He waited. Bell thought about protesting that the southrons surely could not have more than four times as many men as he did. He might even have been right to claim that. But what difference would it make? Four times as many men or five, Doubting George had far too many soldiers for the Army of Franklin to hope to withstand.
When Bell kept silent, Peegeetee nodded to himself. As calmly and dispassionately as if talking about the weather, he remarked, “King Geoffrey is most unhappy-most vocally unhappy, you understand-about the manner in which this campaign was conducted.”
Again, a hot retort came to the tip of Lieutenant General Bell’s tongue-came there and went no further. He was unhappy about a whole great raft of things Geoffrey had done, too. Once more, though, what difference did it make? Geoffrey was the king. Bell wasn’t. All he said was, “By the gods, General, we tried as hard as mortal men could.”
“Have I tried to deny it?” Peegeetee replied. “No one denies your valor, Lieutenant General, or the valor of the men you lead-those of them who survive. Unfortunately, no one doubts your lack of success, either.” He steepled his fingertips and looked past Bell’s right shoulder. “This now leaves you with a certain choice.”
“A choice?” Bell echoed, frowning in incomprehension. “What kind of choice?”
Marquis Peegeetee still didn’t seem to want to meet his eyes. “You may pay a call on the headsman, or you may fall on your own sword. This, I fear me, is the only choice remaining to you at the moment. A pity, no doubt, but such is life.”
For a moment, Bell thought he meant the words literally. Figurative language had always been a closed book to the man who led the Army of Franklin. Here, though, he found the key. “You mean his Majesty will sack me if I don’t lay down my command?”
“But of course,” Peegeetee told him. “As I say, I regret this, but I can do nothing about it save convey the choice to you.”
Bell thought about making Geoffrey dismiss him. That would show the world he thought he’d done nothing wrong. But what counted except results? Nothing. And what had come from this campaign? Also nothing, worse luck. Shrugging-the motion sent a wave of agony through his ruined left shoulder, making him long for laudanum-he said, “You may convey to his Majesty my resignation, and my readiness to serve him in any capacity in which he believes I may be of use.”
Peegeetee bowed in the saddle. “Your sentiments do you credit.”
“I want no credit, your Grace. What I wanted was to beat our enemies. Since that was denied me…” Bell shrugged again, not so much careless of the pain as embracing it. Once it had washed over him, he asked, “And who will succeed me in command of this army?”
To his surprise, Marquis Peegeetee looked past him again. “I am afraid, Lieutenant General, that that is not such an easy question to answer.”
“Why not?” Bell demanded. “Someone has to, surely.”
“Well… no. Not necessarily,” Peegeetee replied. “King Geoffrey plans to send part of your army to Count Joseph the Gamecock, who is gathering forces in Palmetto Province to try to hold off the southrons. Veldt, you know, fell to General Hesmucet a couple of weeks ago. His Majesty fears Hesmucet will turn south, aiming to join Marshal Bart in an assault against Nonesuch. The rest of your force here…” He shrugged, too, a dapper little shrug. “… will be able to carry on without the formal name of the Army of Franklin.”
Rage ripped through Lieutenant General Bell. “What?” he growled. “You’d gut my army to feed soldiers to that useless son of a bitch of a Joseph?”
With icy courtesy, Peegeetee replied, “It seems to me, Lieutenant General, that you are the one who has gutted your army.”
Bell ignored him. “Gods damn it, if I’d known Geoffrey was going to do that, I never would have resigned. As a matter of fact, I withdraw my resignation!”
“I am going to pretend I did not hear that,” the marquis said. “Believe me when I say you are lucky I am going to pretend I did not hear it. I told you his Majesty was disappointed in the Army of Franklin’s performance. I did not tell you how disappointed, and how… how wrathful, he was. If you fail to resign, he will sack you, Lieutenant General. And he will do worse than that. ‘Lieutenant General Bell, give me back my army!’ he cried when word of your sad, piteous overthrow before Ramblerton reached him. If he sacks you, you will go before a court-martial, one with membership of his choosing. Perhaps you will only see the inside of a prison. Perhaps, on the other hand, you will see a cross.”
“A… cross?” Bell said hoarsely. “He would do that to me, for fighting a campaign the best way I knew how? By the Thunderer’s strong right hand, where is the justice in this world?”
“A cross not for the fight, I would say.” General Peegeetee judiciously pursed his lips as he paused to find just the right words. “A cross for throwing away Geoffrey’s last hope east of the mountains-his last hope, really, of ruling a kingdom that amounts to anything.”
A tiny flicker of disdain, gone from his face almost-but not quite-before Bell was sure he saw it, said Peegeetee shared King Geoffrey’s opinion of Bell and of what he had-and hadn’t-done. That scorn hurt him worse than either his missing leg or his ruined arm. “Excuse me,” he said thickly, and fumbled for his little bottle of laudanum. He gulped, careless of the dose. Poppies and fire chased each other down his throat.
“I regret the necessity of bringing you such unfortunate news when your wounds trouble you so,” Peegeetee murmured.
Bell doubted he regretted it. If he had to guess, he would have said Peegeetee derived a sneaking pleasure from his pain. And, for once, the wounds weren’t what troubled the general commanding-no, the general formerly commanding-the Army of Franklin. Could laudanum also dull torment of the spirit? If it couldn’t, nothing could. That possibility sent a cold wind of terror howling through Bell’s soul.
“Have you now reconsidered your reconsideration?” the marquis inquired.
“I have,” Bell replied in a voice heavy as lead. “But, your Grace, no matter what you say, I aim to go to Nonesuch to put my case before his Majesty.”
“I would not dream of standing in your way,” Peegeetee said. “I do offer two bits of advice, however, for whatever you may think they are worth. First, do not get your hopes up. King Geoffrey has always been touchy, and he is all the touchier now that the war is going… less well than he would have liked.”
“And whose fault is that?” Bell said, meaning it was Geoffrey’s.
But General Peegeetee answered, “In his opinion, yours. I also note that Nonesuch is not the place you think it to be.”
“I am familiar with Nonesuch,” Bell said. “It is less than a year and a half ago that I last passed through it. Surely it cannot have changed much in so short a time.”
“It can. It has,” General Peegeetee told him. “With Marshal Bart’s army clinging to the siege of Pierreville as a bulldog clings to a thief’s leg, the shadow of the gibbet and the cross falls ever darker on the city. It is not without its gaiety even yet, but that gaiety has a desperate edge.”
“I care nothing for gaiety,” Bell snapped. “I care only for victory, and for vindication.”
“Both of which, I fear, are in moderately short supply in Nonesuch these days.” Peegeetee shrugged. “This is not my concern, however. I, like you, wish it were otherwise. And please believe me when I tell you I wish you good fortune in your quest. As I say, though, do please also be realistic in your expectations.”
Bell had never been realistic, either in the field or in his maneuverings with and against other officers serving King Geoffrey. His headlong fighting style had made him a hero. It had also left him a twice-mutilated man. He had risen to command the Army of Franklin-and, in commanding it, had destroyed it. When he told Marquis Peegeetee, “I shall, of course, take your advice, most seriously,” he meant, I shall, of course, pay no attention whatsoever to you.