Many thanks to Chickenjodie, Lar and DeepaD for beta comments on this section.
"Wilkes," a gruff voice said. Ashley looked up as the cell door slid open and a grizzled, blue-coated guard motioned to him with a baton. "Step out. You have a visitor."
Ashley frowned. He was certain that no one in his family knew he was being held at Rock Island – he doubted they even knew he was alive, in fact. He couldn't imagine who would be visiting him. But it seemed more like an order than a request, so he rose silently and followed the guard along the dark, narrow corridor between cells to a small room at the far end of the floor.
This, he suspected, was the interrogation room. Since his arrival at the prison, Ashley had seen at least half a dozen of his fellow Confederate officers brought there. Hours later they came back out bloodied, broken and sometimes unconscious. The Yankee guards would half-drag, half-carry the beaten men right past his cell as they took them away – maybe to the infirmary, maybe back to their cells, maybe out to be shot – he didn't know where. For a moment Ashley felt the cold clench of fear in his belly – was there really a visitor, or was it his turn to be tortured? But when door opened, he immediately recognized the person waiting inside.
Rhett Butler looked at him closely, but if he noticed how gaunt Ashley was, how pale and dirty, it did not show on his face. Rhett, of course, looked as suave as usual: his linen suit was finely cut, clean and well tailored, and the slim line of his jacket made him seem taller than ever. His shirt was open at the collar, just enough to show a glimpse of bronzed skin at the hollow of his throat. Stepping forward, he extended his hand to Ashley as if they had just run into each other at a society banquet instead of a Yankee war prison.
"Major Wilkes," Rhett said. He smiled, his white teeth gleaming sharply. "How nice to see you still in one piece."
The Yankee guard moved between them and pushed Rhett's hand aside. "Fifteen minutes, Butler, no more," he grunted. "And mind, he'll be searched after you leave, so don't be having any ideas." Then he walked out, closing the door behind him. A metallic echo resonated down the corridor as the deadbolt clicked into place. The room suddenly seemed much smaller to Ashley, now that the other man was gone.
"I guess I'll have to forego slipping you a file," Rhett said. "That is, I would have to, if I had brought one in the first place."
Ashley did not laugh at the joke. While it was a great relief to discover that someone from his life knew that he was alive and knew where he was, it was terribly unnerving to have that person be Rhett. The last time they had seen each other – no, he wouldn't think of it now. He schooled his features into what he hoped was a neutral expression, one that would not reveal the confusion and conflict he was feeling.
"How did you know where to find me?" Ashley asked, moving slowly around to the opposite side of the rectangular table that, along with four chairs, represented all of the furniture in the room.
"I have many friends," Rhett said nonchalantly. "Some of them are in conveniently high places, and owe me some very useful favors. All things considered, you were relatively easy to find. If you had been killed, things would have been much more difficult."
"Does my wife know?"
"She doesn't yet, but I'm going directly back to Atlanta from here and I intend to go straight to Peachtree Street and tell her in person. She's been wearing herself out trying to get news of you." Rhett crossed his arms and leaned against the table. "I did want to make sure you were the real George Ashley Wilkes first, not an imposter, before getting her hopes up. It wouldn't be good for a woman in her condition to go through too much excitement."
Ashley looked at him. "What do you mean, in her condition?"
"I mean you're going to be a father, Ashley. Congratulations! I had brought you a very expensive cigar to celebrate, but I'm afraid they confiscated it at the gate." Rhett held his hands out, palms upward, in an apologetic gesture.
Ashley was stunned. A baby … He sat down heavily on the nearest chair, grasping the edge of the table with both hands to steady himself. Rhett, ever the cynic, had certainly been right to be careful. Melanie was so delicate, and so small … worry pooled in his stomach. The doctor had warned them about Melanie trying to have children. But it was too late for that now. A baby!
Rhett crossed his arms against his chest again, but still didn't move to sit down. "I'm sorry I can't give you more time to absorb the good news, but they won't let me stay that long. Tell me truthfully, are you being treated well?"
Ashley blinked, tried to focus on what Rhett was asking. "Well enough," he replied. "We do get plenty of fresh water. They give us hot bricks wrapped in flannel on the very cold nights." What could he really say about the eternal dampness, the half-rotted food, how pneumonia and typhoid leapt from cell to cell like a wildfire blazing through drought-ridden pines? There was no reason for anyone to know how bad things really were; if Melanie were to find out, it would just worry her even more.
"You were listed as wounded on the federal roster," Rhett prodded.
"It was nothing," Ashley said, looking steadily at the swirling grain of the wooden tabletop. "It's already healed."
"All the same, let's see if we can shorten your stay."
Ashley looked up quickly, wondering what Rhett could mean. Was he really so influential that he could get Ashley exchanged, or pardoned?
"I know what happens to a man in a place like this," Rhett said evenly. "What food they serve you has no redeeming value, there are never enough blankets, and you're exposed to every sickness men can carry. Most of the prisoners in here will leave in a pine box. You've almost got a better chance of making it on the front lines than in a war prison."
"You're right, but what can be done about it? They say that Lincoln has refused any further exchanges of prisoners."
"Yes, the Yankee government thinks that the war will end faster if the Confederates go broke trying to feed prisoners when they can't even feed themselves. But there is a way out of here, and I've been given permission to present it to you, if you're willing to listen."
Ashley sat forward. "Go on."
"There's been a lot of trouble of late with Indians in the frontier territories," Rhett said. "Settlers are being burned out of their homesteads, men killed, women and children taken captive, fighting breaking out in several places. But the army doesn't have soldiers to spare for these problems, since almost everyone is down in Virginia chasing after General Lee and friends. So they're offering a deal to some of the Confederate prisoners who are able-bodied enough to carry a rifle. Enlist for Indian service for two years, and they'll release you and send you out West to fight."
There was something not quite right, Ashley thought, as he absorbed what Rhett was saying. While speaking, Rhett studied his fingernails with a calm air of detached boredom, but Ashley could see that the line of his shoulders was unusually tense. A casual observer might have been fooled, but Ashley could tell that Rhett was nervous. It could just have been that they didn't have much time left, but it put Ashley on his guard.
"Two years is quite a big investment," he countered. "The war's likely to be over sooner than that, and then I can go home anyway. Why should I fight Indians for the Yankees when it's them I ought to be fighting?"
"You're assuming you'll survive the next six months in this hell-hole," Rhett said, his mouth twisting. "And you'll be saving innocent lives. Think of the women and children captured, terrified, dragged away from their homes in the night! Who knows what fate awaits them at the hands of those savages … it's a terrible injustice, one you'd be helping to right."
Ashley shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he said.
Rhett glanced toward the door, lowering his voice. "I know it seems like a long time. But think about this - you don't have to complete the whole service. You could always take the Oath, start out West, and desert as soon as you get the chance. They won't have the men to spare for chasing you. Then you head back home, as quick as you can."
Ashley suddenly felt cold all over. So that was what Rhett had been holding back! And now he had let it slip. In order to get out of prison, Ashley would have to betray everything he had spent the last two years fighting for by signing the Oath of Allegiance to the Union. Signing the Oath would mean swearing on his honor that he had never been disloyal to the Union, had never taken up arms to defend the Confederacy, or ever believed in what it stood for. That would be a lie, down to the very core of his being. How could he ever look his wife in the eyes again, after such disloyalty? She would never forgive him for it – he could never forgive himself!
Rhett was looking at him intently. "I won't take the Oath," Ashley said firmly. "You're out of your mind to even suggest it. I won't betray my country in such an unthinkable way, I have a duty to -"
"You have a duty to your family, Ashley," Rhett interrupted, standing up straighter, his eyebrow arching in surprise. "They need you now, more than ever. I'm simply offering you the one chance you have to be with them again. I can't believe you would rather stay here, penned up in a stinking cage -"
"My whole life has been nothing more than one cage after another," Ashley said evenly. "This is no different than the rest."
"Horseshit," Rhett swore, moving swiftly around the table to stand in front of him. "Any cage you think you've been living in, you've only locked yourself into - because it was easier to hide there than to face reality." His expression turned cynical, taunting. "She's made a complete mess of your plans, hasn't she?"
Ashley crossed his arms and frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but Rhett slammed his hand down on the table suddenly, and Ashley jumped, startled.
"Oh, yes, you do. You might be able to fool yourself, but you don't fool me," Rhett sneered, leaning in close. "You couldn't wait to join the army because it was easier to escape Scarlett by running off to war, than to stay and face the trouble her 'confession' would have brought upon you. Because you do want her, despite your noble protestations to the contrary, and you know she'd never let you have a moment's peace about it."
Ashley hadn't forgotten that painful day at the Twelve Oaks barbecue. After Charles Hamilton's outburst, he'd gone in search of Rhett but found Scarlett in the library instead. He'd fled soon after, but he'd been close enough to hear her raise her voice to someone and slam the door hard as she stormed off. When he went back into the library, he'd found a laughing Rhett standing over the shattered remnants of a china bowl. Ashley had known then that his guest must have been in the room the whole time Scarlett had been pouring out her heart, but thankfully, Rhett had never mentioned it again. To have it brought up so callously now made him angry. And hadn't Rhett been pursuing Scarlett himself these last few years? He was in no position to judge anyone else.
"You are out of line, sir," Ashley said in a low voice, looking up at Rhett defiantly.
Rhett's swarthy face mocked him. "My poor, dear Ashley. How difficult it must be, trying to reconcile your honor with your covetousness. You deeply want something that you can't have, and you can't bear the guilt it brings upon you – so much so that you think it will take a prison sentence to finally ease your conscience!"
"I have done nothing I need feel guilty about," Ashley retorted, but he could feel his cheeks turning crimson. He hoped Rhett would think he was angry over the hard words. But a different set of memories had sprung unbidden to his mind, memories of firelight and wine and the feel of Rhett's mouth on his own ... a greater sin even than covetousness, an abomination in the eyes of the Lord … he was flooded once more with the familiar feelings of desire, and shame. He did want Scarlett, it was true; she was beautiful and fiery and passionate, all the things that Ashley was not. But Rhett was like her in so many ways, cruel one minute and kind the next, charismatic and sensual - trying to make sense of it all just made Ashley even more uncertain of everything.
But Rhett was leaning in still closer, and didn't seem to notice his discomfiture. His eyes were suddenly earnest, his expression more open. "That's because you mistake the guilt for something else. You think fear has been driving you all this time, fear of your own desires, fear of the consequences if you aren't strong enough to resist your own longing." All trace of mockery had disappeared. "But you're made of sterner stuff than that, my friend. Ashley Wilkes is no coward. You aren't truly afraid of Scarlett, any more than you're truly afraid of me. And you can't use this cage to hide from either one of us."
Rhett was now leaning so close to him, Ashley could feel the heat rising from his skin. There was a flicker deep in his dark eyes, flaring for just an instant as Ashley looked into them.
"Come home, Ashley," he said, more gently than Ashley had ever heard him speak before. "Guilt has no place in a noble heart. Take the Oath, forgive yourself, and come home where you are needed."
For a moment they stayed perfectly still, Ashley seated at the table, Rhett leaning over him. And then Ashley looked down at the floor. Rhett's gaze, the secret light in his eyes, was too intense for him to bear. Ashley could never be any less than who he was, and he was not an oathbreaker.
"I can't," he said, all the anger draining from him. "I can't. How could I face Melanie with such a stain on my honor … she believes in me, and in all the things we've been fighting for. I can't betray her faith in me. I'm sorry."
When he looked up again, Rhett was standing up straight, staring silently past him at a spot on the wall. His lips were pressed into a thin white line beneath his mustache, the only indication that he had even heard what Ashley said. He turned his back and paced slowly to the opposite side of the room, where he stood for a few more moments, perfectly still.
When he finally spoke again, gone was the softness, the cordiality. In its place was a diamond-hard bitterness. "Play the Roman fool, if you must." He turned around again, but did not look at Ashley; instead he fixed his gaze upon the door. "I thought you would put your family above your ridiculous honor for once. Let your child be born fatherless, to a mother so weak of a broken heart she'll probably die before he draws his first breath – if she lives even that long."
"Of course you wouldn't believe -" Ashley began, but those hard black eyes turned sharply upon him and he fell silent. Rhett Butler might clothe himself in finery, Ashley thought; he could appear sleek and harmless when it suited him. But underneath the smooth outer skin, he was still just as feral as ever.
"Stay here until you rot, if it will cleanse your tortured soul," Rhett said. "Purge yourself of sin and shame with your humble suffering. Die with your honor intact, for the glory of the great and holy cause, coughing your lungs out with fever in a pool of your own filth. It's a nobler end by far, than for you to break an oath you never believed in from the start."
He crossed the room in three swift strides and rapped sharply on the door.
"Don't worry, I'll think of something to tell them in Atlanta that might make some kind of sense. Scarlett and I will look after Mrs. Wilkes," Rhett said. "That should be fun, don't you think?"
"Rhett," Ashley said quietly. "I won't ask you to try and understand how I feel, but my honor is all that I have left. Without that, there would be no Ashley Wilkes."
"That's a shame, then," Rhett said coolly, "because it means absolutely nothing to anyone else."
The bolt of the door clanged as it slid out of place, and then Rhett was gone.
As the days of his incarceration passed, Ashley noticed that he usually had a blanket of his own when many of the other prisoners had to share, and that he was always put on light work detail instead of the much riskier jobs, like infirmary duty. He was also harassed less often by the guards than the other Confederate officers were. He knew it had to be Rhett's lingering influence at work, although he also knew Rhett would never have admitted it.
Once, when he had fallen ill with typhoid and he lay in the throes of fever, weak and delirious, drenched with sweat, he imagined Rhett was beside his bed looking down with a pale and anxious face, yelling at the infirmary staff to bring more water.
But it couldn't have really been Rhett, he thought later, because Ashley had clearly made his choice, and Rhett was never coming back.