The Scent of Betrayal (31 page)

Harry broke the seal and opened the letter.

‘De Guerin crossed the Mississippi north of Natchez two days ago. McGillivray thinks he’s headed for something called the Natchez Trace.’

‘Used to be the old Chickasaw–Choctaw Trail,’ said Tucker, responding to Harry’s look. ‘Runs from Natchez all the way through Colbert’s Ferry to the Cumberland River.’

‘It’s a road?’

‘Of sorts,’ Tucker replied.

Harry looked at the letter again, reading silently for several seconds. ‘McGillivray advises that we head for a place called the Bayou Pierre. We will be met by another messenger, who will confirm de Guerin’s route and provide us with horses.’

‘Horses?’ said Tucker. ‘He’s sure going to a lot of trouble. You say you did him a favour, Ludlow. Just how big was it?’

Harry waved the letter. ‘I can’t believe it was big enough to justify all this.’

‘Do we proceed?’

‘Yes. But we must put our minds to finding a way to ensure that should we find that money, McGillivray can’t find us.’

Tucker walked back to take hold of the sweep. Grinning, he slapped Pender on the shoulder as he did so.

‘He likes a tall order, your Captain.’

Now was the time for maximum speed. The river, given the continuing good weather, had slowed somewhat in the time that they’d been on it, which lessened the effect of its obstacles, and past the Loftus Heights and Fort Rosalie they were clear of Spanish territory, so no precautions were required to avoid officialdom. The following days settled into the steady routine that was reminiscent of life aboard
Bucephalas
at sea: the orderly changing of watches, of meals prepared and consumed, of sleep taken and men brought awake to their duty, all proceeding at the proper pace. The crew had been apprised of what McGillivray had said, which raised their confidence and earned Harry the odd unbidden smile. Natchez was passed within two days, as they continued to reel off the miles.

The contrast, as Tucker steered the galley into the Bayou Pierre, was marked. From an open river they’d now entered a dank, stagnant piece of water surrounded by tall willows and poplars. There were few sounds; the croaking of numerous frogs, with the occasional bull-like roar of an alligator echoing eerily off the wall of moss-strewn forest. The air was still and oppressive, full of flying insects, with mosquitoes attacking everyone on deck in droves. He advanced about a quarter of a mile. A hail from the shore caused him to head for a convenient willow which grew right in the middle of the river, to which he attached a cable. Immediately a canoe set out from the shore, in the bows a man in European clothes.

‘Judge Peter Bryan Bruin,’ he called, coming aboard. Harry thought he detected a trace of an Irish accent. The face was florid and square, the smile wide. ‘I have a plantation just to the south of here. Alexander McGillivray asked me to give this to you.’

‘Is the title Judge an honorific?’ asked Tucker.

‘No, sir, it is not. I am employed to administer the law in this part of the Mississippi Territory.’

He passed Harry another unsigned letter, written in the same
disordered capital letters, then indicated to Tucker that he should proceed further into the swamp. The atmosphere became, if anything, even more oppressive the further they travelled. Bruin chatted aimiably about the area and its commercial prospects. If the deep suspicion harboured by the three men beside him was evident, he ignored it.

‘Might sell up and move to Natchez,’ he concluded, as the canopy of trees thinned overhead. ‘Being a judge don’t leave me much time to run the land.’

They emerged into a clearing, which had a levee of medium height, and contained a few ramshackle houses, a tavern, and a cotton gin.

‘You’re to disembark. The horses are corralled on a piece of high ground about a quarter of a mile from here. They will take you to wherever it is you’re planning to go.’

Bruin looked from one to the other, as if hoping that they would explain what was clearly a mystery. But no one obliged so he bade them good day and, now that the gangplank was out, went ashore.

‘Does that letter say anything about your Walloons?’ asked Tucker, as soon as he was out of earshot.

‘Still on the Natchez Trace.’ He passed the letter to the American. ‘McGillivray has drawn us a map.’

‘If he wrote this, Ludlow, and gave it to that judge, then he’s not in New Orleans.’

‘He can’t be,’ added Pender.

‘So where is he?’ demanded Tucker.

‘Ahead of us, I should think, shadowing our quarry.’

Tucker looked at the black waters of the bayou. ‘This whole thing stinks so much it makes the swamp smell like perfume.’

Harry twitched his nose, which was full of the corrupt odours of rotting vegetation. ‘The scent of betrayal, I think.’

‘He’s even got the local law on his side. But you still won’t turn back.’

Harry shook his head slowly. ‘McGillivray is counting on us outnumbering the Spaniards. But he can’t believe for a moment that we mean to murder them.’

‘If he was plannin’ to do that hisself,’ observed Pender, ‘he wouldn’t need us here.’

‘That’s right,’ Harry replied, before turning back to speak to Tucker. ‘So your theory must be correct. He daren’t let anyone see him, especially the Spaniards, in case they, as survivors, spread word of his involvement. If any of what you suppose is true regarding his handing us over to the Spanish, he has to take us on his own land, otherwise de Carondelet will smell a rat.’

‘And have you thought on long enough to foil his plan?’

Harry indicated the knot of Frenchmen, who were watching the trio closely. ‘It was really never possible for these men, having recovered their money, to return to New Orleans. So what is there for them to the north?’

‘Millions of square miles of America,’ Tucker replied.

‘And a lot of settlements that a generation ago were French.’

Tucker was quick to see what Harry was driving at. ‘All of them on the river.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And you have a ship stuck in New Orleans.’

‘Yes.’

‘You think de Carondelet will let you go?’

Harry shrugged. ‘I will plead that my liberty is more important than money and take his draft on the Spanish treasury, so his reasons for detaining me will disappear.’

‘Good luck, Ludlow,’ Tucker said with heavy irony. ‘Don’t bother to tell me what you intend to try. But I will say that whatever it is doesn’t have a prayer if de Guerin gets back there before you.’

‘It would be helpful if he too were to continue north. Even a few days’ head start would make all the difference.’

‘So, let me get this aright. You want me to take these men further up the Mississippi …’

Harry nodded. ‘As long as they are out of Spanish territory they should be safe.’

‘And at the same time you want me to make sure that the Walloons you intend to rob are kept from telling what’s happened.’

‘I don’t have the means to pay you, Tucker. But if we are successful, our crew most certainly do. And I think, under such circumstances, you could name your price.’

Tucker thought for a moment, his head dropped to his chest. When he looked up his eyes were twinkling with amusement. He picked up his long rifle, encased in its buckskin sheath. ‘Seems to me, if some of that bullion is coming my way, that Practical John and I ought to be there to see it returned to its rightful owners.’

Harry held out his hand. ‘I’ll be glad to have you both along.’

Leaving the boat, even though they’d been forewarned, rattled the French. It was as though the hull provided a security that they were loath to surrender, and the surrounding countryside, dense and unfamiliar, reinforced it. Brissot started the argument, but it was rapidly taken up by some of the others; and though it was never actually stated, it was certainly implied that if Harry wanted to get rid of them then this was a perfect place to do so. He took no part in the discussion, leaving Lampin and Couvruer to sort it out, aware that if they’d come this far, they wouldn’t turn back, and prepared to accept that they were only moaning to let him know he wasn’t, yet, entirely trusted.

FINDING
the Natchez Trace was a job for a man who could read a compass. The dense forest provided ample trails, all wide enough to accommodate the party of horsemen in single file, but the lack of sunlight added to their winding nature made certainty of direction difficult. Tucker, a riverboatman, having no need for such a device, had never used one. Harry’d lived with the constant presence of that instrument since he was a shaver, and using it to steer by was second nature. Initially they’d had to manoeuvre their way through low swamp or marshland. But within a couple of miles the ground began to rise, to become firm and dry. Near the river, and the rich alluvial soil provided by the Mississippi, lay substantial plantations, but the uplands, being less fertile, were sparsely populated. The houses, log cabins in the main, seemed rough and ready compared to the dwellings they’d left behind. Harry did his best to avoid coming in sight of these homesteads. A party of forty horsemen would not go unremarked, and their sudden appearance would cause a fear that could send ripples of alarm around the countryside.

McGillivray’s instructions took them slightly south, to join the Trace at the nearest point to the Bayou Pierre. Though not a road in the proper sense, it was wide enough, and straight enough, to allow them to increase speed, and being a major route to the northern states it was dotted with the occasional post-house. Mean-looking affairs in the main, with avaricious owners, they all had two vital functions: the corrals contained remounts, while the ostlers who ran them knew of everyone who’d passed ahead of them. De Guerin, no doubt feeling safe in the Mississippi Territory,
made little attempt to conceal himself en route. Not that he gave anything away – to avoid excessive curiosity he stopped only to exchange horses which were weak or lame – but enough had been left behind to satisfy Harry that, with frequent remounts of his own, he was still overhauling the Spaniards.

Not all the Frenchmen were happy on horseback, which slowed them somewhat, but none was as bad as Pender, who disliked the beasts with a passion born of total discomfort mixed with genuine fear. Harry had never seen him faced down by any man, nor step backwards when presented with the prospect of action. Indeed he was always to the fore, generally the first to board, and to be found at the heart of any mêlée which ensued. Dogs and children responded to him with affection, but to see him choosing a horse was to observe clear evidence that no human being lacked an Achilles’ heel. Great care was taken to find the quietest animal, but lacking true knowledge of the equine temperament, he had an uncanny knack of picking out the one beast that was docile only as long as no one was on its back, and that was compounded by a lack of any skill once mounted.

‘Give me a leakin’ barky any day,’ he moaned. He’d slipped sideways as they were fording a river, sliding out of the saddle into the deep mud created by those who’d preceded him, and this on an animal that he’d only been up on for half an hour.

‘Let me choose the next beast, for God’s sake,’ Harry snapped.

‘Never in life, Capt’n. I trusted Thankful Tucker to sort out this bastard for me, an’ I ain’t gone a single mile without falling off.’

A sudden burst of translation came from the bank above their heads, where the rest of the party were lined up waiting. That was followed by laughter. Looking up, Harry could see Tucker beaming at Pender, a man made happy by a jest that had paid the proper dividend.

‘Damn you, Tucker, we’ve no time for this,’ Harry shouted.

But his voice lacked any passion, indeed he’d only made the
remark to avoid openly joining in the laughter. They were close to de Guerin, very close, a fact that had emerged at the last post-house. The Spaniard had been forced to exchange two lame horses, with the ostler adding that most of the rest of the mounts, barring the pack-animals, looked under-nourished and blown. If he was pushing hard, that meant he was either late for a rendezvous or so close to it that the state of his horses mattered little. Harry dismounted to help Pender back aboard, checked his girth, and adjusted his stirrups, all this accompanied by an injunction to use his damned knees.

‘Next stop I’m going to take a mule,’ Pender growled.

‘Ludlow,’ said Tucker. Harry spun round. Whatever humour had been in the American’s voice was gone now. ‘I think you might have a messenger coming.’

Harry grabbed his horse’s reins, as well as Pender’s, pulling both up the steep embankment. He saw the lone figure riding towards them through the avenue created by the encroaching forest. He was sure, just as Tucker had been, that he was an Indian. The long feathers that protruded above his head were one indication, but more telling was the way the man rode his horse, as though he and the beast were one, which could only mean that he was bareback. As he came closer, and the canopy of trees thinned to allow some sunlight, Harry could see his copper-coloured skin, and by the time he reined in his horse, several yards away, Harry was aware of the slightly slanting black eyes, set in an unsmiling face. Reaching into his coat, the Indian produced yet another letter. But he was determined that the recipient should come and get it, clearly not even prepared to dismount to effect its delivery.

‘He’s camped near a place called Doak’s Stand, which is less than a mile ahead.’ Tucker shook his head, indicating that the name meant nothing to him. Harry waved the letter. ‘This says he’s settling in, including digging a latrine.’

Tucker dismounted. ‘So he’s not stopped for the night.’

Harry showed the American the second page, which had a
rough drawing of what he assumed to be the area ahead. It showed the Natchez Trace clearly, running through a valley. There was a small copse off to the western side, behind which de Guerin had set his camp, and judging by the indicated elevation, that gave him a view of the road with a modicum of concealment to protect him from anyone not actually seeking him out. ‘Which explains the horses,’ he said.

‘But why change the lame animals?’

‘Perhaps he wants to ensure a swift retreat.’

‘According to that ostler he’s got plenty of pack-horses.’

Harry gave the American a wolfish smile. ‘They won’t be going back with him, obviously.’

‘You to come with me,’ said the Indian, pointing to Harry. Still mounted, he looked even more unfriendly than he had when he’d arrived. ‘You only.’

‘Pender,’ Harry said quietly. ‘Follow on foot.’

His servant slid gratefully to the ground, then bent over to rub his aching thighs. ‘Aye, aye, Capt’n.’

‘Tucker,’ Harry continued, his eyes still on the stony-faced Indian, ‘any danger and I will fire off one of my pistols. If you hear it, put the river between you and us then prepare to defend the crossing.’

‘Will do,’ he replied. ‘If all else fails how do I get the Frenchies to run?’

‘Just shout
sauve qui peut
.’

The Indian spun his mount and trotted off up the trail. Harry mounted and went after him. Pender, moving off to the side to get some cover, followed easily. The Indian left the trail after about a quarter of a mile, heading into the forest. Soon they were working their way uphill through the trees, following a well-worn animal path covered in pine needles that deadened the sound of their hoofs. Twenty minutes brought them near to the edge of the treeline, where his guide finally dismounted. Harry did likewise. To say that the Indian smiled when he looked back down the trail would be an exaggeration. But his lips did part, which lessened
the near permanent scowl. His eyes swung to Harry and the head moved in what was clearly a gesture of disbelief. They stood for several minutes before Harry heard Pender. To his sailor’s mind, he was making little noise. To this Indian, who’d picked up the sound of his progress a lot sooner, Pender must sound like a charging bull.

‘Stop him,’ the man commanded.

‘No,’ Harry replied, with a look just as hard as the one he was getting.

They stood for a moment, staring at each other. Then the Indian shrugged and turned round. Crouching down, he edged forward to a point where a round of deep undergrowth fringed the copse. Harry waited till Pender was in sight, held up a restraining hand, then slid forward himself. De Guerin’s camp lay below them behind the line of trees, shown on the map, that overlooked the road. His men were employed putting up tents or gathering wood. The horses, well spaced out in their lines, grazed contentedly, cropping the thick grass that covered the slope. The Indian indicated a newly dug trench that lay off to one side of the horse-lines, right by the opposite line of trees. This was part of the same wood which, arching towards the top of the slope, continued down the other side of the pasture.

The Indian pointed to the trees behind the latrine, made the two-fingered sign for ‘walking man,’ this followed by a grip on his nose. That was followed by a hand round his ear and four fingers to denote a horse. Then he covered his eyes and swept his hand through an imaginary sky. He was proposing that their line of approach should be from the trees opposite, coming in behind the latrines so that the horses, even if the wind blew towards the camp, wouldn’t pick up their scent. Likewise, the noise of the animals would deaden any hint of their movements, and beasts accustomed to humans would not react overmuch once they were in amongst them. All of which should take place in darkness, when the moon had crossed the sky. In other words, just before dawn.
Harry repeated every gesture till his guide was sure he understood. Then the Indian stood up, went back to his horse, mounted, and without so much as a backward glance, rode away.

‘Do you have a knife, Pender?’ Harry asked, his eyes on the retreating back.

‘Aye, aye, Capt’n.’

‘Good. Mark the trees as we make our way back to the road. We’ve got to come back this way. And when we get to the river bank, fill up a saddlebag with some of that mud.’

Moving over thirty armed men through the woods was a great deal more difficult than his own previous journey. Unused to humans, the forest creatures had shown no evidence of fear, but such a large group couldn’t maintain silence – they’d scare off even a bear. Harry changed the direction of their approach to avoid alerting the Spaniards, who couldn’t fail to see the startled wildlife, mainly birds, if they came too close to the edge of the forest. He led them in a wide circle, till they were facing downhill, then walked them into their final positions in twos, having first streaked their faces with mud. Pender and Tucker were first, with an injunction to keep an eye on their quarry.

‘You can use the telescope from here, because the sun is now behind us. It will be near dark by the time I’ve got everyone in place. Locate the sentries and time the changes.’

‘I reckon de Guerin must be in that tent,’ said Tucker, pointing to the largest piece of canvas, a square structure that sat in the centre of the neat row that lay behind the trees.

‘Along with the bags they took off the pack-horses,’ added Pender.

‘They’ve stacked their weapons, regulation fashion,’ Tucker added. ‘I’m surprised he hasn’t taken more precautions.’

‘He doesn’t know we’re here, does he? And if he has made his rendezvous, the people he’s expecting are coming in from the north.’

‘I’m afire to find out who it is.’

Harry shook his head at Tucker. ‘With luck, we’ll never know. We’ll be gone before they arrive.’

Harry paid them several visits during the remaining two hours, to gather information with which he could direct the rest of the men. They were correct about de Guerin’s occupancy of the large tent, and he’d set his guards in the trees to watch the road. Really the Spaniard had too few men to mount a complete picket, so what he’d done wasn’t as stupid as it first appeared. It was dark by the time Harry finally joined, with only a faint glim of the low moon breaking through the canopy of trees. He too had muddied his face. He’d also removed his coat and smeared his shirt-front, so that from the rear it showed white. Below them the large fires created great pools of light around the tents, the white of which reflected it over an even wider area. The Spaniard’s men sat round talking quietly, occasionally pushing food on a bayonet into the flames.

‘We’ve got a good six hours,’ Harry whispered, ‘before we move in. I’ve told everyone to get some rest, one at a time. You two do the same.’

‘And you?’ Tucker asked.

‘Don’t worry, Tucker. I’ll sleep as well. But you go first.’

He woke the American, and with Pender still slumbering, he took a chance to deflect him from joining in the coming action.

‘I intend that no one should be harmed, which means that come daylight they are going to be able to see our faces.’

‘And if they spot me in New Orleans one day?’ The sentence didn’t need to be completed.

‘It would be best if you stayed here.’

Tucker rubbed his rifle. ‘Then Practical John and I’d miss all the fun, Ludlow. You say that you intend no bloodshed, but those men down there are soldiers, some of the best the Spanish army has got. Even if you surprise them there’s going to be a fight.’

‘Which you want to be part of?’

‘Come to that, you have to go back to New Orleans. And though I’m willin’ to take on your Frenchies, I don’t see that having a load of Walloon Guards on board is goin’ to keep my face a mystery.’

Harry nodded agreement, remaining silent while he sought a solution.

‘We will have horses, they won’t. Nor will they be left with the means to buy any. All they’ll have is food and their boots. We’ll take them far enough south to make sure that they don’t meet whoever is coming from the north, then abandon them.’

‘So let me take part. I promise I’ll be out of sight by sun-up.’

‘Your turn to watch,’ Harry replied, moving back into the undergrowth. ‘Don’t use the telescope. The light from the fires will reflect in it.’

‘Aye, aye, Capt’n,’ said Tucker, turning away.

He didn’t see, or hear, Harry shake Pender awake. His servant’s eyes opened immediately. They exchanged a glance, Pender nodded and raised himself on one elbow. Liking Thankful Tucker and trusting him, in the presence of so much money, were two different things. Harry knew very well what gold did to men. That wasn’t evidence of piety. It had a similar effect on him.