Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon

by The Lure of the Falcon (v1. 0) (lit)

  Gilles and Tim were left looking at one another. The Indian boy stood between them, still in his bonds.

  'Well!' the young Breton sighed. 'If that is all he has to say to my capture! When I think that he wanted to make me let the little beast go!'

  'Oh, it's quite natural. All Indians are alike to him. He's one of those who think they know what they're doing and then ask an Algonquin and an Iroquois to dine together. And then they're surprised when, after they've finished up the maple syrup cookies for dessert, one of his guests goes off coolly with the other's scalp! But you're right. There's something mighty interesting about this little fellow.'

  And with hardly any transition, Tim passed into swift speech, with broad accompanying gestures, directed at the young Indian, who seemed at first to pay not the smallest heed to him.

  The boy's lips were tight shut to begin with and his face held nothing but unconcealed contempt. But as Tim spoke, he relaxed a little and finally uttered a number of sounds which, since they were not inarticulate cries, must logically have been words.

  'What is he saying?' Gilles asked.

  'Well, he's not really saying anything much, except that he is a warrior and we can put him to the torture but it will do us no good, because he'll only smile to show his contempt for us, even if we cut him in little pieces.'

  'Put him to the torture? This lad? What does he take us for?'

  Tim shrugged and nodded gravely.

  'For worthy enemies. And don't go thinking that all this talk of torture is so much moonshine. If I know the Senecas, this lad, as you call him, has reached the age of puberty and is undergoing the ritual ordeals which will make a warrior of him. This visit to our camp is probably one of his tests.'

  'And what does that mean?'

  'That his brother may not have quit his camping grounds necessarily, but that he has journeyed a long way to find some adventure great enough to earn him the rank of chief in later life. An adventure which, in the meanwhile, can be told around the camp fires.'

  'But what did he hope to gain by coming here? Was he going to make war on us singlehanded?'

  Tim seemed to find nothing particularly startling in the idea.

  'He belongs to a tribe of the Iroquois and the Iroquois are capable of anything. But it's simpler than that. The boy has merely come to collect a batch of scalps for himself. The more he takes home, the more highly he'll be thought of.'

  'We might have something to say about that,' Gilles muttered, finding the thought singularly unattractive. 'In the meanwhile, none of this tells us what we are to do with him – or rather, what you are to do with him, because I am wanted elsewhere.'

  This was true, for one of the men on guard at the door was calling his name. The General evidently required his secretary. Tim laughed.

  'I'll do with him what he would do with us in our place,' he said cheerfully. 'Hand him over to the squaws! I'd like to see how this warrior stands up to Martha's doughnuts and jam.'

  Martha Carpenter was the woodsman's sweetheart and indeed the two seemed made for one another. She was a strapping, fresh-faced girl with a creampot fairness who ran the substantial chandler's shop bequeathed to her by her father, with energy and competence.

  With a wink at his friend, Tim hoisted the Indian boy, still parcelled up for ease of transport, on to his broad shoulder, scooped up the geese which Noailles had abandoned and headed for the corner of Long Wharf Street where his beloved reigned over a world of ropes, anchors, fishing nets, navigational instruments and implements of every kind, to say nothing of pipes, barrels of tobacco, rum, gunpowder and everything else that could be required to fit out a vessel and make life tolerable for the crew that sailed her.

  Gilles let him go with a sigh and turned to enter the Wanton house. He felt suddenly that he would much rather be listening to Martha Carpenter's deep laugh than to the high-pitched voice of the Marquis de La Fayette who was so little like the man of his dreams. Gilles had painted him like all his favourite heroes, and now he was discovering that La Fayette was really only one officer among many, not so handsome as Lauzun or so agreeable as Noailles, and a good deal less interesting than Rochambeau. But still the thing he disliked most about him was his voice.

  This was in fact the only thing to be heard as Gilles entered the house, for it seemed to fill the whole building, reaching an almost unbearable degree of shrillness. It conveyed an impression of impatience barely tempered by respect and, with the best will in the world, it was impossible not to hear what it was saying.

  'The position of the American forces is this: they are divided into three main corps. One, under General Gates, is operating in South Carolina and is suffering severely. The second is under the command of General Benedict Arnold, the victor of Saratoga, who holds the fortress of West Point and so guards the approach to the Hudson Valley. The third and largest, for it numbers some six thousand men and an equal number of passable militia, is the one commanded by General Washington. He is holding the Jerseys and considering attempting to take New York. I think, sirs, that your duty is obvious. You must make for that city without delay and—'

  The grave voice of the commander-in-chief managed to make itself heard.

  'My whole duty, my dear Marquis, is to obey such orders as I receive from General Washington. Do you bring me such orders?'

  'Of course not. I have no direct orders. General Washington has desired me to make contact with you, to discover the precise strength you bring us and to assure myself—'

  'Well, one thing I imagine you have been able to assure yourself of is that the English fleet has us bottled up inside the bay. To attack it would be madness, for our fire power is greatly inferior. What is more, our protracted voyage has left us with a great many sick whom we cannot abandon before they are recovered. Consequently, I think the first thing to be done is to repair the defences of Rhode Island for, if not, the English will take it again as soon as our backs are turned and it will be all to do again.'

  'Yes, but—'

  Thinking that he had heard enough and that it would not do to be caught virtually listening at keyholes, Gilles knocked gently and walked into the room. Inside, a limited council of war was going on. He saw La Fayette confronting the cool, stolid Rochambeau like a fighting cockerel, the Chevalier de Ternay seated in an armchair, tapping the toe of his shoe with his cane, La Fayette's aide-de-camp, Major de Gimat, effacing himself over by a window and finally Lauzun, arms folded and eyes bright as buttons, moving eagerly back and forth between the two opponents, obviously dying to bring matters to a head.

  At the young man's entrance, he frowned and when Gilles bowed politely and made his way to his usual table he protested impatiently:

  'Gentleman, we are discussing matters of the highest importance, and no business of junior officers. Surely we can dispense with this young man's presence? Our plans are not for the ears of all and sundry.'

  Gilles flushed angrily and his hand went instinctively to his sword. The young duke's animosity had not abated during the long sea voyage and, since their arrival, Lauzun had lost no opportunity of making the young secretary aware of his open contempt and hostility. Nor had Fersen's friendship for him helped matters. The two men had brought an unspoken rivalry with them from Versailles, a rivalry whose mainspring was none other than the Queen of France.

  But Lauzun's intervention cut no ice with Rochambeau. He glared at the young duke frostily.

  'What is biting you, sir, may I ask? Do you presume to teach me when I may or may not make use of my secretary? I wish to dictate a letter to General Washington and, unless you would condescend to take up a pen yourself—?'

  The Chevalier de Ternay uttered a short bark of laughter, expressive of his annoyance.

  'Monsieur de Lauzun's understanding of military matters is admirable, of the written word, less so. Moreover, he is a little too inclined to take it upon himself to order things as he wishes. Come here, my boy, and be ready to write. We need you.'

  The young duke
was far from pleased at this sharp rebuke from the Admiral. His lips tightened and he asked, in an icy voice, for permission to withdraw. Then, with a stiff bow, he left the room. Rochambeau looked after him.

  'He's a soldier through and through,' he remarked. 'It's a pity he has no idea of discipline, can't keep his mouth shut and thinks that he is still living in the middle ages.'

  'He is Biron and Lauzun at once, and that explains it,' the Admiral retorted with a shrug. 'Men like him have rebellion in their blood. Rebellion – and tactlessness. Because, you must admit, he did you a service by providing you with an opportunity to bite his head off. You were none too pleased at having him present at this first, vitally important meeting?'

  Rochambeau laughed.

  'Nor you, my friend, to judge by the way you kindly came to my assistance? Confess it, you don't like him?'

  'Monsieur de Lauzun holds me in dislike and contempt, and he takes me for a coward, without understanding in the least the reasons for my actions. I have no cause to love him. But to return to you, Monsieur de La Fayette. You must be finding our family squabbles very tedious.'

  Washington's envoy, who had been observing this scene with some surprise and also a certain enjoyment, for he was no fonder of Lauzun than the two other men, smiled for the first time.

  'I learned a great deal on those few occasions when I had the honour of being admitted to Her Majesty's circle of court,' he said, failing to keep a hint of wistfulness from his voice. 'Notably that Monsieur de Lauzun is over fond of giving orders, regardless of the place or of the persons present. Now, gentlemen, will you tell me what it is you wish me to report to General Washington? Are you ready to march on New York?'

  'No, a thousand times no! Not now, and not until I have the General's explicit order to do so. By God, sir, I'll not conceal from you I'm disappointed. I expected Washington himself and he sends you, without a word in writing and without even an escort.'

  'He is with his army, outside New York. He is in no case to be paying social calls.'

  Rochambeau's temper seemed to hang by a thread. His fist crashed down on the table at which Gilles sat, assiduously cutting himself a pen while not losing a single word of what was going on.

  'One would say, Marquis, that we do not speak the same language. You have certainly become much more an American than a Frenchman. I came here with everything your General needs, and I mean everything! My instructions were to position myself on this island. I had a right to think that someone would be here to meet me. But not only was I met with blank faces on all sides, I have waited a whole fortnight before anyone has come to me. Now you come, but you come alone and, if I may say so, you seem to me to represent no one but yourself. Have you brought me any orders, yes or no?'

  'I am a Major-General in the United States Army,' La Fayette squeaked, his voice rising two octaves. 'General Washington has complete confidence in me and I speak for him—'

  'Then show me some properly written orders! Have you any?'

  'N-no, but—'

  'There are no buts in war, sir. Not only will I not budge from this spot without written orders, for I regard this territory as entrusted to my care, but furthermore I require Washington to send me, at his earliest convenience, a sufficient and wholly trustworthy force!'

  At this, La Fayette nearly choked.

  'Men? Are you then so fearful of your ability to hold Newport? Have you indeed come to aid the Rebels, General, or is it the other way about?'

  Rochambeau's fist came down for the second time.

  'Monsieur de La Fayette, I repeat that I need a force of armed men, American and reliable. And your general must know why. If he has not told you, then that is one more reason why I should consider you as acting now upon your own initiative – and not as his representative. Now, let us make an end. I think that after all this you must be dying of hunger, and Monsieur de Gimat also,' he added with a sudden smile, turning to the aide-de-camp who, ever since Lauzun's departure, had been rigidly propping up the doorpost, apparently deaf to what was going on. 'Here is the Chevalier de Ternay only waiting to take you on board his flagship, where a luncheon is waiting for you. As for myself, you will excuse me, I know, but I have a number of important letters to dictate—'

  The Admiral rose to his feet at last and limped across to where La Fayette stood obviously on the verge of an explosion. With an aplomb no one would have believed the old sea dog capable of, he slipped an arm through his and led him out. But Gilles caught the knowing look which he exchanged with Rochambeau behind the back of Washington's emissary. Was it, after all, some kind of comedy that was being played out before his eyes? Gilles had the sudden feeling that someone here was being made a fool of, and that it might well be the Major-General of the United States Army.

  Alone with his secretary, Rochambeau crossed over to a small table on which stood a carafe and some glasses and poured himself a long drink of water which he swallowed with evident satisfaction. Then, with what sounded like a sigh of relief, he came back and sat down in the chair the Chevalier de Ternay had just vacated.

  'Go and tell the sentry that I am on no account to be disturbed by anyone. Then, when you come back, lock the door, Gilles. I want to talk to you.'

  The young man flushed with pride. It was the first time the General had called him by his Christian name and there was an unaccustomed intimacy in his tone. It made Gilles all the more prompt in carrying out the order.

  'Good. Now close the shutters. It gets hotter and hotter.'

  The bright sunshine flooding the room gave way to twilight and Gilles returned to his seat at the writing table and took up a pen, ready to dip it in the ink as soon as the General began, as he expected, to dictate. But Rochambeau shook his head.

  'Put that down. I said I wanted to speak to you. Tell me, my boy, have you heard any news of your friend Tim Thocker recently? Is he planning to return to Newport?'

  'He has returned, General. He is probably waiting for me at Miss Carpenter's at this very moment, with a young Indian boy I captured.'

  'An Indian? What is this?'

  'I wanted to mention it to you, General, only Monsieur de La Fayette gave me to understand that you had more important matters to deal with than an Indian boy.'

  'Monsieur de La Fayette will soon be thinking himself the President of Congress, it appears! Tell me about it.'

  Gilles gave a swift account of his morning's adventure, his meeting with La Fayette, Tim's arrival and all that had followed. While he talked, the furrows in Rochambeau's brow seemed to relax.

  'Excellent!' he exclaimed when Gilles had finished. 'This is just the excuse I was looking for. All I have to know now is whether I can count on you, on your loyalty.'

  The flush faded from Gilles' face, leaving it very white.

  'You insult me that you need to ask it, General. My life is yours. I give it to you gladly,' he said simply.

  'I have never doubted it and I am going to give you proof of that. In a little while, you shall go and bring your friend Tim and this Indian boy to me. But first, listen carefully because I have an important mission for you.'

  'For me?'

  'Yes, and one that could be the foundation of your career. You will be better able to judge that when I tell you that it concerns a state secret, one vitally important to the conduct of this war. A secret which, until now, I have shared only with the Admiral… Listen, now. For almost a year now, Washington's greatest need has been for money. If you had been at Versailles and in Paris last winter, you would have learned, like everyone else with a concern for the Rebels, of the disastrous condition in which their army passed that winter. Their troops ill-clad, without shoes, without food and almost without weapons! This Congress of theirs signed an admirable Declaration of Independence but its members, some of whom actually support the English because they don't wish to give up any of their creature comforts, its members screech like stuck pigs if anyone asks them for money. They want to be free, but they don't want it to cost them a penn
y piece, and I cannot say how much I admire this Washington and his wretched army for holding out in such conditions.'

  'Yet,' Gilles objected, 'the country seems rich.'

  'So it is, and will be richer yet but, as I said, its merchants care more for their moneybags than their freedom. In their eyes the paper dollar is worth nothing beside English gold. They won't take it. So it's solid coin that Washington needs above all. And in the Duc de Bourgogne's holds are three million pounds in gold. That is the secret I am entrusting you with. No one else but Monsieur de Ternay knows of it.'

  'Except the King, I suppose, and his ministers—'

  'The King knows nothing – officially. Monsieur de Vergennes, the minister for foreign affairs, knows but he would rather cut his tongue out than admit it. This gold has been amassed by a shipowner and financier, Leray de Chaumont, a fabulously wealthy man in whose house Benjamin Franklin has been staying since he came to France.'

  Gilles shivered. He had heard that name before in circumstances too unpleasant for him to forget them. He had a lightning vision of Yann Maodan's tavern and the Nantais' pointed head, his little gleaming eyes and flaring nostrils. He heard his husky voice murmuring about a great gentleman who was fitting out a fabulous fleet to sail to America, the mirage that had caught Jean-Pierre Quérelle: 'His name is Monsieur Donatien Leray de Chaumont…' He had found out later on, of course, that the financier had nothing to do with the evil traffic to which his friend had fallen a victim, yet even to hear the name again evoked unpleasant memories.

  Meanwhile, Rochambeau was continuing: 'Before we sailed, a messenger was sent to Washington by a swift cutter, but I fear that he can never have arrived, or we should certainly have found a proper reception committee, or at the least Monsieur de La Fayette would have brought a suitable escort for so large a sum of money.'

  'But – how could so much gold be brought aboard without anyone suspecting?'

  'It was loaded at night, while the ship was lying alongside the Penfeld. It was brought by trusty men of Monsieur de Chaumont's, concealed in bales of fodder for the horses.'