Two Times a Traitor, page 13
Oh good, a useless weapon. Laz kept his thought to himself and his attention on the ground to avoid tripping over rocks or sprawling into a puddle.
They trekked nearly three miles over rocky and marshy ground toward Gabarus Bay, where the colonists were landing. It gave Laz lots of time to think that he should have bolted back to the fortress before the gate had closed. The men cursed and muttered under their breaths. Morpain and La Boularderie ignored the hushed complaints.
The smell of wet earth and rotten plants was overridden by human sweat whenever a puff of breeze swept over the small force.
They arrived very suddenly. Shouts and the noisy chaos of boats being unloaded carried on the wind. The sergeant called a halt a football-field short of the hill that was blocking the noise. He ordered formation of two lines. Laz and Morpain were on the right flank, close to a stand of trees. The sergeant crept toward the low hill to get a look at the enemy.
“Why aren’t they taking cover?” Laz asked Morpain, feeling again like this wasn’t real.
Morpain’s look was puzzled. He drew his sabre. Laz scanned the area, as his nervousness grew. Then he realized they were going to stand in the open and wait for the enemy to walk onto the field, like they were two football teams at the start of a game.
Movement caught his eye. Laz searched the trees and long, afternoon shadows, spotted a few men, crouched low, working their way closer to the French.
The feeling of unreality disappeared and Laz’s heart started galloping. He tapped Morpain’s shoulder and pointed toward the forest. He said, “What? You need to urinate? Now?”
Laz leaned close and whispered, “There are men with muskets in the forest.”
“No. You are imagining things.” Morpain didn’t even look.
They were maybe 200 feet from the trees. Laz wondered how accurate a musket was. He imagined he heard the sound of flapping, black wings of fear in his mind.
He edged backward. The soldiers loaded their weapons and waited. Finally, the sergeant returned, reported to Captain La Boularderie, then they both came over to Morpain. A few words drifted beyond their tight circle: superior numbers, entrenched, retreat.
Yes, please, Laz thought. The officers separated, La Boularderie tight-lipped and frowning. The sergeant returned to his position and issued orders. To advance. Laz’s feet wouldn’t move. What was he doing? He wasn’t old enough to be in battle. He thought of Ben.
The line of men took four steps. A ragged row of colonists rose along the crest of the hill, muskets aimed. No one fired. The French advanced. Laz still hadn’t moved. The flintlock pistol dangled from his fingers and brushed his thigh.
He noticed more movement in the forest, and turned. Men in civilian clothing stood up from behind bushes, stepped from behind trees, muskets pointed at the French soldiers. One musket swung toward Laz and lowered. The man tilted his tricorn back and stepped into a triangle of light. Even from this distance his hooked nose and rat-like features were clear.
Cooper. The man who’d almost drowned Laz. The man who’d tried to pull him off the foremast’s top. Cooper pointed at Laz then raised his musket and aimed it.
Laz still couldn’t move. Dark wings blurred his vision.
Orders echoes across the field. Then: “Fire!” Shouted in French and English.
Puffs of smoke appeared among the trees.
Something whooshed past Laz’s shoulder. His knees buckled. He dropped to the ground.
* * *
He remembered being seven, and standing in Grandmère’s field. His father had been trying to teach him to shoot a pistol. There had been two crows on a fence, watching them.
Laz had refused to try, had cried that the pistol was too heavy and it hurt his fingers. When he had dropped the weapon and ran toward Grandmère’s house, his father had shouted, “Little coward! Get back here!”
* * *
Laz’s lungs screamed painfully, Breathe. Finally, he gasped in air. He was flat on the ground, Morpain’s pistol still in hand, but the memory of his father’s words fresh in his mind. He’d never remembered that before. Maybe it hadn’t happened, he thought. But it had. He knew it. Hand trembling, Laz released the pistol. Rolled away from it.
Battle sounds claimed his attention. People shouted. Muskets fired, sounding like overly loud spitballs. Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
Smoke stung his eyes and turned figures into shadows.
An English voice Laz recognized said, “I think I got the little French scab. I knew he was one of them.” Cooper.
Someone shouted, “What are you doing?”
“Going to finish him off. See if Frenchies bleed red or blue.” Cooper’s voice sounded closer.
Laz knew he had to get away. He rolled onto his knees. Smoke hid the battle, and drifted between him and the trees. He started to push up. Morpain stumbled from the haze, sword in hand. “Lazare! There you are. I’ve called retreat. Come.”
Laz stood. Cooper stepped out of the smoke, bayonet aimed at him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cooper lunged at Laz with his bayonet. He jumped aside. When Cooper came at him again, Morpain slashed at the bayonet with his sword. “Run, Lazare!”
Laz took a step. Pivoted and bent to grab Morpain’s pistol. Above him, steel clanged against steel. He dived, rolled, and popped to his feet. Georges bowled Cooper over and swept Morpain away. Laz followed then passed Morpain and Georges.
Here was something Laz knew. He jumped over rocks, ducked low when shots rang out. He sped up when he heard steps behind him. The sound of wheezing made him glance back, then he slowed for Morpain. The way he leaned on Georges made Laz think he’d been injured.
Laz heard shouted orders to hunt down the French and said, “They’re hunting us.”
“How do you know?” Morpain asked.
Laz almost said he had heard them, then he realized they’d spoken in English. “I saw some following us.”
Georges pointed toward the forest and Morpain nodded. “We’ll take cover.”
The trio headed toward the nearest trees, ducked under branches, and crouched on mounded moss as they scanned the field. Dusk and smoke joined to shadow the clearing with early darkness. “You must rest,” Georges whispered to Morpain. “We will stay in the trees.”
“Why not head back to Louisbourg?” Laz asked.
Morpain replied, “With dark, I fear our sentries will shoot at anything that moves.”
They crept under sweeping branches. The ground sucked at them and tried to trip them. As everything faded to darkness, Georges scouted for a hiding place. Now would be the perfect time, Laz realized, to make his way to the beach and ask to report to Hawkins on the Constance.
But Cooper had seen him, and Laz knew he’d report it. They’d believe he was fighting with the French. Cooper would never let him reach Hawkins, Laz was sure.
So he stuck close to Morpain’s side. When the half-moon rose, it let them see again. They skirted the forest, sticking to the protection of shadows.
Finally, they stopped to rest. Laz was so thirsty he could barely swallow, but no one had a water bottle. Some of the soldiers had carried glass bottles with stoppers in little fitted baskets that attached to their belts. Laz tried to not think about them.
He passed the pistol back to Morpain, who said, “Foolish boy. I almost didn’t get my blade in the way when you reached for this. Why didn’t you use it?”
Laz remembered his memory and said, “I can’t shoot. Please don’t ask me to.”
Above them, branches rustled. Morpain sighed. “My pride led to that disaster.”
“What do you mean?” Laz asked.
“La Boularderie wanted to retreat. He was right that even 400 men would not have been enough. Eighty was foolishness. Those colonists were more prepared than I expected. And worse, they do not know the rules of combat.”
“You mean sneaking through the trees?” Wasn’t that normal? Laz thought, but realized it probably wasn’t normal in 1745. He asked, “Doesn’t anyone fight that way?”
Morpain harrumphed. “Our Mi’kmaq friends steal through the trees in that manner.”
“Will the Mi’kmaq help us with this battle?”
“Yes. They are loyal to their friends.” Morpain groaned. “I am too old for skulking in the dark. I must sleep for a few minutes.”
“You are injured, Master. Let me tend your wound,” Georges said.
Laz stood up. “I can keep watch.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
When Georges finished his first aid, he covered Morpain with a blanket of leaves. He was snoring in minutes. So far as Laz knew, the three of them were alone. Georges joined Laz for a minute.
“Do you like being a slave?” Laz asked, realizing it was a stupid question.
“I dream of freedom,” Georges whispered. “Until then I have the best of masters.”
“Yes, he is,” Laz replied.
Georges settled down to sleep, giving Laz another opportunity to leave and find a way back to the Constance. All he had to do was sneak past sentries and a few thousand sleeping men, steal a skiff, and row into the bay in the darkness, hoping he could find the right ship before a musket ball found him.
Laz felt helpless. He knew Hawkins would never return his medal after Cooper poisoned him with reports of betrayal. He didn’t know how to fix that because it was true. He had been helping. My friend, Morpain had called him.
Someone snorted in his sleep. Laz thought about the battle, and the memory that had hit him like a hammer blow from Thor. That seven-year-old Laz had known that his dad had been drunk. How had he known that? His father never drank. Laz rested his head against a tree. Maybe his dad never drank after that incident. Maybe it had scared him too.
And crows had watched them. That was why Laz always felt like fear had black flapping wings. Realizing that seemed to make the wings feel less dangerous.
Laz snuck out from under the trees. Knee-high ribbons of fog trailed across the ground. A slice of horizon faded from black to dull silver. He shivered. It grew still lighter as Laz scanned for movement in the area. The outline of Louisbourg became visible—the spire over King’s Bastion, the square posts at the Dauphin Gate topped with armor-like sculptures, the steep rooftops dotted with chimneys.
A hand rested on Laz’s shoulder. He stiffened, realized it was Morpain, and relaxed.
“She is beautiful, is she not?” Morpain whispered.
He meant the town. Laz nodded.
“Come. We are not far from the bayside road. We need to return,” he said.
Laz was glad to be moving. His stomach growled. Neither of them commented, since they had no food. Georges walked behind them. They reached the road halfway between a scattering of buildings along the shore and the fort Morpain had pointed out on Laz’s first day in Louisbourg: the Grand Battery. Morpain studied the situation in the growing light, his head bobbing and shaking in silent conversation. Georges stood behind him with arms crossed, looking like he wanted to get moving but saying nothing.
“This is not good.” Morpain pointed to the battery. “The cannons in there are fixed. They only face out to the water to protect from sea assault. But with those underhanded colonists on land, how will we protect the battery?”
Laz hoped Morpain didn’t want an answer. His stomach growled like a dog protecting a bone, long and low and persistent.
Morpain laughed and started toward the houses and Louisbourg. He tried to hide a limp. He knocked at the first door and invited themselves in for breakfast. The one-room cottage was dark, barely touched by the firelight and two candles on the table. A dank smell of wet wood hung in the air, made it thick and harder to breathe. In one of the dark corners, Laz thought he saw a tangle of bodies. Children, maybe.
After Morpain explained the situation, the man of the house set down two tumblers without glancing at Georges. “Brandy. To warm you after a night in the forest, Commander.”
Laz stared at his pottery cup. Morpain nudged him. “Drink.”
Laz touched one finger to the cold surface. “My father stopped drinking when I was seven.”
Morpain tilted his head. “Tell me about it sometime. Now drink.”
Laz took a swallow. Fire burned down his throat. He inhaled air in a noisy attempt to quench the flames. Shaking his head, he passed his cup to Georges.
The man smiled across the table. “Not the expensive stuff you find on the governor’s table, but it does the trick.”
Laz pressed his fist against his breastbone as heat unfurled like a ship’s flag. He ate some dark bread and stinky cheese while Morpain explained to the man that he had to move behind the walls.
“But I must protect my home.” He splayed broad fingers on the rough wood table.
Morpain shook his head. “We have to burn it down. This and all the houses outside the walls.” Horror widened the man’s eyes. Morpain reached across the table and cupped the man’s wrist. “We cannot leave those British colonists any kind of shelter so close to Louisbourg. There are too many to fight off.”
The man looked crushed, but he didn’t question or argue with Morpain. Laz had noticed that people here always gave in to those they considered their betters. Louisbourg was a military town and the chain of command was always obeyed.
So after drinking their brandy and eating their food and telling the farmer his house would be burned down, they left. It was all very polite. Laz understood Morpain’s reasoning but knew he’d hate getting that kind of news. He felt far older than thirteen.
They stopped at each house. There were only six. Every time Morpain delivered the same verdict. Be out by noon. Then soldiers would arrive to burn everything.
A child had run ahead with news that Commander Morpain had survived the battle. When Morpain, Laz, and Georges reached the small outer gates, soldiers held them open. Usually Laz walked beside Morpain, but when they stepped onto the bridge between the two gates, he fell back to walk beside Georges. The walls above the second, main gate were lined with soldiers waving their tricorns and shouting a welcome.
Inside the gate, more soldiers greeted them from the walls of the Dauphin Battery on the right, and still more crowded the roadway. They shouted and clapped their backs and cheered Morpain for the grand act of staying alive. The wall of the battery curved away, and in the green space between the battery and the town’s buildings, all sorts of townsfolk gathered, from fishermen to innkeepers, even nuns with a cluster of children.
They surrounded the trio and cheered and welcomed them. Welcomed Morpain. Laz knew they included him because of Morpain. Even so, warmth Laz had never felt, except at Grandmère’s, spread through him—much better than cheap brandy. He had moved so often as a kid, that he’d never felt at home anywhere but the farm. But Louisbourg, after only two weeks, felt like home.
“Lazare! Lazare!”
He searched the crowd for whoever was calling his name. People stepped aside, and Isabelle, mobcap askew, dark hair in an unruly braid, ran up to him. “I’m so glad you’re safe. I was worried.”
They shared a smile that cemented their friendship.
Morpain’s hand slapped onto Laz’s shoulder. “Come, Lazare. We have work to do. Messages to run. A fortress to prepare.”
Laz stared blankly for a long moment then shook his head. A few of the closest people gasped. Morpain’s eyebrows drew together. Before a lecture could begin Laz held up his hand. “Please. You slept last night, for a few hours. I kept watch all night. You need to let me get some rest or I’ll be no use at all.”
Everyone close enough to hear fell silent. Laz glimpsed wide eyes, a few open mouths. Horror. He lifted his chin and held Morpain’s surprised gaze. Then a smile started to tug on the man’s lips. “You are right. I can do without you for the morning. Georges will help. Report at noon. Isabelle, see that my young messenger gets some rest.”
Isabelle walked with Laz and told him about the town’s horrified reaction when Morpain did not return, and the relief they all felt this morning. Her voice kept Laz moving. Back at the house, he fell asleep so fast he didn’t feel her drape his blanket over him.
* * *
Noon came too fast for Laz, and the rest of the day passed in a weary blur, as he spent it running messages from Morpain to every part of the fortifications. He had taken over the defenses, apparently with no objections from any of the officers, not even the ones whose jackets were trimmed with red, which signaled they were nobles, by birth or King Louis’ decree.
The governor was a mess, distraught that Captain La Boularderie was either captured or dead. Most of the men had returned safely to the fortress. They had all thought Morpain and Laz were dead or captured too. Laz realized it was a good thing that Morpain had survived, because none of the other officers seemed to know what to do. Or they were scared spitless like the governor.
Nightfall finally gave Laz a break from endless errand running. Madame Richard had left food warming for him—a fish broth and a slice of dark bread. Not much, but Morpain had ordered everyone to ration their food supplies. Laz washed it down with some cheap wine she’d left out. He drank it because thinking of well water and its gift of flux was enough to make almost anything taste good. I’d give a week’s wages for a root beer, Laz thought.
The sound of Madame and her children drifted from the back sitting room. They were having a Bible reading like they did most nights. Soon they would start their prayers. Isabelle came out of the dining room, which served as Madame Richard’s store. “I have a bath waiting. The water is still a bit warm.”
