Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [184]
Guiaou had led them on the way up from Gonaives, but on their return Placide took the lead; he had taken care to note the landmarks, and now he turned through every crossroads without a fault. A dry wind swirled over the lowlands north of Gonaives, stirring white dust out of the raket and baroron, coating the two riders and their horses. Placide set a moderate pace, so as not to overtire Bel Argent. They entered Gonaives at a steady trot.
Toussaint had just returned himself, from an inspection of posts along the Ester River to the south. Placide found him on the second-story porch at headquarters, in council with Vernet, Magny, and Monpoint. He stood at attention to make his report and remained in that posture until his father put him at ease with a nod.
“So.” Toussaint’s hand floated over the map; he glanced up to catch Vernet’s eye. “General Hardy is advancing on Ennery even as we speak. If, as it seems, Christophe cannot hold him, he may arrive to threaten us here. But another column is coming through the mountains”—his forefinger traced the main road from Pilboreau down to Gonaives— “commanded by Desfourneaux, and perhaps also by Leclerc himself.” He sat back, holding Vernet’s eyes. “These two forces may combine against you. It looks likely that they will.”
“Oui, mon général.”
“You will repel them. I leave you two battalions of the Seventh Demibrigade, a squadron of cavalry and what militia has been mustered—let that be sufficient to destroy these blancs who come to take our liberty. But if by any chance you cannot hold, burn Gonaives and retreat along this line into the Cahos.”
“Oui, mon général.” Vernet saluted, turned smartly away. His bootheels clattered down the stairs. Toussaint turned to Monpoint and Magny.
“See that your men and the horses are ready. We move within the half-hour.”
Monpoint and Magny saluted and withdrew. Placide, now alone with Toussaint, cocked his head to peer at the map.
“What of General Boudet and his force?” he said. Like others around the Gonaives headquarters, Placide had heard the rumors that Boudet meant to close on Gonaives from the direction of Port-au-Prince.
“Boudet will not reach Gonaives. Boudet will not get so far as Saint Marc. Dessalines stands in his way, and Dessalines will keep him in his bottle.” Toussaint’s hand passed over his mouth, carrying away the smile. “Our business today is with Rochambeau.” He flicked the map with a yellowed fingernail. “He means to march down out of the Central Plateau and reach the Savane Désolée, just here.”
Toussaint leaned back, fixed Placide with his gaze. “If he succeeds?”
Placide gulped back a renegade heartbeat. He swallowed twice before he spoke. “He will occupy the road to Ester and cut our communications. We shall be caught between his force and the other columns advancing from Le Cap and Ennery.”
Toussaint smiled openly. “So they desire. So they suppose. But Rochambeau will not reach the southern road. We will meet him here, in the Ravine à Couleuvre.”
“Can we hold him there?” Placide blurted.
“We can destroy him in that place, and we will do it. We must do it. After Rochambeau has been wiped out, we will return here to support Vernet and finish all these blancs who are coming down from the north.”
He measured Placide with his eye. “Fé konfyans, fils-moin. We will not fail. I have prepared for a long time to meet the invader in this ravine.” His fingernail tapped the ink checkmark that indicated the height of Morne Barade. “But to succeed, we must reach this position before night.”
“And if Rochambeau should come there first?”
Toussaint did not reply at once. His eyes half closed; his hand slipped beneath the skirt of his coat to finger the beads of the rosary attached to his belt. Placide listened to the click of wooden skulls: one, two, three. He had been fascinated with that rosary as a boy, during that distant time he and his brothers had been living with their mother on the Central Plateau, seeing their father very seldom, when