Chapter Nine:
Brethren
The fall was inevitable. With his hands tied behind his back, he could not right himself if he stumbled and stumble he did. His boot caught an uprooted branch and he went hurtling forward. His chest hit the ground first, knocking the wind from his lungs, followed by his face. Jagged rocks dug into the soft flesh of his stubble coated cheeks, a few even making it into his mouth. He spat out the inedible gravel, a metallic aftertaste on his tongue. After a few seconds of coughing and gagging, he realized the tangy flavor came not from the rocks, but the oozing wounds they had left. A broken molar lay in a bloody chunk mere centimeters from his sweaty face and he groaned in pain. He tried to right himself, but the binds around his wrists were unrelenting, rubbing into his flesh with every struggle.
"Here, let me help you," a familiar voice sneered.
A large hand grabbed his collar, roughly yanking him to his feet. Choking, the captive looked at his aggressor with narrowed eyes, his hatred for the man obvious.
"Keep moving, we don't have all day," the man's sidekick said, poking the colonial foot soldier in the small of his back with the tip of his bayonet.
To parry off the chance of being stabbed, the colonial continued forward, his eyes trained on the ground; to prevent future falls.
When the sun had completely disappeared behind the mountains, the small party reached their destination.
The colonial's stomach squirmed in anticipation. All around him, Redcoats wandered about. They didn't act very differently from himself or any of the other soldiers, of the Continental Army, for that matter. Some sat by a, recently lit, campfire sharing a pint and telling tales of girls they had romanced and battle scars they had earned. Others limped about, their eyes glazed and detached from their surroundings. One soldier, sat, his back propped up against a tree, reading a book by lantern light. Squinting his eyes, the colonial made out the words C...A...N...D...I...D...E... brandished on the cover. Recognition of the name triggered a bittersweet memory. As a young teenager, the colonial had purposefully spilled tea on his brother's copy of Voltaire's great work. In some way he had angered him and to exact revenge, he ruined his brother's most prized possession. However, if his brother had known that the book connected him with the likes of an Englishman, he would have happily destroyed the literary masterpiece himself.
Despite being engrossed in the Frenchman's profound words, the Brit could feel eyes burning into his bowed head. To shake off the odd feeling, he looked up, his eyes locking with those of the colonial. As quickly as they exchanged glances, they ended them, abruptly looking elsewhere, the Englishman at his book and the colonial at the starlit sky.
Once again, a rough hand pushed the colonial forward with enough force to make him fall a second time. A chorus of laughs erupted from the camp, some sounded forced, but the majority were hearty cackles. Blushing with indignation, the colonial was pulled to his feet, his eyes meeting those of his hecklers. From the cacophonous crowd, a tall sinewy man emerged, his face lacking expression. If his lips had not opened to formulate speech, the colonial would have concluded the man's face was actually chiseled marble. The moonlight made his translucent skin glow, accentuating his corpselike appearance. In the darkness, his eyes looked onyx, but they were probably blue otherwise.
"I see you've brought me a guest," the eerie man said, directing his gaze at the soldier restraining the colonial.
"Yes Colonel," the man sneered, obviously enjoying the attention.
"Well, bring him to my tent; I want to talk to him."
"As you wish sir," the soldier said, disappointed that the colonel did not shoot the man right on the spot.
The jeerers disbanded when they realized that the show was over. Returning to their various activities, they ignored the colonial soldier completely even as he was dragged to the colonel's tent at the other end of the camp.
The tent was lavishly decorated, unlike any tent inhabited by the Continental officers. A long table adorned with food, in the tent's center, made the colonial's mouth water. Apples, oranges, pears, bananas, and grapes overflowed from a large wicker basket. Beside it, a large loaf of bread, free of mold or insects sat, a stick of butter on its right. Ham, sliced to perfection sat in the table's center, a large bowel of sweet corn next to it. . At the end of the table sat a platter of sugar cookies, golden and undoubtedly savory. The glorious spread was fit for a king, probably because the king sent it. But, the colonial did not care where the food came from; he just wanted to partake in the feast.
"I see your eyes on my dinner," the colonel's voice said.
The colonial just looked at him, unsure of what to say.
"Would you like to join me?"
For a moment, the colonial pondered the idea. What if the food was poisoned? What if it was only set out to entice him and ultimately kill him? Still, why would the English waste all of those resources to kill one colonial? Deciding the latter was the most accurate, the colonial nodded his head.
"Wonderful," the colonel replied, with feigned enthusiasm. "Undo his binds," he ordered the soldier, who still hung behind the colonial.
"But sir," the man started to protest.
"Just do it," said the colonel in a tone that ended all debate.
Begrudgingly, the man sliced through the rope, making sure to nick the colonial several times in the process. Looking down at his sore wrists, the colonial could see the rope's imprint seared into the flesh.
"Wait outside Collins," the colonel ordered the disgruntled soldier.
The soldier faltered slightly, confused by his commander's dismissal of him. With reluctance, he took his leave, while the colonel gestured to the table.
Taking a seat at the west end of the table, the colonial's nose inhaled the wafting aromas of the freshly prepared bounty. Opposite him, the colonel sat, grabbing an apple from the basket. Withdrawing a knife from his belt, the man carved into the fruit with the dexterity and precision of a sculptor. The colonial watched in silent bemusement as the odd man shaved away the red skin, exposing the whitish inside. Setting his knife down, the colonel injected his sharp incisors into the scalped fruit. Juices from the supple produce dribbled down his chin, shining in the lantern light. Using a cloth napkin to wipe the liquid away, the colonel took notice that his guest was not eating.
"Please, help yourself," he said, with a disarming smile.
Chagrined, the colonial reached for a piece of ham and took a tiny bite. The savory flavor ignited his repressed hunger pains; he ripped a hunk of bread from the loaf, scooped some corn onto his plate and grabbed a handful of cookies.
The colonel tried to hide his disgust as the abhorrent colonial shoveled the food down his gullet. The fiend behaved like a barbarian, uncivilized and repugnant. However, the English Colonel kept the antipathy to himself. The colonial had answers that the colonel sought and he thought it wiser to smoke them out with honey instead of vinegar.
After the colonial had eaten his fill, the colonel broached the topic he wished to discuss.
"My sources have informed me; that you are a dispatch rider."
The colonial looked up, his face ashen.
"What is your name?" the colonel pressed, hoping to warm up the ambivalent man.
"Corporal Hale," the man said.
"Well, Corporal Hale, maybe you can explain something that has bothered me for quite some time."
The corporal remained stoic, refusing to utter a word until he figured out the colonel's tactics.
"I sent an important package to the camp of General Cornwallis. His company told me that he never received such a parcel. My sources say that a colonial dispatch rider intercepted the package before it reached the intended."
Sweat coated Corporal Hale's palms as he tried to process the accusation. Should he confess and risk dying, while simultaneously betraying his compatriots or should he withhold the incriminating admission, throw himself on the sword for the sake of his struggling state.
Deciding on the latter he said, "I know nothing of this thievery you speak of."
The colonel's blue eyes narrowed, his brow deeply furrowed. Hale tried to focus on the shadowed crease on the man's forehead, his mother's chiding words from a time long ago echoing in his ears.
"Don't frown! When you get older, you'll have a deep-pitted line etched in your forehead! Is that what you want?"
For a brief moment, Hale wondered if the colonel's mother had ever scolded him for the very same crime.
"I believe you know more than you are letting on," the colonel accused, interrupting the colonial's non sequitur thoughts.
"I'm sorry, but I can't help you," Hale said, signifying his cessation of the conversation.
"I had a feeling you would say that," the colonel said. "COLLINS," he bellowed, causing Hale to flinch with surprise.
The formerly banished soldier reentered his demeanor still dyspeptic.
"Yes sir?" he asked with an air of attitude.
Ignoring the insubordination, the colonel ordered, "Summon Lt. Prescott."
"As you wish sir," Collins said, turning on his heel.
Collins must have all but run to collect the lieutenant for he returned in record time.
"You summoned me Colonel Wilkes?" Samuel reiterated in his slow yet proper drawl.
"Yes," Colonel Wilkes said standing. He cast a dark look in Corporal Hale's direction before saying, "It would appear that this colonial guerilla has ascertained some confidential dispatches of ours. He of course, denies everything."
Samuel looked at the young colonial, recognition lighting his face. Hale's eyes reflected the same insight, yet they kept the consensual familiarity to themselves.
"I suppose you would like me to talk to him," Samuel said, sounding bored as if he was merely humoring the colonel.
"Precisely," Wilkes responded, in his stuffy tight-lipped manner. He darted his eyes between the two men for a moment before saying, "I'll leave you two alone then."
With a self-satisfied smirk, he retreated from the tent, followed closely by Collins, who practically nipped at his heels like a hyperactive terrier.
When Samuel was certain Wilkes was out of earshot he sat down opposite Hale and said, "What's your name?"
"Jasper," the colonial answered wary of the lieutenant's intentions.
"That's my nephew's name," Samuel said, lighting a cigar. He offered one to Corporal Hale, but the young man graciously declined.
"You're the better man for it. My best mate Edward apprehended me constantly. Told me it would kill me."
Jasper chuckled; despite the lieutenant's mission, he liked him. He felt a certain affinity towards the man he had seen reading Candide not an hour before.
"Of course, Eddie also chided me for drinking too..." Samuel's voice tapered off at the end and he looked down at the ground before taking a long draw from his cigar.
Blowing out a puff of smoke, he said, "I don't even want to be here."
Perplexed by the revelation, Jasper just looked at him. He watched as Samuel roughly exhaled a cloud of smoke and stood, pacing back and forth.
"What's your real name?" Samuel asked after a few minutes silence.
"I...I," Jasper stammered, surprised the lieutenant had seen right through his carefully constructed charade.
"It doesn't matter, I just -"
"It's Emmett," the colonial said. "Jasper's my older brother's name."
"I suppose you and your brother are not close then?" Samuel said, resuming his place at the table.
"What makes you think that?" Emmett asked, his tone slightly biting.
"I just think it odd that a man toss his brother's name into a boiling pot instead of some unaffiliated character."
Emmett huffed and ran his fingers through his messy brown hair.
"My brother isn't exactly the best role model."
Zeroing in on the disgust tainting the young colonial's words, Samuel said, "Why do you hate him so much?"
Laughing, half from exhaustion, half from annoyance, Emmett said, "Why do you care?"
Samuel smiled wryly.
"I'm just curious."
Picking at an imperfect section of the table where the wood had splintered, Emmett divulged, "My brother has done some truly evil things. He has hurt so many people, yet my family still stood by him, still cherished him, especially my mother."
Instead of adding his two cents, Samuel remained silent taking intermittent puffs from his potent cigar.
"I think I am the only one in the family who is not in denial. I have seen Jasper's true colors and I hate him for showing them to me. I don't care that he is my brother."
"Have you talked to your family about this?" Samuel asked his tone sympathetic.
"I can't," Emmett revealed. "My mother is dead, my father is God knows where, and my sister...well, my sister thinks Jasper is some sort of hero..."
"Have you tried to talk to your sister?"
Emmett sighed, "No, I don't have the heart to tell her what Jasper did."
"What exactly did he do?"
"He sold his soul," Emmett said, his voice cold and emotionless.
Samuel felt a chill run down his spine at the young man's declaration.
"Is that why you left home? You can't be more than seventeen."
"I'm eighteen," Emmett said defensively. He was sick to death of people belittling him because of his youth.
"I'm sorry," Samuel softly said. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"I'm just tired of people treating me like I'm a kid, like I'm worthless."
"I don't think you're worthless."
The two men just sat there, neither knowing how to continue the conversation. Samuel knew it was only a matter of time before the impatient colonel returned, demanding results. Results, he would never receive.
"I'm about to do something that I've never done before," Samuel finally said.
Leaning towards Emmett, he whispered so softly, none of the eavesdroppers outside the tent could possibly hear.
"Have you ever acted before?"
"What?" Emmett murmured. "No."
"I need you to try," Samuel whispered, his blue eyes boring into Emmett. "It's imperative that you play along or my plan will never work."
"Your plan?"
"You're just going to have to trust me."
What nefarious plan did the English lieutenant have in mind? Would it behoove him to place his faith in the hands of the enemy? Still, despite his misgivings, he believed Samuel.
"I trust you."