A young lieutenant came through the gate beneath the Star of David, face lit with fear and excitement.

“They’re waiting for you, Colonel.”

Marion nodded to the boy and stood up.

“You can’t leave, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically to Roger. “It will begin soon. Do you want to fight? I can give you a good rifle.”

“I—no.” Roger touched the stock at his throat. Marion’s attention was focused on the sounds behind the cemetery wall. No, it wasn’t his imagination; the ground was vibrating. Horses. The horses … “But I—I’d like to help. If I can.”

“Bon,” said Marion softly, almost absently. He slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat and hitched it up on his shoulders, fingers twitching the lower buttons into place without looking. But his attention came back to Roger, just for a moment.

“Go back into camp, then,” he said. “And wait. If things go wrong, you can help bury us. Or if they go right, I expect.”

Marion looked toward the gate and shook his head slightly.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this, no,” he said, as though to himself, and went off, the young lieutenant falling into step behind him.

Roger hesitated for a split second, then followed, stretching his legs to catch up.

“I’m no good with a rifle,” he said. “But if you can give me a sword, I’ll go with you.” Marion cast him the briefest of glances, nodded, and made a small gesture to the lieutenant.

“Bon,” he said. “Come on, then.”

91

Besieged

BRIANNA WAS CUTTING UP a bit of fried chicken in the kitchen for Mandy when she heard a tapping at the window. She looked up in surprise to see Lord John outside, in uniform. He grimaced and nodded, indicating that he would like to come in out of the rain.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, opening the door into the back garden. She’d had tea with him twice since their arrival, but hadn’t expected an informal visit.

“I wanted to see you for a moment,” he replied, stepping in and taking the towel she offered him, “but I can’t spare the time for civilities with Mr. or Mrs. Brumby. Thank you, my dear.” He took off his hat, wiped his face, and brushed at the shoulders of his blue cloak, then handed back the towel.

“I came to tell you that the siege will shortly be at an end,” he said carefully, glancing at Jem, Mandy, and Mrs. Upton, the cook.

“Really? That’s—” she stopped abruptly, seeing his face. “What … makes you think so?” she asked carefully, and he gave her a brief smile.

“The Americans have begun to move their guns,” he said.

“Oh, have they? Time enough!” Mrs. Upton said, eyes on the eggs she was whisking. “The master said as he thought the Frenchies and their ships would be off soon, they not wanting to be blown to bits by hurricanes.”