“And you are the American, monsieur?”
It was a planter’s wife, with beauty and figure that would normally enchant me. I bowed and extended my arms, but as we made a great wheel on the parquet floor I kept looking past my partner to Astiza, determined not to lose her as I’d lost Harry. Rochambeau had lowered his paw halfway to her thigh, and she was whispering some confidence into his ear that had him leering. I longed to pour rum down his breeches and set it on fire.
“Excuse me.” I broke off to have some punch. I wasn’t used to this business of having a wife other men desired, and it put me in a foul mood. I felt half guilty for planning to go over to Dessalines, betraying every couple around me, but half vengeful, too. Rochambeau had grasped my wife as France and the other European powers had grasped the islands of the Caribbean and the labor of Africa. I understood the wrath of the rebels.
Were we close to Harry and the stone at all?
I was brooding about my dilemmas and unjust fate when Astiza suddenly appeared from the dance floor, face flush, neck shiny, tendrils of hair escaping to stick to her temples. She pushed me hard back into the shadows. “He’s here!”
“Who?” I’d almost spilled my drink. She had fire in her eye.
“Leon Martel. He slipped up to me after the music stopped and said the general was inviting me to a private audience upstairs.”
“The devil he did!”
“The policeman is Rochambeau’s pimp.”
“Good God. Smith said he played that role as criminal. So where’s Harry?”
“I couldn’t ask him, Ethan. I don’t think he recognized me from Nitot’s jewelry store; everything happened there too quickly. He just does the general’s propositioning for him. He did have the arrogance to introduce himself; I almost swooned before giving a false name. He’ll learn soon enough who I am from Rochambeau. And he would recognize you, since you were caught and tortured. You have to stay out of sight.”
“Out of sight? I have to skewer the bastard!”
“Not yet. We’ve got to learn where Horus is.”
“It’s a trap. The only reason to get you upstairs is to rape or capture you.”
“They don’t know who I am, I tell you. Rochambeau simply hopes for sex. Martel panders. I’ve got to learn what I can.”
“No, it’s too dangerous…”
“He’s coming.” She glanced over her shoulder, and indeed, I saw Martel threading through the crowd toward my wife, swarthy as a storm cloud, feral as a fox. He had the smug bearing of a favored courtier, of a man who delighted in hobnobbing with his betters. I have the same vanity.
“Promise me you’ll not risk ascending the staircase.”
“Wait inside the library and let me learn what I can,” she replied. “Then we’ll decide what to do about Rochambeau’s invitation.” Another shove, and I backed reluctantly through the doorway.
I fumbled at my waist, frustrated. I’d deliberately come to Saint-Domingue without a weapon to dissuade suspicion. Now I longed for one to kill Leon Martel.
When he spoke to my wife, the kidnapper had an unpleasant rasp to his voice that I recognized over the music, even though I’d no idea what was being said. Was he really a procurer for the French commander? How had the renegade ingratiated himself into the garrison here? What if I called him out at this moment, sword to sword? Maybe Colonel Aucoin and the other officers would join me against this upstart and demand that he produce Harry!
As I stewed, a black servant annoyingly tugged my sleeve. “Monsieur, a messenger for you in the kitchen.”
“I’m busy.”
“Pardon, but he says he’s ready to carry again.” The Negro looked at me intently.
At first I didn’t understand, but then I did.
Jubal. Of all the worst times!
“Can it wait?”
“Please. It’s safe, but urgent.”
Things were happening too fast. Heart hammering, hating the idea of leaving my wife to lechers, I reluctantly followed the slave. Surely she’d not go upstairs to Rochambeau… except she was entirely too self-sufficient, which is why I loved her.
“Here, monsieur.” To my surprise, a shelf of books rotated and I stepped into a passageway. It wasn’t secret, but rather a hidden corridor to bring refreshments to private meetings in the library. In twenty paces another door led us into the pantry, with the clatter of the kitchen beyond. Black cooks were singing as they worked, while butlers shouted orders and curses. Hams and fowl hung from the pantry ceiling, jars of pickled preserves lined the shelves, and barrels of flour and meat crowded the floor. It was a hoard of food in the midst of a siege. A few miles away a vast dark army loomed, waiting to liberate all the servants working here. What must the blacks think of nights like this?
Emerging from the dark of a pantry corner was the large form I knew well.
“Jubal, you risk coming here?”
“I risk what my commander orders,” he said. “Dessalines has sent a patrol for you. It’s the best time to escape, with army officers preoccupied. While they drink and eat, we’ll climb the mountains, wading up a stream to throw off any dogs.”
“I can’t go tonight. We’re honored guests, ambassadors, and my wife has urgent business with Rochambeau.”
“There’s no choice if you wish to meet Dessalines. It must be on his schedule, not yours, lest he fear that you set a trap. We go in one hour.”
“An hour! What about our belongings?”
“Leave them. Take them back when we take the city.”
“My wife will not agree.”
“Leave her if you wish. Then, if you want her back, you’ll join us in storming the walls.”
By that time she’d be Rochambeau’s forced concubine, or worse. What wretched timing! “Things can’t happen that fast. I’m looking for my boy.”
“If you don’t come in an hour, you’ll never meet Dessalines, unless it is to hang from the gibbet with the other whites when he conquers Cap-Francois.”
Damnation. Yet I also knew Jubal was right: the ball was a perfect time to creep away from Cap-Francois. Could I persuade Astiza? “I have to ask my wife.”
“Command her. Then meet me in the park just beyond here in one hour. Don’t let yourself be followed.”
He melted into the shadows. For a moment I hesitated, frustrated, and then I realized that Jubal’s deadline was a partial solution to my problems. It meant Astiza and I must flee before her flirtation with the general went too far. I had an excuse to get her away! She had a mother’s instinct to stay close to her son, but the strategic thing to do-the fatherly calculation-was to throw in with L’Ouverture’s successor.
Wasn’t it?
I hurried back toward the celebration. The level of noise had risen as guests plumbed the punch. Dancers twirled faster but more tipsily. Laughter was a shriek. In the corners behind the pillars, couples were kissing. Officers without women stumbled drunkenly together, telling crude jokes.
I didn’t see Astiza.
Nor Rochambeau.
Nor Martel.
By the beard of Odin, was I too late?
I spied Aucoin, my earlier escort, and risked pushing through the crowd to him, betting Martel had left the ballroom. “Colonel!” I greeted.
“Ah, Monsieur Gage. So we fiddle while Rome burns.”
“Have you met my wife?”
“I wish to. I saw the two of you together earlier. She’s beautiful, Ethan.”
“Yes, but now I’m looking for her. It’s rather urgent we leave.”
“You may have to wait. I believe she ascended the stairs with an aide to our general named Leon Martel. Rather formidable in personality, and forbidding in appearance. He arrived a few months ago and has cast a spell on our commander.”
“Have you seen Martel with a young boy?”
“There are rumors of several boys, but they are just rumors.”