Edward Burr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-27 11:47 pm
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-27 11:47 pm
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The Price of Peace - Chapter Nineteen
The Price of Peace
Book Three
Chapter Nineteen
The four men sat together in an upstairs room. It was not difficult to discern its purpose. It was away from the rest of the house, its door hidden by a hanging tapestry. Had he not known Mister Farley, senior, was an intelligence officer, Remy had no doubts he would have realised it at once on seeing this room. He was seated across from Edward, and Clay was across from the younger Farley.
“Bienhereux,” he said. Perhaps it was a sort of treason, he wasn’t certain. However, these men were helping him to make his rendezvous with the American ship. The least he could do was give them this information. “If I get my choice, I will take that one.” Besides, it was not as if he was offering the ship or amnesty. It if meant anything, it was a way to prevent them from coming into conflict with one another.
If his return really would assure him command of Bienhereux, that was a small reward for having to part from Edward. She was one of the new warships Bonaparte had commissioned during the peace, and she carried thirty-six guns. She was built, from the sound of her, more for power than speed, but he could handle that sort of creature, certainly. If he got any say in his crew, especially, he would be assured of the ability to be a force to be reckoned with or else very feared.
He looked straight at Edward. There was on more important matter regarding his ship, something he knew Edward would see done. “Be sure Andre knows, especially if he is promoted.” He did not relish the idea of meeting his little brother in battle and making his young wife a widow.
Edward nodded “I have little hope of seeing any command for a long while.” Remy felt a faint pang of regret. Were it not for him, Edward would be married by now, secure in a place of favouritism with the admiral. He wondered if Edward felt their time together was worth the price. Would he in a year? Or five? “I cannot be sure what ship I will have or who I will sail under.”
Even if he did know, Remy was aware, it meant very little. They could not run if they saw one another’s ship. If they crossed paths, there would be cause to make at least a token display of force. Still, it might give them some warning. They could be prepared for the encounter, so there would be no shock to make the battle that much more difficult. Perhaps they only wanted to share the information to feel as though they were trying to do something. It might well be only a way to feel some agency in their fates.
“I’ll be with Edward as often as possible,” Clay said. “Whenever I can, I’ll be on the same ship.” He considered his own words, offering a small sigh and displaying his palms. “Depending on how Miles takes this, that may be difficult to achieve, but I will find a way to make it happen.” This man was the surprising one, really. He, especially, had no real reason to help him. If he were honest, every day that passed without Clay offering him up to some English authority was rather a remarkable thing. Still, by this point, he felt the man could be somewhat trusted. “If we are fortunate— which it is likely we won’t be— we may never run into you at sea.”
Farley remained silent.
‡ ‡ ‡
Joseph considered the next point for a few moments. “I do not want it used too often,” he said slowly. “Too much use creates exposure. Exposure means trouble.” Still, the offer had been made, and, with that warning given, he knew he had to pass it on. “I have a private contact who ought to be able to pass messages when they are vital.” Thankfully, as he looked between the two men, Joseph felt that would rarely see use.
What would become of them? It would be a triumph, a tragedy, or both. Two very capable men of two very powerful countries, linked even as they were divided. This would prove to be either the making of two great men or the undoing of two good ones.
“What are the specific details of your rendezvous?” he asked Martineau.
The an eyed him with considerable caution. Joseph couldn’t blame him. Everyone here knew what he was; helping a Republican went against everything he ought to be. Still, after a look to Edward, the man relented. “The American merchant Carolina will be in Plymouth until March the fifteenth. On that day and no later, she sails for France.”
Joseph nodded and said, “Then we have time. Not a lot, not by any means, but we have time, at least.” He thought for a few seconds then shrugged. “The simplest plan is probably best. Hire a carriage to Plymouth on the fifth, and you will be there on time.” Before either of his fellows could argue, he went on. “Very lacking in cloak and dagger, yes. However, bear in mind that the more complex any undertaking becomes, the more room there is for something to go wrong.”
“I don’t care how it’s done. If it’s simple, it’s simple. If it’s the Labours of Hercules, then it is. As long as Remy is aboard on the fifteenth.”
Joseph smiled. What else could he do? For all his years, both at sea and on streets, Edward’s passion still had a kind of youth to it. He was reckless and willing to defy the gods themselves. Why should he not? He had played stakes and won as often as he lost. It was the hallmark of a hero or tragic figure. It was very Shakespearean, perhaps even Grecian. The soothsayer’s words came to his lips, and all of his quiet, cautious mirth died away. Was it Cassius before him or Caesar? Or perhaps Antony was more accurate. Yes, Joseph decided. Edward could be Antony: brilliant at war and possessed by a love for someone he should have been better to have never laid eyes on, were he to live a long, happy life. He only hoped that he may yet intervene, that the moon was not yet wholly eclipsed. If anything went wrong, though, there was only one fate for them all.
“I promise.” The words came softly, a balm against the brute force of Edward’s. They might ease not only him but Martineau as well. If either of these men became too nervous, thought to act on their own, or last faith in him, all was lost. My ears and eyes are open. My friends will join my efforts. I do not believe it will be simple. At the very least, nerves and emotions will complicate it.” He sighed and opened his palms to the others, looking first to Martineau then Edward. “If you will put your trust in me, I will see this done. Captain Martineau will return safely to France. I swear it.”
Nathaniel gave soft scoff, but he otherwise remained quiet.
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward hated all of it. He hated the politics, the fear, the loss, the danger. He and Remy had brought this upon themselves; no one else bore any fault. They had always known it would end like this. That was the risk they had agreed to take. Even now, it wasn’t too late. He could change his mind— either announce it or just do it— and board Carolina with Remy. What did he really have in England? He had his mother, but she was used to his absence. He had Joseph, but he would surely understand choosing a moment of weakness and disloyalty to his country so as not to betray his heart. He had the navy, but they would never miss one man.
He had no life in England, nothing he couldn’t simply abandon. He had no family, no firm career, no social circle. It was true that he was no longer penniless, but he was still a fatherless man. How many men would agree to give their daughter to him? Not that he could make any desire known now to marry. The only woman he thought of at all lately was Faith. He had walked away from her, though. Not that he regretted it. She had deserved to be free, and he had needed to make the choice he had. There was nothing for him in England once Remy was gone. Why shouldn’t he start over in a country based on the idea of every man making his name solely on his own merits? Why couldn’t he make a new life in France?
Because, he answered for himself, he was an Englishman. He had fought and bled for this country; he was willing to do so again. As imperfect as his home was, with its emphasis on birth and laws condemning certain kinds of love, he still wanted to protect it. Turning away from it or turning on it would give him things to hate himself for as long as he lived. Losing Remy would be only a regret. It would not make him hate himself.
It might be that he would someday have cause to hate himself. Edward looked across the table, meeting Remy’s green eyes. He forced down every emotion that welled up in him at the threat—at the knowledge—that they would soon part for the rest of their lives. He steadied himself with a deep breath and said, “If we do meet as enemies at sea, we must each do our duty by our country.”
The words hurt him even as they came out. He could imagine such a time, where the deck of a ship was stained with blood and bodies lay about from guns or boarding or both. It was easy enough, really, to claim he would be able to face Remy in battle and do all his country would require of him. To do it, he knew even now, would be a vastly different thing. It was still best to make his intentions known now than to have either of them anticipate mercy. They could not, after this, afford to expect or grant it.
Remy held his gaze. Edward saw his own internal struggle reflected in those brilliant eyes. Inevitable, Remy came to the same conclusion. He nodded and remained silent for several seconds. He might be ordering his thoughts or he might be quelling the emotions he felt. Edward could hardly blame him. When he did speak, it was with the utmost control. “Of course. We owe France, England, each other, and ourselves nothing less.” Edward managed a small bob of his head in agreement. He hoped for a short war without heavy losses. He wanted the nightmare over before it truly began.
Farley slammed his hands on the table and rose.
‡ ‡ ‡
“What is wrong with you? All of you?” Nathaniel could not remain silent any longer. He looked around the table as he tried to bring himself back into line. Shouting would do him very little good. In as calm a tone as he could hold, he said, “Do any of you even realise what you’re doing?” Joseph looked right at him while Burr and Martineau averted their eyes. “These two,” he gestured to the officers sharply, “are breaking their hearts. You,” his eyes fixed on Joseph, “Are risking yourself to, you say, help them. Martineau? I understand. France is a very different place, but you and Burr baffle me. Why are you— why have you in the past— destroying yourselves for a country that would loop a rope around your neck for you love?”
He saw Burr tense. Maybe the man would actually fight. Maybe he would rally against this. Nathaniel refused to believe that three military men could not devise a more amenable strategy. He would grant he saw why Martineau would want to return to his country. He was free there. He even saw how bleak the situation might look to Burr. Though, were he in that position, Nathaniel knew he would abandon anything and everything to be near Joseph. Patriotism be damned. It was Joseph he could not fathom. To be silent as these two affirmed that they would be bound by honour to try and kill one another should their paths cross again. Joseph could surely arrange things different, see less damage dome.
Unless, Nathaniel found himself think as he met Joseph’s gaze again, he wanted this. He searched his lover’s pale eyes and saw only calmness. There was no pain or conflict that he could discern. Joseph was in control not only of himself but of the entire situation. It was a chess game. His opposition of Miles laying his hands on Martineau was genuine. He would not betray Burr so. The separation, though, was his doing. He wanted to see them parted and both in service again. Why he so thoroughly supported Burr, Nathaniel still did not understand, but he saw the consequences. Burr would flourish, continue to advance. Was Joseph hoping Martineau would die for his country? He wanted to dismiss the thought, but it would not go. Especially with Joseph’s pale eyes fixed on his with nearly no emotion in them.
“You, sir,” Burr said, struggling for control of himself, “stray dangerously close to treason.”
“Do I?” Nathaniel said, turning a look of mock surprise on Burr for a second or two. “I shall mind myself better from now on. My intention was to cross quite definitely into it.”
“Sir!” Burr shouted and leapt to his feet.
Joseph remained seated, but even he seemed more than a little surprised. “Nathaniel!”
“At least I will announce it,” Nathaniel said. He wanted to strike them—both of them—to see what they would do. “You are conspiring to secret a man wanted by intelligence officers to a ship that will take him to a country that will soon be at war with your own. He will likely serve loyally, making him your enemy.” He glared at all of them. “You’re all God-damned fools. At least I will say you are ultimately siding with a country that will never once care about what you’re sacrificing.”
No one replied to him.
Book Three
Chapter Nineteen
The four men sat together in an upstairs room. It was not difficult to discern its purpose. It was away from the rest of the house, its door hidden by a hanging tapestry. Had he not known Mister Farley, senior, was an intelligence officer, Remy had no doubts he would have realised it at once on seeing this room. He was seated across from Edward, and Clay was across from the younger Farley.
“Bienhereux,” he said. Perhaps it was a sort of treason, he wasn’t certain. However, these men were helping him to make his rendezvous with the American ship. The least he could do was give them this information. “If I get my choice, I will take that one.” Besides, it was not as if he was offering the ship or amnesty. It if meant anything, it was a way to prevent them from coming into conflict with one another.
If his return really would assure him command of Bienhereux, that was a small reward for having to part from Edward. She was one of the new warships Bonaparte had commissioned during the peace, and she carried thirty-six guns. She was built, from the sound of her, more for power than speed, but he could handle that sort of creature, certainly. If he got any say in his crew, especially, he would be assured of the ability to be a force to be reckoned with or else very feared.
He looked straight at Edward. There was on more important matter regarding his ship, something he knew Edward would see done. “Be sure Andre knows, especially if he is promoted.” He did not relish the idea of meeting his little brother in battle and making his young wife a widow.
Edward nodded “I have little hope of seeing any command for a long while.” Remy felt a faint pang of regret. Were it not for him, Edward would be married by now, secure in a place of favouritism with the admiral. He wondered if Edward felt their time together was worth the price. Would he in a year? Or five? “I cannot be sure what ship I will have or who I will sail under.”
Even if he did know, Remy was aware, it meant very little. They could not run if they saw one another’s ship. If they crossed paths, there would be cause to make at least a token display of force. Still, it might give them some warning. They could be prepared for the encounter, so there would be no shock to make the battle that much more difficult. Perhaps they only wanted to share the information to feel as though they were trying to do something. It might well be only a way to feel some agency in their fates.
“I’ll be with Edward as often as possible,” Clay said. “Whenever I can, I’ll be on the same ship.” He considered his own words, offering a small sigh and displaying his palms. “Depending on how Miles takes this, that may be difficult to achieve, but I will find a way to make it happen.” This man was the surprising one, really. He, especially, had no real reason to help him. If he were honest, every day that passed without Clay offering him up to some English authority was rather a remarkable thing. Still, by this point, he felt the man could be somewhat trusted. “If we are fortunate— which it is likely we won’t be— we may never run into you at sea.”
Farley remained silent.
‡ ‡ ‡
Joseph considered the next point for a few moments. “I do not want it used too often,” he said slowly. “Too much use creates exposure. Exposure means trouble.” Still, the offer had been made, and, with that warning given, he knew he had to pass it on. “I have a private contact who ought to be able to pass messages when they are vital.” Thankfully, as he looked between the two men, Joseph felt that would rarely see use.
What would become of them? It would be a triumph, a tragedy, or both. Two very capable men of two very powerful countries, linked even as they were divided. This would prove to be either the making of two great men or the undoing of two good ones.
“What are the specific details of your rendezvous?” he asked Martineau.
The an eyed him with considerable caution. Joseph couldn’t blame him. Everyone here knew what he was; helping a Republican went against everything he ought to be. Still, after a look to Edward, the man relented. “The American merchant Carolina will be in Plymouth until March the fifteenth. On that day and no later, she sails for France.”
Joseph nodded and said, “Then we have time. Not a lot, not by any means, but we have time, at least.” He thought for a few seconds then shrugged. “The simplest plan is probably best. Hire a carriage to Plymouth on the fifth, and you will be there on time.” Before either of his fellows could argue, he went on. “Very lacking in cloak and dagger, yes. However, bear in mind that the more complex any undertaking becomes, the more room there is for something to go wrong.”
“I don’t care how it’s done. If it’s simple, it’s simple. If it’s the Labours of Hercules, then it is. As long as Remy is aboard on the fifteenth.”
Joseph smiled. What else could he do? For all his years, both at sea and on streets, Edward’s passion still had a kind of youth to it. He was reckless and willing to defy the gods themselves. Why should he not? He had played stakes and won as often as he lost. It was the hallmark of a hero or tragic figure. It was very Shakespearean, perhaps even Grecian. The soothsayer’s words came to his lips, and all of his quiet, cautious mirth died away. Was it Cassius before him or Caesar? Or perhaps Antony was more accurate. Yes, Joseph decided. Edward could be Antony: brilliant at war and possessed by a love for someone he should have been better to have never laid eyes on, were he to live a long, happy life. He only hoped that he may yet intervene, that the moon was not yet wholly eclipsed. If anything went wrong, though, there was only one fate for them all.
“I promise.” The words came softly, a balm against the brute force of Edward’s. They might ease not only him but Martineau as well. If either of these men became too nervous, thought to act on their own, or last faith in him, all was lost. My ears and eyes are open. My friends will join my efforts. I do not believe it will be simple. At the very least, nerves and emotions will complicate it.” He sighed and opened his palms to the others, looking first to Martineau then Edward. “If you will put your trust in me, I will see this done. Captain Martineau will return safely to France. I swear it.”
Nathaniel gave soft scoff, but he otherwise remained quiet.
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward hated all of it. He hated the politics, the fear, the loss, the danger. He and Remy had brought this upon themselves; no one else bore any fault. They had always known it would end like this. That was the risk they had agreed to take. Even now, it wasn’t too late. He could change his mind— either announce it or just do it— and board Carolina with Remy. What did he really have in England? He had his mother, but she was used to his absence. He had Joseph, but he would surely understand choosing a moment of weakness and disloyalty to his country so as not to betray his heart. He had the navy, but they would never miss one man.
He had no life in England, nothing he couldn’t simply abandon. He had no family, no firm career, no social circle. It was true that he was no longer penniless, but he was still a fatherless man. How many men would agree to give their daughter to him? Not that he could make any desire known now to marry. The only woman he thought of at all lately was Faith. He had walked away from her, though. Not that he regretted it. She had deserved to be free, and he had needed to make the choice he had. There was nothing for him in England once Remy was gone. Why shouldn’t he start over in a country based on the idea of every man making his name solely on his own merits? Why couldn’t he make a new life in France?
Because, he answered for himself, he was an Englishman. He had fought and bled for this country; he was willing to do so again. As imperfect as his home was, with its emphasis on birth and laws condemning certain kinds of love, he still wanted to protect it. Turning away from it or turning on it would give him things to hate himself for as long as he lived. Losing Remy would be only a regret. It would not make him hate himself.
It might be that he would someday have cause to hate himself. Edward looked across the table, meeting Remy’s green eyes. He forced down every emotion that welled up in him at the threat—at the knowledge—that they would soon part for the rest of their lives. He steadied himself with a deep breath and said, “If we do meet as enemies at sea, we must each do our duty by our country.”
The words hurt him even as they came out. He could imagine such a time, where the deck of a ship was stained with blood and bodies lay about from guns or boarding or both. It was easy enough, really, to claim he would be able to face Remy in battle and do all his country would require of him. To do it, he knew even now, would be a vastly different thing. It was still best to make his intentions known now than to have either of them anticipate mercy. They could not, after this, afford to expect or grant it.
Remy held his gaze. Edward saw his own internal struggle reflected in those brilliant eyes. Inevitable, Remy came to the same conclusion. He nodded and remained silent for several seconds. He might be ordering his thoughts or he might be quelling the emotions he felt. Edward could hardly blame him. When he did speak, it was with the utmost control. “Of course. We owe France, England, each other, and ourselves nothing less.” Edward managed a small bob of his head in agreement. He hoped for a short war without heavy losses. He wanted the nightmare over before it truly began.
Farley slammed his hands on the table and rose.
‡ ‡ ‡
“What is wrong with you? All of you?” Nathaniel could not remain silent any longer. He looked around the table as he tried to bring himself back into line. Shouting would do him very little good. In as calm a tone as he could hold, he said, “Do any of you even realise what you’re doing?” Joseph looked right at him while Burr and Martineau averted their eyes. “These two,” he gestured to the officers sharply, “are breaking their hearts. You,” his eyes fixed on Joseph, “Are risking yourself to, you say, help them. Martineau? I understand. France is a very different place, but you and Burr baffle me. Why are you— why have you in the past— destroying yourselves for a country that would loop a rope around your neck for you love?”
He saw Burr tense. Maybe the man would actually fight. Maybe he would rally against this. Nathaniel refused to believe that three military men could not devise a more amenable strategy. He would grant he saw why Martineau would want to return to his country. He was free there. He even saw how bleak the situation might look to Burr. Though, were he in that position, Nathaniel knew he would abandon anything and everything to be near Joseph. Patriotism be damned. It was Joseph he could not fathom. To be silent as these two affirmed that they would be bound by honour to try and kill one another should their paths cross again. Joseph could surely arrange things different, see less damage dome.
Unless, Nathaniel found himself think as he met Joseph’s gaze again, he wanted this. He searched his lover’s pale eyes and saw only calmness. There was no pain or conflict that he could discern. Joseph was in control not only of himself but of the entire situation. It was a chess game. His opposition of Miles laying his hands on Martineau was genuine. He would not betray Burr so. The separation, though, was his doing. He wanted to see them parted and both in service again. Why he so thoroughly supported Burr, Nathaniel still did not understand, but he saw the consequences. Burr would flourish, continue to advance. Was Joseph hoping Martineau would die for his country? He wanted to dismiss the thought, but it would not go. Especially with Joseph’s pale eyes fixed on his with nearly no emotion in them.
“You, sir,” Burr said, struggling for control of himself, “stray dangerously close to treason.”
“Do I?” Nathaniel said, turning a look of mock surprise on Burr for a second or two. “I shall mind myself better from now on. My intention was to cross quite definitely into it.”
“Sir!” Burr shouted and leapt to his feet.
Joseph remained seated, but even he seemed more than a little surprised. “Nathaniel!”
“At least I will announce it,” Nathaniel said. He wanted to strike them—both of them—to see what they would do. “You are conspiring to secret a man wanted by intelligence officers to a ship that will take him to a country that will soon be at war with your own. He will likely serve loyally, making him your enemy.” He glared at all of them. “You’re all God-damned fools. At least I will say you are ultimately siding with a country that will never once care about what you’re sacrificing.”
No one replied to him.