Her voice remained level and unwavering. “So you came to tell me that I have been abandoned, and there is no hope.”
“There is always hope if one trusts in our Savior.”
“That is true, Your Eminence. Before you go, I have something to tell you.”
He moved his face closer to hers. For three minutes, she spoke in low tones about the existence and location of the wooden box. She told him what he must do with it. When she was done, Gelu’s face had begun to sag. He let out a slow breath.
“But if it is what you say, the faithful should…”
“No! My instructions come from St. Michael himself.”
Gelu hesitated, his lips forming a retort, but he relented under Jehanne’s stare. His eyes fell, his shoulders sagged, and he let out a slow breath.
“I cannot fathom the designs of our Lord. But it will be done.”
“Thank you, Your Eminence. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to be left alone.”
She could tell that her abruptness shocked him, but her decision was made. She knew what she had to do, and she knew how it would end.
She heard a gasp, and it took a second before she realized that it had escaped her own lips. The first real pain from the flames had shattered her remembrance. She cast her eyes over the crowd, full of faces more flush from the bloodlust than the heat. She closed them again quickly, knowing that she would never gaze on anything again in the earthly realm.
Jehanne prayed that the growing pain would end quickly. St. Michael came to her then, and she felt the pain lessen enough that she considered opening her eyes again to see if the fire had been doused. But a deeper part of her knew that she was now in the hands of the angels. She focused on one final prayer.
Please, Lord, protect the box. Whatever it holds is your creation. Let it be one day found by a man whose imperfection is not so great as to render him incapable of using it as you desire.
Washington knew the signal tower was vulnerable the moment he saw it. The British commander sounded proud of the structure, boasting of its height and solid construction. Situated behind the walls of St. Ann’s Fort and within easy sight of the coast, the tower enabled communication with naval and land forces alike.
But it was still a weak point. At age nineteen, Washington had already taken a keen interest in military matters. He knew that heavy cannons could easily fire over the walls and destroy the signal tower. High ground like that was a wonderful thing in war, but only if it was defensible. A single light artillery weapon at the top would protect it about as effectively as a child’s wooden rifle.
Washington had arrived in Barbados with his brother, Lawrence, less than a week earlier. Lawrence was quite ill with tuberculosis, and the tropical climate of the island would restore his health more effectively than a damp Virginia winter. So far the humidity had served only to depress his brother’s energy levels, but Washington still held out hope. In the meantime, he had undertaken to learn as much as he could about the local military structures.
The British were delighted to indulge the young man. Everyone knew that war between Britain and France was coming, and North America promised to play a leading role. A colonial well-versed in proper British military theory would be valuable indeed. Washington approached his research with the same methodical care that he approached everything else in his life. He could see plenty of holes, but he didn’t see any point in offending his hosts.
“Quite an impressive structure. How many men are generally stationed there?”
The colonel twirled the handlebars of his mustache, a carefully manicured fixture of white facial hair which contrasted with jowls flush from some combination of alcohol and the Caribbean sun. “Two under normal circumstances. We rarely see much excitement, but additional runners would be made available if needed. I daresay a single man to manage a fire is sufficient.”
Washington only nodded, taking one final look as the colonel led the way toward the ocean-facing ramparts. The tower was made of gray stone, reaching several dozen feet into the cloudless sky. Stout rungs extended from one sheer wall. An ascent to the top would be easy in calm times, but a man not familiar with them could expect to risk a nasty fall if forced to climb at top speed. Possibly there was enough space at the top for three or four men, but firing even a single cannon in those tight quarters would create some of the same risks ships faced with sub-deck guns. If Washington ever needed to commission a tower such as this one, he’d make a lot of improvements.
The rest of the tour proceeded without any incident of note. Upon return to the house he had secured for his brother’s convalescence, he found his brother mentally alert but physically worsened. Washington steadied himself before speaking to the shell of a man who had once been a vigorous older sibling.
“You’re not looking well, Lawrence.”
A cough preceded the reply. “Never one to dance around the truth, are you Georgie? I know perfectly well that I’m closer to visiting our Lord than I was yesterday.”
“Technically the same is true of all of us.”
“I suppose it is. Tell me, are you still unable to call me anything but Lawrence? I must confess that the formality has worn thin as I ponder my mortality.”
Washington opened his mouth and then closed it. What was the point of a person’s given name if not to be used for address? He could handle analyzing military matters or farming methods, but he had not yet mastered dealing with those close to him. “Do you need anything? I have some matters to attend to after our evening meal.”
Lawrence Washington’s lids drooped. “No, brother, I need nothing you can give me. But I would have you stay with me for a time. Tell me of your doings in the larger world that I fear I shall never experience again.”
Later that evening, Washington headed back to St. Ann’s Fort. He wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea, but he knew he could learn a lot more about how a military force conducted business by observing them outside of a scheduled tour. Despite his interest in fortifications and structures, he knew that an army’s fortunes owed much to the commitment level of its men. Sometimes such things could be learned only in a practical way. Tonight he would attempt a clandestine breach of the fort’s outer walls.
Most who knew him would have expressed surprise at such a seemingly rash action. Washington, however, had reasoned carefully. Every member of the garrison had seen him during his visit earlier in the day, so he would be familiar to nearly anyone who would challenge him. If they caught him, the British would be reluctant to alienate someone so well-connected among the American colonists whose aid they would soon need. And the biggest reason Washington felt his planned incursion was a worthy risk derived from his initial assessment of the fort and its commander: he suspected that their sense of superiority underestimated the threat from pirates, natives, and any other potential attackers.
The night was one for which Noah would have found himself well-prepared. Washington had scarcely spurred his mount before the skies opened up. He had seen the thunderheads building and attired himself appropriately, but that proved small consolation as the dampness managed to target every weakness in his layer of oilskin. He mused that the difficult conditions would tell him more about the British than he otherwise could have gleaned. At least the tropical heat ensured no danger from a chill.