“It is a lovely occasion to dine with you gentlemen this evening,” Juliet said, her spell binding every man in the room with her radiance.
She laughed and said, “Where shall I sit?”
Her voice came as the most amorous sound he knew, more rousing than the rustle of silk on bare skin. She looked to him. But he could not move. No. He could not perform that role any more.
From her clamoring legion of admirers, Captain Sunderland raced to her side. No doubt, she’d find her favor in his handsome ceremonial dress, his pride, authority and rank displayed in the ornamental fringe sewed on his shoulder. He leaned into her, touching her hair.
“You are lovely as a rising sun,” Sunderland said and she laughed at his remark.
Then he clasped her hand and brought it to his lips.
She lifted her chin, and her smile brightened. Joshua regarded the spectacle through a scarlet mist, and watched as she directed her courtesies from one male to another, always smiling and nodding.
“Where is Mistress Mary?” asked the colonel. He was not to be disregarded. Dressed in his full regalia, a bright red uniform with shiny gold buttons and dripping with gold epaulets lionizing his rank, and a testament to his soldier-valet to make him appear intact.
Juliet smiled, the kind of smile that wove spells and caused men to run upon hot coals. “Mary has the megrims and begged to stay in bed. She is still not fully recovered from her ordeal.”
Joshua had seen Mary moving round the fort earlier in the day. He was not convinced.
“Good God,” Faulkner ranted when his eyes beheld Joshua. “Who gave the cloddish colonial permission to sup with us?”
Officers cleared their throats, some shifted awkwardly looking over their shoulders.
“I did,” said Captain Sunderland. “In appreciation for his heroic efforts in rescuing Lady Faulkner as I am sure you are so inclined with the gratitude we owe him.”
Faulkner glowered. At the head of the table, he fluttered his flaccid fingers in unconcerned consent for Sunderland to sit opposite Juliet. Joshua gritted his teeth, his immediate contempt of Captain Sunderland filled him with loathing.
As an afterthought, the colonel signaled Joshua to the far end of the table next to the scarecrow sergeant, who smiled, making his cadaverous face seem thinner and longer.
To his other flank stood the lieutenant who performed his vocation wiping drool.
Colonel Faulkner was seated by his adjutant and the rest followed.
“Missives have come in across the lake? Any word of rebel attacks?” said the pox-faced scarecrow sergeant oblivious to his breech. Joshua couldn’t blame the man. Any news from home was prized.
The colonel flicked his eyes over his inferior’s indiscretion. “My son will be coming for a visit.”
“Edmund is coming?” Juliet’s eyes shone. “When?”
“Any day now,” said the colonel and his mouth tightened, his version of a sardonic smile. He shook out his napkin, leaned over the table to give a personal tone to the watchful eyes and said. “Of worthy note, War Chief Thayendanegea has sent strings of wampum to me.”
Joshua tucked the information away. The woven shell beads signified a certificate of Thayendanegea’s office, passing on the truth and importance of the message. The meaning was powerful and further declaration of the unification of the Iroquois in backing the British against the Patriots.
“As long as the sun shines upon the earth, as long as the water flows, as long as the grass grows, and as long as the Mother Earth is still in motion, the agreement shall be forever binding. Can’t get any better assurances from the savages.” The colonel laughed at his own joke, his tresses, powdered and glossed with flowery pomatum dusted the air. Joshua had read a tale of mice who ran up a man’s back to eat the powder and pomatum off a man’s hair.
“How will you deal with Washington if he dares to flounder into the wilderness with his troops?” Joshua goaded.
There was a faint trembling at the corners of the colonel’s mouth followed by a flush of anger on his cheeks. “General Washington is a stupid, arrogant blunderer, trying to crush the proud spirit of a mighty people. He will fall beneath the boot heel of the empire.”
Hubris hung in the air.
Joshua could remind him of the Patriot successes…Fort Ticonderoga, the retaking of Boston, Trenton, and Saratoga.
He said nothing, his attention caught by the expression on the captain’s face. The man stared at Juliet, transfigured like a man in love or caught in a religious trance. Joshua’s fingers gripped his flagon and if it were not metal might have broken.
The colonel hoisted his flagon, held it aloft where the lights shot beams of reflection off it. “As commander of Fort Oswego, I give a toast to my dear cousin, Juliet and to her safe return to civilization.”
Joshua raised his flagon with the others, all eyes focused on the colonel. In the sudden stillness, the candlelight flickered by a breeze coming in the window and threw shadows across his flabby face.
