“Hell, it weren’t near nowhere!” Blythe was suddenly defensive. “It was a prison, remember. Maybe the Yankees made the name up?”

“I guess that must be it,” Starbuck said, content that he had unsettled his second in command, but as Tumlin moved away to find more congenial company Starbuck found himself wondering how many enemies he could afford to make in the Special Battalion. Case would kill him as soon as give him the time of day, and Starbuck suspected Dennison would do the same if he could ever summon up the courage. He could not depend on Cartwright or Lippincott, who did their duty, but with a singular lack of enthusiasm. Potter was a friend, and Caton Rothwell too, but Starbuck’s enemies far outnumbered his friends. He had experienced the same divide of loyalties in the Legion and Starbuck, reflecting on the schisms, feared it was because of his personality. He envied men like Colonel Elijah Hudson, the North Carolinian whose battalion had fought alongside the Legion at Manassas and whose men seemed united in affection for him. Or Pecker Bird, still recovering from his wound, who had inspired nothing but loyalty during his time as the Legion’s commander. Then Starbuck noticed Old Mad Jack pacing up and down beside the busy guns. The general, as he so often did, was holding his left hand in the air as though he was testifying to God’s goodness, though in truth he only held the hand in the odd position because otherwise, he believed, the blood would puddle around an ancient wound. Starbuck watched the general and thought that there was a man who made enemies as well as friends.

Jackson chose that moment to glance up and catch Starbuck’s eye. For a moment the two stared at each other with the uncomfortable sensation of recognition, but with nothing to say either, then Jackson made a growling sound as he lowered his left hand. “Have you found your Savior yet, Mister Starbuck?” he called, evidently recalling his last conversation with Starbuck.

“No, General.”

Jackson veered toward Starbuck, trailing a gaggle of staff officers behind him. “But you are searching?” he inquired earnestly.

“I’m thinking about something else right now, General,” Starbuck said. “I was kind of wondering why a soldier makes enemies of his own side just by doing his duty.”

Jackson blinked at Starbuck, then frowned at the dirt beside his ungainly boots. He was plainly considering the question, and giving it hard thought, for he remained staring at the ground for what seemed like a full minute. One of his aides called to him, but the general flapped an irritated hand to show that he did not want to be disturbed, and when the aide called again he simply ignored the importunate man. Finally his fierce eyes looked up at Starbuck. “Most men are weak, Major, and the reaction of the weak to the strong is usually envy. Your job is to make them strong, but you cannot do that alone. Do you have a chaplain in your battalion?”