"You're not leaving yet," he ordered.
"Do you want me to light a candle, monsieur?" she asked in a weak voice; her breath was burning between her bruised ribs.
"No, I prefer it like this."
It was the first time she had addressed him as monsieur instead of maitre. Valmorain noticed, but let it pass. Tete sat up in the bed, wiping the blood from her mouth and nose with the blouse ripped in his attack.
"Beginning tomorrow, you will take Maurice out of my room," said Valmorain. "He must sleep alone. You have pampered him too much."
"He is only five years old."
"At that age I had learned to read; I went hunting on my own horse, and took fencing lessons."
They remained in the same postures a bit longer, and finally she resolved to ask the question she'd had on her lips since they arrived in Le Cap.
"When will I be free, monsieur?" she asked, shrinking back in expectation of further beating, but he got up without touching her.
"You can't be free. How would you live? I support and protect you; with me, you and your daughter are safe. I have always treated you very well. What are you complaining about?
"I'm not complaining-"
"The situation is very dangerous. Have you forgotten the horrors we've been through? The atrocities that have been committed? Answer me!"
"No, monsieur."
"Freedom, you say. So do you want to abandon Maurice?"
"If you wish, I can look after Maurice as I always have, at least until you marry again."
"Marry?" He laughed. "I learned my lesson with Eugenia. That would be the last thing I would ever do. If you are going to continue in my service, why do you want to be freed?"
"We all want to be free."
"Women are never free, Tete. They need a man to look after them. When they are unmarried they belong to their father, and when married, to the husband."
"The paper you gave me…that is my freedom, isn't it?" she insisted.
"Of course."
"But Zacharie says it must be signed by a judge to be lawful."
"Who is Zacharie?"
"The majordomo at the Intendance."
"He's right. But this is not a good time. We will wait until calm is restored to Saint-Domingue, and we will not discuss this again. I'm tired. You may go now: tomorrow I want to sleep alone and have everything go back to how it was. Do you understand me?"
The new Gouverneur of the island, General Galbaud, arrived with a mission to resolve the disaster in the colony. He had full military powers, but the authority of the Republique was represented by Sonthonax and the other two commissioners. It fell to Etienne Relais to give him his first briefing. Production on the island had fallen to nothing, the north was a cloud of smoke, in the south there was no end to the slaughters, and the city of Port-au-Prince had been burned to the ground. There was no transport, no working ports, no security for anyone. The rebel blacks were receiving support from Spain, and the British fleet controlled the Caribbean and would soon take over the costal cities. The French were blockaded; it was nearly impossible to get troops or supplies from France to defend themselves. "Don't worry, Major, we will find a diplomatic solution," was Galbaud's reaction. He was having secret conversations with Toulouse Valmorain and the Patriots, zealous partisans for making the colony independent and placing it under the protection of England. The Gouverneur agreed with the conspirators that the republicains in Paris did not understand anything that was happening on the island and were committing one irreparable stupidity after another. Among the most serious had been the dissolution of the Assemblee Coloniale; Saint-Domingue had lost all autonomy, and now every decision took weeks to arrive from France. Galbaud owned land on the island and was married to a Creole whom he still loved after several years of marriage; he could understand better than anyone the tensions among races and social classes.
The Patriots found an ideal ally in the general, who was more preoccupied with the struggle between whites and affranchis than he was with the Negroes' uprisings. Many grands blancs had businesses in the Caribbean and the United States; they did not need the mother country for anything and considered independence their best option, unless things changed and a strong monarchy was restored in France. The execution of the king had been a tragedy, but it was also a stupendous opportunity to get less of a fool as monarch. As for the affranchis, by contrast, independence would not bring them anything, since only the republican government in France was willing to accept them as citizens, something that would never happen if Saint-Domingue was placed under the protection of England, the United States, or Spain. General Galbaud believed that as soon as the problem between whites and mulattoes was resolved, it would be reasonably simple to crush the Negroes, put them in chains again, and impose order, but he said none of this to Etienne Relais.
"Tell me about this Commissaire Sonthonax, Major," he said.
"He carries out the government's orders, General. The decree of April 4 accorded political rights to free people of color. The Commissaire arrived here with six thousand soldiers to implement that decree."
"Yes, yes…I knew that. Tell me, confidentially, of course, what kind of man is this Sonthonax?"
"I scarcely know him, General, but they say he is very clever and takes with great seriousness the interests of Saint-Domingue."
"Sonthonax has stated that it is not his intention to emancipate the slaves, but I have heard rumors that he might do that," said Galbaud, studying the officer's impassive face. "It is understood that that would be the end of civilization on the island, no? Imagine the chaos: blacks unrestrained, whites driven out, mulattoes doing whatever it is they want to do, and the land abandoned."
"I know nothing about that, General."
"What would you do in that case?"
"Carry out my orders, as always, General."
Galbaud needed army officers he could trust to confront the power of France, but he could not count on Etienne Relais. He had found out that he was married to a mulatta, probably sympathized with the cause of the affranchis, and apparently admired Sonthonax. He seemed to be a man of no great intelligence, with the mentality of a functionary and without ambition; he would have to be totally lacking in those areas to have married a woman of color. It was notable that despite that he had ascended in his career. But Relais interested Galbaud because he had the loyalty of his soldiers: he was the only officer capable of combining whites, mulattoes, and even Negroes in the ranks without problem. He wondered how much the man was worth-everyone has a price.
That same evening Toulouse Valmorain went to the barracks to speak with Relais as friend to friend, as he put it. He began by thanking him for having saved his life when he had to flee the plantation.
"I am in your debt, Major," he said in a tone that sounded more arrogant than appreciative.
"You are not in my debt, monsieur, but your slave's. I was only passing by; it was she who saved you," Relais replied, uncomfortable.
"You sin from modesty. And tell me, how is your family?"
Relais immediately suspected that Valmorain had come to bribe him, and had mentioned family to remind him that he had given them Jean-Martin. They were even: Valmorain's life for the adopted son. He grew tense, as he did before a battle; he glared at Valmorain with the coldness that made his subalterns tremble, and stood waiting to see exactly what his visitor had in mind. Valmorain ignored the knife-edged stare and the silence.
"No affranchi is safe in this city," he said affably. "Your wife is in danger; that is why I have come to offer you my aid. And as for the boy-what is his name?"
"Jean-Martin Relais," the officer answered with clenched jaw.
"Of course, Jean-Martin. Forgive me, with all the problems in my head I had forgotten. I have a rather large house facing the port, in a good quarter where there are no disturbances. I can welcome your lady and your son."