The Scent of Betrayal (32 page)

Men moved silently out of the trees as soon as they saw the white of Harry’s shirt. With the moon now low in the sky behind him it was like a beacon. Every one of them had been assigned a tent, with instructions to use no knives unless threatened, and to employ their firearms as clubs. Harry was carrying a twisted lump of wood, his pistols stuck into his belt. Only Tucker and those assigned to subdue the sentries had muskets. The distance between the latrine and the horse-lines, around a hundred yards, was critical. Harry had told them to avoid too much stealth, but it was impossible not to crouch down and attempt to move forward silently. He found it so himself, and the combined approach of thirty men in the same mode spooked some of the more nervous beasts. The remaining glow from the fires was insufficient for
humans, but a horse has good night vision, as well as acute hearing. He dashed forward, followed by those closest to him, and grabbed at the halter of one of the more nervous beasts. Those who knew horses pulled their heads down, then covered their nostrils with their hands. Pender, not by any means the sole offender, did the opposite, which allowed the animal he was trying to quieten to rear instead. It whinnied loudly, something which was bound to bring the sentries to investigate, suspecting the presence of something like a puma or a bear. But they wouldn’t have to get too close to realise that their mounts were spooked by humans.

The cry that came from his throat had every horse in the lines dragging at their halters. As he rushed through, heading for de Guerin’s tent, he saw one animal kick out wildly. Its hoof caught one of the Frenchmen right in the back, just below the neck. It sent him flying. The man rolled several times then lay still. He was the only silent man in the clearing. Every attacker was yelling as they charged forward, their cries echoed by the panicky screams of men suddenly awakened and unready for combat. A flash of orange light shot out from the downhill trees and Harry felt the air move as the ball whipped past his head. A grunt from behind indicated that the man who’d fired had found flesh, but there was no time to stop and investigate.

They were good soldiers. Not one forgot his duty by trying to mount an individual defence. Each trooper, once he’d retrieved his weapon, fell back towards the main tent in an attempt to form a line. The man Harry assumed to be de Guerin was out, sword in hand, shouting clear orders, his demeanour the very antithesis of panic. The two sentries had moved sideways to give themselves a clear chance to fire, and two more flashes lit the night sky. Half a minute’s grace would have allowed the Spaniards to succeed, and the attackers might have run headlong into a frisson of bayonets. But with the slope in their favour, Harry and his men didn’t grant them the time. With Pender on one side and Tucker on the other, he crashed into the still disorganised Walloons, clubbing everyone who stood in his path. Muskets were fired from behind
him to subdue the sentries, and these, passing close to the packed ranks, increased their disorder.

Pushing two men aside, Harry nearly ran full tilt onto the officer’s sword, now held out before him in regulation fashion. He swung the club wildly and pushed the blade aside. Carried foward by his own momentum he crashed into de Guerin, which took both men through the flap and into the tent. A small table, bearing an inkwell and some papers, crumpled like matchwood as they fell on top of it. Aware that the Spaniard still had his sword, Harry threw himself to his left, so that he could pin the hand that held it. De Guerin, with his other hand free, used it to good effect, fetching Harry a telling blow on the ear, which sent a flash of bright light through the back of his eyes.

The sword was the problem. If he could get that free Harry was in real trouble. He knew he’d been lucky to nullify it first time. But this man beneath him, an officer in King Carlos’s best regiment, had to be a competent swordsman. No club, however well employed, could keep such a weapon in such hands at bay. So he pressed down hard, letting the Spaniard hit him repeatedly, as he sought to free one of his pistols from his belt. That spun him slightly, and made him aware of the silhouette framed in the doorway.

‘For God’s sake, Tucker,’ he yelled, ‘do something!’

The American shot forward, but not by his own volition. Pender came through the flap behind him, his head swinging to take in what was going on. His pistol came down on de Guerin’s swinging arm just as the man tried to clout Harry for the fourth time. The butt caught him below the elbow, making him recoil, and that gave Harry enough time to ease his own position. With one hand holding the sword arm, his fist shot out, catching his opponent right under his exposed chin. There was a moment’s stiffness before the Spaniard went limp. Harry got up onto his hands and knees.

‘Why didn’t you interfere?’ he demanded.

‘Looked like fair goes to me, Ludlow,’ Tucker replied. ‘Don’t do to interfere unless someone might die.’

The vibration, faint at first, came through Harry’s hands. Tucker, whose hearing was probably more acute than any of the others present, suddenly hissed: ‘
Horses
.’

‘I can feel them,’ Harry replied. He jumped to his feet and shot outside. The soldiers were on the ground, those unwounded sitting with their hands behind their back. Others, obviously wounded, lay where they’d fallen.

‘Tucker, get these men tied up, even the wounded ones.’

‘Hell’s teeth and damnation,’ said Tucker, looking north.

Harry grabbed a musket of one of the men standing over the prisoners and headed for the line of trees, yelling for those still armed to follow him. Tucker’s knife was out of its sheath before he’d finished his expletive, slashing at the ropes which held the tents upright. Those Harry’d left behind, because they were wounded, bemused, or slow-witted, caught the lengths of hemp as he tossed them. Tucker grabbed the nearest prisoner and began to lash his hands. Seeing what was required, the rest followed suit.

The first hint of daylight tinged the sky just above the hill opposite as Harry and his party reached the other side of the narrow copse. The approaching horses could be heard plainly now, their hoofbeats a steady tattoo that grew louder as they approached. Harry fired the musket, knowing that the riders were out of range, but the act had the desired effect of slowing them down. The noise of hoofs died away completely, which gave him time not only to reload but also to organise a ragged defence which corresponded to the line of the trees.

‘Pender! Back to that tent and see if the bullion’s in there.’

‘And if it is?’

‘Don’t let it out of your sight. Send Tucker himself to tell me.’

The note of a singing bird, raised to greet the coming dawn, surprised Harry, but it convinced him that his musket shot had succeeded beyond his expectations. Whoever those horsemen were they’d remained still, which had allowed at least one creature to assume that no danger existed. The floor of the valley was still in
darkness, the contrast of the increasing light in the sky making it impossible to see anything clearly. Several minutes went by before Tucker arrived, rifle in hand. He slapped Harry on the shoulder, his face wreathed in smiles.

‘A fortune, Ludlow, all in nice thin gold and silver bars.’

Harry nodded to indicate he should look down the valley.

‘McGillivray?’

‘The horses are shod,’ Harry replied. ‘You can tell by the noise they make. I profess a limited knowledge of the noble savage, but I do know they don’t use farriers.’

‘He’s a half-breed, Ludlow. And there’s no guarantee that his party have to be Indians.’

‘My guess is we are about to come face to face with whoever de Guerin came to meet.’

They knelt in silence as the light increased, finally touching the valley floor. The sky above the opposite hill was now blue, growing brighter and changing to gold as the sun rose. Birds sang in numbers now, calling to each other from their branches, before swooping from the trees in search of food. The glistening rim appeared growing quickly into full daylight.

‘Look!’ said Tucker.

‘I see them,’ Harry replied.

The group of horsemen emerged from the point at which the trees re-enclosed the road. They were armed, their muskets held towards the sky in an unthreatening way. Facing east, Harry had to use his hand to shade his eyes. The sun flashed off the odd brass button as they jigged along. Apart from the man in the fore-front, all seemed to wear similar dress; dark blue coats with red facings. The party stayed on the road, moving at walking pace, until they were abreast of the trees. Then, at a shouted command, they swung round in an orderly line. Only the odd man out, in a green frock coat, rode forward. His hands were both on the reins, and he appeared to carry no weapon.

‘Are they soldiers?’ asked Tucker, indicating the party on the road.

‘They are,’ replied Harry, standing upright.

‘You going to talk to him?’

‘That’s what he wants, I think.’

Tucker raised his rifle, taking careful aim on the approaching rider, as Harry walked out through the undergrowth. The horsemen stopped as he moved forward down the hill. When Harry was within twenty-five feet he removed his hat. Harry gasped as he saw the ruddy face.

‘Well, Harry Ludlow,’ said Oliver Pollock. ‘I never thought to find you so far from the sea.’

‘
BRIGADIER
General James Wilkinson, of Kentucky,’ said Pollock, his face grim. ‘That’s who the money’s destined for. I believe I mentioned his name in St Croix. He’s a hero of the Revolutionary War, one of the most handsome men in the country, a spellbinding orator, and a fine soldier. He has just taken over Detroit from the British and is being put forward as the next inspector general of the Federal Army.’

‘Quite a character.’

‘That’s his version, Harry. He also happens to be an endemic schemer who plotted against Washington, has taken part in fraudulent land speculation, and is a very good friend to the Spanish.’

‘And you?’

Pollock smiled. ‘I’m here to make sure that for all the gifts that the good God has bestowed on him, good and bad, he never receives this one.’

‘So you intended to steal, as well.’

‘Steal is a strong word, Harry. And since I’m acting on behalf of the American government, hardly appropriate. My instructions are to ensure he doesn’t take possession of it, preferably by sending it back whence it came.’

‘Why?’

‘There are those who feel that such a man should not be accepting payments from Spain. One of them is close enough to the general to have inside knowledge of his attachment to the interests of King Carlos.’

‘You are saying he’s a traitor?’ asked Harry.

‘Not by his lights. In his own mind he’s a patriot. Only problem is, he’s more loyal to the Kentucky legislature than he is to Congress, and Kentucky plays second fiddle to his love of money. I believe we’ve spoken before about the difficulties the Federal government faces with the frontier states. Someone like Wilkinson thrives in such an unstable atmosphere.’

‘Could I ask you to dismount, Oliver?’

‘Not with those muskets poking out of the trees.’

‘One of them is a rifle, longer than normal, and in the hands of a riverboat captain from Kentucky. I’ve seen him bark a squirrel at a hundred paces.’

Pollock shrugged and put a finger to the middle of his head. ‘So at this range, I’m a dead man.’

‘If you stand down your men, I will do likewise.’

‘You still haven’t explained why you are here, Harry.’

‘That’s precisely what I want to do. But it’s not simple enough to be done in one or two sentences.’

‘You sailed into New Orleans carrying all that money?’

The interruption was unwelcome, since he’d barely begun his story, which made his response rather terse. ‘Slightly more, I think.’

Pollock shook his head in disbelief, unaware that he’d only heard half of Harry’s tale. ‘Forty Frenchmen was bad enough. Why didn’t you tell me about this?’

‘I’m like you, Oliver, not much given to discussing my business in too free a manner.’

Pollock acknowledged, with a grimace, the way his own words had returned to haunt him. Harry went on to explain the rest, alluding forcefully to the offer he’d had from the Governor of New Orleans, that if he found the original consignment, he could keep it.

‘Not that it’s really mine, of course. It belongs to the Frenchmen and should be handed over to them.’

‘That’s a tall order, Harry.’

‘Your instructions are to stop Wilkinson getting his bribe.’

‘That’s true. But if that amount of money goes missing on American soil, how am I going to explain it?’

‘You only know it really exists because I’ve told you.’

Pollock jerked his head to indicate the men behind him. They too had dismounted, though they’d kept their weapons at the ready.

‘You will observe that I’m not alone.’

Harry looked at the line of dismounted soldiers and frowned. ‘I want to put forward a guess, Oliver, which I’d be grateful if you’d truthfully confirm.’

Pollock had followed his gaze, which caused him to grin, when he turned back to face him. ‘Now I recall what I like about you, Harry. You think like me.’

‘So they don’t know?’

‘They are aware that we are to intercept a party of Spanish soldiers who have illegally crossed into the Mississippi Territory. Wilkinson’s bribe was never mentioned.’

‘What would you do if the money did fall into your hands?’

‘I wouldn’t keep it, Harry.’

‘Would your government?’

‘I doubt it,’ Pollock replied, his voice turning sour. ‘They’d probably return it to de Carondelet as a warning to desist from meddling in American affairs.’

‘Not a policy that meets with your approval?’

‘No!’ he snapped.

‘Much as it grieves me to say so, I’m prepared to lead these Frenchmen in a fight to keep it. And you lack the numbers to mount an effective attack.’

‘Let’s walk, Harry. My mind works better when I walk.’

Pollock set off, cutting a path through the long grass parallel to the line of trees, hands behind his back and his head pressed down on his chest. After about forty paces he turned and retraced his steps. Harry walked alongside him, saying nothing. This, he knew, was a time for silence. Pollock had to examine all the
alternative courses of action, subjecting each possibility to rigorous examination.

‘Tell me, Harry, you’ve been to New Orleans. What do you think of it?’

‘What I think has little value. It’s what people like you think that counts.’

Pollock stopped and raised his head to look at the sky. ‘You were right when we had dinner aboard your ship. Do you recall it, the way you referred to the idea of having France back on our borders?’

‘Yes. And I rather imagine that, unlike your previous response, you’re now going to agree with me.’

‘I’m not alone in thinking it a bad thing. In fact, I dislike having any European nation on our doorstep, Spain included, since that drags us into the mire of their competing politics. The treaty we’ve signed with Spain regarding the Mississippi delta looks like a good thing to most Americans. To me it was just the opposite.’

‘You’d prefer a war?’

‘I’d prefer to see New Orleans and the delta as our own property rather than be granted favours because it belongs to someone else. What we’re doing only serves to make what was an untenable, unattractive colony, which might have fallen to us by default, a rich prize that someone more powerful might covet.’

‘France.’

‘I spent an age touring the Caribbean when I heard that de Carondelet was gathering gold and silver, trying to ensure that no new lines of credit would be made available to the Spanish.’

‘St Croix.’

‘Børsenen’s are one of the leading neutral bankers close to the Gulf. I wanted to dissuade them, should they be tempted, from either lending the Spanish money or investing in New Orleans.’

‘Was this a private venture, Oliver?’

Pollock grinned again. ‘Let us just say that it wasn’t entirely sponsored by every member of the government. There are some
who agree with me, and others who don’t. But I had enough leverage to say to Børsenen that if he did business with the Spanish, then any notion of similar opportunities in the United States would be severely compromised.’

‘So where does this leave us?’

‘Can I countenance all that money going back to New Orleans?’

Harry stopped suddenly so that Pollock wouldn’t see him react. The American paused, then continued pacing.

‘Regardless of what others think, if it does, it will just resurface in another form, and quite possibly be put to its original use. I’ve been racking my brain for a way to avoid that without finding a solution. And now I find, thanks to you, de Carondelet doesn’t need it.’

The last words were delivered with some venom. Pollock had fallen silent again, leaving Harry to ruminate himself. He didn’t think his friend was being entirely truthful, but was at a loss to know, if there was a lie in his statement, which one it was. McGillivray’s words about George Washington being a man tired of war came to mind, that and his absolute certainty of the American President’s upright moral character. For all the Creek chieftain’s possible duplicity, when he’d uttered those words he’d spoken with real conviction.

Obviously Pollock belonged to a group that would dearly love to invoke a conflict with Spain over Louisiana. How much of that was genuine patriotism and how much it was dictated by personal gain was irrelevant. It was merely a fact. But it was not a view that found universal favour in New York, with someone like Washington at the head of a government dedicated to peace and consolidation, a man surrounded by others of like persuasion, who would find such an act anathema, given that it could only be brought to pass by subterfuge and double dealing.

Pollock couldn’t appropriate the money for himself. To hand it over to people who’d return it to de Carondelet, whether they
were American politicians or intinerant French settlers, was an unpalatable option. Nor could it be passed on to Wilkinson. All of which, added together, suited him perfectly. It had been Harry’s intention to keep quiet about his decision to keep going north, but now being open about it seemed more effective. Typically, he made it sound as though the thought had just occurred to him.

‘Where would they settle?’ Pollock demanded.

‘I’m sure I could accept your advice on that,’ Harry replied. He waited with baited breath, aware that if Pollock accepted that duty, he’d also accepted the notion of the retention of Wilkinson’s bribe.

‘It would have to be outside Kentucky or Tennessee,’ Pollock growled. ‘That kind of sum would be just as dangerous on the frontier as it would be in the delta.’

‘I must have a suggestion to put to them.’

‘There are several old French settlements west of the Illinois River, in the region of the Great Lakes. They can be reached by water if they can find themselves a boat.’

‘That would suit them,’ Harry replied, without elaborating.

‘And they can’t go wandering around the country with that amount of money,’ said Pollock. ‘They’d need somewhere to deposit their funds.’

‘They would accept your advice on that as well, I’m sure.’

‘I will recommend them to the Morris family of Philadelphia. Robert and Gouverneur Morris are friends of mine.’

Harry grinned. It looked like agreement, but behind the smile he was thinking about those two names. Robert Morris had been the leading banker to the Continental Congress during the Revolutionary years, and quite a power in the land. What was his attitude to the Mississippi question?

‘What about the money they had originally?’ Pollock snapped, breaking his train of thought.

They started pacing again while Harry filled in the details of how de Carondelet had come to sequester the treasure. This
inevitably led to an explanation of how they’d found the deserted ship and what was aboard, which engendered a raised eyebrow, especially at Harry’s description of the open sugar boxes. Then the mention of San Lucar de Barrameda brought forth a curse, one that was extended to de Carondelet and his entire
Cabildo
, as well as the officers of the Spanish garrison.

‘De Fajardo de Coburrabias is a clever rogue,’ he said, when the soldier’s name emerged.

Harry continued his tale, refering to de Carondelet’s offer of redress. ‘Worthless in my opinion. McGillivray thinks—’

‘What has McGillivray got to do with this?’ Pollock demanded.

The explanation didn’t raise Harry in Pollock’s eyes, which was clear from the grinding of his teeth. ‘You’ve been used, man, can’t you see that? As soon as you and Pender recross the frontier, he’ll steal it off you.’

‘Except that now, Oliver, we won’t have it.’

Pollock threw back his head and laughed. ‘I’d like to see his face, Harry. I hope it gives the bastard a stroke.’

‘Do I detect the fact that you don’t like him?’

‘He came to New York a couple of years back, and did more harm than any other man has a right to.’

Which translated meant that McGillivray had only reinforced the American government’s reluctance to do anything underhand, or even overt, regarding Louisiana.

‘He told me he and George Washington esteemed each other.’

Pollock gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘One thing that we learned from being subjects of King George, Harry, is that no man, however elevated, is infallible.’

‘Anyway, all this is academic,’ Harry continued. ‘The only way I had of getting that chest back from de Carondelet, according to him, was to reunite him with his bullion. He convenietly forgot to mention that it wasn’t even on the
Gauchos
. I suppose if I’d found the murderer that would have – might have – made his
position more uncomfortable, but I’m still not sure it would have induced him to make redress.’

‘Murderer?’

‘We found, tied to a raft in the Gulf, the body of one Juan Baptiste Rodrigo.’

‘Rodrigo?’

‘The Captain of the
Gauchos
.’

‘Captain? The man’s no ship’s Captain. He’s a smuggler. What was he doing out in the Gulf in a merchant ship?’

‘Presumably,’ Harry replied tersely, ‘he’d been engaged to transport what he thought was boxes of sugar.’

‘John the Baptist Rodrigo is a man I first met in the cells of Moro Castle in Havana. I was put there, like him, by Galvez, one of de Carondelet’s predecessors. My crime was to meddle too overtly in local politics, his to steal too much from the treasury by his smuggling. Are you telling me that the
Cochon du lait
actually engaged someone like him to transport his gold and silver?’

‘No, Oliver, I said he’d been engaged to carry casks of sugar.’ He went on to describe what he’d found on board, including the cabin and the table set for dinner. ‘De Carondelet confirmed to me my original supposition that Rodrigo knew nothing of the real cargo.’

‘And you believed him?’

‘I had no reason not to,’ Harry replied, with an anger that had a lot to do with the sudden realisation of his own possible gullibility. ‘And none of this matters a damn. He’s not going to part with that chest no matter what I do. What is more vital is that I get my ship out of New Orleans. Right now it’s berthed under one of the New Orleans forts, with a furnace full of shot ready to sink me if I try to move.’

‘Harry, it’s worse than you think. The French and Spanish are on the verge of signing a pact that will bring the Dons into an alliance against Britain.’