Christian Cameron - Washington and Caesar

“Your servant, sir. Crease, of HMS Apollo.”

Jeremy rose and bowed more deeply.

“Jeremy Green, sir, in service to Captain Stewart.”

“I hope you won’t think me a libertine if I say I stopped here to say that your lady is very beautiful,” Crease said, with another bow. The big blond fellow called something out and waved again. Sally smiled at him, and Jeremy bowed.

“Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure. Time to shove off, Jack,” he called, and went out.

“Sergeant!”

Caesar awoke to find that it was mid-afternoon and one of the men from the Black Pioneers, another black company, was trying to shake him awake.

“Sergeant!”

Leaden with lack of sleep, he opened an eye. The whole of his straw mattress was warm, gathered around him like the thickest comforter in the world.

“An officer for you, Sergeant. And a young lady.”

He forced himself up.

In ten minutes he was as clean and neat as his backpack could make him. Most of his good shirts were still locked in a trunk at the Moor’s Head in New York, but with what he had to hand and a cup of hot water, he was clean and shaved when he came down the stairs to the guardroom at the front of the barracks house. Lieutenant Crawford was sitting primly with Miss Polly White. They made something of an odd couple, but they fell silent as he entered.

“Sir?”

“I’m to escort you to Colonel Musgrave, Sergeant.” Caesar looked around a little wildly.

“Am I under arrest?”

“Not that I know of. Now get a coat and come along.”

The walk wasn’t far, and Colonel Musgrave was brisk. He had a mountain of correspondence in front of him and was busy signing off items for his regimental agent, all on documents with which Caesar was intimately familiar. Caesar took off his hat and bowed, and Musgrave remained as he was, head down and writing steadily for some time. When he looked up, he seemed surprised to find anyone there. Then he smiled.

“Ah, Sergeant Julius Caesar of the Guides. A pleasure, Sergeant. A word about last night, if I may? Your patrol encountered only a member of this army in distress, and rescued him, then brought him back to headquarters. Nothing more. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Caesar had only addressed Colonel Musgrave once in his military career and was daunted by the second attempt.

“You did very well. Glad you showed some spirit in the thing, and glad no harm was done, eh? Here’s a guinea for the men of the patrol, and another for you and the other sergeant. Right? Right, then. Well done. Dismissed.”

Caesar bowed and was shepherded out again by Lieutenant Crawford.

“That mean anything to you, Caesar?” asked Crawford.

Caesar nodded, looking at two guineas in his hand.

“Any idea why I was told to bring Miss White, then?”

She smiled at him and held out a hand.

“I can only hope, sir,” he said. Crawford shook his head. When they were outside, she tugged her hand away.

“I have to take you to my father.”

“I expect so,” he said, still smiling at her. She colored a little and turned away.

“I don’t see you as much as I used to,” she said.

“This ain’t New York, Polly. And you and the Reverend aren’t always easy to find.”

She nodded, looking down. She didn’t offer her hand again, but walked by his side until they reached the little carriage house where they lived.

“I wish…” she said.

“What do you wish, then?” he asked, trying to kiss her. She avoided him.

“Never mind, you. Stop that.” She pushed him in the door and slammed it.

Marcus White was seated at his own little desk by the window, writing quickly. He took off his spectacles as soon as he saw Caesar and rose. Caesar bowed and White waved him to a chair.

“You got the message, I see.”

“I did, sir.”

“And you are puzzled?”

“Not in the least, sir. Honored more than ever by your acquaintance, sir, and perhaps not even surprised by your role, now that I have it clear.”

Reverend White nodded slowly.

“Do you have any questions, then?”

“Is Polly involved?”

He saw White’s hands clasp hard behind his back and had his answer. He had questioned too many guilty soldiers to need any coaching on the subject.

“Never mind, then.”

“Do you love my daughter, sir?” Reverend White was very close to him, and perhaps a little angry. Suddenly, Caesar was on different ground than expected.

“Perhaps…yes, I think I do. Which is to say that I haven’t given it much thought, lately.” Caesar raised his chin. “She’s a little above me, I think.”

“Why? Because she can read? You can read. Because she’s modest? You’re no libertine.”

“You are a man of real education, sir.” Marcus shook his head, but Caesar went on. “I decided when we left New York that it wasn’t right.”

Marcus White nodded. “Yes, yes. You’re doing a fine job of speaking all my lines. I agree that you have no skill besides war. It worries me. Julius Caesar, so aptly named! But last night scared me more. I made a mistake and almost paid for it. I think she has a great deal of regard for you. If we all live to get back to New York…”

“New York?” asked Caesar. Fascinated though he was by the subject, he was equally interested by the prospect of a move to New York.

“Haven’t you heard? Lord Howe is to go back to England in the spring, and Sir Henry Clinton will take command. He intends to march the army back to New York.” This was uttered as if a commonplace. Caesar just shook his head.

“Even barracks rumor has not gone so far.”

“It’s fact, though, Caesar. The Government is going to retreat and try negotiation for a while. Saratoga has scared them deeply. I hope we have not already lost the war.”

Caesar shook his head. “You know more than any officer I know, but I suspect I know why, and I won’t say. So tell me about New York?”

“Eh?”

“If we all get back there, I think you said?”

“Ahh. Yes. If we do, and if you’d care to court her, and if she’s willing, I’d be content.”

Caesar saw a marvelous vista opening before him. He smiled from ear to ear.

“Not every day that the woman’s father asks you to court her, is it?”

Caesar shook his head again, tongue-tied.

“I told her you’d never ask. She told me you never stopped trying to take liberties.” Caesar was suddenly cast down. “I ask that if this comes to nothing, you not bring my daughter down.” Caesar raised his eyes and met the minister’s.

“Yes. Yes, I promise.”

“Good, then. I think we understand each other. Where is my Epictetus?”

“In my pack.”

“I have the Memoirs of Socrates to trade for it when you bring it. In your pack, you say? Is there anything left of it?”

“I dried it well when it got wet, sir. The pages have warpled a little, but she’s fine.”

“Perhaps I should save my books as well as my daughter, until New York.”

He went out, and she was waiting.

“You have my father’s permission.” She said it straight, and flat. His heart turned over.

“You don’t seem too pleased.” Caesar thought that all his suspicions of Marcus White might come back, if it turned out that White was trading his daughter for Caesar’s silence about his activities.

“I’d like to hear something from you.”

Caesar met her eyes. They stood a long moment, looking at each other. “I want to marry you,” he said, straight.

She nodded gravely.

“But I’m a soldier. Polly, I don’t know just how to say this to you, ‘cept that I ain’t so sure we’ll win. And then what am I? A black freeman? A slave? Somebody’s property? You ain’t…you aren’t like me. I want to marry you, but I want to know that there’s something after all this.”