“I told you: you’re a good defensive fighter,” Hesmucet replied. “If I go west, I may send you back into Franklin to make sure Bell doesn’t run wild down there.”
“That’s your privilege, of course, as the general commanding,” George said woodenly. “I will serve the kingdom as best I can wherever you place me.”
“I know you will,” Hesmucet said. “That’s why I’m thinking of doing it.”
“But, gods damn it, I want to be in at the death!” George burst out.
“I know. I know. I do understand that, believe me.” Hesmucet sounded sympathetic. But he also sounded unlikely to change his mind. “If I go west, I’ll need to leave someone behind I can rely on absolutely. From where I’m sitting now, that’s you. It is, if you look at it the right way, a compliment.”
“That’s what the priest of the Lion God told the courtesan after he shot his seed too soon,” Doubting George replied. “He may have thought so, but she surely didn’t.”
Chuckling, Hesmucet said, “You’ve always got a story, don’t you?”
“Every now and again, anyhow.” If he trotted out the wry jokes, George didn’t have to show how sorely he was hurt. He’d never been badly wounded; if he were, he suspected he would use his wit the same way. He wondered how much good it would do. It did less than he wanted here.
“This may all be moonshine, remember,” Hesmucet said. “Marshal Bart and the king are less happy about the notion than I am. They may just order me to keep after Bell with my whole army, no matter how useless that looks to me.”
“I told you, sir: I will do as you require,” George said. “I’m not Fighting Joseph, to stomp off in a huff because I don’t get my own way. He reminds me of a three-year-old throwing a fit because his mother took away his toy.”
“A lot of truth in that, by the gods.” Easy and friendly, Hesmucet came over and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, George. You’ve had some nasty jobs, and not the ones you would have taken if you’d had your druthers, and you’ve done fine with every gods-damned one of them. And now here’s one more, and I’m perfectly confident you’ll do fine with it, too.” He walked out of George’s pavilion, proud and cocky and in command.
Go ahead, George. Here’s some more garbage. You’re so good at cleaning it up, I know you’ll do fine cleaning up this lot, too. That was what Hesmucet meant, and he could say it and Doubting George had to take it, for he was a lordly, exalted general and George only a lowly lieutenant general.
Bart could have picked me to command this army. Knowing that gnawed at George. He could have, but he didn’t. And so Hesmucet gets to march to glory-if he doesn’t make a mess of things and let the traitors win glory instead. And what do I get? I get to stay behind and clean up another mess. If there is a mess. Maybe I get to stay behind at Ramblerton and twiddle my thumbs. Wouldn’t that be exciting?
He left the pavilion himself and stared south. Somewhere up ahead there, Bell was flitting ahead like a will o’ the wisp, drawing King Avram’s army after him, keeping it from doing what it should be doing. Hesmucet was right about that, sure as sure he was. But his being right took away none of the hurt. I want the glory. I want the people cheering me.
Over in King Geoffrey’s army, people called Roast-Beef William Old Reliable. He hadn’t got the job he wanted, either, not when Geoffrey fired Joseph the Gamecock. The Rock in the River of Death? It sounded fancier than Old Reliable, but what did it mean? The same gods-damned thing.
Colonel Andy came up to him. “Sir-” he began.
“What the hells d’you want?” Doubting George snarled, taking out his frustrations on his adjutant.
Andy stiffened. A very minor noble-a mere baronet-he had more than minor pride. “Pardon me for existing, sir,” he said icily.
“I’ll think about it.” George’s voice remained gruff. But then he relented: “I’m sorry, Colonel. I’m truly sorry. It had nothing to do with you.”
“It did not sound that way,” Andy observed.
“I know. I am sorry,” George said, and explained the visit he’d just had from Hesmucet.
“He goes off to have adventures and leaves you behind?” Andy said when he was done. “I don’t blame you a bit for being upset, sir.” His adjutant was fiercely loyal.
George knew he’d tried his best not to deserve such loyalty. “I do apologize,” he said again. “I had no business barking at you.”
“Never mind, sir. Never mind,” Colonel Andy replied. “Can you do anything to get him to change his mind?”
“I doubt it,” Doubting George said. “If I wore his boots, I daresay I’d do the same thing, and leave it up to some other sorry son of a bitch to handle whatever else needed handling. But I’m the sorry son of a bitch in question, and I suppose that’s why I barked.”
“Terrible. Just terrible.” Andy stroked his beard. “Did he tell you what forces you would have?”
“No, but I can make a good guess: whatever he doesn’t want and whatever I can scrape up,” George answered.
“Terrible. Just terrible,” Andy repeated. “We have to keep this from happening.”
“Only thing I can think of that would do it would be to beat Bell up here-beat him and take his army off the board altogether,” George replied. “I don’t believe it’s likely, though.”
“Why not?” With his plump cheeks and angry expression, Colonel Andy resembled nothing so much as an indignant chipmunk. “We’ve licked the Army of Franklin whenever it would give us battle.”
“That’s why not,” Doubting George replied. “I don’t think Bell has any intention of giving us another crack at him. I think he’ll keep on running and hope we keep on chasing him.”
“Cowardly son of a bitch,” his adjutant said with a distinct sniff.
“No, not Bell.” George shook his head. “You can call Bell a great many things, but he’s no coward. He’s finally figured out that one traitor isn’t worth two southron men, that’s all, and that what the northern bards have to say about it doesn’t mean a thing. It took him a lot longer than it should have, but he’s got it now.”
Andy sniffed again. “He’s pretty stupid.”
This time, George nodded. “He is pretty stupid. Brave and deadly-and stupid. He’s like a hawk on somebody’s wrist. Point it at prey and it will go out and kill. But ask it to figure things out for itself? No.”
“Only Geoffrey did,” Andy said.
“Only Geoffrey did,” Doubting George agreed. “Of course, Geoffrey is pretty stupid, too, if anyone wants to know what I think. He had a perfectly good general in charge of his army here, and sacked him for no good reason.”
“He wanted a general who would go out there and fight,” Colonel Andy said.
“Be careful what you want-you may get it,” George said. “Before he put his fighting general in there, he still had Marthasville, and the Army of Franklin was still a real army. Now Bell’s running around trying to make a pest of himself with what he has left, and there isn’t enough left of Marthasville to talk about. Brilliant change of command, wasn’t it? Just fornicating brilliant.”
Andy smiled. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re too sorry about that.”
“Who, me?” Doubting George said.
Rain poured down out of a leaden sky: surprisingly cold rain that soaked Rollant and the standard he bore and turned the red clay of southern Peachtree Province into red glue. He slogged on, one step after another, pulling each foot out of the mud in turn and then setting it down again. Every so often, he stepped off the road to scrape muck off his boots with some grass or a shrub.
The southron army’s asses and unicorns couldn’t do that. Not only did they struggle more than the footsoldiers, they also chewed up the road worse. One stretch was almost like soup. “I wish they wouldn’t send the beasts and wagons down the same road we use, not in this weather,” Rollant grumbled.