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After being forced to end their standoff with Robert Rogers, they spent the night in Elizabeth Town Tavern. This was what Caleb had originally planned and he reminded Ben of this several times both before and after their arrival. Ben argued that, had he not managed reach Caleb and Selah in the woods, none of them would have survived to see this plan succeed. Selah tried to point out that the redcoat captain intervening with orders from the mysterious Major Andre, had been what truly saved them, but the other two ignored him and carried on bickering. The truth was Ben needed the distraction and he was grateful to see that Caleb had noticed this.
Ben slept, or rather did not sleep, on a cramped bed crushed between Selah and the wall. Caleb was elsewhere, likely reacquainting himself with the lovely Genevieve. Even so, he probably got more rest than Ben, who was periodically woken by Selah’s snores, coughs and perpetual fidgeting.
This gave Ben plenty of unwelcome time to imagine Samuel’s death in the same way he had so often imagined Nathan’s last moments. When his thoughts eventually slipped into dreams, it was Nathan he saw. This may have been because the loss of Samuel was still too fresh for his mind to concoct a nightmare version of his brother.
He did not see Nathan’s face this time, thank God, either living or dead. Both held their own pain. He only saw Nathan’s feet, twitching terribly as the life left his body. How could he always seem to remember something so clearly when he had not been present to witness the event itself?
He knew they were Nathan’s feet by the silver buckles on his shoes. Those buckles had been sent as a gift to Ben on his recent birthday with a short note from Nathan’s brother, Enoch, asking Ben if he remembered helping Nathan buy them. Of course Ben remembered. Nathan had been heartbroken to realise he couldn't afford both of those beautiful silver buckles even after saving his money up for as long as his patience would stretch. Those buckles had meant everything to Nathan, not least because one of them unexpectedly became Ben’s gift to him.
Yet he’d been forced to leave them behind when he set out on his mission. He hadn’t been wearing them when he died, otherwise Ben would not be able to own them now. This was how Ben realised he was in a nightmare.
He didn’t wake, as was usual after it became obvious he was dreaming, but instead found himself in the bowels of a ship. He expected to see Samuel but, by some small mercy, there was no sign of his brother nor anyone else. So it was Ben who was trapped on the ship, waiting to die of starvation or dysentery.
Arms grasped him then. As he was borne above deck, he saw that whoever held him intended to toss him into the sea. With a great heave they did so, ignoring Ben’s insistent protests that he was still alive, and he hit the icy water with bone-breaking force.
He sank beneath the surface and he stayed there, certain he would drown, until he heard Caleb calling him. Reality came rushing back and somehow it was worse than the nightmare. He wondered why his body still hurt and remembered that his pain was from being thrown by his frightened horse and not an imagined plunge into the dark and haunted sea.
Neither was Caleb here to rescue Ben. Instead he was trying to rouse them for breakfast. Selah didn’t need much persuading and almost leapt out of bed to dress. Ben simply rolled over and sprawled out, wanting to enjoy having the bed to himself.
A few seconds later, or so it seemed to Ben, Caleb was shaking him roughly by the shoulders. His body protested this treatment, muscles screaming in agony. He tried to communicate this to Caleb but the best Ben could do was push him off, turn over while pulling the blanket tighter about himself and press his face into the pillow with a groan.
“Ben! Wake up, you lazy bastard.”
There was a definite note of concern hidden in Caleb’s teasing tone but that didn’t stop him grabbing Ben’s shoulder to try shaking him again.
“Stop it. Caleb, stop it! You’re hurting me.”
Caleb unhanded him immediately. “Shite. Sorry. How badly you hurt?”
“I’ll let you know once I start trying to move.”
“Well that better be soon. I let you sleep as long as I could but we need to get moving. Hey, good news, though. Those lobsters found your horse and they even gave him back, but uh we need to get out of here before they decide to stop being nice to us.”
“My horse? He’s all right? Not hurt? Not shot?” Ben didn’t give Caleb chance to answer any of his questions before he shook his head and said dejectedly, “I’m not up to riding.”
“Yeah, well, neither’s Selah. I found us a cart.”
Ben knew better than to ask where Caleb had found a cart that someone would be willing to part with. Likely it belonged to some Tory farmer. Used to belong to some Tory famer, at any rate. Apparently it was theirs now.
The journey back to camp was rough, Ben’s exhaustion trying to pull him back into sleep but every bump in the road jolting him awake once more. This constant jostling did nothing to help his growing collection of bruises.
Once they reached camp, Caleb persuaded him to visit the doctor’s tent by allowing Ben to pretend to himself that the two of them were merely accompanying Selah there to get checked out. However, once the doctor had declared Selah to be as fit as could be expected, he turned and asked Ben pointedly if there was anything else he could help them with. Ben reluctantly consented to an examination, submitting himself to as much poking and prodding as was necessary for the doctor to be satisfied that he had no broken bones.
“Something for the pain,” the doctor said, pressing a cup firmly into Ben’s hands. “Help you sleep as well.”
“Laudanum?” Ben guessed, tempted for a second to refuse the medicine.
However, remembering he had another night of contending with Selah’s snoring was enough to move him to drink it and follow the doctor’s advice to get to bed as soon as possible.
A red haired man that Ben did not know was waiting outside his tent. He introduced himself as Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton. A spark of recognition came at the name. This was Washington’s new aide-de-camp, the one who joined the family at the same time as Meade. It transpired that he was there to inform Ben that the General wished to hear his report immediately.
Ben suppressed a groan and agreed to follow the man up to headquarters. He glanced back and was thankful to see Caleb tagging along behind them. He also spotted Selah slipping into the tent, no doubt keen to enjoy having the bed to himself while Ben met with Washington. Ben couldn't begrudge him that, having enjoyed the same luxury that morning. It had been worth it, even if it had come at the cost of missing breakfast.
As if someone had read his thoughts, they found three meals laid out on the table. Hamilton motioned for Ben and Caleb to sit.
“The third meal was meant for your friend,” he explained. “I’ll see that he gets it once we’re all finished here.”
“That could take a while. It’s more than my report the General wants,” Ben told the other man with certainty. “He’ll also want to reprimand me for leaving camp without permission. I’ll be lucky if I escape court martial.”
Having spoken his fear out loud, Ben needed some way to distract himself from the inevitable confrontation. Somehow, this turned out to be attempting to decide if Hamilton, with his red hair, rosy cheeks and expressive lips that even now offered him a half smile of condolence, would be better described as handsome or pretty. Which only proved Ben that the laudanum was already hard at work addling his mind. Ben pushed his half finished meal away and rose. He began to sway, despite his best efforts to stay upright. Hamilton caught him by the arm and guided him into a comfortable chair by the fire.
Ben quickly became transfixed by the flames. He didn’t even look up at the sound of a familiar deep voice. He let himself be soothed by the sound without forcing himself to attempt to comprehend the words. It took the Washington actually kneeling before him, his lips pressed in a grim line of concern and brow deeply furrowed, for Ben to realise the General was actually speaking to him. Before Ben could understand what he was saying, he was gone again.
It was always this way with Washington. He would always reach out and then pull back before Ben had a chance to respond. How many times these past few months had Ben thought he might be kissed, hoped for it time and time again, only to rapidly realise his mistake?
Then Washington came back to him, helped him to his feet with a strong yet somehow gentle grip. He held Ben’s face in his hands, one thumb lightly stroking his cheek.
He spoke and this time Ben understood the words, “Hamilton will escort you to my tent and you will sleep there. I need you to be where I can keep an eye on you.”
Once in the General’s tent, Ben sat in a chair and tried valiantly not to fall asleep. He watched Hamilton stride over to the desk and flick idly through some papers. Something caught the aide’s attention and, without even taking the time to sit, he picked up a quill, dipped it in ink and started writing.
“You know, the General’s been speaking very highly of you,” Ben told him, convinced that talking would help him in his efforts to stay wake. “And the stories of your valour at Trenton and Princeton are widely known.”
Hamilton glanced up at Ben and then back at his work, finishing off a few more lines before straightening up and heading over to a decanter of Madeira on another table. He poured out two glasses.
“It’s a shame you missed those battles, Major. We could have used you in the field.” He returned the stopper to the decanter with a loud clink that made Ben jump. Hamilton turned to him, an amused smirk creeping across his face. “From what I hear, you missed the boat.”
Ben stared at Hamilton, unsure how to respond and feeling that the other man was barely resisting the urge to laugh at him.
Hamilton tried to sooth Ben’s bruised pride, flashing him a full yet kind smile as he said, “Relax, Tallmadge, it’s all in good fun. Here, have a drink with me.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ben murmured, accepting the glass.
The Madeira only increased his lightheadedness. When Hamilton spoke again, Ben had to struggle to understand that he was saying something about not waiting for the General and getting him to bed now. Ben couldn’t be sure of Hamilton’s exact meaning but he felt his cheeks burn as his mind raced through the possibilities. He met Hamilton’s eye. Studying the man’s face again, Ben wondered if those already rosy cheeks had taken on a redder glow. It was hard to tell by candlelight.
Hamilton busied himself with helping Ben out of his jacket and waistcoat. His hands moved down to Ben’s breeches. He paused, looking up to meet Ben’s eyes with an unspoken question written across his features. Ben felt all the heat in his body rush to his face. Meanwhile all his blood seemed determined to travel in precisely the opposite direction.
Ben leaned forward for the kiss but Hamilton seemed to think better of it, dropping his hands to his sides and taking a decisive step back.
“I ought to leave.”
“No,” Ben begged him. “Stay.”
Hamilton shook his head. “You know why I shouldn’t stay, even if I might wish to. It’s you the General’s invited into his bed. Not me.”
“If you truly wish to, you may stay,” Washington said, sounding almost amused as he entered the tent. “I invited Major Tallmadge here to ensure he gets some rest after his ordeal. He clearly wishes for you to join us and I have no objections. Quite the contrary. There’s certainly room enough for three of us and I would welcome the company. I’ve spent enough lonely nights in this bed since my wife returned to Virginia.”
“Even so, it’s clear you’ve made your choice, sir.”
“This need not be a matter of of choice, my boy. Unless you consider not choosing to be a choice in itself.”
Washington began undressing with Hamilton’s help and he returned the favour. Ben wondered how they could be so at ease undressing each other when Hamilton had only been in camp a few weeks.
“I understand what you’re implying, sir,” Hamilton said as he helped Washington into his nightshirt. “Only I wouldn’t have expected such things to be to your taste.”
“Mrs Washington and I had an arrangement with another married couple which sadly came to an end before the war.”
“An arrangement?” Hamilton questioned with a chuckle. “You make it sound more like business than pleasure, sir.”
“Oh there was plenty of pleasure, believe me, until loyalties divided us. Though, I would prefer to leave such discussions until the morning. Our poor Major Tallmadge looks dead on his feet, wouldn’t you agree?”
Washington got into bed. He helped Ben crawl in after him and find comfortable position for them both to settle down in. For the first time all day, Ben was glad of his tiredness for, in his dreamlike state, he could accept the General’s warm embrace without breaking the spell by questioning himself whether he belonged there. Whether this could truly be happening. If he did wake in the morning and discover this to have been a dream, at least it was better than any dream he’d experienced in a good long while.
Ben felt Hamilton climb into bed behind him and wrap an arm about his waist as he whispered, “Sleep well, Tallmadge.”
Washington echoed this sentiment and placed a soft kiss on the top of Ben’s head, which was honestly all the persuasion he needed to close his eyes and accept this stroke of good fortune. The two men who lay with him had tenderly offered him comfort and safety at the time he least expected and most needed both. Ben listened to their soft breathing, letting himself at last be lulled into a deep and peaceful sleep.