“It is a fine weapon. But I cannot win battles with this single gun.”

“There is a ship now loading in the United States that will bring a thousand more of these — and ammunition. It will be sailing for Mexico very soon.” He took a heavy leather bag from the roll and passed it over as well. “There are silver dollars here which you can use for food and supplies. There will be more coming on the ship.”

Diáz leaned the rifle carefully against the log and hefted the money bag.

“The United States is most generous, Don Ambrosio. But this is a cruel and savage world and only saints are generous without expecting some kind of reward in return. Has your country suddenly become a nation of saints? Or is there something that they may want from me in return for all this largesse? It was not so long ago that I walked out of these mountains to join the others in the battle for my country — against your Gringo invaders from the north. That war is hard to forget. Many Mexicans died before the American guns.”

“Those days are long over. As is the war between the states. There is peace in America now between North and South, just as there is peace between the American government and your Juaristas. Guns and ammunition, like these, are crossing the border in greater numbers. America is waging a diplomatic war against Maximilian and the French. It will be a fighting war if the French do not acquiesce to their demands. Even as we speak attacks by Juaristas in the north are being launched against the French, and the Austrian and Belgian troops they command.”

“And your Americans wish me to do the same? To march against Mexico City?”

“No. Their wish is that you go south. Have you heard of the troop landings there?”

“Just some mixed reports. Strange soldiers in strange uniforms. Something about building a road. It is hard to understand why they should be doing this here. People I have talked to think that they must be mad.”

“The soldiers are British. And far from being mad they have a carefully worked out plan. Let me show you, if I may?”

Diáz waved him over. He took a map from his saddle pouch and unrolled it. He sat beside Diáz on the log and pointed at the south of Mexico.

“The landings were made here on the Pacific shore at the small fishing village of Salina Cruz. The soldiers are from many countries in the East, but mainly from India. Their commanders are British, and what they mean to do is to build a road across the isthmus here, to Vera Cruz on the Atlantic.”

“Why?”

“Because these troops are from many places in the British Empire. From China and India. The North Americans, though they do not wish it, are still at war with the British. They believe that when the road is complete these troops will be used to invade the United States.”

“Now it is all becoming very clear,” Diáz said, his voice suddenly cold. “Your Americans wish me to pull their hot chestnuts from the fire. But I am a patriot — not a mercenary.”

“I think that it would be more correct to say that my enemy’s enemy is my friend. These British troops are also allies of the French. They must be driven from Mexican soil. As proof of what I say I have something else for you.” He drew the envelope from inside his jacket and passed it over.

“This is addressed to you. From Benito Juarez.”

Diáz held the letter in both hands and stared at it thoughtfully. Juarez, the President of Mexico. The man and the country for which he had fought these many long years. He opened it and read. Slowly and carefully. When he had finished he looked over at O’Higgins.

“Do know what he says here?”

“No. All I know is that I was told only to give it to you after I had told you about the guns and the British.”

“He writes that he and the Americans have signed a treaty. He says that he is returning from Texas and is bringing with him many rifles and ammunition as well. He also brings American soldiers with cannon. They will join with the guerrilleros in the north. Attack through Monterrey and then move on to Mexico City. The invaders shall be driven back into the sea. He asks that I, and other guerrilleros here in the south, fight to stop the British from building this road. He writes that this is the best way that I can fight for Mexico.”

“Do you agree?”

Diáz hesitated, turning the letter over and over in his hand. Then gave a very expressive shrug — and smiled.

“Well — why not? They are invaders after all. And mine enemy’s enemy as you say. So I shall do what all good friends must do for one another. Fight. But first there is the matter of the weapons. What will be done about that?”

O’Higgins took a much-folded map from his pocket and spread it on his knee and touched the shore on the Gulf of Mexico. “An American steamer is loading the rifles and ammunition here in New Orleans. In one week’s time it will arrive here, in this little fishing village, Saltabarranca. We must be there to meet it.”

Diáz looked at the map and scowled. “I do not know this place. And to get there we must cross the main trail to Vera Cruz. There is great danger if we expose ourselves on the open plain. We are men of the mountains — where we can attack and defend ourselves. If the French find us there in the open plain we will be slaughtered.”

“The one who came with me, Miguel, he knows this area very well. He will guide you safely. Then you must get together all the donkeys that you can. Miguel, and others, they watch the French at all times. He tells me that there are no large concentrations of French troops anywhere nearby. We can reach the coast at night without being seen. Once you get the guns you will be able to fight any smaller units that we may meet when we return. It can be done.”

“Yes, I suppose that this plan will work. We will get the weapons and use them to kill the British. But not for you or for your gringo friends. We fight for Juarez and Mexico — and for the day when this country will be free of all foreign troops.”

“I fight for that day as well,” O’Higgins said. “And we will win.”

PERFIDIOUS ALBION

Brigadier Somerville waited on the quayside, holding his hat to prevent it from being blown away. The bitter north wind whipped spray and rain across his face, more like December than May here in Portsmouth. The fleet, at anchor, were just dim shapes in the harbor. Dark hulls with yardarms barely visible through the rain. Only one of the ships was bare of masts, with just a single funnel projecting above her deck.

“Valiant, sir,” the naval officer said. “Sister ship of the Intrepid which will be arriving tomorrow. Her shakedown cruise was most satisfactory I understand. Some trouble with leaks around the gunshields — but that was soon put right.”

“Ugly thing, isn’t it? I do miss the lines of the masts.”

“We don’t,” the commander said with brutal frankness. “I had friends on Warrior. She went down with all hands. We are determined to see that shan’t happen again. Valiant can equal or better the Yankees. We have learned a thing or two since Monitor and Virginia fought each other to a draw. I saw that battle. My ship was stationed outside of Hampton Roads at that time for that very purpose. It seems a century ago. The first battle of iron ship against iron ship. Naval warfare changed that day. Irreversibly and forever. I have been a sailor all my life and I love life under sail. But I am also a realist. We need a fighting navy and a modern navy. And that means the end of sail. The ship of war must now be a fighting machine. With bigger guns and far better armor. That was the trouble with Warrior. She was neither flesh nor fowl nor good red herring. Neither sail nor steam, but a little of both. These new ships of war have been built to the same pattern — but with major improvements. Now that the sails and masts are gone, along with all their gear and sail lockers, there is more room for more coal bunkers. Which means that we can stay at sea that much longer. Even more important is the fact that we can now cut the crew requirements in half.”