That had also worried Victor. He gave the best answer he could: "If I am willing-no: eager, by God!-to let tame go, I hope the beast will prove willing to take its claws out of me."
"A man should always hope," de la Fayette agreed. Victor Radcliff was old enough to be his father. The marquis had no business sounding like the more experienced of the two of them. But he brought it off with grace and without much effort, as he brought off so many things.
"You don't believe I can do it." Victor turned that into an accusation.
De la Fayette's shrug was a small masterpiece of its kind. "What a man can do… What fate will do… Who but k ban Dim can say how they fit together? As, for example, the matter of your paternity."
"What about it? How did you know about it?" That was the last thing Victor wanted anyone to know about. And it was the last thing he wanted to talk about, even if they were unlikely to be overheard.
This time, de la Fayette's shrug just looked… French. "Monsieur Freycinet communicated the news to me. Rest assured, he understands the need for discretion, and he relies on mine, as you may."
"Mmm," Victor said. Freycinet could afford to rely on that. Victor couldn't. Might the man from the south have told anyone else? Radcliff didn't want to contemplate that.
With a sigh, de la Fayette said, "It is a great pity when what should be a time of joy brings you no happiness."
Calling it a pity, to Victor's way of thinking, made a formidable understatement. He forced a shrug of his own: a poor thing next to those of de la Fayette, but it would have to serve. "Nothing to be done about it," he said.
"I know," the marquis agreed sympathetically. "Not even amending your laws would change the predicament, I fear. If you led a single life… But you do not, and no woman can look kindly upon her man after he sires a child on another."
"No," Victor said, wishing the marquis would shut up. Nothing de la Fayette said hadn't crossed his own mind. He and Meg had got on well for many years, but she wouldn't be one to take something like this in stride. How many women would? Precious few. Victor didn't need the Frenchman to point that out for him.
Someone aboard the nearest French ship called de la Fayette. The marquis grabbed Victor's hand one more time. "I must go," he said, and kissed Radcliff on both cheeks. He hurried down the pier, over the gangplank, and onto the ship. He waved from the deck before heading back toward the poop.
Victor also waved. Little by little, Atlantis was being left to her own devices. The prospect excited Isaac Fenner. Despite all the fighting Victor had done to produce exactly this result, he still wasn't sure whether it excited him or frightened him more.
Writing to Meg, which once was always a pleasure, had become a trial since Victor learned Louise would bear his child. He wasn't used to concealing himself from his wife. He'd always been able to speak his mind to her. No more, or not fully.
If she ever found out about his dark descendant, she would speak her mind to him. He had no doubts on that score.
Worrying about what would happen when he got home kept him in Croydon longer than he would have lingered with a clear
conscience. His aides could have handled the release of what was left of the army that had bested the redcoats. They knew it, too. He caught the quizzical looks they gave him when he rode out to
the shrinking encampments outside of town.
He hoped none of them knew about his predicament. He'd done his best to keep it secret, but Custis Cawthorne had plenty of pungent things to say about secrets and all the things that could go wrong with them.
His lingering meant he was in Croydon when a courier rode into town at a full gallop, his horse kicking up great clouds of dust till he reined in. "What is it?" Victor asked anxiously-good news seldom needed to travel so fast. He hoped there hadn't been a bad fire somewhere, or a smallpox outbreak.
This time, the courier surprised him. The man threw back his head and howled like a wolf. Then he said, "We've caught Habakkuk Biddiscombe, General!"
Everybody who heard that clapped and cheered. "Have we?" Victor breathed.
"Sure have," the courier said. "I haven't seen him myself, but word is he's a sorry starveling thing. And he'll get sorrier pretty goddamn quick, won't he?"
More cheers declared that the people of Croydon liked the idea. Victor wondered how much he liked it himself. After Biddiscombe went over to England, Victor had wanted nothing more than to see him dead. He wondered why killing the traitor in cold blood seemed so much less appealing.
Appealing or not, it would have to be done If he'd wanted to avoid it, he would have let General Cornwallis take Biddiscombe and the men of the Horsed Legion away with him when he went back to England. At the time, he'd made a point of allowing no such thing.
"Where is he?" Victor asked.
"Up in Kirkwall, about fifty miles north of here," the courier said. "Do you want them to string him up there? They'll do it in a heartbeat-you can count on that."
"No," Victor said, not without a certain amount of reluctance. "Even a traitor deserves a trial."
The courier shrugged. "Seems a waste of time, if you want to know what I think." Like most Atlanteans, he assumed people did want to know what he thought. After another shrug, he went on, "I'll need me a fresh horse to head north. Almost ran the legs off of this here poor beast."
"You'll have one," Victor assured him. "Are all the cutthroats captured with Biddiscombe, or do some remain at large?"
"Most of 'em're caught or killed," the man answered. "A few got away. Odds are they'll chase 'em down pretty soon."
"I hope so," Victor said. "The sooner they do, the sooner Atlantis will know perfect peace at last."
"Perfect peace," the courier echoed. "That'd be something, wouldn't it?"
"So it would," Victor said solemnly. Sure enough, with Habakkuk Biddiscombe gone from the stage, the United States of Atlantis might come to know perfect peace, at least for a little while He wondered when-or if-his family ever would.
But Biddiscombe's capture did let him write to his wife. My dear Meg, I am sorry past words to have to tell you my departure from Croydon is once more delayed. I am not sorry, however, to tell you why- Habakkuk Biddiscombe is run to earth at last. Until such time as he should receive the justice he deserves, I find myself compelled to stay here. And, until such time as I can get away, I remain, fondly, your… Victor.
His goose quill fairly raced across the page. The letter held a good deal of truth. He would have written one much like it had he never bedded Louise. He might even have set down the very same words. Unfortunately, he knew the difference between what might have been and what was. Had he never bedded Louise, he would have meant all the words he wrote Now he was at least partly relieved to stay in Croydon. If Meg had heard the truth…
Sooner or later, he would have to go home and find out. For now, later would do.
Atlantean horsemen brought Habakkuk Biddiscombe and half a dozen men from the Horsed Legion into Croydon three days later. The leading traitor and his followers were all skinny and dirty and dressed in clothes that had seen hard wear. Their hands were bound to the reins; their feet had been tied together under their horses' barrels. Some of them, Biddiscombe included, had already taken a beating or two.
The people of Croydon crowded the streets to stare at the traitors, to jeer at them, and to pelt them with clods of dirt and rotten vegetables. Only when stones began to fly did the prisoners' guards raise weapons in warning to leave off. Even that was more to protect themselves than to save Biddiscombe and his friends.
Croydon's jail was a solid brick building, with iron bars across the narrow windows. Victor Radcliff wondered if it was strong enough to hold out the crowd. He stood on the front steps and held up his hands. "Have no fear!" he shouted. "They will get what they have earned. Let them get it through lawful means!"