Victory at Yorktown: A Novel by William R. Forstchen, Newt Gingrich Read Free Book Online Page B

Lafayette was nodding an assent. Washington’s gaze fixed on him, and again there was that look of infinite weariness. Allen sensed that the betrayal of Arnold was an emotional shock from which he had yet to recover. He knew this man was educated in the classics and wondered if in his heart he was saying over and over, “et tu, Brute?”
    There was finally the slightest of nods.
    “You may spend the night with your friend. I regret to go through this formality, but do I have your word of honor that if there are any secrets Major Andre has kept concealed, that you will not allow him to speak of them?”
    “Yes, sir,” Allen replied.
    Washington looked over his shoulder at Peter.
    “I am not questioning your adherence to honor, Major van Dorn, but you will be accompanied by Major Wellsley here throughout. You may remain with your friend until,” he paused, “until it is finished.”
    Allen fought to hold back his emotions. This man was his enemy. On a field of battle if ever given the chance to bring him down, he would do so without hesitation. He was the heart and soul of their Revolution. Yet he could sense as well the inner conflict that Washington must be suffering at this moment, on the one hand compassion, wishing that these decisions did not confront him, and on the other, his sense of gravitas, of duty that demanded the response, ameliorated by this small act of compassion.
    Again removing his hat, he bowed low. Washington, half standing, returned the salute.

 
    Two
    NEAR TAPPAN, NEW YORK
    OCTOBER 1, 1780
    As the door opened, Andre, who was sitting in a corner of what was actually a rather comfortable room, staring into a crackling fire, turned, looked back, and for once the formalities of a military life fell away entirely.
    “Allen!”
    The chair fell backward as he leaped up, came up to his old friend, and eagerly embraced him, patting him on the back.
    There was wetness in the eyes of both men as they hugged—a most unusual act for the normally reserved Andre—until he, as if remembering himself, broke the embrace, stepped back, nervously clearing his throat, wiping his eyes, and then mumbling that he must have gotten a cinder in his eye.
    He looked past Allen and saw Peter standing tensely in the doorway.
    “John,” Allen announced formally, “this is a friend of mine from before the war. Major Peter Wellsley, may I introduce Major John Andre.”
    The two exchanged polite bows.
    “A friend of Allen is, of course, a friend of mine,” John offered, and pointed to a couple of straight-back chairs positioned by the fireplace, which was the only illumination in the room, as he lifted his own chair from the floor, motioning for them to sit.
    “General Stirling was so kind as to send over a delightful bottle of claret. May I offer you some?”
    “Of course, John,” Allen replied, again struggling to control his emotion, recalling so many evenings of John, ever the gracious host, offering to share whatever he had, even if huddled in a miserable tent while icy rain fell outside. Peter nodded in assent, but said nothing.
    “Delightful, then. Wish I had some remnants of dinner, some roasted goose. I was told General Washington personally sent it down from his table, but alas, gentlemen, I did not expect guests and hunger dominated my thoughts.”
    He poured some wine into two crystal goblets, handing them to his guests, and poured a third for himself. Allen noted the bottle was now little more than half consumed. If Stirling’s kindness was with the hope that John would consume the bottle in order to calm his nerves, John was maintaining his inner discipline even though at many a party at headquarters he had consumed bottle after bottle, and rarely shown an effect.
    John turned his chair to face his friend, smiled, saying nothing, looking expectantly. Allen realized that some sort of hope had sprung in John’s heart at the sight of him.
    He drew a deep breath, struggled to control his voice, trying to