Council of Fire

by Eric Flint

  “I, Edward Augustus Hanover do, of my own will—”

  He continued through the rest of the oath, with Edward echoing his words, and concluded with:

  “I swear that I shall.”

  Pontbriand felt the absence of a religious oath in the ceremony, but Edward had demanded that no such condition be included. Instead, he simply said:

  “Your Highness, it is my duty and honor to invest you with the symbols of your royal status.” He nodded to Amherst, who stepped forward, extending the pillow. Pontbriand took up the simple crown and laid it upon Edward’s head; it had been made for him and fit perfectly.

  “This crown is in the form of an unbroken circle, denoting the universality of your oath, and the unending commitment you have made to your people by taking up the authority which it represents.”

  From a pocket in his cassock, Briand took out a polished wooden rod, which looked like a tomahawk handle; but instead of an axe-head, it bore an equally polished white stone set in the top. A small band of wampum encircled the place where stone and wood joined.

  “I place in your hands this scepter, which represents the mace of justice. May you wield this with dread and duty, a king and judge to all your people.” He handed it to Edward, who took it in his left hand.

  “Rise, King,” he said, and Edward did so. “Behold your people.”

  Edward now turned to face the assembly. He tried to assume the greatest dignity he could muster, but could not keep a smile from his face.

  “People of the land,” the archbishop said. “Behold your king.”

  Then, with a spontaneity born of joy, shouts of acclamation rang out from the assembly—men and women, British and French, white and red, proclaiming Edward as king in the new world.

  Almost unnoticed, the eyes of the two natives flanking the dais glowed for just a moment, signaling—perhaps—some kind of approbation.

  Part VII:

  Salutation

  September, 1759

  He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.

  —John Milton

  Chapter 64

  King of something

  New York City

  The combined British/French/native army was the first to acclaim King Edward, but the formal welcome would take place in New York. On the morning following the ceremony at the Council Fire, arrangements were made for him to travel there.

  Both Montcalm and Wolfe remained with the army, while General Amherst prepared to accompany the king. As one of his first royal acts, Edward had designated Lord Boscawen as his First Lord of the Admiralty, and Amherst as Field Marshal, in command of all the armed forces on land. His first task would be to handle relations with the colonial militias. The threats from emerging supernatural elements were likely not over, and there would have to be some coordination among the colonies. Over the objection of Wolfe, Edward had directed Amherst to offer the militia commanders the opportunity to take up regular army commissions—and all the responsibilities and honors that came with them. There would be a need for training, and there would be costs—but there would have to be an army. Something similar would be needed for the French colonies: and that too would take time. Not all of them had bent the knee to the new king; most didn’t even know about it yet.

  The procession moved slowly and included both riders and carriages. The concatenator was loaded into its wagon, but Mademoiselle LaGèndiere and Doctor Messier rode with the new king—a public demonstration of his gratitude for their help in the great battle just past, but also an obvious indication of personal affection.

  Paul Revere traveled with the king, though Edward gave him the opportunity to withdraw and return with the Massachusetts militia. They still had work to do pacifying Salem, among other places; but Revere refused to leave his king’s side, indicating that he was planning to send for his wife and children to join him in New York. Edward found his loyalty admirable, though he felt that it was an imposition.

  But the world had changed, and men chose new roles depending on the way in which that change affected them.

  It took eight days to reach the city, though riders were sent ahead well in advance. The last part of their journey was on the Hudson River on a flatboat. The weather had turned slightly chilly, as was so often the case in this part of the continent, the memory of summer seemed altogether too recent for it to have disappeared so suddenly. But the scenery on the journey was stunning: leaves beginning to turn color were a revelation for those new to the continent.

  On a sunny autumn afternoon, they reached the outskirts of Greenwich. As they disembarked, they were met by a troop of New York militia, who looked anxious and tense.

  Amherst approached the older man in command of the troop, who offered a casual salute.

  “Report.”

  The officer—or whatever he was—paused a moment, as if trying to decide what sort of duty he owed to Amherst. Then he said, “You are on your way to New York? Sir?”

  “The king is on his way there, yes.”

  “King?”

  “King Edward. Your king, and mine.”

  The officer scowled. “I don’t know anything about that, sir. But this isn’t the best time to be visiting New York City.”

  “Why would that be?”

  “The recent troubles,” the officer answered. “The monsters.”

  “We had not heard. What sort of monsters?”

  “Some slave conjured up monsters that attacked all over the city. Took some doing to put them down. Lots of damage all over. Who knows whether it might all come back.”

  “Are you saying there was a slave revolt?”

  “Something like that, sir. Governor De Lancey called out the militia, and the admiral—”

  “Admiral Boscawen.”

  “Yes, sir. The admiral had his men on the streets too.”

  Amherst looked over his shoulder at the escort for King Edward: twenty regular British soldiers. He wasn’t sure whether they could deal with monsters, but they were equal to anything short of it.

  “I think we’ll be safe enough.”

  “Well, sir, it’s up to you. But . . . can I ask a question?”

  “Please do.”

  “The only king I know about is George, back in England. Who’s this king you’re talking about?”

  The scenery on the high road that followed the Hudson River from Greenwich to New York showed more and more signs of civilization: windmills, a large iron foundry, and a sprawling brewery from which rose a wheaty, earthy smell that made the soldiers smile. They gathered a following as they traveled, first a group of young boys leaving their chores, then a group of blacksmiths from the foundry who decided they’d go along to see what things were about.

  At last the road turned away from the river and joined the wide street called the Broad Way that led into the heart of the city. They found the makeshift gate in the palisade heavily guarded; and as well, awaiting their arrival, was Governor James De Lancey. The governor was astride a fine horse and attired in an elaborate uniform that Amherst took to be militia; as the royal party approached, De Lancey dismounted and removed his hat.

  As they reached the palisade, Edward dismounted as well. He wore a tricorn, but he removed it to reveal the circlet that served as his crown. He approached De Lancey, who offered a bow.

  “Rise, Governor,” Edward said. “I will enter this city on foot and at your side.”

  “You honor me, Your Majesty. We received word of your coronation with great joy.”

  Edward smiled. “It won’t be an easy task, sir, but with God’s help I will do my best.”

  “I’m sure you will,” De Lancey said.

  “Walk with me,” Edward said, and the king entered New York walking next to James De Lancey, who stepped to his left as they came down Broad Way, with a crowd visible in the distance. Even from where they were, they could hear the cheers.

  The young king was accompanied by a cheering crowd all the way to the Admira
lty building, where members of his escort took up positions outside as he, Revere and Boscawen entered. A tall young officer wearing some military uniform—militia, Edward thought—was waiting for them.

  It was almost a relief to have the door closed and the cheering muted.

  “Your Majesty,” Boscawen said, “may I present Colonel George Washington, my aide. Colonel, please see we are not disturbed.”

  Washington bowed.

  “Colonel Revere, perhaps you can keep Colonel Washington company. I suspect the admiral wants a private conversation.”

  Boscawen and the king ascended the stairs together, leaving their aides behind.

  In his upstairs office, with the door closed, Boscawen gestured to a settle. He remained standing.

  “Admiral—”

  “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon, but I’m going to take advantage of my one opportunity to speak plainly with you. When I am done, you may use your authority and your discretion to dismiss me from your service; but until then, you will listen to what I have to say.”

  “I have been king for ten days, Admiral. I think I have enough humility to accept a dressing down from such a distinguished officer.”

  “We will see what you think when I am done,” Boscawen said. “It has been assumed for some time that you would become king of—well, of something here in the New World. But that should have been accomplished here in New York, at an assembly of the principal men of your kingdom.

  “I am informed by your letters, and by other information, that you have received this crown—” he gestured to the circlet on Edward’s brow, with a tone that conveyed exactly what he thought of it—“in some patch of woods. What’s more, the man who placed it on your head is a Catholic prelate.

  “So tell me; what in God’s name do you think you are doing?”

  Edward did not reply for a moment, and Boscawen could see that the king was surprised at his tone; perhaps too surprised to be angry.

  “You have heard about the battle we fought somewhat east of that patch of wood, my Lord. We had the help of a fair number of French regulars.”

  “So I understand.”

  “That participation was made possible because I promised to have a Catholic prelate place the crown on my head. If I am to be king of—of something, as you say, I intend that it should include New France as well. It was the only way to gain their trust and their aid.”

  “The ceremony could have been performed in New York.”

  “I do not think that the archbishop of Québec would have found it at all comfortable traveling here or performing the coronation ceremony here. The Iroquois Tadodaho would not have been in attendance either—and I daresay the natives will have to be part of the something as well. Many of them fought at our side.”

  “Why do you believe that either the French or the natives are either willing or suitable as your subjects?”

  “Because this is the world we live in, and because the French have no king either. Our enemy is not the French, Admiral Boscawen; our enemy is hostile nature, and the natives who seek to command it.”

  “The French accept you?”

  “Those at the battle do. The Marquis de Montcalm does. He will need to convince his fellows, but I have confidence that he will be successful.”

  Boscawen did not answer, but paced back and forth a few times.

  “Your actions are precipitate, I think. But they cannot be undone. And clearly the people, at least the people of New York, seem to approve. They want a king, and they want you to be that king.”

  “I am blessed to be so well received,” Edward said.

  “I daresay you are,” Boscawen answered. He sighed and made a minute adjustment to one sleeve of his uniform coat. “I had hoped to accomplish a few more things before we reached that point, but what is done is done.

  “Your Majesty, if you are not prepared to dismiss me, then I have something to ask of you. You are aware of what happened while you were absent; a black man used some sort of African ritual to summon monsters. I can’t believe I am saying these words, but there is no better way to describe it.

  “When the situation was resolved—after a considerable amount of destruction, I may add, evidence of which you can see wherever you look—I determined that the pernicious practice of slavery must be brought to an end here in New York at least, and I think eventually all across your realm.”

  “That is a rather dramatic turn,” Edward said.

  “What you said about the French and the natives applies equally well to the black people of this realm,” Boscawen said. “I have a young black boy aboard Namur whom I have asked to be manumitted. There are brave negroes here in New York, free and slave, who need to be assured that they have a future in your realm. Some of them played a critical role in suppressing the monsters. I am not sure we would have prevailed without them.”

  “I see. Do you have something in mind?”

  “I do.” Boscawen went to his desk and picked up a sheet of parchment. “I had hoped that this might accompany, or occur subsequent, to your coronation. Now, if you choose to endorse it, you can make it your first true official act.”

  “Say on.”

  “I propose the following.” Boscawen held the document at an angle to catch the sunlight through the window. “Any slave under the age of ten is to be freed at once with no compensation to the owner. One between the age of ten and twenty-five would sign an indenture contract of some length, and would be freed at latest at age twenty-five. Any other slave would have a shorter indenture, and would be freed at its conclusion.

  “No families would be broken up in any way.

  “Any owner choosing to sell a slave directly to the Royal Navy would be compensated at a higher rate; we would in turn manumit the slave and enlist him if male, and find other employment for her if female.

  “What is more, all free blacks would have the right to petition in cases of grievance, to serve on juries, and to sue and enter into contracts without bias.”

  “Can they not do these things already?”

  “Not in the colony of New York, and in most cases not in other colonies either. New York City is particularly difficult. Two decades ago there was a violent backlash against blacks in the city. The repercussions of that event are still felt today. We must be sure that it never happens again.”

  Edward stood and walked to the window, which overlooked an inner courtyard. He could still hear the cheers from outside.

  “If I am not mistaken, Admiral,” he said without turning, “there are colonies that rely exclusively on the labor of their black slaves to maintain their economy. Sugar and cotton and tobacco are all grown by slave labor. Are you prepared to give them this proclamation?”

  “Ultimately, yes. But it would start here, Your Majesty. It would be an indication to the other colonies that this change would be coming.”

  “It seems like a rather radical—”

  “Dispensation, yes. But I, too, made a promise. I am disinclined to go back on my word.”

  There was a long silence. Boscawen remembered that pause for years to come, wondering what the young king might say, and whether his stridency had caused irredeemable offense.

  Finally, King Edward turned to face Boscawen. “Admiral, you have had strong words for me, and each of us has dealt with situations we could hardly imagine when we left our homes months ago. But we must work together if we want anything to survive.

  “We will undertake this dispensation you propose. And you will be my First Lord of the Admiralty. I could not find a more capable man to command the Royal Navy.”

  “It’s not much of a navy.”

  “It is what we have, sir. And it will be greater in the future. In the meanwhile, we have a proclamation to make.”

  Chapter 65

  Common cause

  New York City

  At the southernmost berth of the docks on the East River, HMS Neptune stood ready to set sail, just a few days after returning from Halifax. Four other vessels
rode at anchor out in Long Island Sound, waiting for a signal from the flagship. On the main deck, rows of regulars, in their best dress uniforms, stood at rigid attention.

  Admiral Sir Charles Saunders also stood at attention before his commander, Admiral Boscawen. Just behind him, his adjutant stood holding the dispatch bag that Boscawen had just presented to him.

  “I’m not giving you the easiest assignment, Charles. Truly, I don’t know if you can accomplish half of what I’m asking you to do.”

  “The appointment will help, My Lord.”

  “Admiral of the White? Yes, well. We need someone to hold that title. But you’re right; it grants you authority over people like Pinfold, and Admiral Coates will respect it. But having said that, I don’t know what you’ll encounter there. Jamaica might be the most disturbed, if the obeah-men have risen again.”

  “You mentioned that.”

  “My letters to the governors and commanders should explain everything. But you’ll be the man on the spot.”

  “And we’ll get these vessels away before the weather sets in.”

  “It’s been a very strange few months, Charles—we don’t know if the weather has abated down south.” Vessels on station in North America traditionally avoided heavy weather in the north and hurricane season in the south; but the comet’s fall could very well have upset those patterns.

  “We’ll know soon enough, My Lord. I’ll have word sent from Charles Town.”

  “If it’s not in revolt, or under attack by who knows what. Your first goal is to protect this squadron, for it’s the only squadron we have.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Then fair winds to you, Charles. Until we meet again.”

  “My Lord.” Saunders and his aide saluted, and then they turned and went up the gangplank and aboard Neptune.