blackstone leveled the pistol at Artemis’s head. Roger silently distanced himself from the others.
“We will treat this man decently, as good Christians,” Blackstone said.
The sound of the hammer cocking into place wiped the smirks off their faces, and Artemis and Dean left off. Roger stood still for a moment, as
if unsure whether Blackstone would shoot the other two in the back or not. The surgeon turned to look at Pyke, “I am sorry, Lieutenant.”
“Save your apologies for someone who doesn’t think you should rot in hell, Blackstone.”
Artemis snapped the rope, sending Pyke pitching forward, and they marched again.
***
No clouds blotted the sun, so the air baked and stayed warmer than the day before. Isolated, stubborn patches of snow clung to the ground in hollows or in shadows. His captors spoke less and paid him less mind as they marched. Dean whistled part of some tune over and over. Artemis kept at a decent pace, so Pyke was able to use a regular march to keep up. He wondered if the surgeon’s words had affected Artemis, or if Artemis was simply just too tired to hector him.
In the silence of the march, Artemis’s words penetrated his mind. Damaris Bennett. No matter what he tried, he could not stop thinking of Damaris. The woman haunted his every thought. He needed something to occupy his mind to keep her out of it.
He tried practicing his Latin and French, he whiled the time recalling every marching ditty he’d ever heard, he plotted his next attempt at escape, he formulated plan after plan on how to kill Azariah. But all roads led to the Rome that was Damaris.
When he thought of Latin, it called to mind the poetry of Horace and Catullus, the lyrical pieces he would have recited to her. When he thought of French, the language of love, he imagined their bedchamber. And when he thought of killing Azariah, it was differently now. At first, it had been a disgusting, but necessary, act of murder, performed at the behest of a superior officer. Then he had seen the evil Azariah was capable of and had thought it a more noble deed, of bringing justice to a man who deserved it.
But now? It was still those other things but it was also irrevocably tied to Damaris. If he killed Azariah, she would be free from his spell. That was the only way a good woman like her would be attracted to a man like Azariah: he had fed her lies to cover his true plans and had painted a falsely heroic picture of himself.
He was certain if Damaris knew the truth, if he could show her the way the world really was, then her feelings toward Azariah would quickly wither and die. She was an intelligent woman, but she was also a young woman, susceptible to romantic notions.
But was she still pure? He couldn’t face the question so he pushed it away.
And who was he to judge? He was no virgin. When he was sixteen, there had been the servant girl, five years his senior, who’d shown him a thing or two before Father had found out and had her sacked. And before he’d left for the Province, Father had taken him into a part of London he’d heard of spoken by gentlemen only when no ladies were present, where a certain Madame had practiced her delicate arts on him.
While the memories were pleasant and distracting, he knew he was disappointing the Lord by calling them to mind.
But he couldn’t help it.
Two hours later, they stopped again. They’d spent the day skirting the woods, because it was faster traveling through clearings. Now, though, the forest that had been on their right all day stretched ahead and formed a wall of trees in front of them. It looked like they’d have to pass through the forest to get wherever they were going.
By this time, Pyke’s shoulder ached from the day’s exertion. A spot of blood appeared through the dressings. The skin of his neck was raw and burned like the fires of Hell. And now his right knee throbbed with each step. He’d overdone it the last few days. Not that he’d had much choice in the matter.
Exhausted, he slumped to the ground. He was so tired, he didn’t know if he’d be able to get back up. The party took out their food and began eating again. He looked to Roger, who’d given him the pork before, and his eyes must have shamed the man into being a good Christian. This time, Roger offered him two slices of pork and passed over his jug of water.
Pyke gulped the water, realizing then how dry his throat was. He could feel the lukewarm water as it poured all the way down. It tasted a little mucky, but he didn’t care because he was so thirsty. Then he gnawed on the pork.
“How much farther is it?” Blackstone asked the silent group.
Dean belched. “Two more hours at most.”
Blackstone opened probably his third canteen of the day and drank. He was up to his ears in whiskey but showed no signs of it.
“You men are fools to follow Azariah,” Pyke said.
Artemis grinned ear-to-ear. “When I was in Philadelphia, I didn’t have pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. Now? I have money, freedom, and women. I’m my own man. Am I a fool?”
“Yes.”
Artemis snorted an incredulous laugh. “You’re just the Colonel’s lackey.”
“Better a lackey to a Colonel than to a madman who will be dead soon.”
“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.” Artemis pointed at himself. “I am a free man. You are beholden to a King who warms his arse on a throne a thousand miles away.”
Pyke ignored the gibe. “The Crown would never allow Azariah to establish his own little fiefdom in the Province. And the French? They may ignore him now because it suits their interests, but once Azariah gains more power than they wish, they’ll squash him like the pestilent insect he is.” As much as he hated to admit it, the French were no fools.
Pyke flicked his eyes to Roger, who watched him openly with interest. Perhaps he could win the man over?
“There is no future with Azariah.” He leveled his gaze on Roger. “None.”
“No, son, you are mistaken,” Blackstone said gently, with the patience of a teacher reminding a child of a lesson repeated many times. “This is a new world. The Crown cannot rule us properly from across the sea. And unless His Majesty starts treating the colonials better, there will be a revolt, one way or the other.”
“I thought you didn’t want any more bloodshed.”
“I don’t, son. I don’t. But it’s only by taking a stand that Azariah can force the Crown’s hand.”
“The romantic talk of a drunkard,” Pyke said scornfully.
Blackstone gave a grin and waved the canteen at him. “In vino veritas, Lieutenant.”
Artemis stood up and stalked over to Pyke. “What you say may be so, but it won’t change one thing.”
Pyke knew where Aretmis was going with this line of thought and said nothing.
“It won’t change the fact that me and Farkas are going to gut you once he’s done with you.” Artemis let his words hang in the air before plodding back to his spot.
The sun had slipped under the tree line, sprinkling light through the forest. Pyke surveyed the situation again, hoping to plot an escape. But this time, they had been smarter: his captors had positioned themselves between him and the three horses, facing him and putting their backs to the forest, and now his hands were tied to boot. He would have to get hold of a weapon and hope for some luck.
He felt like he was due.
Artemis read his mind. “Go ahead. Try and escape. It will give me a reason to shoot you right now.”
Pyke smiled. “I will escape, you cur. I’ll escape and then I’ll come for you and Farkas.” He made sure to leave Roger and Dean out of his hypothetical vengeance. Roger because he already seemed sympathetic; Dean because he was Roger’s brother, even though Pyke owed him for the last thumping he’d taken. “The last thing you’ll see on this earth will be my sword as it cuts you down.”
Artemis guffawed at Pyke’s audacity. Dean joined in. Their laughter was infectious. Soon Roger snickered too, and even Blackstone found the dark absurdity in the situation.
Laughter was not the effect he’d been after, but before he despaired, Pyke’s eyes spotted a flicker of movement in the dizzying afternoon light silhouetting the trees.
Was it possible? Or was his hopeful mind just playing tricks on him?
Quickly, he darted his eyes back to Artemis. The men were still having a good time at his expense, but the laughter was dying. Pyke wasn’t sure what he’d seen
, if anything, but realized he needed to keep these men distracted in case help was coming.
So he put a mad smile on his face. “And you, Artemis, you know what I’m going to do you?”
His words renewed their laughter. “What is that?”
“I will lame you first by shooting your kneecaps off. Then I will put this bloody rope around your neck and drag you for miles till you are wearied and begging me to kill you. But I won’t stop. I’ll keep on dragging you till you’re next to dead. I’ll let you suffer for awhile, and then I’ll end your miserable life.” Pyke stole a glance over the man’s shoulder and saw the flicker of movement again.
Someone was skulking through the woods.
Now Artemis, Dean, and Roger bellowed laughter, while Blackstone shook his head in disapproval at all the talk of blood and violence and revenge.
“But you, Blackstone, I won’t do anything to you.” Pyke shook his head no. “I’ll let the Colonel, your friend, get a hold of you. We’ll see what justice the military has in store for you.”
Blackstone jutted his jaw out defiantly. “At least I will go to the grave with a clear conscience, and the Lord will accept me into the Kingdom of Heaven. Can you say the same?”
Pyke wasn’t really listening, though, because he was stealing glances beyond his captors. And he was certain now: someone was silently approaching them. That the man had not announced his presence only meant one thing. Pyke didn’t want to dare believe it and raise false hope, but somehow he knew it was Wolf Tongue.
The Susquehannock had tracked them.
He had to continue speaking to keep them distracted. Despite not wanting to alienate Roger, he turned to the man’s brother. “Dean, you son of an ugly pox-ridden whore, I’m going to kill you too!” Pyke shouted, now joining in their mad laughter. “I will—”
There was a crash in the woods, the three horses panicked, and then all was chaos.
Seventeen – The Ambush
The light flitted through the makeshift shelter like the tiny fingers of the jogah on Wolf Tongue’s eyelids. Spots of red appeared and called him from the world of dreams, though he had no memory of that place as he blinked away his sleep. The night had been nothing but blackness.
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