Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [181]
“Christophe!” Isabelle walked onto the gallery, setting down a small portmanteau to fasten the buttons of a traveling duster up her delicate throat. “That for your General Christophe—” She turned her head and spat with a surprising lack of inhibition across the rail into the bougainvillea vines.
“What is your plan?” the doctor said, as he took in her costume.
“To fly,” said Isabelle succinctly.
But where? the doctor would have asked; hoofbeats on the drive distracted him. He whipped his head around, expecting perhaps to see an advance guard of French cavalry, though only two horses entered the yard, with Bel Argent, Toussaint’s white stallion, in the lead. With a start the doctor realized that Placide, instead of Toussaint, was riding the big warhorse.
He ran down the steps to greet Placide. The second horseman, he saw with some degree of reassurance, was Guiaou. But where was Toussaint? He never allowed any other man to ride Bel Argent. If Toussaint were dead, or out of the action, would there be peace or a bloodier war?
“Doctor Hébert,” Placide said a little breathlessly, checking the white stallion as it made to rear. “My father wants you. That is—the Governor-General asked me to come for you.”
“Yes,” said the doctor. “Very well, but where?”
“The battle.” Placide pointed to the south.
The doctor felt the blood drain from his face. Here was exactly what Tocquet had been predicting—a French encirclement that would trap Toussaint with his back to the sea. The force to the south might be Boudet, then, marching up from Port-au-Prince.
“Where is this battle?” he asked Placide.
“The battle has not yet been joined,” said Placide, “but you must go and bring with you medicines and bandages.”
“What of the women and children here?” the doctor said. “Where is your mother, and your brothers?” He took hold of Placide’s stirrup and drew himself against Bel Argent’s warm flank.
“At Sancey,” Placide said.
“They can’t stay there.” The doctor waved his free arm toward the ridge. “Christophe is being driven back, just there—you cannot count on him to hold.”
Placide cocked his head to the gunfire. “I thought Christophe was at Morne à Boispins.”
“No longer.”
Placide glanced between the doctor and Guiaou, hesitating. Guiaou, meanwhile, had seen Merbillay coming into the yard with her youngest child swung to her hip, and he steered his horse in her direction.
“Let your women and children go to the grand’case of Sancey,” Placide said finally. “My mother and brothers are still there, and Morisset is with them, the commander of my father’s guard. If they must leave Sancey, they will be taken to a place of safety. But you must go yourself to find my father at the headquarters in Gonaives.”
“Well said, Placide.” The doctor let go of the stirrup, reached for a quick clasp of Placide’s hand. “I’ll want Guiaou with me, to help me with the wounded.” He turned as he spoke to see Guiaou bending at the waist from the saddle to kiss Merbillay’s cheek and spread a hand on the head of the child she carried.
“No,” Placide smiled faintly as he shook his head. “I must keep Guiaou with me.” With that he beckoned Guiaou to follow and with a press of his knees moved Bel Argent into a smooth canter up the terraces toward the height of the ridge.
The women had not wasted their time since they woke, and in twenty minutes more they had set out for Sancey: Elise, Isabelle, Nanon, Zabeth, and all the children except for Paul, who insisted that, at nearly ten, he was old enough to see the fighting. The doctor finally gave in to him, unsure of his own reasons—in the turmoil, he simply didn’t want to be separated from his son. He took Caco with him also, since he was Paul’s best companion, and Paulette, whose nursing skill he knew. Since Fontelle had just come to see Paulette, she