Rebel. Bernard Cornwell
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the harsh scrape of the steel on the scabbard’s throat. The sun’s light slashed back from the curved and brilliantly polished blade. ‘It’s French,’ he told Starbuck, ‘a gift from Lafayette to my grandfather. Now it will be carried in a new crusade for liberty.’
‘It’s truly impressive, sir,’ Starbuck said.
‘So long as a man needs to dress in uniform to fight, then these rags are surely as good as any,’ the Colonel said with mock modesty, then slashed the saber in the empty air. ‘You’re not feeling exhausted after your journey, Nate?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then unhand my daughter and we’ll find you some work.’ But Anna would not let Starbuck go. ‘Work, Father? But it’s Sunday.’
‘And you should have gone to church, my dear.’
‘It’s too hot. Besides, Nate has agreed to be painted and surely you won’t deny me that small pleasure?’
‘I shall indeed, my dear. Nate is a whole day late in arriving and there’s work to be done. Now why don’t you go and read to your mother?’
‘Because she’s sitting in the dark enduring Doctor Danson’s ice cure.’
‘Danson’s an idiot.’
‘But he’s the only medically qualified idiot we possess,’ Anna said, once more showing a glimpse of vivacity that her demeanor otherwise hid. ‘Are you really taking Nate away, Father?’
‘I truly am, my dear.’
Anna let go of Starbuck’s elbow and gave him a shy smile of farewell. ‘She’s bored,’ the Colonel said when he and Starbuck were back in the house. ‘She can chatter all day, mostly about nothing.’ He shook his head disapprovingly as he led Starbuck down a corridor hung with bridles and reins, snaffles and bits, cruppers and martingales. ‘No trouble finding a bed last night?’
‘No, sir.’ Starbuck had put up at a tavern in Scottsville where no one had been curious about his Northern accent or had demanded to see the pass that Colonel Faulconer had provided him.
‘No news of Adam, I suppose?’ the Colonel asked wistfully.
‘I’m afraid not, sir. I did write, though.’
‘Ah well. The Northern mails must be delayed. It’s a miracle they’re still coming at all. Come’—he pushed open the door of his study—‘I need to find a gun for you.’
The study was a wonderfully wide room built at the house’s western extremity. It had creeper-framed windows on three of its four walls and a deep fireplace on the fourth. The heavy ceiling beams were hung with ancient flintlocks, bayonets and muskets, the walls with battle prints, and the mantel stacked with brass-hilted pistols and swords with snake-skin handles. A black labrador thumped its tail in welcome as Faulconer entered, but was evidently too old and infirm to climb to its feet. Faulconer stooped and ruffled the dog’s ears. ‘Good boy. This is Joshua, Nate. Used to be the best gun dog this side of the Atlantic. Ethan’s father bred him. Poor old fellow.’ Starbuck was not sure whether it was the dog or Ethan’s father who had earned the comment, but the Colonel’s next words suggested it was not Joshua being pitied. ‘Bad thing, drink,’ the Colonel said as he pulled open a bureau’s wide drawer that proved to be filled with handguns. ‘Ethan’s father drank away the family land. His mother died of the milksick when he was born, and there’s a half-brother who scooped up all the mother’s money. He’s a lawyer in Richmond now.’
‘I met him,’ Starbuck said.
Washington Faulconer turned and frowned at Starbuck. ‘You met Delaney?’
‘Mister Bird introduced me to him in Shaffer’s.’ Starbuck had no intention of revealing how the introduction had led to ten hours of the Spotswood House Hotel’s finest food and drink, all of it placed on the Faulconer account, or how he had woken on Saturday morning with a searing headache, a dry mouth, a churning belly and a dim memory of swearing eternal friendship with the entertaining and mischievous Belvedere Delaney.
‘A bad fellow, Delaney.’ The Colonel seemed disappointed in Starbuck. ‘Too clever for his own good.’
‘It was a very brief meeting, sir.’
‘Much too clever. I know lawyers who’d like to have a rope, a tall tree and Mister Delaney all attached to each other. He got all the mother’s money and poor Ethan didn’t get a thin dime out of the estate. Not fair, Nate, not fair at all. If Delaney had an ounce of decency he’d look after Ethan.’
‘He mentioned that Ethan is a very fine artist?’ Starbuck said, hoping the compliment about his future son-in-law might restore the Colonel’s good humor.
‘So Ethan is, but that won’t bring home the bacon, will it? A fellow might as well play the piano prettily, like Pecker does. I’ll tell you what Ethan is, Nate. He’s one of the finest hunters I’ve ever seen and probably the best horseman in the country. And he’s a damned fine farmer. He’s managed what’s left of his father’s land these last five years, and I doubt anyone else could have done half as well.’ The Colonel paid Ridley this generous compliment, then drew out a long-barreled revolver and tentatively spun its chambers before deciding it was not the right gun. ‘Ethan’s got solid worth, Nate, and he’ll make a good soldier, a fine soldier, though I confess he didn’t make the best recruiting officer.’ Faulconer turned to offer Starbuck a shrewd look. ‘Did you hear about Truslow?’
‘Anna mentioned him, sir. And Mister Bird did, too.’
‘I want Truslow, Nate. I need him. If Truslow comes he’ll bring fifty hard men out of the hills. Good men, natural fighters. Rogues, of course, every last one of them, but if Truslow tells them to knuckle under, they will. And if he doesn’t join up? Half the men in the county will fear to leave their livestock unguarded, so you see why I need him.’
Starbuck sensed what was coming and felt his confidence plummet. Truslow was the Yankee hater, the murderer, the demon of the hardscrabble hills.
The Colonel spun the cylinder of another revolver. ‘Ethan says Truslow’s away thieving horses and won’t be home for days, maybe weeks, but I have a feeling Truslow just avoided Ethan. He saw him coming and knew what he wanted, so ducked out of sight. I need someone Truslow doesn’t know. Someone who can talk to the fellow and discover his price. Every man has his price, Nate, especially a blackguard like Truslow.’ He put the revolver back and picked out another still more lethal-looking gun. ‘So how would you feel about going, Nate? I’m not pretending it’s an easy task because Truslow isn’t the easiest of men, and if you tell me you don’t want to do it, then I’ll say no more. But otherwise?’ The Colonel left the invitation dangling.
And Starbuck, presented with the choice, suddenly found that he did want to go. He wanted to prove that he could bring the monster down from his lair. ‘I’d be happy to go, sir.’
‘Truly?’ The Colonel sounded mildly surprised.
‘Yes, truly.’
‘Good for you, Nate.’ Faulconer snapped back the cock of the lethal-looking revolver, pulled the trigger, then decided that gun was not right either. ‘You’ll need a gun, of course. Most of the rogues in the mountains don’t like Yankees. You’ve got your pass, of course, but it’s a rare creature who can read up there. I’d tell you to wear the uniform, except folk like Truslow associate uniforms with excise men or tax collectors, so you’re much safer in ordinary clothes. You’ll just have to bluff your way if you’re challenged, and if that doesn’t work, shoot one of them.’ He chuckled, and Starbuck shuddered at the errand that now faced him. Not six months before he had been a student at Yale Theological College, immersed in an intricate study of the Pauline doctrine of atonement, and now he was supposed to shoot his way through a countryside of illiterate Yankee haters in search of the district’s most feared horse thief and murderer? Faulconer must have sensed his premonition, for he grinned. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t kill you, not unless you try and take his daughter or, worse,