ARRIVAL
Are you sure this is the right way, Percy?” Major Holde asked his sergeant as they approached the camp. They had been marching through the night, knowing that they were desperately needed as reinforcements at York. The sharpshooters, who were made up of men from all walks of life, were not used to working quite so hard. Because of their skill, and despite their rank, they were used to being treated like royalty and living like scoundrels. Actually, working hard had produced a good deal of complaining from them, which Major Holde had learned to ignore.
“Pretty sure I can see British tents in the distance, sir,” Hunter quipped, unbothered by anything. 10 years Holde's senior, he had seen everything there was to see, and made sure his Major was happy at all costs. However, he was also jaded by constant war; constant complaining, and a Major who had been stricken with grief as long as he could remember. Holde's wife, Ella, had been killed during the war, and his Major had never been the same since. Anything to keep Holde from throwing himself off the side of a cliff was considered a success. “See, right there.”
“Aye,” Holde answered, although he did not feel overjoyed to see them. If they had kept marching into oblivion, thinking of nothing and losing nothing, he would not have minded. “Who’s the man we are supposed to meet?”
“Captain Jacob Godde,” Hunter replied. “He is being watched, apparently, by Major General Sir Isaac Brock, so perhaps by the time we get there, he will be promoted.”
“Because promotion comes with such fun,” Major Holde answered, and Hunter thought it best to let it be.
As they approached the camp, it was clear that they were not the only ones awake. There was a flurry of activity, and in the distance of the harbor, Holde could see what he thought were at least two ships.
“Reinforcements have arrived,” he said, mostly to himself. “Did you know we were meeting Navy men too, Hunter?”
“I did,” Hunter replied. “Did not think I would mention it to you since you and the Navy are not the greatest of friends.”
“They interfere with everything,” Sharpe was quick to interject. “And they have no idea how to form a formation.”
“That is because they mostly work on a ship, sir,” Hunter answered. “So those are the formations they know about. Although...that isn't any British flag I have ever seen.” He pointed in the distance, and Holde squinted.
“What flag is that?”
“Beats me,” Hunter said.
“Maybe they are pirates!” Ringsell put in excitedly, and Hunter rolled his eyes.
“Form up, gents, we're approaching the camp. Quick march.”
Inside the camp, things were just as chaotic as they’d appeared. Jacob's commanding officer had accepted the offer of the pirates, conditionally on their behavior, and signed documentation, which told Jacob just how desperate the situation really was. However, no sooner had they become settled than the British reinforcements arrived, carrying with them Lord Bamber himself, the Commodore Harold Harper. In addition, to Jacob's surprise, he had brought his young family along. His wife, the Lady Annabelle Bamber, and his young son, the heir to the title, James. It was not uncommon for the families of soldiers to march with them, but for a high ranking Lord to have his family along was just adding more complication to the situation.
“Kill me,” Jacob whispered to Enola as he passed her carrying a bundle of linen. She quirked an eyebrow, used to this comment.
“How would you like me to do that?”
“In my sleep,” he answered. “Providing I get that shortly. I have to go find the Major and the Commodore and tell them that we have accepted the help of pirates.”
Enola shrugged, seeing no difference between the Navy, Army and pirates. They were all British men, trying to fight in the same war and accomplish the same things.
If only she could get her people to see the same thing.
“Come with me?” he asked, and she sighed. Part of the reason she and Jacob had ended up in the same camp was because he was always dependent on her, since they were children.
“Yes,” she said. “I will be your representative of the Natives. Although, I am quite sure I do not represent any of them right now.”
“Put that down then,” he said and she rolled her eyes.
“You have no patience, Jacob,” she said, as she did. “Which makes me wonder exactly how you have waited for Mary for nine years.”
He chuckled at that as they walked. “You think that is my choice, do you?”
“No, I have seen the ways you try to woo her,” Enola answered, as they approached the two commanders, standing in the middle of the field. They were clearly such different people, it was staggering. Lord Bamber was well dressed, his uniform pristine and his head held high, a man no doubt born to leadership.
Major Holde, on the other hand, looked like a scruffy dog, with blonde red hair and stubble; his uniform showing the dust of the road. He was bulky, strong, but his eyes held a weariness that spoke of the weight of the world. He had his hand on his sword, as if he expected an attack at any time, and yet, he did not seem to mind if they took his life. There was something about him, rugged, strong, and yet knowing the world that was cruel at the same time; accepting that life and death were just a cycle he was riding. Enola felt oddly drawn to him, standing a step behind Jacob as her best friend cleared his throat.
“Major Holde, Lord Bamber,” Jacob said. “It is my honor and duty to welcome you to this camp, as the aide de campe, and I thank you both for joining us. Your forces are most welcome. This is the Princess Enola; she is our translator and our link to the Native forces.”
Enola made a small noise in her throat. She hated when Jacob used the word Princess, but she knew there was no better translation for what she was. The world he described, of British royalty and nobility, seemed like another planet. The colonies were different; the colonies were about survival, not which family you were born into.
“A pleasure,” Lord Bamber said as he dipped his head toward her.
Holde said nothing to her, his eyes flickering upward for only a moment. Enola felt oddly disarmed in the way he looked at her, as if he was afraid of her simply by standing there. She did not think it was about race, though, oddly. It was something deeper than that, something that he was keeping locked inside. “I look forward to our partnership. My men should be disembarked shortly and then we can get to the details of the impending attack.”
“If you require accommodation for your family, Enola would be more than happy to settle them,” Jacob said. “Major Holde, is there...any of yours that require family accommodation?”
“No,” Holde's voice was gruff, with a cockney British accent that surprised Enola. The officers always had a proper British accent, and yet his was rough and tumble. He did not offer anything more, and Jacob, to his credit, did not ask.
“Enola,” Jacob said, and she took that as her cue, glancing to make sure he was alright. Once she had headed toward the harbor, Jacob cleared his throat. “There is one other matter we must discuss,” he said. “My commander has accepted the help of...privateers.”
Holde plucked up on that right away, jerking out of the daze he seemed to be in. “Privateers?” he asked. “Pirates?”
Lord Bamber seemed to have a different idea, though. His eyes lit up, just for a moment. “That was the Countess, in the harbor, then?”
“Ah---” Jacob paused. “That is the name of the ship, yes.”
“And the Captain?” Lord Bamber asked. “He is here?”
“Yes,” Jacob was confused. “Do you know the crew?”
“I may have made their acquaintance,” Lord Bamber replied.
“The first mate will be joining us,” Jacob said. “At the strategy meeting.”
Lord Bamber reacted to that, shaking his head. “Please, point me in the direction of their Captain.”
“He is...indisposed,” Jacob said. “But I can seek permission for you to meet with him, if he is well.”
“Tell him Lord Bamber seeks an audience,” the Commodore said. “He will grant it.”
“Of course.” Jacob was utterly confused as to what was going on, but he chose not to question it. It was better this way.
“You are working with the Natives?” Holde spoke up then, having followed Enola with his eyes.
“Some,” Jacob answered. “Enola and I are childhood friends, so we tend to...follow each other. She is the daughter of a chief, and has sway within her community.” That was partly a lie, although Jacob hoped that one day, she would again. “Many Native tribes have offered to assist us against the American and French forces. Enola speaks many languages and has been influential in translation and negotiation with the various cultures.”
“Ah,” Holde said. “I knew a woman like that once.”
He did not offer any more information, and Jacob let the conversation die, glancing over to where the pirates were set up. “If you follow me, Commodore...”
“Yes, of course,” Lord Bamber said, turning to Major Holde. “Will you join us?”
“I'll catch up with you gents in the strategy meeting,” Holde said, and Harold nodded, following Jacob to the other side of the camp.
The faces were immediately familiar as they sent up the tents. A bit more weathered, a bit rougher around the edges, and in no sort of uniform, but still the same. These were the men he had grown up with, saluted, and played cards with aboard the HMS Stallion. There was Doren, giving orders, Matheson kicking Corrigan in the shin as he put a peg in wrong. Matheson turned around at the right moment, and his eyes lit up with a grin. He straightened up, looking like he wanted to hug Harold. Matheson had been a father figure for so long; serving since Harold was a powder monkey onboard his first ship. How different things were.
“SIR!” Matheson said, his joy outpouring as he went to salute.
Corrigan turned around in shock, and then grinned. “Well, well, well.”
“Matheson, Corrigan,” Harold said. “Fancy meeting you here across the ocean.”
“We thought we'd have a new adventure, sir,” Matheson answered. “The other side of the ocean was getting boring.”
“That certainly sounds like your Captain,” Harold answered. “Which way?”
“That way, sir,” Matheson pointed to a larger tent at the end of the row.
“You do know them,” Jacob said and Harold sighed.
“It’s a long story,” he admitted. “Although I do not condone their choices or way of life...it was ...necessary.”
Jacob's brow furrowed. “That is what the Captain said.”
“He would,” Harold answered as they approached the tent. The door flap opened, and a tall, imposing figure exited, standing in front of them.
Harold almost did not recognize Wesley standing in front of him. He had put on muscle, and he had a scar across his neck that looked half fresh. All in black, Wesley looked nothing like the timid Earl Rippon that had started on the ship; a boy who was rising to the top fast with his unrivaled mind. He looked, Harold thought, like a pirate who had no mercy. His eyes were harder, his grip on his sword stronger, his head titled with strength. What had Aaron's pirate life done to him?
“Wesley,” Harold said, remembering the first time they had brought him to Bamber Manor. He had been a wide-eyed boy who fell in love with the young actress out of a fairy tale. However, from Lola's tales back home, he knew they were going through a rough patch. They were so different; so strong in their opinions; Harold was surprised it worked at all. “It’s nice to see you.”
To his surprise, Wesley did not show an ounce of kindness or familiarity.
“You want to see him?”
“I do,” Harold said, finding it so odd that he would have to seek permission to speak to his lifelong best friend.
Wesley looked between him and Jacob, and then spoke again. “Alone,” Wesley said. “The Captain does not need any more excitement today, given our night.”
“Is that alright?” Jacob asked and Harold nodded.
“Of course,” he said as Wesley stepped aside. Harold ducked into the tent, and lay eyes, for the first time in years, on the rightful heir to the Bamber title; his brother-in-law, his best friend; his savior.