“Say on,” Bell said ominously.
“You know as well as I do, sir, that the southrons are extending their lines north of the city towards the west,” William said. “If they keep moving, they’ll have us altogether surrounded before long. And then, unless we can break through their lines, they won’t just have Marthasville. They’ll have the Army of Franklin, too.”
That was all too likely to be true. Lieutenant General Bell liked it no better for its truth-liked it less, if anything. He scowled at William, who stared stolidly back. “And what would you recommend, then?” he asked in an icy voice.
“If we can’t hold the city, sir, don’t you think we’d better save the army?” the wing commander said. “We can get away, at need, before Hesmucet finishes his ring around Marthasville. Before, I say, but not afterwards.”
“I can’t abandon the city,” Bell said. “What would King Geoffrey do to me if I lost the city?”
“What would he do to you if you lost the city and the army, too?” Roast-Beef William asked in return.
“I can’t pull out yet,” Bell said. “I’m, uh, conferring with Hesmucet, trying to get him to keep from burning Marthasville with the civilians still in it.”
“Are you?” William raised a bushy eyebrow. “I hadn’t supposed you cared much about the civilians hereabouts.”
Till Jim the Ball and Jim of the Crew came to him, Bell hadn’t cared much about the local civilians. But, with such indignation as he could muster, he said, “Of course I do. If it weren’t for civilians, King Geoffrey wouldn’t have a kingdom, now would he?”
“Of course not,” Roast-Beef William replied. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, sir, only that you surprised me. Do you think there’s any chance Hesmucet will listen to you?”
“I don’t know,” Bell said. “But he will look like the villain he is if he doesn’t, so there may be some hope for it.”
“Well, there may be something to that,” William said. “By the Lion God’s twitching tail tuft, I hope there is-for the folk of Marthasville, if for no other reason.”
Bell bristled. He knew what that had to mean. “You don’t believe we can hold this city,” he said in accusing tones.
“I wish we could,” the wing commander said. “Think so? No. In my view, as I told you, our choice is between losing the city and losing the city and the army-this in spite of anything Hesmucet may say or do in aid of your letter. It may buy us a few days’ time, which is all to the good, but it will do no more.”
“Joseph the Gamecock was dismissed from command of this army for voicing opinions less gloomy than those,” Bell growled.
“Joseph had less reason for pessimism, for he had more men with whom to work,” Roast-Beef William replied. He tipped his hat. “Good day, sir.” Only after the older man was gone did Bell realize he’d been given the glove. Cursing, he yanked out his bottle of laudanum and took a long swig. After a little while, he felt better.
General Hesmucet swung his head from Jim the Ball to Jim of the Crew and back again. Jim the Ball fascinated him; he didn’t think he’d ever seen a fatter man. The two merchants from Marthasville nervously looked back. “Yes, you can give me Bell’s letter,” he said. “I do respect a flag of truce, gentlemen-I won’t eat you.” And if I did decide to order the two of you butchered, Jim the Ball could subsist my whole army for a couple of weeks.
Jim of the Crew, as it happened, had the letter. He handed it to Hesmucet. “Here you are, sir.”
“Thank you kindly.” Hesmucet unsealed the letter and flattened it out in his hands. “Ah, good,” he said. “Lieutenant General Bell writes in a tolerably large script. I won’t have to fish out my spectacles to read this, no indeed. People seem to write smaller every gods-damned year, but not today.”
He went through the letter in a hurry, then rolled it up again and set it on the light folding table he was using for a desk. “Is-is there-a reply, sir?” Jim the Ball asked, his speech oddly punctuated by breaths.
“Yes, there is, but I’ll give it in writing: properly, it goes to Bell himself, and not to either of you,” Hesmucet answered. “I’m going to send you to refresh yourselves while I draft it, if you don’t mind.” Jim of the Crew simply nodded. Jim the Ball looked eager. Hesmucet shook his head. The one who needs refreshments least wants them most. Isn’t that the way of the world?
He sat down behind the folding table, got out some paper, and inked a pen. To Lieutenant General Bell, commanding the Army ofFranklin, he wrote. Generaclass="underline" I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of this date, at the hands of Jim the Ball and Jim of the Crew, concerning my army’s bombardment of Marthasville. You style my measures “unprecedented,” and appeal to the dark history for a parallel, as an act of “studied and ingenious cruelty.” It is not unprecedented; nor is it necessary to appeal to the dark history of war, when recent modern examples are so handy. You yourself burned dwelling-houses along your parapet. You defended Marthasville on a line so close to town that every firepot and many crossbow quarrels from our line of investment, that overshot their mark, went into the habitations of women and children. Roast-Beef William did the same at Jonestown. I challenge any fair man to judge which of us has the heart of pity for the families of a “brave people.”
In the name of common-sense, I ask you not to appeal to the just gods in such a sacrilegious manner. You and your faction, in the midst of peace and prosperity, have plunged a kingdom into war-dark and cruel war-you who dared and badgered us to battle, insulted our flag, and seized our arsenals and forts. You made “prisoners of war” of the very garrisons sent to protect your people against wild blond tribes, long before any overt act was committed by the (to you) hated government of King Avram. If we must be enemies, let us be men, and fight it out as we propose to do, and not deal in such hypocritical appeals to gods and humanity. The gods will judge in due time. I am, very respectfully, your obedient servant, Hesmucet, General commanding.
“Well,” he muttered as he sealed the letter, “if that doesn’t make the son of a bitch have a spasm, gods damn me to the hells if I know what would.” He called for a runner and said, “Fetch back those two fellows from Marthasville. I’ve got their answer ready for ’em.”
“Yes, sir.” The young soldier in gray hurried off.
When the two northern merchants returned, Jim the Ball was still gnawing on a fried chicken drumstick. Speaking with his mouth full, he said, “Thank you-for the hospitality-you’ve shown-to a couple of men-from the-other side.”
“You’re welcome.” Hesmucet handed him the letter. “Take this back to Lieutenant General Bell, if you’d be so kind. You’ll have an escort to the front, and your flag of truce should get you through to your own side.”
“Can you give us the gist of it, in case it gets wet or meets some other accident?” Jim of the Crew asked.
“Certainly,” Hesmucet said. “The gist of it is `no.’ But I do write it down much fancier than that.”
Jim the Ball tossed aside the bare chicken bone. Jim of the Crew nodded. He seemed to have a good deal more wit than his comrade and namesake. Maybe that was just because he displayed less appetite. A man who gave in to his belly, as Jim the Ball did, often gave the impression, true or false, of lacking any other interests.
When the two merchants had left, Hesmucet read over Bell’s letter again. He shook his head in amusement. The man had to be an optimist, to think he would get Hesmucet to change his course. The only way northern commanders had got him to change his course was to beat him on the battlefield, and that hadn’t happened very often.