Girty! Everyone waited for my reaction. Here was one of the most famed villains in America, an Indian fighter who had switched sides during the revolution and even bested Daniel Boone. Enemies claimed he delighted in the torture of white captives. He just looked like a feral old man to me, but then his war was a generation in the past. “What’s Girty doing here?” I blurted.
“I live here, Mr. Gage,” he replied for himself, “as do thousands of other loyalists forced from their rightful homes by an insane rebellion. I’m a refugee farmer.”
“Brant fought for the king as well, as you know,” Duff said. “He’s visiting to speak to Tecumseh. All of us think highly of the young chief.”
I couldn’t pretend to pleasantries since Girty’s infamy had reached across the Atlantic. “You turned on your own people like Benedict Arnold!”
He eyed me in turn like a piece of gristle spat out on a plate. “They turned on me. I mustered a company for the Continentals and they denied me a commission because I was raised captive by the Indians. Then they were going to betray the very tribes that helped them! But I don’t have to explain about switching sides to Ethan Gage, do I?”
I flushed. It was circumstance, not betrayal, that had left me bouncing between the British and French side in the Holy Land, but it was damn difficult to explain. This was Girty’s point, of course. “Mr. Duff,” I managed, “I recognize that I’m a guest on foreign soil here in Canada, and a guest in your house. You’ve the right to invite whoever you please. But I must say that if this trio were to cross the Detroit River there is every possibility they would be hanged, or worse. Simon Girty committed the worst kind of atrocities on American captives.”
“That’s a damned lie!” Girty said.
“My guests are well aware of their reputation in the United States, Ethan, which is why they are in Canada,” Duff said. “But Simon is right, the rumors are untrue. They’re simply brave soldiers who fought for another cause. Mr. Girty in fact tried to save captives from Indians, not torture them. He was, and is, a man of honor wronged by the foolishness of your own nation and then slandered by men embarrassed by their wrongs. We share dinner tonight as a fraternity of warriors.”
“Like Valhalla,” Magnus said. “Where the Viking hero goes to feast.”
“Exactly,” Duff said, glancing at my companion as if he might be daft. “I included you, Bloodhammer, because we’re curious about your purpose. Lord Somerset wishes to meet you, and Gage has a reputation as a man—usually—fair and broad-minded.”
His point was obvious and it would do no good to make a scene. I took a long swallow from my cup. “And where is Lord Somerset?”
“Here!”
And he did look the lord, descending stairs from the bedrooms above as if stepping to a coronation. Tall, fit, and impeccably dressed in green swallowtail coat and glistening black boots, he was a handsome man in his forties, with a crown of prematurely silvered hair, eyes focused at some point just above our heads, and sensually sculpted nose and lips like those marble generals in Napoleon’s hallway. He seemed born to command, and the only ones who matched him for presence were the two Indian chiefs. There was an actor’s precision to Somerset’s movements, a sheathed rapier swinging theatrically from one hip. Something in his poise, however, made me suspect that unlike many aristocrats, he actually knew how to use the weapon.
“An honor to make your acquaintance, Mr. Gage.” Somerset’s rank negated the need for him to hold out his hand. “My friend Sir Sidney Smith has spoken quite highly of you, despite your disappearance back into France. You are not just a warrior, but something of a wizard, I understand.” He spoke to the others. “Mr. Gage, by reputation at least, is an electrician!”
“What’s an electrician?” Girty said suspiciously.
“A Franklin man, interested in lightning, the fire of the gods,” Somerset replied grandly. “Explorer, savant, and counselor. I’m flattered, Mr. Duff, by the august company you’ve assembled. Any one of these men is a hero, but to put them together—well.”
Damn it, the man had a title, and even though I’m a solid Yankee democrat, I couldn’t help but preen. I’d caught the lightning!
“Nor should we neglect notice of Mr. Gage’s companion, the Norwegian adventurer Magnus Bloodhammer, scholar of history and legend. A descendant of noble blood himself, a lost prince so to speak. Am I correct, Mr. Bloodhammer?”
“You flatter me. I’m interested in my country’s past. And yes, I trace my ancestry to the old kings before my nation lost its independence.”
This was the first I’d heard of that. Magnus was royalty?
“Now you’re here in the American wilderness, very far from Norway and its illustrious past,” Somerset said. “Or are you? We may find we all have things in common, what?”
Tecumseh spoke again.
“He says the big Norwegian has medicine eyes,” Girty translated. “He sees the spirit world.”
“Really?” Somerset’s appraisal was intent as a jeweler’s. “You see ghosts, Magnus?”
“I keep an eye out.”
The company laughed again, except for Tecumseh.
Cups were refilled and we began to relax, even though I half-expected Girty, Brant, or Tecumseh to pull out a tomahawk at any moment and commence howling. The frontier wars during the American Revolution had been brutal and merciless, and memory of their cruelties would linger for generations. What intrigued me this night was that the two older and notorious warriors seemed almost deferential to the younger one, Tecumseh, whom I’d never heard of. And what was an English lord doing in this corner of Canada, opposite the desultory garrison of Detroit? I sidled over to Nicholas Fitch, the aide we’d met across the river. He seemed well into his cups and might say something useful.
“Mr. Fitch, you did not warn of such interesting company,” I gently chided.
“Joseph Brant has long buried the hatchet.”
“And the younger savage?”
“A war chief who fought you Americans for the Ohio country. Beat you twice, he did, before Fallen Timbers. Hasn’t given up, either. Has an idea to outdo Pontiac by uniting every tribe east of the Mississippi. He’s an Indian Napoleon, that one.”
“And you British support him in this scheme to set the frontier on fire?”
“We British are the only ones who can properly control Indians like Tecumseh, Mr. Gage,” said Lord Somerset, coming up to my elbow. Fitch retreated like a well-trained butler. “We can be your nation’s closest friend or deadliest enemy, depending on your willingness to set reasonable boundaries on expansion. There’s room for all of us on this vast continent—British, Indian, and American—if we keep to our own territories. Tecumseh may threaten war, but only with our help. He could also be the key to a remarkable peace—if your new president can rein your immigrants in.”
“But not room for the French?” The British, after all, had driven the French out of Canada some thirty-eight years before.
“Ah. There are rumors that France is retaking possession of Louisiana. And now you come, fresh from Napoleon’s court, reportedly headed that way. A remarkable coincidence, no?”
“I’m beginning to understand why I was invited to this gathering, Lord Somerset. You’re as curious about my mission as I am about an English aristocrat in the wilderness.”
“My role is no secret. I have investments and am on my way to Grand Portage to discuss a future alliance with our primary competitors, the Hudson’s Bay Company. Again, cooperation might suit better than competition. And I hear you were once in the employ of John Astor’s fur company?”
“As a young laborer, nothing more.”
“And that he called on you in New York?”
“Good God, are you spying on me?”
“No need to. This is a vast continent geographically, but a small one when it comes to rumor and dispatch, especially for those of us in the fur trade. Fact travels with each dip of the paddle, and rumor seems to fly even faster. Ethan Gage, from Syria to the
Great Lakes? How curious. And rumor has it your departure from New York was in haste after a rather spectacular explosion. Not that I credit such tales.”
He knew entirely too much. “I like to see new things.”
He smiled. “And you will.” He turned toward the staircase and the crowd’s conversation faltered once more. “My cousin, for example.”
Chapter 19
AND SO AURORA SOMERSET MADE HER ENTRY. LIKE CECIL, SHE descended from the upper floor, but while he had stepped down regally, she seemed to float in her floor-length gown, as if riding a cloud down the flaming rainbow bridge Bifrost in Bloodhammer’s Asgard. Her presence as a white woman was reason enough for the company’s appreciation, but it was her beauty that took us all aback, even the stolid Indians. She was an exquisite portrait come to life, a sculptor’s ideal given animation. A cascading torrent of auburn ringlets framed an aristocratic face of high cheekbones and fine chin, her eyes emerald, her nose upturned, her smile a dazzling display of perfect teeth and pouty, rouged lips so sensual as to make a man think of a woman’s little purse below. There was a beauty mark on one cheek that called out to be kissed, and whether real or pasted it hardly mattered, did it? A newly fashionable high-waisted dress called attention to the glory of her bosom, an inch of cleavage revealed and the silk wonderfully betraying the bump of her covered nipples. The shimmering pink fabric clung to a classical form, hips swaying as she descended, and the slippers that peeked out at bottom were embroidered with tiny seed pearls. Her crown was a small turban sporting what looked like an ostrich plume, and at her throat was a silver choker with a large emerald to complement her eyes. The very candles seemed to bow to her passage, and her gaze danced across the crowd of men before settling on Lord Somerset and, I was certain, me.
I grinned. I was in love, or at least besotted with lust, the two easily confused in us men. It’s shameful to be so shallow, but by Casanova’s court, she stirred the juices: the most impressive piece of architecture I’d seen since leaving Mortefontaine and the best painted, too, her lips cherry and cheeks peach. Aurora was as transfixing as a cobra, as frightening as temptation, and as irresistible as Eve’s apple.
“That one’s more trouble than Pauline Bonaparte,” Magnus whispered. He could be as annoyingly corrective as a parson at a wine press.
“But not necessarily more trouble than she’s worth.”
“Cecil,” she trilled, “you did not tell me our company would be so handsome!” She beamed at all of us, and more than one grizzled, wilderness-hardened Scot fur monger blinked and blushed. She eyed Tecumseh as well and licked a lip, but the young chief was alone in regarding her as nothing more than pretty furniture. For just an instant she betrayed annoyed uncertainty, and then her gaze swept on.
I, in contrast, bowed like a courtier. “Lady Somerset. The advertisement of your beauty does not do you justice.”
“It’s so wonderful to have an excuse to dress up. And you must be the remarkable Ethan Gage.” She held out a slim white hand to be brushed with my lips. “Cecil told me you know all kinds of secrets, of electricity and ancient powers.”
“Which I reveal only to my confidants.” I grinned and Magnus rolled his eyes.
“That sets me a goal, doesn’t it?” She spread a fan and veiled herself a moment behind it. “I so want to hear of your adventures. I do hope we can be friends.”
“Your cousin has been suggesting much the same thing. But a man with the reputation of Mr. Simon Girty is going to give any American pause, I’m afraid. I don’t want to be perceived as a traitor in the company I keep, Lady Somerset.”
“Call me Aurora, please. And friendship does not betray anyone, does it?”
“Some have accused me of having too many friends and too few convictions.”
“And I think some cling to conviction because they have no friends.” She fluttered her fan.
“Ethan was just telling us what he’s doing in the northwest,” Cecil Somerset prompted.
“I enjoy travel,” I said.
“With giant Norwegians,” he amended.
“Another friend, again. I am oddly popular.”
Magnus put his hands on my shoulder. “We both are students of Freemasonry. Did you know, Lord Somerset, that many of the American generals your armies fought in the revolution were Masons? Is it possible you are one yourself?”
“I hardly think so.” He sniffed. “Rather odd group, I think. There was some scandalous offshoot in London…” He turned to his cousin. “Egyptian Rite?”
“It is reported the secret Egyptian Rite admitted women and that their ceremonies were quite erotic,” Aurora said. “Occult and succulently scandalous.”
“For a secret you seem to know a lot about it,” Magnus said.
“Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead,” I put in. “Ben Franklin said that.”
Aurora laughed. “How true! And Norwegians don’t gossip, Mr. Bloodhammer? What do they do up there all winter?” Magnus turned even redder than his normal apple hue.
I knew that my dispatched enemy Silano had been a member of that Egyptian Rite, and it was interesting that this English pair knew of that organization. But then the cult had been salon talk in London and Paris, and it was Magnus who had brought up Freemasonry. Despite my misgivings about Girty, I enjoyed the poised presence of this pair. Their elegant style reminded me of Europe. “You have sauce to travel into the wild, Aurora.”
“Au contraire, Mr. Gage, I have trunks and trunks of clothes. Cecil complains of it all the time, don’t you, cousin?”
“I don’t know if I’m moving a woman or a caravan.”
“For any proper lady it’s necessity. Our comforts introduce civilization. This is why you should come with us, Mr. Gage. The scenery is the same no matter how you go, so why not enjoy it with a proper brandy? Have you tried the American corn whiskey?” She shuddered. “Might as well drink turpentine.”
“Come with you?” Sharing a boat with the British was contrary to the intentions of my American and French sponsors, but whiling away the journey with Aurora Somerset was tempting. I could learn what the English are up to.
“We’re traveling to Grand Portage for the summer rendezvous. Surely that is in the direction you and your Norwegian companion are traveling anyway?”
“We were planning to take American transport,” Magnus said.
“Which apparently doesn’t exist,” I quickly added. “Our reception at Fort Detroit has been less than reassuring.”
“I’m not surprised,” Somerset said. “Frightful discipline, what? I do hope your young nation can hold onto the northwest.” I recognized from his condescension that he hoped just the opposite, but that was not my concern.
“Can you explain the summer rendezvous?”
“Each spring,” Cecil said, “the posts in the Canadian interior package the furs they’ve acquired during the winter from trade and trapping and canoe them south and east to the fort at Grand Portage. Meanwhile, the North West Company sends freight canoes full of fresh trade goods for the Indians west from Montreal. The two groups rendezvous at the fort, frolic in the grandest party ever, exchange the furs for the trade goods, and reverse their paths before the ice returns. The Montreal party takes the furs back for global distribution, and the voyageurs take the trade goods to the interior posts. We plan to meet the freight canoes at Michilimackinac, near the head of Lake Huron. It’s the safest, quickest, easiest way to go west.”
Once again, my charm had solved all our problems! Instead of a military escort and the rigors of camping, I’d head northwest in luxury. “But what of your other guests?” While Aurora would be a delightful companion, Girty made me fear for my scalp.
“They’re simply here for the evening, Mr. Gage,” Cecil assured. “Mr. Girty is a near neighbor of Mr. Duff, and unlike the Americans we try to cultivate friendship and alliance with the Indians. I frankly was surprised at your reaction: the War of Rebellion is old, old, history, and Girty and Brant are old, old wa
rriors. Let the past rest. It’s future peace that you and I need to work to guarantee. The continent divided, as I said, each group with its sphere of influence. What could be more harmonious than that?”
Magnus put a hand on my arm. “Ethan, we’re on a mission for Jefferson and the French.” He looked at Aurora with suspicion.
I shook him off. “Part of which is to maintain peace with the English.”
Cecil beamed. “Exactly.”
“I don’t entirely believe in missions,” I went on. “People who are absolutely certain of things seem to do most of the shooting, in my experience, because they collide with people equally certain about the opposite thing. Yet how can we be certain of anything?”
“You are a philosopher, sir, and one after my own heart. If people simply lived for themselves, and tolerated others, like my cousin and I, then friendship would be universal.”
I looked at Aurora. “Given my experiences with both sides in the Orient, I can think of no one better than myself to bridge the unfortunate gap between France, England, and America. With the close cooperation of the Somersets, of course.”
“Mr. Gage, I want to work in intimate partnership,” Aurora said.
“Please, call me Ethan.”
“Ethan…” Magnus nagged. “People who agree with everything end up being used by everyone.”
“Or helped.” I was more than happy to be used by Aurora Somerset. Let Magnus be a Templar; I was ready to enjoy life. “Here we are all headed in the same direction and after much the same goal. We’ll accompany you to Grand Portage, Lord Somerset, and then go our separate ways.” I smiled at his cousin. “I want to watch you spread civilization.”
“And I want to put you in the middle of things when I do.”
Chapter 20
I SENT COLONEL STONE A NOTE ANNOUNCING WE WOULD accompany the Somersets on my mission for Jefferson, just in case someone back in Washington wondered what the devil had become of us. I didn’t go to the officer in person because I didn’t want to risk him offering alternative transportation, costing me the chance to escort the lovely and enticingly risky Aurora. I persuaded the dubious Magnus that this was the fastest way to get to the supposed hiding place of Thor’s hammer, and that it never hurt to have countries like Britain on your side if you were trying to liberate your country from the Danes. “This way, no matter who prevails in the struggle between England and France, you’ll be allied with the winner!”
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