“I am more tired of war than you know, Johannes,” de Clermont said. “Come, Chauncey.” He beckoned to Marcus.
Marcus scrambled down the hillside in de Clermont’s wake, trying in vain to keep up so that he could reason with the man.
“Sir.” Marcus struggled to regain his footing. “Chevalier de Clermont. Are you sure—”
De Clermont wheeled around. “What is it, Chauncey?”
“Are you sure you should be interfering in this matter?” Marcus asked, adding, “sir,” again as an afterthought.
“You think the citizens of Bethlehem will fare better if John Adams argues their case?” The chevalier snorted. “That man is a menace to international relations.”
“No, sir. It’s just—” Marcus stopped and bit his lip. “Those are Virginians, sir. I can tell from their clothes. They’re wearing buckskin, you see. Virginians don’t like being told what to do.”
“Nobody likes to be told what to do,” de Clermont observed, his eyes narrowing.
“Yes, but they have rifles. Very accurate rifles, sir. And swords,” Marcus continued, determined to avert disaster. “We’re not armed. And the marquis is alone at Brother Boeckel’s house.”
“Sister Liesel is with Gil,” de Clermont said curtly, resuming his blistering descent of the hill. “She is reading to him about the Moravian missions to Greenland. He says he finds it soothing.”
Marcus had seen the fervent glances that the marquis had bestowed on the Boeckels’ charming daughter, and was glad that Lafayette was married, as well as that Sister Liesel was a paragon of virtue.
“Nevertheless, sir—”
“For God’s sake, Chauncey, stop calling me sir. I’m not your commanding officer,” de Clermont said, wheeling around to face him once more. “We need to know why these wagons have arrived. Has Philadelphia fallen to the British? Are they here on Washington’s orders? Without information, we cannot determine what must be done next. Are you going to help me, or hinder me?”
“Help.” Marcus knew this was his only real option, and followed de Clermont in silence the rest of the way.
When they reached the southern bank of the river, all was confusion.
A man in buff breeches and a blue tunic rode toward them on a horse that was probably worth as much as the MacNeil farm. A long Kentucky rifle—the kind used by woodsmen on the frontier—was jammed through a loop on his saddle, and a fur-trimmed helmet was strapped to his head. Marcus thought his brains must be baking inside it on such a warm day.
“I am the chevalier de Clermont, servant to the Marquis de Lafayette. State your business.” De Clermont motioned Marcus to stay behind him.
“I am here to see Mr. Hancock,” the man replied.
“He’s at the inn.” De Clermont jerked his head toward the ford. “In town.”
“Doc?” a voice cried out across the clearing. “That you?”
Vanderslice was in one of the wagons, perched atop a pile of hay. He waved.
“What are you doing here?” Marcus said as he approached the wagon.
“We’ve brought the bells from Philadelphia so that those British bastards don’t melt them down and make bullets out of them,” Vanderslice explained, launching himself from the pile of hay with a mighty leap. He landed on his feet, like a cat. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Still with that French kakker and his friend, I see?”
“Washington sent the marquis here to recover—and the rest of the army with him, it seems,” Marcus replied. He looked over at de Clermont, who was deep in conversation with a knot of cavalry officers. The chevalier wanted information, and Marcus had pledged to help him. Marcus had to at least try to keep his bargain. “Where are you all headed?”
“Some town west of here,” Vanderslice said vaguely. “We’ve brought along everything we could haul out of Philadelphia. Even Gerty.” He looked up at the town of Bethlehem and whistled. “What kind of place is this, Doc? It seems awfully grand to be filled with religious folk. I hear the women are all unmarried and the men live in one big room, together.”
“It’s like nowhere else I’ve ever been,” Marcus replied honestly.
“Is the food good?” Vanderslice asked. “Are the girls pretty?”
“Yes,” Marcus replied with a laugh. “But Congress has ordered us not to disturb the women, so you best keep your fingers in the pies.”