Bernard Cornwell - The Bloody Ground

“He’s talking to you?” Sally asked Starbuck in bemusement.

“Hell, boy, are you drunk?” The limping officer bellowed. “Potter, you black-ass lunkhead piece of leper shit, are you drunk?”

Starbuck was about to deny being either Potter or drunk, then a mischievous impulse welled up inside him. “Don’t say a word,” he said quietly to Sally and Lucifer, then shook his head. “I ain’t drunk,” he said as the officer came close.

“Is this how you repay a kindness?” the officer demanded fiercely. He had the stars of a colonel on his shoulders. “My apologies, ma’am,” the colonel touched his free hand to the brim of his hat, “but I can’t abide tardiness. Can’t abide it. Are you drunk, Potter?” The colonel stepped close to Starbuck and thrust his goatee up toward the younger man’s clean-shaven chin. “Let me smell your breath, Potter, let me smell your breath. Breathe, man, breathe!” He sniffed, then stepped back. “You don’t smell drunk,” the colonel said dubiously, “so why the hell, forgive me, ma’am, did you throw Private Rothwell off the horse. Answer me!”

“It was upsetting the lady,” Starbuck said.

The major looked at Sally again and this time he registered that she was a startlingly pretty young woman. “Holborrow, ma’am,” he said, snatching off his brimmed hat to reveal a head of carefully waved gold hair, “Colonel Charles Holborrow at your service.” He gaped at Sally for a second. “I should have known,” he said, his voice suddenly softening, “that you come from Georgia. Ain’t girls anywhere in the world as pretty as Georgia girls, and that’s a plain straight fact. ’Pon my precious soul, ma’am, it’s a fact. The Reverend Potter did say as how his son was married and was bringing his good lady here, but he never did say just how pretty you are.” Holborrow shamelessly leered down to judge Sally’s figure before grasping her hand and giving it a firm kiss. “Sure pleased to meet you, Mrs. Potter,” he said, still holding on to her hand.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Colonel.” Sally pretended to be flattered by Holborrow’s admiration and left her hand in his.

Holborrow leaned his cane against his hip so he could fold his other hand over Sally’s. “And you were upset by the punishment, ma’am, is that it?” he inquired solicitously, massaging Sally’s hand between his.

“Reckon I was, sir,” Sally said humbly, then sniffed.

“Right upsetting for a lady,” Holborrow agreed. “But you have to understand, ma’am, that this lunkhead prisoner struck Sergeant Case. Struck him! A serious military offense, ma’am, and your husband here had no business interfering. None at all. Ain’t that the case, Sergeant Case?”

“Sir!” Case snapped, evidently his way of articulating an affirmative to officers.

Holborrow let go of Sally’s hand to step closer to Starbuck. “Sergeant Case, boy, is from North Carolina, but he spent the last fourteen years in the British army. Ain’t that the case, Case?”

“Sir!” Case snapped.

“Which regiment, Case?” Holborrow asked, still staring into Starbuck’s eyes.

“Seventh, sir, Royal Fusiliers, sir!”

“And while you were still sucking the milk from your mother’s titties, Potter, forgive me, ma’am, Sergeant Case was fighting! Fighting, boy! Ain’t that the case, Case?”

“Battle of the Alma, sir! Siege of Sevastopol,” Case snapped, and Starbuck got the impression that he was listening to a much practiced dialogue.

“But Sergeant Case is a patriot, Potter!” Holborrow continued, “and when the Yankees broke the Union by attacking us, Sergeant Case left Her Majesty’s service to fight for Jeff Davis and liberty. He was sent here, Potter, to turn the Yellowlegs into a proper regiment instead of a bunch of schoolgirls. Ain’t that the case, Case?”

“Sir!”

“And you,” Holborrow spat at Potter, “dare to countermand a man like Sergeant Case! You should be ashamed of yourself, boy. Ashamed! Sergeant Case has forgotten more about soldiering than you ever learned or ever will learn. And if Sergeant Case says a man deserves punishment, then punished he shall be!” Holborrow stepped back and took Sally’s hand into his again. “But seeing as how you’re a ray of Georgia sunshine, ma’am, I’ll spare you from seeing any more unpleasantness this afternoon. I think your husband has learned his lesson, so thank you, Sergeant Case.” Holborrow nodded to the sergeant, who scowled at Starbuck, then marched stiffly back to the parade ground. Holborrow ordered the freed prisoner to make himself scarce, and then, his grip still enfolding Sally’s hand, he turned back to Starbuck. “So where have you been, boy? Your father wrote that you’d left Atlanta ten days back. Letter got here, but you didn’t! Ten days! It don’t take ten days from Atlanta to Richmond, boy. You been drinking again?”

“It was my fault,” Sally said in a frightened little voice. “I had the fever, sir. Real bad, sir.”

Lucifer giggled at Sally’s invention and Holborrow’s head snapped round. “You snigger once more, boy, and I’ll whip the flesh clean off your black bones. Is he your nigger?” he asked Starbuck.

“Yes,” Starbuck said, wondering how the hell he would back out of this deception.

“Yes, sir,” Holborrow said, correcting him. “You forgetting I’m a Colonel, Potter?”

“Yes, sir. I mean no, sir.”

Holborrow, still holding Sally’s hand, shook his head at Starbuck’s apparent confusion. “So how is your father?” he asked Starbuck.

Starbuck shrugged. “I guess,” he began, then shrugged again, suddenly bereft of imagination.

“He’s mending,” Sally said. She was enjoying the play-acting much more than Starbuck who, though he had started it, was now regretting the deception. “Thank the Lord,” Sally said as she finally extricated her fingers from Holborrow’s grasp, “but he is surely mending.”

“Praise the Lord,” Holborrow said. “But you’ve been a burden to him, boy, a burden,” he snarled at Starbuck, “and you’ll forgive my bluntness, Mrs. Potter, but when a man’s son is a burden it’s right he should be told plain.”

“It sure is,” Sally agreed firmly.

“We was expecting you a week ago!” Holborrow snarled at Starbuck, then gave Sally a yellow-toothed smile. “Got a room all set up for you, ma’am. Bed, washstand, clothes press. The reverend wanted you comfortable. Not to be pampered, he said, but comfortable.”

“You’re too kind, sir,” Sally said, “but I’m sleeping with my cousin Alice in the city.”

Holborrow looked disappointed, but Sally had spoken firmly and he did not contest the issue. “Your cousin’s gain is our loss, ma’am,” he said, “but you’ll stay for a lemonade and maybe partake of a peach? I’m partial to a fine peach, as all Georgians ought to be.”

“Pleasure, sir.”

Holborrow glanced at Lucifer, who was carrying Starbuck’s shabby bag. “Get to the kitchen, boy. Move your black ass! Go!” Holborrow turned to starbuck again. “Hope you’ve got a decent uniform in that bag, boy, because the one you’re wearing is a disgrace. A dis-grace. And where the hell are your lieutenant’s bars?” He gestured at Starbuck’s shoulders. “You sell your bars for liquor, boy?”

“Lost them,” Starbuck said hopelessly.

“You are a sad man, Potter, a sad man,” Holborrow said, shaking his head. “When your father wrote and asked my help he had the grace to tell me as much. He said you were a sore disappointment, a reproach to the good name of Potter, so I can’t say as how I wasn’t warned about you, but get drunk with me, boy, and I’ll kick your son of a bitch ass blue, forgive me, ma’am.”

“Forgiven, Colonel,” Sally said.