Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [408]
Fressinet embraced Toussaint very warmly when the meal was finished, but when Toussaint returned to the horses, the senior officers clustered around to dissuade him from riding on to Le Cap. Morisset and Gabart, especially, feared that Leclerc’s absence from the rendezvous forbode some treachery, and Gabart had sounded the men of the Tenth and thought that they might turn on the blancs, if given encouragement, and follow Toussaint back to the mountains of Marmelade.
Toussaint listened to their urgent whispers, still stroking his jaw and gazing past their worried faces, toward a pair of hawks circling the western edge of the plateau. One folded its wings to fall upon some prey—a smaller bird it must have been, which Placide’s eye could not pick out at this distance—and then the two hawks flew away beyond the rim of the plateau, losing themselves in the green of the trees that covered the mountains. Placide shifted his eye to Isaac, who was watching Toussaint anxiously—afraid, Placide realized, that the surrender might be aborted.
“No,” said Toussaint, when the others had gone silent. “With the treaty between the English and the French, there is nothing to stop more soldiers from coming here, and they will come.” He smiled and wiped the smile away with his hand. “Besides, I have given my word to the Captain-General, and we must all trust to the word he has given to me.”
So they rode on, descending the winding trail from the height of Mornet. The sun had reached its height by then, and the heat grew stronger as they moved onto the plain, man sweat mingling with the hot smell of the horses. Green fronds were sprouting everywhere from fields that had been burnt, though no one worked them, and some of the gateposts either side of the road were still smoke-stained. Placide and Isaac rode in a pocket formed by Riau and Bienvenu and Guiaou and Guerrier. A change of aspect in Guiaou was Placide’s first signal that something was coming their way from the outskirts of Haut du Cap. A little thread of tension ran around their pocket, though no one spoke; only Isaac seemed unaware of it. When they’d ridden on another quarter-mile, Placide began to see the dust of another party of horsemen on the way out to intercept them. Someone at the fore of their column sounded a trumpet, joined by several conchs as their speed increased.
Daspir had the chance for a little more preening in the saddle of Bel Argent as they passed along the main street of Haut du Cap. Most of the soldiers of the Sixth Colonial Demibrigade stayed in barracks, though a couple of sentries appeared for a pro forma salute, but the women and children came in numbers almost enough to line the street, with the young girls pointing and giggling as the big white stallion passed, then hiding their embarrassment behind their hands.
At the edge of the town, Daspir’s concentration tightened, because there was a big dust cloud rolling very quickly toward them down the road, long red pennants streaming above, and dots of silver gleaming within it. A brass horn sounded, then, more unnervingly, several of those squealing conchs. Mornet was still a long way off. Daspir stole a quick glance at Guizot, whose face reflected his own concern. Colonel Robillard faced strictly forward, his handsome features completely impassive.
Though there was no shock of battle contact, Toussaint’s guard swept over their smaller party, reversing its direction back toward Haut du Cap. In the shifting movement, Daspir felt Bel Argent shuddering between his knees, and he slacked the rein and stroked the horse’s withers. As the stallion settled, Daspir plucked out the bundle of dispatches and displayed them.
“General Louverture!” he called.
At that Bel Argent raised his head to whinny, and might have reared, but Daspir was ready and held him in. Toussaint was just a length away, but looking at his captured horse exclusively. When his eyes raised to Daspir, they were hot enough to have burned him