“I suppose not. You’d probably be happier if you weren’t, too,” Doubting George said, though he wondered whether Bartram could be happy anywhere. His face denied the possibility. The commanding general went on, “Since you are here, suppose you go ahead and tell me why.”
“Yes, sir. I’m here because of some of the things I heard when I was fooling around with my crystal ball late last night. They stretch farther then. I don’t know why, but they do.”
“And what you heard was-?” George tried to project an air of expectant waiting.
“Sir, what I heard was orders for Baron Logan the Black to hop on a glideway carpet and head east to take command of this army. And what I heard was Marshal Bart saying he’d come east, too, to take charge of Logan.”
“Did you, now?” George said slowly, as if he came from the Sapphire Isle. Now he tried not to show the anger he felt. Logan the Black wasn’t a regular at all. Hesmucet had declined to let him keep command of a wing when he took it over after James the Bird’s Eye was killed outside Marthasville. And now Marshal Bart wanted to hand him command of a whole army? Of this whole army? If that wasn’t an insult, Doubting George had never run into one.
“What will you do, sir?” Bartram the Traveler asked. “I thought you ought to know.”
“I will do just what I am doing,” George replied. “I don’t see what else I can do. If Bart wants to show me the door for doing what I think is right, then that’s what he will do. I don’t intend to lose any sleep over it.”
That sounded very pretty. George wished it were true. When he saw Captain Bartram’s expression, he wished it were convincing; he would have traded truth for that. Of course, in war, sometimes we can turn what’s convincing into what’s true, as long as the bastards on the other side don’t see behind it.
Since he obviously wasn’t being convincing here, though, that didn’t apply. Bartram said, “Sir, maybe you really ought to attack now.”
“Even you, Bartram?” George said. Then he surprised even himself by starting to laugh.
“What the hells is funny, sir?” the scryer blurted. He started to apologize.
Doubting George held up a hand. “Don’t worry about that, Captain. It’s one of the most honest things I’ve heard lately. And I’ll even give you the answer. John the Lister is another one who’s been nagging me to do what I don’t care to do just yet. He has to have wondered if he’d take over this army once Marshal Bart gave me the boot. Now we know-he wouldn’t. He can’t like the idea of serving under Logan the Black. So I suspect he’ll stay loyal as loyal can be for as long as I keep command.”
“You’ve still got two or three days, sir,” Bartram the Traveler said. “Maybe even four. Baron Logan will come east to Cloviston, then north from there to here. Marshal Bart will have to sail from Pierreville down to Georgetown, and then he’ll hop on the glideway, too. He’s a few days behind Logan.”
“I see. Thank you for putting everything so precisely,” George said. “One more thing I need to ask you: how reliable is all this? When you’re playing with your crystal ball there, you’re not just imagining you’re hearing what you’re hearing, are you?”
“No, sir,” Bartram replied. “I’m doing the same sorts of things we do when we try to read the northerners’ crystal balls, except I’m doing them to our own side. And I have some tricks not every scryer knows. Quite a few tricks not every scryer knows, if I do say so myself.” He drew himself up with pride.
Doubting George wondered whether to congratulate him or clap him in the brig. Finding out what you wanted to know regardless of whether you were supposed to know it was a very Detinan thing to do. If the individual was altogether free and untrammeled, the kingdom would surely be free, too, wouldn’t it? I don’t know. Would it? As usual, George had his doubts. The kingdom might go down the drain instead.
He said, “Since no one has bothered telling me Logan the Black is on the way to steal my command, do me the courtesy of keeping this under your hat till it is official, if you’d be so kind.”
“Yes, sir.” Bartram touched the brim of that hat with a forefinger in what wasn’t quite a salute. “You can count on me.”
“Thank you, Captain.” George nodded. The scryer left. George sighed. If he’d been Guildenstern, he would have reached for a bottle of brandy. Being who he was, he just sighed again. Before long, the news would get out: if not from Bartram the Traveler, then rushing ahead of Baron Logan. Gods damn his thieving soul, Doubting George thought. That wasn’t fair. He didn’t care. Bart wasn’t being fair to him, either.
He wanted to rush to the scryers’ room and find out exactly how far away those two brigades of footsoldiers from the east were. He wanted to, but he didn’t. If he showed worry, people would start wondering why. If they started wondering, they would find out before long. And a lot of his authority would fly right out the window if they found out.
He went outside, shaking off Colonel Andy’s questions. Maybe I ought to attack the Army of Franklin without those two brigades. George shook his head. He still felt-he strongly felt-he would do better to wait. What happened to his career was one thing. What happened to his men was something else again, something much more important.
If Baron Logan the Black took over this army, of course, he would attack regardless of whether those brigades had come. Doubting George understood that. Logan would be taking over for the purpose of immediate attack. As long as he got a victory out of it, would he care what happened to the army? George shook his head. “Not fornicating likely,” he muttered.
“Hey, General!” a soldier called. George’s head came up. The man went on, “Do you doubt we can lick those stinking traitors? Turn us loose! We’ll do it!” Without waiting for an answer, he tipped his cap and went on his way.
Doubting George laughed in something not far from despair. How many times in the War Between the Provinces had generals from both sides sent their men out to do things flesh and blood simply could not do? More times than anyone could hope to count; George doubted that not at all. But how many times had generals held back from an attack their soldiers actually wanted to make? If this wasn’t the first, he would have been astonished.
Does that mean I’m wrong? he wondered. When he shook his head, it was at first with the air of a man bedeviled by bees, or at least by doubts. But then his resolve stiffened. He earned his pay because he allegedly knew more about what he was doing than the men he commanded.
“Allegedly,” he said. Much of the soldier’s art was obvious. Advancing crossbowmen and pikemen usually had a pretty good notion of whether they would prevail even before bolts started flying. Maybe I am wrong here, George thought. Maybe I am-but I still doubt it.
“Logan the Black?” John the Lister stared as if he’d never heard the name in all his born days. “Baron Logan the Black? Bart’s sending him to take over this army? He’s not even an Annasville man!”
Colonel Nahath shrugged. “That’s what I heard, sir. A couple of blonds who serve the scryers were gossiping about it, and one of my men, a corporal, listened to ’em. They didn’t shut up because he’s a blond himself. I thought you ought to know.”
“Thanks-I think,” John told the regimental commander from New Eborac.
“I understand how you must feel, sir,” Nahath said sympathetically. “If Doubting George doesn’t use this army…”
He stopped right there: that was the place where another word would go too far. If George doesn’t use this army, you ought to, might get back to Baron Logan if he did oust Doubting George. If Logan ever heard that, he was likely to make both John and Nahath sorry for it.