A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon [315]
But it would.
I remembered, all too well. Bomb shelters and ration coupons, blackout wardens and the spirit of cooperation against a dreadful foe. And the stories from Germany, France. People reported on, denounced to the SS, dragged from their houses—others hidden in attics and barns, smuggled across borders.
In war, government and their armies were a threat, but it was so often the neighbors who damned or saved you.
“Who?” I said baldly.
“I could guess,” he said, with a shrug. “The McGillivrays? Richard Brown? Hodgepile’s friends—if he had any. The friends of any of the other men we killed? The Indian ye met—Donner?—if he’s still alive. Neil Forbes? He’s a grudge against Brianna, and she and Roger Mac would do well to remember it. Hiram Crombie and his lot?”
“Hiram?” I said dubiously. “Granted, he doesn’t like you very much—and as for me—but . . .”
“Well, I do doubt it,” he admitted. “But it’s possible, aye? His people didna support the Jacobites at all; they’ll no be pleased at an effort to overthrow the King from this side of the water, either.”
I nodded. Crombie and the rest would of necessity have taken an oath of loyalty to King George, before being allowed to travel to America. Jamie had—of necessity—taken the same oath, as part of his pardon. And must—of an even greater necessity—break it. But when?
He’d stopped drumming his fingers; they rested on the letter before him.
“I do trust ye’re right, Sassenach,” he said.
“About what? What will happen? You know I am,” I said, a little surprised. “Bree and Roger told you, too. Why?”
He rubbed a hand slowly through his hair.
“I’ve never fought for the sake of principle,” he said, reflecting, and shook his head. “Only necessity. I wonder, would it be any better?”
He didn’t sound upset, merely curious, in a detached sort of way. Still, I found this vaguely disturbing.
“But there is principle to it, this time,” I protested. “In fact, it may be the first war ever fought over principle.”
“Rather than something sordid like trade, or land?” Jamie suggested, raising one eyebrow.
“I don’t say trade and land haven’t anything to do with it,” I replied, wondering precisely how I’d managed to become a defender of the American Revolution—an historical period I knew only from Brianna’s school textbooks. “But it goes well beyond that, don’t you think? We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”
“Who said that?” he asked, interested.
“Thomas Jefferson will say it—on behalf of the new republic. The Declaration of Independence, it’s called. Will be called.”
“All men,” he repeated. “Does he mean Indians, as well, do ye think?”
“I can’t say,” I said, rather irritated at being forced into this position. “I haven’t met him. If I do, I’ll ask, shall I?”
“Never mind.” He lifted his fingers in brief dismissal. “I’ll ask him myself, and I have the opportunity. Meanwhile, I’ll ask Brianna.” He glanced at me. “Though as to principle, Sassenach—”
He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes.
“As long as but a hundred of us remain alive,” he said precisely, “never will we on any conditions be brought under English rule. It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours that we are fighting, but for freedom—for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself.”
“The Declaration of Arbroath,” he said, opening his eyes. He gave me a lopsided smile. “Written some four hundred years ago. Speaking o’ principles, aye?”
He stood up then, but still remained standing by the battered table he used as a desk, looking down at Ashe’s letter.
“As for my own principles . . .” he said, as though to himself, but then looked at me, as though suddenly realizing