Ides of March (Time Patrol) (15 page)

The boy brought two mugs and Geert immediately drank half of his. Mac saw no reason not to follow suit.

“And, yes,” Geert said, “I see the Papal pig over there. One has shadowed me every time I left my room at the Inn. They are most suspicious of any strangers in town. Where was I?

“Ah. The ships. The King and Queen ordered the town to provide two vessels. The town refused. Father de Ciscneros cajoled them and they finally agreed but only on the conditions it was two of their own ships, with their own crew, with their own trusted Captains. Thus the Pinzon brothers and the
Nina
and
Pinta
.” Geert leaned close to Mac, his breath foul. “Some say that Martin Pinzon, the older brother and captain of the
Pinta
, had already found landfall to the west four years ago, but if so, there is no official acknowledgment of it.”

The download confirmed the rumor, but not the fact.

“Now all are worried where their sons and husbands and fathers are.”

Mac knew their fates. After ‘discovering’ San Salvador on the 12
th
of October the previous year, the small fleet moved on and made landfall in Cuba on the 28
th
. At which point, Martin Pinzon parted ways with Columbus, taking the
Pinta
in search of a place he’d learned of from the natives that was supposed to be full of gold.

Then Columbus’ flagship, the
Santa Maria
foundered. Columbus was rescued by the
Nina
, which he made his new flagship. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough room on the smaller ship for both crews, so Columbus left forty men ashore, with orders to use the wreckage of the
Santa Maria
to build a fort.

Columbus sailed further along the coast and, amazingly, linked up with the
Pinta
along the coast of Cuba. A fierce argument ensued between Columbus and Pinzon, not only over Pinzon’s disappearance, but the stranding of the forty men, many of them from Palos de la Frontera.

Over Pinzon’s objections, the fleet, now down to two ships, headed back to Spain, leaving the men in Cuba. The ships were separated in a storm on Valentines Day. As far as Columbus and everyone else knew at the moment, Pinzon and the
Pinta
had been lost.

Geert had been silent for a little bit, leaving Mac to his thoughts, but he picked something up from Mac’s expression. “They are all lost?”

“No,” Mac said. Which was true and not true. The forty men Columbus had left behind? None survived to the next year. But the
Pinta
? Was he breaking Rule One by telling Geert what would happen any minute now? “Not all of them.” Of course, Mac, thought, what if the
Pinta
didn’t show up? Then things had already changed and—

Mac picked up the mug and drained it. “Another,” he said to Geert.

Geert made a signal and the boy hustled back with full mugs.

“So,” Geert said. “Not all are lost. The others will show up?”

“Some of them,” Mac said.

“Keeping secrets,” Geert said. “Very smart. All is intrigue. King John, King Ferdinand, Queen Isabella, the Pope trying to dip his hand in. And speaking of—”

Mac had one hand on the hilt of his dagger as there wasn’t room for the rapier. The Swiss Guard took the seat at the other corner of the table, his back to the room, his focus on Mac and Geert. He was a big man, over six feet. He had two scars on his face, evidence of past violence.

“You are Franciscans? From the Friary?” His accent was one Mac couldn’t place, his Latin barely understandable.

“No,” Geert said. “You work for the Pope and don’t know what a Franciscan looks like?”

The Guard shrugged. “You priests are all the same to me.” He nodded at Geert. “You have been here a while. You,” he indicated Mac, “are new. Why are you here?”

“Why should I tell you?” Mac asked in response.

The Guard looked bored. “My sergeant sent me to ask. I go back to him without an answer? He will not be happy. Then I will not be happy. I would like to be happy.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” Mac said. He was dealing with a Roland: dumb, but dangerous. “Maybe you tell us why
you’re
here and we figure things out? Why we’re all here?”

The Guard shrugged. “We’re here to get the report of the man, Columbus. Bring it to Rome.”

Mac hadn’t expected an immediate, direct response.

“Is Columbus on the ship?” Mac asked.

“He was on it in Lisbon,” the Guard said. “He sailed from there on it. We have not seen anyone get off the ship. So he is on it.”

Mac was back-pedaling in the face of Roland simplicity. He tried to think of an explanation why he was here that wouldn’t reveal his true mission, explode this simpleton’s brain, and keep from getting stabbed.

Geert beat him to it. “We are here to pray for the safe return of all the sailors from this town.” He reached into a pocket on his robe and pulled out a small bag of coins, which he jiggled. “They have paid us for our services.”

The Guard laughed. “Priests.” He spit. “Pimps and whores. But the town has their own priests from the Priory. You are strangers. Why would they bring in strangers to pray?”

Mac and Geert exchanged glances. A good question to which they had no answer.

The Guard leaned forward. “My sergeant told me, to tell you, to leave. He is under orders to protect Columbus and protect the report. Strangers make my sergeant nervous. He doesn’t like being nervous. He sees danger everywhere and you two, whatever you are, who should not be here, make him nervous.” The Guard stood. “If we see you again, we will kill you. We have the Pope’s blessing for that.”

There was a ripple of excitement as a man appeared at the entrance. The news flew across the room: The
Pinta
had been sighted.

“Our prayers have been answered,” Geert exclaimed.

The Guard thumped a heavy fist onto the table. “Now answer my sergeant’s prayer and leave the town.”

Thermopylae, Greece, 480 B.C.

“WHERE WERE YOU JUST NOW?”
Leonidas reached down from the top of the wall and gripped Scout’s hand, pulling her up and over.

“I spoke to Pandora,” Scout said.

“And you’re still alive,” Leonidas said, “so I take it that it didn’t go badly. Did it go well?”

“I don’t know. I must speak to her again shortly.”

“How did you get past my sentries? They would not fail in their duty.”

“They did not,” Scout said. “I am a priestess of the Delphic Oracle. We can do much that men cannot see.” Scout felt like a fool saying that, but she had to stay in character. And one shouldn’t feel like a fool when standing on a rampart of stone and dead warriors.

They climbed off the wall. Leonidas put an arm around her shoulder, an unusual gesture for the King.

“You are shivering,” he said. “Come to the fire.”

They went to their spot in the camp. Scout held her hands out, warming them. Lightning flickered, followed by thunder, but the storm had stalled off the coast, neither approaching nor passing.

“It is not the cold that makes you shake,” Leonidas said, moving to the other side of the small fire, looking at her in the flickering light.

“It is the cold,” Scout said, without any conviction.

Leonidas smiled sadly. “It is not bad to admit fear. Many think Spartans have no fear. As if we weren’t humans but rather some species born out of rock. I told you of
phobologia
, our fear training. Where we master our muscles and reactions. That doesn’t mean we don’t fear. Rather we have been trained to act in spite of it. And,” Leonidas continued, “there are worse things than fear.”

Scout looked up from the fire. “Such as?”

“You saw,” Leonidas said. “When we departed Sparta. Our wives did not wish us well or even that we return.”

The data was there. “
’On your shield or with it’
.”

Leonidas nodded. “Do you know why they say with shield and not with our
xiphos
or spear?”

Of course she did. “No.”

“A Spartan who drops his sword or spear only disarms himself. A Spartan who drops his shield exposes the man in the shield wall to his left. Leaves him open to the enemy. That is the greatest disgrace. It is punishable by immediate death.” Leonidas stared at her, eyes glinting in the firelight. “Cowardice. Failing one’s comrades in battle. That is unforgiveable.” He paused. “As is treason. Betraying one’s comrades and betraying Sparta.”

Scout understood the implication. “I have to learn what Pandora has planned.”

Leonidas shook his head. “Gods and oracles. As if we were all just pieces in their game. I wish I understood what the game is? What the purpose of all this is?”

“Defending Sparta,” Scout said. “And in doing so, saving Greece.”

“Noble concepts,” Leonidas said. He sighed, so deeply, Scout sensed it was down to his soul. “I die soon. The way a Spartan should die. In battle. But . . .”

His voice trailed off.

“Why do you doubt?” Scout asked.

“That is a good question,” Leonidas said. “I’ve never doubted before. If I had ever showed doubt or weakness, I would not be King.” He shifted his gaze, looking around the camp. “Every man here, every Spartan, is judged immediately after birth by a committee of elders. Those who are infirm, sickly, who do not appear to be able to develop into a warrior, are taken to a hill and left to die.”

“And the baby girls?”

“The same. They are evaluated in a similar way, except in terms of being able to bear warriors. When the boys see their seventh year after birth, they are taken from the family to live in the
agoge
. Where we live until we see our thirtieth year. The
agoge
remains a part of us until we die.

“In our late teens, we are sent out into the wild, naked, with no weapons. No supplies. For two weeks.” A faint smile. “The lucky ones go in summer. The unlucky, winter. But each season has dangers. We must not only survive, we must kill a
helot
to prove we can kill. After all, what good is a warrior who can’t kill a person?

“Then at our twentieth year, we become a citizen. We can marry, but must still live in the
agoge
and train. After all that, after all my victories as King, I should not doubt. Especially now, as I face my greatest battle.”

“Why do you?”

“Because of you,” Leonidas said.

Scout felt a hand squeezing her heart.

“I don’t think you are a priestess of the Delphic Oracle either.”

Scout remained still.

Leonidas continued. “I do not believe you are the Cyra of Delphi I traveled with these past weeks. You look like her, but you are not her. Something has changed. You have changed. During the night. Your questions about what you should already know, what you witnessed, indicate that. But more so, it’s a feeling. The one a good soldier gets before walking into an ambush. The awareness of something amiss.”

He waited, but Scout gave no reply.

“You do not deny it,” Leonidas said.

“Do you think I am an ambush?” Scout asked.

Leonidas was still as a statue. Scout fought to remain as still.

The Spartan King finally spoke, answering her questions with his own. “Can you tell me who you are?”

“I can not.”

“Can you tell me why you are here?”

Scout sighed and he took that as a no.

Leonidas drew a callused hand through his beard. He looked to the east. “Dawn is still a few hours away. Your time to meet Pandora has come.” He indicated the wall. “I will see you over the wall. But when you return, if you return, I need truth. A man about to die deserves that.”

Newburgh, New York, 1783 A.D.

EAGLE STOOD OUTSIDE THE CLOSED
door leading to Washington’s office, having little clue what he was to do. Nancy’s instructions had indicated he was to be some sort of waiter, but he wasn’t sure of the protocol. Just walk in? Knock?

Hercules came bustling by, carrying a tray with bread on it. Eagle could hear muffled voices from the room, but nothing distinct.

Hercules came back out and poked Eagle in the ribs. “What are you standing out here for? I know you’re a field man and not used to inside, but you got common sense. Get in there. Fill the wine. The beer. The water. Otherwise stand in the corner. And don’t say nothin’. And don’ act like you hear nothin’. Cause you don’t hear nothin’. You don’t see nothin’. Understand?”

Eagle nodded and went in, discreetly checked the wine glass in front of Washington, full, the beer mug in front of the other man, also still full, water glasses, still full, and went to the darkest corner. Washington’s office was inside a one-story log building. Much like dozens of other log plank buildings haphazardly scattered about the cantonment. There were also numerous tents of varying sizes.

The download informed him that there were over five thousand troops here, with about five hundred family members. This was what was left of the majority of the Continental Army, with men drifting away every day to go home, now that the fighting was over and there had been no pay for eight months. In fact, many of the officers were using personal funds to pay for food and supplies for their soldiers. Not only weren’t the soldiers being paid, the officers knew that the promise Congress had made in May 1778, right after the awful winter at Valley Forge, of a pension of half their pay once they were discharged, was now an empty one.

The country had a fundamental problem: Under the Articles of Confederation, Congress had no power to tax. It had to ask the states for funds; which was rarely forthcoming. The previous year a delegation of officers had been deputized to appeal to Congress about the pay issue. Their appeal was rejected. The issue had simmered all winter, with officers and troops confined to the Newburgh Cantonment and mostly indoors, with little else to discuss while the winter raged outside.

“Let me talk to the officers,” the other man in the room said. He wore a blue uniform, the left sleeve empty and pinned to his lapel. His one hand rested on a black, leather-bound book.

Washington was seated behind a wood table, leaning back, legs stretched out, staring out a window toward an open field where some troops were drilling without much enthusiasm. Eagle figured the speaker was Colonel Caldwell and—