Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. (56 page)

"Leave the lad here. He's of my blood, Nell, and I'll care for him. And if ye do wed, there'll be ten guineas for your portion,"

"Eigh! Wi' that to talc' 'im and no Davie, Ranger Toby wull be that more eager ti 'ave me, he wull an' all!"

"I'll ride up and see him. And when his service is done, should ye wish, I'll see you have a parcel of land nearby and stock for it,"

"Eigh, Muster Ram, you are a chip off t'owd block! Laike owd Mistress, She looked after 'er own fowk too." Weeping happily, she planted a damp kiss on his astonished lips, and fled.

Next day he rode to the fort, deciding that Rob must acknowledge Davie, who was growing more like him daily.

Ranger Tobias Yarrow was a slow-spoken Carolinian, When he heard Ram's offer, he rubbed his chin, "Major, suh, I'd ha' taken Nell befo', for she's a rare lass. Only I want sons that's not by ary other rogue. Thankee kindly fo' her portion."

The wedding, they decided, would be at Shoreacres and Ram would give the bride away. "We'll have a feast to celebrate it, too."

He started homeward, enjoying the afternoon air. Maria must find linens and other household goods for Nell, he planned. Then he remembered that she still had a husband, though Lann was unlikely

ever to return. Awkward! Who'd perform the ceremony? No clergyman from Savannah would. Chaplain Dyson, of the Independent Company? He'd lived long in the colonies and must know how rarely runaway spouses ever returned. Yes, better write, and if Dyson accepted, he'd send Peg-Leg for him.

Tlie trail led through a small wood and he blinked his eyes to accustom them to the gloom. Soon he saw an Indian ahead.

"Greetings!" he called in Creek. "Are you of my brother Hillispilli's town? I do not know your face." Noticing that the brave, though unarmed, wore war paint, he decided he was probably a Uchee, returning home from Frederica.

But then he glimpsed a gun barrel to his left, and at the same instant an arrow hit Alan's near flank. The stallion screamed and leaped forward, almost unseating him. Regaining control, he lay flat along the horse's neck, groping for a pistol.

There came shots, more arrows, and the Indian on the trail jumped aside to retrieve a trade gun. Him Ram shot as Alan sped past. More shots came as the wounded animal raced along the narrow trail.

The wood ended at a broad savannah, with Shoreacres ahead. But Alan was slowing, his breath whistling, another arrow transfixing his throat. Ram had barely time to kick free of the stirrups before the stallion collapsed, rolled over, tried to rise and died.

'Tox ye, ye murdering buggers!" Ram snarled, anguished.

Figures were bursting from the wood. He unslung his musket. The range was too great, but a shot should warn his people if the watch-tower lookout was alert. He fired, threw down the gun, tore off his coat and ran. He thought of discarding his heavy sword, but it and one pistol were now his only arms, and there were eight or more pursuers. Booted, he couldn't hope to outdistance naked savages, but each stride brought him nearer safety.

Already he had a stitch in his side. God, why doesn't someone look this way? Over his shoulder he saw the devils were gaining on him. Damme, are all asleep at home?

Clang, clang, clang! The tocsin! Thank God, thank God!

He pounded on. He could see workers in the fields. This wav, fools! he groaned. His legs had grown leaden, his heart ready to burst, a red haze filming his eyes. Why don't they come ahorse? He glanced back again. The nearest Indian was within 200 hundred

yards, running lightly, a tomahawk glinting, his fellows bunched farther behind.

To be slaughtered within sight of home! Turn and fight now, or gain a few more yards? The nearest building seemed miles away.

Boom! A ball soughed overhead. There came yells from behind. Good, that's the roof swivels firing! Boom again. Then riders racing toward him; five, six, eight!

He recognized faces. Fred Green in the lead, John Ralby and Wat Mathers close behind, with the rest stringing out. Then they were sweeping past, some with drawn sabers, others firing pistols at full gallop. He tried to shout but had no breath. Instead, he fell and lay gasping so hard, he felt he'd broken something inside.

The bell kept clanging; more swivels fired. Good! The noise should bring the Fort Argyle rangers.

He regained his feet. His people were riding down the Indians, who were trying to regain the wood. There came a further rescue party: Joseph, riding bareback. Rose Ralby, a musket slung over her shoulder, and Emma.

Joseph reined in. "Sir, what's happened?"

"Ambuscade . . . On! . . . Bid 'em . . . bring prisoner."

"I'll go," Rose cried. "But looks laike t'lads 'ave done their business. Eigh, sir, ye do look done oop!" She sped on. Emma hesitated, then took off after her.

"Stop 'em!" Ram gasped. "Might be more Indians hiding!"

"If we've trained the lads aright, sir, they've settled the score by now," Joseph said. "Rose won't let the young 'un get hurt."

"They killed Alan. Let me up." Still wanting a prisoner. Ram took Joseph's mount and raced to overtake the others, though only to meet them returning. There were shouts, grins and much waving of trophies; bows, trade guns, deerskin pouches, powder horns.

"Nine accounted for!" Green exulted. "All for the birds to peck. John's got vour saddle, sir. They must ha' pressed ye hard!"

But Ram was furious that there was no prisoner to interrogate. He rode to view the bodies: one's neck had been almost severed, another had a saber buried so deeply in its back that its owner hadn't been able to withdraw it—must teach the rogue to twist as he lunges—and a third's head had been crushed by hoofs.

Riders burst from the wood; the rangers, headed by their sergeant. The latter also had a trophy—a bleeding scalp.

"Run right into us. Major," he explained, when he had heard Ram's story. "We heard the bell and the guns. We sort o' thought 'twas the Dons attacking by sea, so 'twas Boots and Saddles quick!"

"Who are they, d'ye suppose?"

A gray-haired ranger edged forward. "Yamasees from Florida, I'd say. Their war paint looks like the same we fought back in '15, when I was servin' under Colonel Palmer."

Yamasees! A retaliatory raid because the Creeks had demanded vengeance—or assassins sent to kill him? Ram shivered.

"Your farmers all safe at the fort, Sergeant?" he asked. "There might be more bands, and war's come after all. Best get back. I'll send off for news. Let no Indians cross the river toward Savannah."

The rangers left and he rallied his own party. Vultures were already circling over Alan's carcass and the Indians. He considered having the stallion buried, but decided there was no time.

Now Joseph was afoot. The walk wasn't far, but he was no longer young. Curtly Ram bade Emma dismount and give Bland her mount.

She glared at him. "So, ye let maids walk while men ride?"

"No." He swung her up before him. "No, for we ride double."

She struggled, but he was too worried to permit rebellion now. Nor was he stirred by the feel of her budding breasts under his arm. She'll not defy me now! he thought furiously.

At the stables, she slipped down. But men hurried to help him because he was reeling and they feared he'd been wounded.

He had been. A bullet had burned high across his left ribs. A little more to the right and he would have been dead.

No further attacks coming, Ram spent much time with Oglethorpe at Frederica, Savannah or Charles Town. He was now in touch with English merchants in Cuba and, while not offering actual bribes, implied that news of warlike movements would not go unrewarded. He realized these men were in the Havana only by sufferance and, if suspected, would vanish into some dungeon; but he needed urgently to know the true identity of Dominguez y Cia.

Too, he'd reached an agreement with Caleb Davis, that dropsical skipper being no longer pleased with Augustinians. He'd not recovered his slave, and several more, evading the Georgia scout boats, had

reached the Spanish fortress—and freedom. So he agreed to get news through his trader friends there—for hard cash. There were others, he said, who'd also provide news for money. Gradually Ram was building up a counterespionage that penetrated not only Spanish territory, but the Carolinas, Virginia and Pennsylvania. Wherever men traded with New Spain was a source of news.

And Lucinda had written of her safe arrival. London was gay and she was staying there to recruit strength before making the long journey north; Rob had squired her finely and was now enjoying the town after his long stay among savages. And Margot was learning new ways of dressing her hair; when Ram saw her again he'd be charmed with her modishness.

In October, the convention with Governor Sanchez was signed, and in November Oglethorpe sailed for home, taking the document with him.

"You're senior officer now," he had told Ram. "Horton has no military' experience, but he's great common sense and he'll keep order on St. Simon's. And Hugh Mackay's valuable—he'll have a company in my regiment, if I get it. Above all, should the spy work strain your purse, pray draw on mine."

On Ram's return to Shoreacres, Nell was duly wedded. Groom Yarrow had built a hut near Fort Argyle, and happily they went to it.

Emma still taught the children, but spoke to Ram only once, when she demanded, "What of my brother? I still think ye murdered him."

"My men put him aboard a Bordeaux-bound ship. Ask them," he retorted. "It's time he wrote."

But if Wall didn't write, he thought irately, what to do with her? Her presence embarrassed him, for she reminded him of the other Irish girl he had harmed so callously.

One day, after a ride, he went toward his study to rest before supping. Emma was writing in the dining hall as he passed through, but ignored him. Used to her sulkiness, he entered his sanctum, sprawled in a deep chair and soon dozed.

"Here, master, I've brought ye beer."

Opening his eyes, he saw the girl beside him wnith a tankard.

"Thankee, child." Though surprised, he reached for it. Yet she seemed reluctant to release it and, eyes wide, stared at him search-ingly before she let it go.

"Mighty thoughtful of ye, lass." He raised it to his lips.

She screamed.

Startled, he slopped beer down his waistcoat.

"Don't touch it!" she moaned. "No, no!"

He cursed. Another of her tantrums? "Mrs. B!" he bawled. Begod, this is the end. I'll pack her off to Savannah—anywhere!

"There's . . . something in it!" she gasped. "He said 'twould make you more kindly to me, but now I'm afeared!"

"What tale's this?" He caught her wrists. "Who's 'he'?"

"The Jew doctor!" she wailed. "He asked if I'd anyone I loved, and I said I loved Michael, who was far away. Then he asked if my master was kind, and I said no, he hated me. So he gave me the powder and said to put it in your drink and you'd relent, and soon I'd be back with Michael. Oh, he's the evil one indeed!"

Jew doctor—Spanish doctor?

"When did you see him? Where?"

"This mom. He said he'd rode from lying-in a woman at the fort."

Ram knew of only one Jewish doctor in the colony. Dr. Nunez of Savannah, he who had saved so many during the epidemic. Surely he couldn't be actually the Spaniard and a spy!

"Girl, d'ye swear this is true?"

"By our Holy Mother! Oh, I want to be back with Michael and I hate you Sasanachs. But ye've not treated me ill, as ye once said ye would, and I'd not want ye harmed."

Taking the tankard into the kitchen, he told Maria to pour the beer into a bottle and cork it firmly. As she did, he saw a white substance on the bottom, scraped it out carefully and added it to the bottle's liquid.

With it he rode fast to Savannah, where he called upon Bailiff Parker, who would be fair-minded about the Jews.

"Major, we've Christian physicians here who rant about the Jew," the magistrate said, "but were my life endangered, I'd call for him." They went to the elderly physician who, upon hearing Ram's tale, said gravely: "I've never had the honor of visiting your plantation, sir, nor have I ever gone to Fort Argyle. I'm no man-midwife, save in emergency, nor do I give love potions to silly maids." But not until other town officials and the most prominent of his co-religionists were present, would he begin his tests on the white sediment.

At last he looked up tiredly. "Major, Jahveh has watched over you. This is arsenic."

All, Hebrew and Gentile, swore that the alleged doctor had never been seen in Savannah. Ram was sure then that these murder attempts were against him personally, and not because of his military status. It seemed incredible, yet . . . !

He was not long kept in doubt, for a letter arrived from Cuba. "Dominguez y Cia is the cover by which el Baron del Lago receives intelligence reports. Soon I'll send for Emm^z, but if you've harmed her, III seek ye out. Michael Wall, Captain of Engineers."

"Captain, I summoned you because I find you correspond with the enemy." Brian's tone was cold.

Color drained from Wall's face. "I—don't understand. Excellence, What am I accused of?"

Brian took a letter from a drawer. "Do you deny you have a sister in the hands of one of Oglethorpe's chief officers?"

"I—Excellence, if I may be permitted to explain . . ." Michael plunged on, brain whirling. Great God, what had happened?

Brian listened, then interrupted. "Here is your alleged sister's letter. We examine all mail coming from the English colonies."

Wall's tension eased as he read Emma's letter. She was unharmed, thank God! He'd only to send for her and they'd be reunited.

Then stark fear stabbed him. This high official at the table, it was he whose identity he had betrayed.

"When you arrived lately from Spain, Captain," Brian was saying, "you came well recommended. Before that, you left your post at Charles Town for Bordeaux. Thence you went to Bayonne for an audience with the Spanish Queen Dowager. She recommended you to Don Patino."

"Yes, Excellence." Wall swallowed hard. "I was once page to Her Majesty, who later obtained an appointment for me as an officer in the Irlandia Regiment. But after the war I was dismissed, so had to find a living to keep my many sisters."