Chapter 10

The stable yard on the surface was a scene of chaos. Men and horses milled, grooms raced to and from the tack room with equipment, while others were scurrying around filling saddlebags with provisions from the mess. Rufus stood head and shoulders above the throng, holding Ajax’s bridle and issuing orders to Will, who stood beside him.

It was clear to Portia after a minute’s observation that beneath the apparent chaos was a steady, well-ordered process with which everyone was thoroughly familiar. No one had time to notice her, and even if they did they would see only an unremarkable figure in britches and frieze cloak who could be any one of the young men rushing around the yard.

She slipped into the stable, knowing exactly which horse she was looking for. A dainty mare called Penny, who had caught her eye on her earlier visit to the stables during her tour with Rufus. The horse was still in her stall at the far end of the stable block, saddle and bridle hanging conveniently on the crossbar at the rear of the stall, and it was a matter of minutes to saddle her in the deserted building.

Casually, with what she hoped was an air of authority and familiarity, Portia led the mare out of the stable and into the yard. Men were mounted now and the horses stamped and blew, sensing the excitement.

Portia swung herself up onto Penny and unobtrusively edged the mare into the group of mounted men. Rufus mounted the magnificent Ajax, cast a glance over his troop of men, then raised his hand and gestured forward. The young men who had been left behind looked enviously at their luckier fellows as the chosen group clattered out of the yard and turned along the riverbank.

Toby and Luke tumbled into the lane as the cavalcade approached. They clambered onto a gate shouting, “Papa… Papa!” at the tops of their voices.

Rufus drew rein and leaned down to scoop them off the gate, setting them on his saddle in front of him. It was a position they were used to, but one that awed them. Their ecstatic shrieks were abruptly cut off. They gazed around wide-eyed in mingled terror and pride as Ajax climbed the hill at the head of the troop of horse.

At the top of the hill, Rufus lifted his sons down into the waiting arms of the watchman. “Send them back when we’ve gone.”

“Aye, m’lord.” The man grinned, settling a child on each hip. “Good luck, sir.”

They passed through the sentry post and trotted across the hillside, no one as yet aware that Lord Rothbury’s little troop contained not thirty but thirty-one members.

Portia realized with a startled jolt that she had succeeded in escaping Decatur village. She had acted without conscious motivation, not really believing that she would pull it off. But here she was, lost in this knot of men, unnoticed by their commander, and presumably a moment would come when she could lag behind, slide into a clump of trees, vanish from sight. She’d be free and clear, despite Rufus Decatur’s complacent lectures on the security of his stronghold.

She couldn’t help grinning, and then her grin faded as she wondered how Cato would receive her return. Surely he’d be interested in her information? Diana, of course, had probably been singing good riddance since Portia’s abrupt disappearance, but Olivia, at least, would be pleased to see her.

The men around her rode in silence, and only the clink of a bridle, the jingle of a spur, competed with the plaintive calls of a plover or the sudden joyous heart pouring of a blackbird.

It was too soon to make her bid for freedom, the countryside too open and still too close to the hilltop watchmen. She managed to remain inconspicuous by casually changing position. There seemed no particular order to the procession, men rode singly or in twos and threes, and Portia moved Penny around the little knots of riders, never in one position long enough to draw attention to herself. However, she kept well back from the head of the cavalcade, where Rufus Decatur rode with Will.

They soon left the open countryside and turned into a narrow, rocky defile that threaded between two folds of hills. The craggy sides rose high, almost meeting overhead at some points. There was never more than a thin sliver of blue sky, and the air was cold and dank, the continual drip of moisture down the rock face adding to the gnarled pendant shafts of ice.

They rode in single file now and in complete silence. It was as if the brooding quality of their surroundings had infused their spirits, and there was no sign of the earlier exhilaration. Penny picked her way delicately between a raw-boned gray gelding and a handsome black mare. She seemed perfectly comfortable, as if she’d taken part in many such expeditions in the past, but her position sandwiched between two other horses precluded Portia’s escape from the narrow pass. She’d just have to bide her time until the bottleneck opened.

The cavalcade was still within the defile when Rufus drew rein and signaled a halt. Portia couldn’t see what was happening at first, then she noticed one of the men scrambling up the rock face, as nimbly as if he was on a ladder. At the top, he clambered over on his belly and slithered away.

“They should be gettin‘ close b’now,” the man in front murmured to Portia, turning in his saddle to address her as he drew out a packet of provisions from his saddlebags. “The master ’as a right gift fer estimatin‘.”

Rufus must have based his calculations on how fast Leven’s men were moving. But how could he have known that from such a distance with only a spyglass to help him?

Despite the grimness of their surroundings, the men were all now unwrapping provisions, obviously stoking themselves for the battle to come-a prospect that didn’t seem to affect their appetites any. Portia was ravenous, but there was nothing she could do except sniff hungrily and pretend indifference.

The man came scrambling back down the cliff and raced to where Rufus was calmly eating bread and cheese atop Ajax. They had a hasty whispered colloquy and then the word came down the line. “They’re approaching the mouth. Get in position.”

Provisions were put away, muskets came out. The men rode forward to a point where the defile opened out like the mouth of an estuary onto a patch of open ground surrounded by leafless trees and moss-covered boulders as big as small knolls. It was a natural enclosure and the perfect site for an ambush.

The Decatur men were forming rows of five, one line behind the other, holding to the shadows of the hidden pass. Portia couldn’t see how she could fail to be discovered if she stayed around. There was no place for number thirty-one in the five-man rows. But now was her chance for escape. She edged Penny backward down the defile. If no one looked behind, she would be able to back around a corner and retrace the path to the open hillside with no one any the wiser. From there she would find her way back to Castle Granville somehow.

Miraculously, no one looked over a shoulder; no one seemed aware of the lone horseman backing away. Once around the corner, Portia turned Penny in the constricted space. Behind her she could hear nothing, not even the shuffle of hooves or a soft whicker, but she could feel the tension like a tight band around her chest as the little troop of Decatur men waited to pit their lives and skills against the enemy.

Suddenly Portia knew that she couldn’t ride away from the approaching action. She had to see what happened. She told herself she could easily leave afterward. In the post-engagement chaos she could be out of there and safely on her way without fear of detection. She dismounted, tied Penny to a spur of rock, and clambered up the cliff face. The Decatur man had made it appear easy, and there were hand- and footholds in the crevices, but it was still an arduous climb and she hauled herself onto the top of the cliff panting for breath.