There was a bit of excitement in Longstreet's camp that evening.

A guest, from what Henry could gather, aside from him. He was glad that most of the suspicion had been taken away from him and replaced with excitement at this new arrival. It was getting late in the evening, with most of the men having either gone to bed or gathering around a fire. Henry took his place around one of the fires, enjoying the comradery that was felt.

That is, until he learned that the guest was an Englishman by the name of Freemantle, a Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Lyon Freemantle. He was a thin man, with a full mustache groomed in the true English fashion of the time. He sat amongst the officers, and Henry watched as they tried to teach him poker. Every so often, Henry would chuckle at the look of permanent astonishment that had seemingly glued itself to Freemantle's face. When the man would smile, Henry caught sight of gapped front teeth. He was an odd fellow to be sure, and anyone serving of the Queen Victoria was someone worthy of being watched closely.

Especially if he was apart of the Her Majesty's Coldstream Guards.

General Longstreet was with them, though he was more removed from the rest of the group. He sat in the shadow of the tree, just outside the bubble of light the fire produced, his face the combination of neutral uncaring and heartbroken sadness.

Henry would glance over at the man from time to time, genuine concern in his gaze, until someone bumped his arm.

"Don't be worryin' about the General, now." A decently sized man announced. There was a somberness that rounded the fire and those who had gathered around it. "He's been…...goin' through some stuff recently. Family matters. You understand?"

He nodded. Henry still remembered when Margaret gave birth to his youngest nephew, the one that passed away only hours after birth. His sister and husband had been absolutely devastated by the loss. He had shared the pain and loss with his sister, spending those long days and nights in mourning with her and her family.

Another round of laughter jolted him out of the sorrow-filled past. Henry tried to focus on the conversation going on in front of him, but there was a conversation going on between General Longstreet and another general, Sorrell if he remembered the name correctly.

After a while, Freemantle, boring of the conversation, stood and walked over to Longstreet and Sorrel. The three of them chatted a little bit, with Freemantle gesturing to the circle every so often, as though offering for him to the join the game. Henry was never a poker player himself, finding the game too close to his work as an Assassins. Having to bluff and lie his way to a victory against others.

No. He wanted to be as far away from his Assassin work as possible during his downtime.

So he was content with just watching the others play a very intense game of cards while debating politics, most of which he drowned out. In a few short days, the two armies would align in Gettysburg and the biggest battle yet to be seen in this war would begin. Henry had yet to convince General Longstreet, and by extension, General Lee to avoid this conflict at all costs so that there may yet be some sliver of peace that could come out of it. And if there is little fighting going on, then maybe both sides may see through the smoke and discover that they were being manipulated and used by the ancient order of the Templars. If Henry couldn't succeed in his mission, if Margaret couldn't either…..

Well, he would hate to be the one to inform Mentor Kellan.

Again, he was ripped from his thoughts by a cluster of yells. He looked up, and through the darkness, a group of horsemen were riding into the camp. There was one among them, one that was more boisterous than the others. He waved around his plumed hat, looking all the world like a French king, with his curls shining bronze in the firelight and his plumed hat swaying in the breeze. He shouted something as the horses barreled through the camp, the group stopping in between those gathered around the fire and General Longstreet.

The curly haired man laughed as he and the group dismounted. The man with the plumed hat stopped before General Longstreet and saluted grandly.

"General Pickett presents his compliments, sir, and requests permission to parley with the Commanding General, s'il vous plait."

General Longstreet chuckled, the first sign of life he had shown that evening. "Howdy George."

The generals all dismounted as the Longstreet and General Pickett embraced as though they were long-reunited friends. Longstreet's face scrunched up, as though he smelled something off.

"Phew. Good Lord, George. What is that smell?"

"That's me." General Pickett said proudly. There was a boyish grin his face, which offset his greying beard. "Ain't it lovely?"

Another man sauntered up to the two of them, his face split with a grin of his own. "He got it off a dead Frenchman." He added, as an afterthought, "Evening, Pete."

Pickett drew himself up. "I did not either get it off a Frenchman. I bought it in a store in Richmond. Did have a French name, now that I think on it. But Sallie likes it."

While Pickett smirked and preened as though he made a joke, another man dismounted his horse, slowly, grimacing as he did so. Henry noticed that he was favoring his leg, looking much too tired and grey in the face. Henry sighed.

Longstreet walked up to the man. "How are you, Dick?"

"Fine, General. Just fine." There didn't seem to be energy in the handclasp shared between the two of them.

"Sorry I had to assign you to old smelly George. Hope you have a strong stomach."

"General. You must know how much I appreciate the opportunity."

There was a tenseness that seemed to permeate the air around the few generals. Henry knew that things could happen on the battlefield and in the war room that could cause fractures in comradery. He was taught at a very early age not to allow such a thing to happen, for such fracturing and bitterness felt between the commanders could trickle down to the men. Whatever happened in between the generals, Henry knew it wouldn't be long before it would trickle down into the soldiers. But there were more pressing things that needed tending to than petty squabbles between gentlemen officers of the Confederacy.

Longstreet said slowly, "Dick, I consider it a damned fine piece of luck for me when you became available for this command."

Dick Garnett, looking uncomfortable, nodded. Another general walked up, draping a casual arm across the man's shoulder, as though trying to relieve the tension.

"Dick's been eating too many cherries. He's got the Old Soldier's Disease."

Henry winced in sympathy.

Dick smiled weakly, rubbing his stomach. "Sure do. Got to learn to fight from the squatting position."

There was a round of chuckles.

"I know what's wrong with you. You been standing downwind of ole George You got to learn to watch them fumes."

Another round of chuckles. Henry shifted around the loose circle that gathered around him, which included Freemantle. Longstreet's eyes shot over them at the movement before remembering his manners.

"Oh, excuse me, gentlemen. Allow me to present our George Pickett. Our loveliest general. General Pickett, Colonel Freemantle of the Coldstream Guards and Mr. Philip Williams, newspaper man from Maine."

Pickett bowed low in a classic fashion, sweeping the ground with the plumed hat. Henry bowed his head, but it was a brief nod.

"The fame of your regiment, sir, has preceded you."

"Indeed," Henry agreed, and he wasn't lying. "Even in Maine, they speak of your ingeniousness in the face of such danger."

"General Pickett is our ranking strategist. We refer all our deeper questions to him."

"They do." Pickett beamed. "They do indeed."

"General Pickett's record at West Point is still the talk of both armies."

There was a haw from the other general in their presence. Henry couldn't help but chuckle as well.

"It's unbecoming to a soldier, all this….." Pickett made a gesture. "book-learning."

"It ain't gentlemanly, George." The man that stood beside Pickett corrected.

"Nor that either." Pickett agreed.

"He finished last in his class," Longstreet explained. "Dead last. Which is quite the feat, if you consider his classmates."

Pickett said placidly, "The Yankees got all the smart ones. And look where it got them."

Henry glanced over at Freemantle, noting the confused look that no doubt was mirrored on his own. It was strange, though, hearing all these men laugh and joke with each other, because this was the way that Henry and his comrades spoke with each other.

His heart ached for those times when all his classmates were alive and well and were within the hidden Assassin base, having a great time. Henry blinked rapidly before returning his focus to the conversation.

Pickett moved forward, sauntering forth like a peacock. "Good evening, Colonel. Mister William."

Henry bowed his head in greeting.

With a jerk of his head, Pickett gestured to the man that stood beside him. "May I introduce you to Lo Armistead. The 'Lo' is short for Lothario. Let me welcome you gentlemen to "Lee's Miserable". "

Henry and Freemantle gave a hearty chuckle.

"Now, the Coldstream Guards? Weren't you fellas over here in the discussion betwixt us of 1812? I seem to remember my daddy telling me about…. No. It was the Black Watch. The kilted fellas, that's who it was."

Freemantle was obviously caught up in confusion as he asked, "Lee's Miserables?"

"A joke." Longstreet explained. "Somebody read Victor Hugo- believe or not I have officers who read-"That comment was directed towards Henry's confused glare, "and ever since then we've been Lee's Miserables."

"Have to admit," Henry commented. "That's pretty clever."

Unfortunately, Freemantle was still in the dark. So, Longstreet said, "Victor Hugo. French writer. Novel. Les Miserable."

There was a moment where Henry could physically see the joke turning in the man's mind before he finally got it. "Oh. That's very good. Oh, I say that's very good indeed. Haw."

Henry chuckled. Pickett stepped forward, and said formally, "Allow me to introduce my commanders. The elderly one here is Lewis Armistead. The 'Lothario' is a bit of a joke, as you can see. But we are democratic. We do not hold his great age against him. We carry him to the battle, and we aim him and turn him loose. His is what we in this country call an 'Old Family'-"

There was a soft, "Oh, God," from Armistead.

"-although doubtless you English, Freemantle, would consider him still an immigrant. There have been Armisteads in all our wars, and maybe we better change the subject, because it is likely that old Lo's granddaddy took a potshot at your granddaddy, but anyway, we had to let him in this war to keep the string going, do you see? Age and all."

"Creek." Armistead muttered beside Henry.

"The next one here is Dick Garnett." Pickett nodded to the man who was still favoring his uninjured leg. "Ah….Richard Brooke Garnett. Old Dick is a good lad, but sickly. Ah well. Some of us are born puny and other are blessed with great natural strength. It's all God's will. Eh, sit down Dick. Now. The next on here, this one is not even a soldier, so you'll have to watch him."

Pickett gestured to the slightly plump man with dark hair and beard. His beady eyes jumped from Freemantle to Henry and then back to Pickett before it was repeated again.

"Note the shifty beady eyes?" Pickett asked, a joking tone in his voice. "He's a politician. Only reason he's hear is to gather votes come next election."

"You've dealt with politicians, haven't you, Mr. Williams?" Longstreet asked.

Henry nodded. "Yes. I have indeed."

Kemper stepped forward; his hand extended warily. Both Henry and Freemantle took the grip. The man had a hard grip and, once his hand was dropped, he stared at Freemantle and said brusquely, "Look here now, Colonel. Been wondering when you people were going to get out and break that damned Yankee blockade. How about that?"

Henry licked his lips, his eyes wide as he turned away from the tense joking that went on between the Brit and the Virginian, and watched as General Longstreet withdrew from the group, heading back for his little tree. Pickett followed this time, and the two got to talking. He could tell by their body language that the Pickett wanted something important from Longstreet, something that he hadn't been able to get. But Kemper drew his attention back and started to pester him about how to use to the press to reach out to the voters, especially the uneducated. Henry didn't have any tips to give him, but he shot out a couple of things a friend of his gave him. The group gravitated back over to the circle.

Sitting back down, they conversed about different things, Henry's work as a journalist, his family and life in Maine, Freemantle's thoughts on the war and his general impression about what the people of England felt. Kemper especially had an interest in that, pressing the mustached Englishman about the Queen's opinion about the war.

"Now, I understand that the Queen has as lot going on, especially with the unrest in India, but I hope that she understands the gravity of the situation in this country. Especially since this situation is exactly what we went through in 1775!" The man from Viriginia was ranting. He was using his hands to accent each word, and his chubby face shook as he spoke. "You know that government derives its power from the consent of the governed. Every government, everywhere. And, sirs, let me make this plain: we do not consent. We will never consent."

Henry noted that Sorrel's face was flushed as Longstreet approached. But Kemper wasn't finished. He wasn't convinced that this is what the real reason for this horrible, but he figured that is what the Templars told their underlings to believe. The story that, no doubt, many southerners believed. Henry brought that up, which Freemantle agreed to. That got Kemper riled.

"Colonel Freemantle, sir, you must tell them, and make it plain, that what we're fighting for is our freedom from the rule of what is to us a foreign government." Kemper's eyes went to Henry, fanatical and wide. "That's all we want and that's what this war is all about. We established this country in the first place with strong state governments just for that reason, to avoid a central tyranny-"

"Oh Lord. The Cause."

Henry glanced over at Armistead and Longstreet; the older man's eyes risen up to the sky as though praying to be taken away from here. Not that Henry blamed him at all.

"What happened?" Longstreet asked.

"Well, Jim Kemper kept needling our English friend about why they didn't come and join in with us, as it was being in their interest and all, and peddling a 'just and noble cause' to our Maine journalist, instead of the belief that all of this is about, ah, slavery, and then Kemper here got a bit outraged and hat do explain to them how wrong they were."

"Pardon me." Freemantle stated with a bow, before leaving. Henry watched as the man walked off, possibly towards his tent. Henry remained, and although he was in the middle of the group, it seemed as though his presence had been forgotten.

"Damn fools." Kemper muttered. "They still think it's about slavery."

Henry clamped down on his tongue. It wouldn't be easy to argue with these people, as they were being fed lies by those Templars that were in control. It was much easier to listen to them until they finally tired themselves out. Pickett spoke up.

"Actually, I think my analogy of the club was best." The older man's eyes connected with Henry's and Henry held it. "It's as though we all joined a gentlemen's club, and then the members of the club started sticking their noses into our private lives, and then we up and resigned, and they tell us we don't have the right to resign."

The man preened, as though he had found the secret to everything. Henry glanced over at Longstreet, who only shrugged. There was more arguing around the campfire after that, but a lot of agreeing about why slavery was brought into the war and it was all just a question of the Constitution. Henry's stomach turned, and he decided that he had heard enough for one night.

Bidding the Generals a goodnight, Henry trudged back to his tent. The night was quiet where the tents were set up, a heavy silence that relaxed the tense muscles in his shoulders.