The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [155]
“Gibbon.”
Cornwallis saw now, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
“Ah, yes. A masterwork, sir. Certainly. I’m not aware if it is available in German. I should see about that, arrange a copy for you.” Knyphausen was looking at the book, and Cornwallis was feeling the self-conscious frustration, the chasm of language between them, the silent moment unnerving him. Knyphausen said, “Thank you, General. It won’t be necessary.”
The man’s words stunned him, distinct, laced with the thick syrup of a German accent.
“I was not aware, sir. Forgive me, I was always under the belief that you did not speak English.”
The lines in the old man’s face showed a soft smile.
“It is often more useful to spy on your friends than on your enemies.”
Cornwallis absorbed the words, and Knyphausen said, “No, my apologies, General. I did not mean to use such a crude word. My English is poor. What I meant . . .”
“What you meant, sir, is that a man can learn a great deal about those around him if they don’t know he is listening.”
“Does that offend you, General? It might certainly offend General Howe.”
Cornwallis thought a moment, Yes, it certainly might.
“Why, sir, have you revealed this to me?”
Knyphausen looked at him, seemed to study him for a long moment.
“Why did you come here, General? Surely you did not wish to speak of the weather. General Howe is gone to Germantown, so you cannot be here to discuss strategy.”
“I felt the need to offer my appreciation, sir. Since I am in command of the garrison in the city, I am pleased that your command . . . um, I had hoped to express . . .” The words were choked away, and he stopped with a self-conscious lurch. Knyphausen held up a crooked hand, soothed him with another smile.
“My men . . . we are behaving ourselves, eh, General? You are welcome. Tell me, are you comfortable speaking about General Howe?” Cornwallis saw a sharp glint of steel in the old man’s eye, no sign of the haze he had seen at the councils. Knyphausen seemed to sense the awkwardness of his question, said, “You may be assured, General, these doors are closed. It is simply that I have some concerns. I believe you share them.”
“Forgive me, sir, I’m not certain I understand.”
“That’s what you are supposed to say. But I believe you understand very well.” Knyphausen tapped the book beside him, said, “Gibbon. Englishman. Knows something of history. There is history right here, General, this city. We are history, you and me. And General Howe. There is a tragedy brewing here. For you. Not so much for me.”
Cornwallis was hanging on the man’s words, could feel the wisdom, not just from the man’s years, but more, something unexpected.
“I’m sorry, sir. Why not for you?”
“I am a mercenary, General! Even now, Colonel von Donop is supervising the accounts, preparing the casualty lists from the battle along the Brandywine Creek. Once the lists are complete, they must be presented to your king. For every man in my command that was killed, King George must pay the archduke three times the normal price per soldier. General Washington and his rebel marksmen have done a fine job in bringing gold to my country’s treasury.” He laughed, shook his head. “You find it disturbing that a general is pleased with the death of his men? I admit, it is an arrangement that has its problems. For example, we may claim a man as killed, if he is only missing. This means, if one of my men deserts, the archduke is paid. You can imagine, General, that places me in a difficult situation. As a commander, I am supposed to punish deserters. But to please my monarch, I am to allow them, even encourage them, to run away.” Knyphausen seemed to lose focus, and Cornwallis waited for more, thought, What has this to do with General Howe? The old man rubbed his face, wiped his eyes. “This is not how