When the Splendor Falls (51 page)

“’Twas from inside the house, I tell ya.”

“Nope, comin’ from back towards the woods. Figure they got hounds trackin’ us. Know it’s the only way they’re goin’ to catch us. Thought the cap’n oughta know, an’ might not even have heard, him still bein’ in the house, his mind on other things. ’Cause I saw him go in, an’ he hadn’t come back out.”

“Damn ’em, bringin’ in bloodhounds to sniff out the Bloodriders,” someone spat and cursed in the same breath.

“Good thing the cap’n didn’t try to ford the river upstream a-ways. They got gunboats patrolling it, and they would’ve caught us, and I’ve already seen two patrols walkin’ the banks both sides the river. Never seen so many folks millin’ ’bout like they knew what they was doin’. We sure stumbled into a hornets’ nest this time,” the Bucktail said worriedly, wondering if it wouldn’t have been wiser to have stayed in the streambed they’d ridden through to throw off the scent of their trail.

But his captain didn’t slow his pace any as he led his men straight for the bend in the river. The gentle rise of hill it wended around, crowned by a steep cliff overlooking the black waters below, and the thick stand of woods surrounding the base, seemed the ideal place to set a trap for unsuspecting riders.

“Where the hell is the captain takin’ us?”

“My horse ain’t goin’ to hold McGuire and me for much longer. Don’t want him comin’ up lame. Never will get out of this damned reb territory. Never seen so many graybacks in my life. Figure that whole column we saw yesterday come back across the river and camped just upstream.”

“An’ wouldn’t you know the moon would show its round, sickly face ’bout now. What happened to them clouds when we need some cover? Feel as naked as if I was sittin’ in a room full of people without my breeches on.”

“No one’s goin’ to get too excited, reckon they ain’t goin’ to see much,” someone snickered.

“Don’t worry. The cap’n knows what he’s doin’.”

“Looks to me like we’re headed right toward the river. We goin’ to be seen, an’ if we find ourselves on the bank, or in the woods between, or atop that hill, then we’ll git caught fer sure, Jimmy,” someone fretted, beginning to believe he heard the lapping of water against the sides of a gunboat lying in wait midstream, or the cocking of a rifle hammer as a reb sharpshooter took aim on them from the summit of the hill.

“Like I said, the cap’n’s been playin’ the devil with them rebs. Ain’ nothin’ to worry about.”

“Yeah, well I jus’ hope we don’t find ourselves caught between the devil and the deep this time, ’cause I can’t swim.”

“Well, if we do, then I still ain’t worried, ’cause if the devil’s own captain don’t save us, figure someone up there is watchin’ over the little lieutenant. Ever since he joined up with us, we been havin’ mighty good luck. Reckon we got folks high an’ low watchin’ over us.”

“We’re the Bloodriders! Luck’s ridin’ with us!” came the cry that was answered by several low, savage howls that had stiffened their spines with courage on many a raid.

“Wouldn’t exactly call this
good
luck,” someone less willing to believe reminded them, his teeth chattering, his bones aching, and his spine like quivering jelly.

“S’pose ’tis all in the way you look at it. Figure we could already be dead,” someone said, finding it a heartening thought as he rode through a tangle of undergrowth and overhanging vines that threatened to unseat him.

Those words of fortitude had hardly been uttered before the speaker found himself wondering if his time had indeed come as his captain, the lieutenant holding on for dear life, disappeared underground. His horse, sensing his nervousness, and fearing the black void that loomed ahead, shied, whinnying as he threatened to balk. Another rider before him rode into the chasm, disappearing, perhaps into Hades, the frightened raider thought, remembering his many sins of the past. But nevertheless, he spurred his horse onward, knowing that certain death waited with bated breath behind.

And to the rebels searching the countryside, Captain Dagger and the Bloodriders might very well have had the hounds of hell on their heels, because they seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth.

But no hell awaited the Bloodriders that night. The cave they entered was more like the treasure cave from the
Forty Thieves
in the
Arabian Nights
stories, and their captain was Ali Baba, leading them into safety with the magically spoken words, “Open, Sesame!”

The first surprise, however, had been when entering the darkness, for it had only lasted an instant. Suddenly moonlight had spilled down on them, bathing a large clearing on the other side of the natural stone bridge they’d passed beneath. The stone arch was overgrown with Virginia creeper, and the thick curtain of vines had fallen back into place behind them, looking undisturbed, as if the lush foliage clung tenaciously to the hillside. The Bloodriders dismounted, leading their horses into the broad, curving mouth of a shallow cave behind. The overhang was deep enough to shelter the horses from the storm that was approaching as a low rumbling of thunder sounded across the distance; the moon having shown its face only long enough to guide them to safety.

One of the riders glanced up, his face eerie in the silvery light as he stared at the moon’s face, thinking it had looked down kindly upon them this time.

Lieutenant Chatham found himself leaning against the cool rock, his chest tight as he struggled to fill his lungs, his heart pounding deafeningly in his ears, his knees wobbly as he tried to stand on one foot. Riding through the blackness of night with the captain was an experience he would not soon forget, he thought, surprised he was still alive to be scared to death. But never before had he felt such raw power emanating from man and beast, and holding onto the captain’s waist, he’d sat frozen, half expecting to tumble from the big bay’s rump as they’d flown along the streambed, the cooling spray of water that hit him in the face the only thing that had kept him from fainting from the sheer exhilaration of their wild flight.

He glanced up curiously as the captain walked past him, holding a lighted match cupped protectively in his hand as he went deeper into the cave, entering through a slightly narrowing passageway, and the lieutenant was curious how the captain had known this cave existed. Rather fortuitous, he thought, wondering how long their luck would hold, but he didn’t worry for long as he followed the captain into the cave, feeling foolish as he rode between Johnson and Jimmy, balanced on their crossed arms as they hurried to stay within sight of the flickering light ahead. Lieutenant Chatham glanced down trying to see where they stepped, but he couldn’t even see his own feet in the Stygian darkness. Suddenly he blinked, blinded by the brilliance that flooded into the passageway, revealing the stone-walled interior. An even greater illumination came from the end of the tunnel, where the captain had disappeared.

Lieutenant Chatham’s mouth dropped wide open, and he was thankful now he was being carried, because he could have been knocked over with a feather as they entered the chamber and beheld a magnificence that took the breath away.

“Lordee! Would ya lookee here!” Jimmy crowed, his eyes reflecting the glowing light from a crystal chandelier that hung suspended from the stone roof of the cave.

“Must have a dozen or more lights in it!” he said, awed.

“Sixteen, Jimmy,” Captain Dagger said quietly, surprising his men that he could have counted that fast.

“Now I know I’ve died an’ gone to heaven,” McGuire sighed groggily, staring up at the sixteen-light crystal chandelier with tears in his bleary eyes. “Never thought I’d make it.”

Neil Braedon had been just as surprised as his men when entering the chamber, the shrouded forms taking shape as he’d lit the candles in the chandelier that had once hung in the dining room of Royal Bay and brought his grandmother such joy.

Neil glanced around the cave where he, Nathan, and Adam used to hide when boys, expecting the worst consequences to befall them at the hands of their elders because of their rowdiness. Then, it had been empty, except for a cache of boyhood treasures, collected on their many forays across the countryside.

Now
, now it held the cherished possessions of generations of a family; the legacy to those who might survive. Rolled up and propped against the stone walls were the fine carpets that for so many years Braedon feet had walked across. A wall of crates, carefully marked on the outside of each, held fine china and crystal, the porcelain figurines and objets d’art, the rare books and maps so lovingly collected through the years. A pair of globes, spun by boyish hands dreaming of faraway places as of yet unvisited, were cradled in two wingback chairs. Filling the cavern were most of the furnishings, the family heirlooms, from Royal Bay, only the essentials for everyday living having remained in the big house.

“Reckon we could place the lieutenant down on this fancy settee here, Cap’n?” the Bucktail asked, eyeing the blue-and-gold-striped silk cushions revealed beneath a linen sheet Johnson had pulled from the sofa.

“Put the sheet back on, please, if I’m to be placed there,” the lieutenant pleaded, knowing his mother would have been outraged had he put his muddy boots on so lovely a piece of furniture. “
Louis XV
,” the lieutenant murmured with admiration, his eyes caressing the delicately curved lines of the rococo styling.

“Well, I don’t know who the devil this Louie Cans fella is, an’ why you should know him, but he ain’t here now to complain none,” Johnson said, but as his captain gestured at the sheet, he pulled the protective covering back across the cushions before they set the lieutenant down.

McGuire found himself stretched out on another covered settee, feeling as if he were dreaming as the springtime fragrance of lavender and roses drifted to him and he closed his eyes, content to die right where he was.

“What the hell d’ya suppose all of this stuff is doin’ in here?”

“Looks like someone’s settin’ up housekeepin’,” one of the raiders said as they all crowded inside, staring around in amazement at their luxurious surroundings. One of the men, who’d just entered the cave, and was standing behind the others, bumped into a small mahogany chest of drawers. Curious, he tried to open the lidded top, but a small brass lock kept it closed against him. Pulling out his jackknife, he easily sprung the lock, opening the lid to reveal a velvet-lined interior glinting with silverware. Glancing around, and seeing no one watching him, he quickly picked up several elaborately scrolled spoons, the solid silver feeling cold and heavy as he slipped the pieces inside his haversack.

“Well, if it ain’t my own face lookin’ back at me,” someone said, staring at his grinning reflection in one of the gilded girandoles hanging on the wall. “Gave me a start, it did, seein’ how ugly it was, thought fer a minute there it was Johnson,” he continued, laughter echoing around the cave as the men began to wander around aimlessly, as if lost in another world, and feeling safe for the first time in several days.

“Did you ever see such fancy ladies and gents?” the Bucktail asked, almost doffing his cap as he stared down at the gold-leaf framed painting he’d accidentally kicked with his boot.

Overcome with curiosity about what manner of gentlefolk had hidden their valuables in a cave, he pulled another of the paintings into view.

“Hey, if I ain’t a duck in thunder, this is the house we saw burned to ashes downriver a piece. Recognize them six chimneys. Ah, what a pity. Mighty fine-lookin’ place, it was. Like them columns, I do,” he said. “Reckon all this stuff come from there? Must’ve hid it when things started lookin’ bad fer the rebs, our troops fightin’ so deep into Virginia.”

Sliding another, slightly smaller painting from the stack on top of a tapestry-covered sofa table, he was standing there gazing at it, when suddenly he sucked in his breath, choking so that his eyes bulged and someone standing close by slapped him hard between the shoulder blades.

Gulping, he looked up, his startled gaze meeting his captain’s pale-eyed stare in disbelief.

“
Cap’n?
” he questioned, glancing between the hawk-featured face of the young, golden-haired gentleman dressed for riding in the painting, and his hawk-featured, golden-haired captain, dressed as a Yankee raider and standing in the flesh not five feet away.

Silence descended on the cave as the men stilled, all eyes turning to stare at the painting the Bucktail had held up to the light.

Someone whistled softly beneath his breath. Sure enough, it was the spitting image of the captain. Only the man in the portrait, standing indolently in the door of a blacksmith’s shop, was dressed in shiny black Hessians up to his knees, his tight breeches of the finest buff-colored buckskin, his blue coat long-tailed with brass buttons and cut away in front to show the flowered silk of his vest, and his lacy cravat elaborately tied beneath his strong, square chin. His hair was styled in elegant curls of a fashion worn over a quarter of a century ago. Quite the dandy, standing there with the blooded bay, which, someone else decided, bore the distinct markings of the captain’s own big bay, Thunder Dancer.

“Gives me the shivers,” Johnson mumbled, risking a glance at the captain, almost believing he might be staring at a ghost.

“Figure that’s why we been so lucky? We been ridin’ with the dead? Maybe the captain can’t be kilt,” someone of a similar frame of mind voiced nervously, pinching the man next to him to make certain he was real, the responding yelp of pain comforting to him.

“My father, gentlemen,” Neil said, coming to stand close enough to the painted face in the portrait for a number of the men to shake their heads in dismay at the resemblance between father and son.

“This cave is filled with the possessions from Royal Bay, that white-columned house,” he said, glancing briefly at the painting of the house the Bucktail had spoken of as being the same they’d ridden past earlier in the day. “My father’s family has lived at Royal Bay since before the Revolution. My father chose another way of life, and traveled west to the territories. That is where I come from, but this,” he said, his raised hand encompassing the contents of the cave, “is my heritage. These treasured possessions were hidden here by my cousins so that something belonging to our family might survive this war. I shall take full responsibility for the safety and care of these items. I know I need not remind you men of my policy concerning looting,” their captain said, slowly glancing around the gathering, meeting and holding each man’s gaze.