"Would you be caring to make sense, Mr. Beecher?"
Beecher clasped his hands behind his back. "The Tharyngians have rejected our God. They are our enemies. The Shedashee have not embraced our God. It is the same in His eyes."
"Well now, Mr. Beecher, being as how I am a notorious fornicator and hain't never stepped into a church where you was able to see me, ain't I just as bad as any Ryngian?"
"You, I have been told, were baptized. Your foot has been set on the road to redemption. Those men in our company who have not been baptized will be baptized tomorrow morning, right here, in the river. I should like the Shedashee to join them."
"Iffen they don't, they's enemies?"
Beecher looked skyward. "It's God's judgment, not mine."
Nathaniel could see where Beecher was headed, and it wasn't good. "Well, I don't reckon you need to be crying your eyes out over all this. The Altashee live in the village of Saint Luke."
The minister blinked. "They do?"
"I ain't lying. Their Chief Msitazi declared it so after welcoming missionaries. Your fears is just silly."
"I didn't know." Beecher frowned. "Why didn't you just tell me this?"
"Why did you go and call me a fornicator?" Nathaniel looked at him hard. "Some folks don't take kindly to be being judged."
The man glanced down. "I see. I beg your pardon, Captain Woods."
"Forgiven and forgotten. But now don't go a-mentioning baptism to the Twilight People. They's strong in their faith, but silent about it. Probably over there in a prayer circle now."
Beecher turned and looked over across the river. "God bless them."
"I reckon he has." Nathaniel nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I'm thinking I could use some saving, and I'll be over there getting it. Sir."
Forest held his hand up. "Wait, Captain. That's all, Mr. Beecher."
The preacher withdrew.
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Major?"
"There might be a problem when Beecher finds out you've lied."
"From who? The Shedashee?" Nathaniel shook his head. "I reckon they've had more experience dealing with men of the cloth trying to save them than all the rest of us combined. I don't expect they'll have a problem. And if Beecher does, well, I hear tell the Good Lord done spent forty days and forty nights wandering the wilderness. Mr. Beecher might find hisself doing the same thing, doing everyone some right powerful good."
Chapter Fifty-Four
May 31, 1764
Government house, Temperance
Temperance Bay, Mystria
"Y ou're up very early, my lord." Prince Vlad greeted Count von Metternin happily. "Did you get any sleep?"
"Almost none." The Count bowed his head. He wore his complete uniform, including spurs and a cavalry saber. The boots had been polished until they glowed, the same with the gold buttons and the sword's silver scabbard. He wore white leather gloves, white breeches, and a waistcoat that matched the gold facings on his light blue coat. He'd even added his sash with medals. "And, yes, I know I look as ridiculous as you do."
The Prince laughed. "Well, you see, these are the clothes I wore on the jeopard expedition. A gift from Msitazi." The buckskin shirt, with fringed sleeves, had been decorated with a beadwork wurm curled over his heart. The red loincloth had a similar design woven in black, and the leather leggings repeated the design at the shin. "They were auspicious on the hunt."
"One can never have too much luck at war." Von Metternin nodded. "I am sorry to come to you so early…"
"No matter, I am awaiting Duke Deathridge."
"Very good. There is a disciplinary matter which I feel must be referred to you. An individual was caught leaving…"
"A deserter?" Vlad shook his head. "I should have thought…"
"Please, Highness." The Count walked back to the door and ushered in a slender young man in homespun with a slouch-brimmed hat. The youth looked at his feet, the brim hiding his face. The Count nodded and exited, closing the door behind himself.
Vlad approached the deserter. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
The deserter shook his head. Tears dappled the floor.
The Prince sighed. "There is no shame in being afraid, you know. I will admit to being afraid myself, but we have duty to do, and we will do it."
The deserter looked up and Vlad caught the flash of familiar eyes. He reached out and tugged off the hat. "Gisella!"
She nodded, her lips pressed flat together. She'd raggedly chopped off her hair and had smudged her face with soot. Tears had worn tracks through it.
Vlad cast the hat aside and gathered her into his arms. "You weren't deserting-you were coming with us?"
She nodded, sniffing.
He stroked her hair and cupped the back of her neck. "What were you thinking?"
"I do not want to lose you."
Vlad laughed. "You have no fear of that, my darling." He kissed the crown of her head, and hugged her more tightly. "I am no military man. I have no place in battle."
"But you will bring your wurm on the expedition."
"Only because I must." His hands on her shoulders, he eased her back. "Most of our men have never been to war. Having the wurm come along will give them heart. More importantly, Mugwump is stronger than any five teams of oxen. He will be invaluable getting us there."
"You must promise me: no heroics."
He studied her face, her resolution, then slowly shook his head. "I cannot make that promise."
"You must, or with God as my witness, I shall join your army. Joachim caught me because he suspected, but he will not find me again. If I do not march today, I go tomorrow, or the next day. I will ship with your supplies to this Hattersburg. Your army will have a long tail. I will travel unseen."
There was no denying the validity of her claim. Forty Norillian women- wives of officers and enlisted men-had sailed with their husbands. Another twenty Mystrian had fallen in with them, all intent on following their men to war. Almost twice as many women, a few with children in tow, had joined the Mystrian militia units. In addition to them would come tinkers and other tradesmen, tailors, seamstresses, and laundresses to tend to the soldiers needs. Teamsters and skinners along with a ragged gaggle of other people would follow all of them.
"Princess Gisella, I cannot promise I will remain constantly out of harm's way. I do not know the enemy's mind. I do not know God's mind. I could as easily be struck by lightning as I could a ball fired from ambush. Such a fate would be a matter of chance. But I also cannot tell you that if a man is wounded, I will not run to help him. Those decisions are made not with the mind, but the heart. While I promise you I shall always think, I do not believe you wish me to close my heart."
She brushed a lock of brown hair out of his eyes. "No, I would not have that."
He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. "I need you to promise me that you shall remain here. I need you, though you are not yet my wife, to act bravely and give others courage. You and Mrs. Frost, Mrs. Bumble, Owen's wife: you will be the heart of Temperance. Others will look to you for hope. They will need you as much as I do."
Gisella nodded, then pulled her hands back over her head. "I shall be quite the sight with my hair so short."
"No. You will tell them you cut a lock for me. You wished it to be the most beautiful lock, and found none suitable until the last."
She glanced up at him. "You have the soul of a poet, my love."
"No." He turned from her and pulled a small pair of thread snips from his desk. He handed them to her. "Take a lock of my hair, please."
She slipped behind him and snipped one. Then she ran her arms around his middle and hugged him fiercely. "You will come back to me, Vladimir, a hero, I am certain."
He turned within her arms and kissed her. "I will count the days, the hours, the seconds. I love you, Gisella. Nothing will stop me coming back."
Vlad finished sealing the second of two letters as Chandler showed Duke Deathridge into the office. He rose and smiled. "Good to see you this morning, Duke Deathridge."