Jack Absolute (18 page)

‘You really shouldn’t listen at keyholes, Count.’ Jack took a step back to give himself throwing room. ‘People might mistake
you for a spy.’

Von Schlaben smiled. ‘I am desolate that I will not have such … amusing company on the tedious voyage to Montreal.’

‘Oh, we’ll meet again, Von Schlaben. You may be sure of that.’

Jack began to walk backwards, away, his eyes on his enemy, his hand on his tomahawk. When he was far enough, he turned. Not
far enough, though, to escape that soft, insinuating voice.

‘Oh, I am, Captain Absolute. Quite sure.’

In the chaos of the Quartermaster’s tent, Jack was able to take the best of the supplies he would need. Some grains, maple
sugar, bacon, powder for his guns, that was all. He would travel unencumbered, as usual. What took longer was the letter he
wrote to Burgoyne, to send with Captain Ancrum. He did not know if he would survive what lay ahead and the General must hear,
eventually, the true tale of this debacle at Fort Stanwix. Especially Von Schlaben’s continuing part in it.

So he set out later than he’d hoped. Yet the further he went into the forest, the lighter his spirits became. Like his Mohawk
brethren, he had rapidly wearied of the siege, the too-slow creeping of the siege lines towards the stockade, the frustration
at St Leger’s ineptitude. The defenders of the Fort had seemed well supplied with food and water and if these ever ran out,
it would not be until the crisis of Burgoyne’s campaign had come and gone. The artillery had continued its ineffectual popping
at the sturdy timber and sod walls. Jack had spent as little time as necessary in the British camp, where the officers followed
their leader’s example in drunkenness each and every night. There may have been a lack of resolution but, until very recently,
there was none of wine, brandy, and rum. This applied equally to the Indian camps where the few leaders such as Joseph who
opposed the ‘darling water’ were overwhelmed by the many that craved. The results were familiar, predictable. More tribesmen
died in midnight brawls than fell to Rebel bullets.

At last
, thought Jack.
At last. Clear of it all.

It was fragrant beneath the swathes of tree, so different from the rancid fug of the siege lines. With August nearly over,
there was even the slightest hint here of the season to come, a finger of coolness in the caress of the breeze that flowed
through the beech and walnut, the hornbeam and elm. He felt a sudden desire to have that touch over all of him and acted on
that desire on the instant. His buckskin shirt and breeches were stowed swiftly in his knapsack, his hair released from its
deer-hide strap to drop on to his bare shoulders. He ran his hands through it … and suddenly recalled standing in the wings
at Drury Lane, flicking at his ungoverned locks in a mirror just prior to that last, wonderful, fateful encounter with Lizzie
Farren. What would she think of him now, standing near naked in a forest? Jack grinned. Just what she’d thought of him then,
the minx! And with the same response as in that crammed dressing-room with Act Five of
The Rivals
beginning just a few feet away.

Memories brought sensations, shifted to another woman, a more recent time, the glorious agony of five weeks aboard, five weeks
of unfulfilled desire. He wondered, as he did almost daily, where exactly Louisa was now. How far had Burgoyne progressed?
They had received the glorious news that Fort Ticonderoga, the American’s strongest bastion against invasion, had fallen with
scarcely a shot, on the 5th July. Rebel deserters and Indians had brought reports and rumours in the succeeding weeks – most
concluding that Burgoyne was advancing swiftly southwards. By this time in late August, Jack surmised he might even be close
to the prize of Albany, about sixty miles east of where Jack stood. And if Generals Howe or Clinton were sweeping up from
New York as the plan dictated, the Rebels would probably be powerless by now to prevent the juncture of the two British armies.
The
war could almost be over, despite the ignominy and failure of this third thrust under St Leger.

He sighed. All he could know for certain was that Louisa was there, up ahead of him somewhere, awaiting, he hoped, their reunion.
And there was nothing he could do now with these sensations, these memories and longings. Except run. So he did, bursting
through the late August sunbeams, which hung like panes of glass between the trees.

He did not know how long he ran, loving the freedom of it. Finally, he recognized where he was, paused at the top of a rise
within the forest, just before the descent into the ravine of Oriskany. Closing his eyes, he let his breathing steady, used
his other senses. The forest creatures that had started at his approach now settled again; a flying squirrel resumed its leap
from branch to branch. He heard the snicker of a pine marten, its high-pitched call seeking mate or prey. There were wolves
here too, drawn as ever to the feast that human conflict always leaves behind. They would be ahead of him, down in the ravine,
for though the tribes and the British had returned to collect their dead, the Militia had not paused in its flight to do the
same.

Was that one he heard now, the guttural grunt, the snapping of a dry branch upon the ground?

He opened his eyes … and saw the thrown club a moment before it struck. That moment gave him time to twist his head, the ball
of Ironwood striking his shoulder, glancing off, instant agony if not a crippling one. Dropping, the musket came off his shoulder
as the thrower drew a tomahawk from his belt and began to run down the path towards him, screaming as he came.

At ten paces, Jack had the cover off the frizzle. At five, he pulled the hammer back. The blast happened at three when there
was no time to aim, when the tomahawk had risen to its ultimate height. Buck and ball caught the Abenaki warrior in
the centre of the chest and he flew back down the path as if a horse had kicked him.

The second Abenaki didn’t scream but Jack heard him nonetheless, heard the knife clear leather and flash down to Jack’s shoulder.
He rose to meet it halfway, one arm thrust up to block, forearm to forearm, his free hand yanking his dirk from its sheath.
His grip was reversed so he could thrust straight up, but as he seized the warrior’s weaponed hand so his opponent seized
his. He twisted Jack around, and the two of them fell, rolled twice. From his wrestling days in Cornwall Jack knew the one
important law – end up on top. So he did, twisting hard to achieve it, his enemy’s dagger pushed out to the side, his own
bearing down steadily towards the black-circled eyes within the orange mask. Then he saw those eyes flick to Jack’s side and
he remembered that there had been three Abenaki squatting at Von Schlaben’s feet. And it was the last thing he remembered
because of the sudden pain at the back of his head, the world going white.

Voices raised in dispute woke him, but it was pain that kept him awake, not only the relentless throbbing at the base of his
skull but the agony of the too-tight deer-hide straps that held his wrists behind him, his fingers bent and ground into the
rough bark of the cedar to which he’d been tied. He tried to stretch them, to shift position and alleviate the strain in his
body, without opening his eyes and thus drawing attention. But the shift caused another surge of pain and he could not stop
his groan.

The voices ceased. There was no profit in pretending further so Jack tried to open his eyes. Something sticky held them, blood,
he presumed. When he’d succeeded, it took a while to focus. And when he had, he wished he had not bothered. For the Count
von Schlaben stood a few feet before him, a delighted smile on his face.

‘Captain Absolute! You are with us again. I was so concerned that my friends had been overzealous in their capture of you.
I had given strict orders, but as you know, these children are hard to rule. And because you killed one of them, they were
most anxious to take their revenge. It is only because my dear Tosselbach here is so persuasive that you still have your hair.’

Jack looked beyond Von Schlaben. On the ground squatted the two Abenaki by the body of the third, whose arms were folded across
the ravages of his chest. They glared both at Jack and at the man who stood above them. The huge Jaeger sergeant had obviously
neglected his toilet that hour for a beard was fast developing. Folded in his arms, looking small, was a huge blunderbuss.

It took Jack several tries before his voice would work. ‘Do you expect me to reveal secrets to you, Von Schlaben?’

‘No, Captain Absolute,’ the German sounded surprised, ‘I expect you to die.’ He came closer, leaned down. ‘However, I did
not want you to die oblivious. I wanted you to know, at the last, who was responsible for your death. These savages,’ he gestured
to the glowering Abenaki, ‘are rumoured to eat the heart of an especially spirited enemy. I would not go that far but …’ He
smiled, straightened. ‘You were an interesting opponent for a while, Captain, but I cannot let you interfere in my work any
further. You caused me some inconvenience and some pain,’ he stroked his jaw, ‘and that cannot be tolerated. I might have
told the amiable Colonel St Leger of our last encounter. I think he would have believed me. But then, what? Sent back to Burgoyne
in disgrace? I know you would have appeared again to oppose me. And really, I did not wish to deprive myself of a sweet moment
I was so certain would come at the last.’

He moved away. On the other side of the small clearing, the German and Abenaki possessions were stacked. From
their midst, Von Schlaben pulled a hessian sack. He held it slightly away from his body. As he walked slowly back towards
him, Jack saw one brown side bulge suddenly out.

‘So uncivilized, this scalping, do you not think? I do not mean because of the blood, the pain involved – if the victim, as
so often is the case, is still alive. No, because it is indiscriminate, each enemy receiving only the same punishment, no
matter what their crime.
That
is uncivilized.’

Von Schlaben stopped a few feet away. Inside the sack, a wriggling continued. Suddenly Jack realized what made the sacking
move and all his defiance fled. If he could have gotten his mouth to work again, he might have screamed. But there was not
time even for that because the Count had loosened the string at the sack’s mouth, was grabbing the sack’s end …

The rattlesnake landed in the centre of Jack’s stomach, curled up in an instant, its head raised. It was huge, bigger even
than that other one on the path. Jack couldn’t hold back the scream, couldn’t help jerking his face away from the horror.
The creature, maddened by its imprisonment, followed the movement and struck – once at Jack’s shoulder, again at his neck.
Then it rolled off and slithered into the undergrowth.

The horrors were upon him. Jack barely saw the Count crouching down before him, staring intently. His words seemed to come
from very far away, terror distorting their volume and sound.

‘They say that, especially if the victim is strong, it can take many hours for one to die this way. And that every minute
increases the agony. It would be educational to stay and watch but, alas,’ he rose, stepped away, ‘I must be gone, and swiftly,
so that I arrive at Burgoyne’s camp in time. He
will
be surprised that I have been involved in this part of his campaign. My cousin, dear Baron von Riedesel, arranged a
pass to allow me to indulge a passion of mine – to hunt.’ He smiled again. ‘I did not specify the quarry I sought, naturally.
And he did not bother the Commander with such a petty detail since I am, of course, merely a civilian, an observer. And yet
a uniform,’ he stroked the green of his Jaeger jacket, ‘so becoming. So useful. Along with the correct papers, of course.’

He smiled again. ‘Now, as you so accurately observed to the Colonel, this campaign is approaching its climax. There are always
so many opportunities for mischief in the final acts of any war. It can take such a little push to alter the balance.’ He
signalled to his men, who swiftly gathered their supplies. When they were ready, Von Schlaben bent once more. A cloth gag
was produced and tied around Jack’s mouth.

‘I do not think that anyone will come near but … a precaution.’ He finished tying, stepped back. ‘I only have one regret –
how annoyed my young friend Tarleton will be. I promised you to him. Ah well.’ He turned, nodded. The Abenaki, and the hirsute
Sergeant began to move off. Von Schlaben took a step after them, paused, looked back. ‘You were good enough to quote Shakespeare
to me a little while ago. May I quote a young German writer I am very fond of. Goethe is his name. Your countrymen will all
know him one day. You will not. I am sure it sounds better in German but … let me see … yes … “You must either conquer and
rule or lose and serve, suffer or triumph, and be the anvil or the hammer.” So. You die knowing you have served and lost.
Goodbye, for the last time, Captain Absolute.’

A brief salute and he was gone. Sounds faded into the forest swiftly enough, even if the Germans weren’t woodsmen. Their departure
disturbed the wolves still scavenging in the ravine who set up an immediate howl.

Jack began to shake. His skin felt slick, sweat breaking out,
coursing down. Yet he felt cold, colder than he’d ever been in his life. He tried to keep his eyes open. But he was struggling,
and soon they would not budge despite his efforts. He let his head roll down on to his chest. Suddenly, sleep seemed the only
option. Just a little before the pain came. He knew, from past experience, that he would be awake then, long enough.

So this is death
, Jack Absolute thought. The undiscovered country. Different than he’d imagined. Being an atheist from earliest childhood,
he’d always felt it would be mere oblivion, a great nothing. Yet this was undoubtedly … something. There was sensation in
the void – pain, no, more than pain, agony. This thought –
so there is consciousness, too –
gave him a pang. For with thought came fear, thus proving in that moment that
feelings
also existed. And just because he was an enlightened man of his time and did not believe in an afterlife did not necessarily
mean that an afterlife did not exist.
Heaven and
—