The Duke of Cambridge, newly returned from America and resplendent in the full dress uniform of the Horseguards, turned as they entered.

“Capital — just the fellers I wanted to see. Come in, dry yourselves, have some of this sack,” he waved his glass at the sideboard. “Just the thing in this poxy weather.”

By no word or deed did he refer to the disastrous failure of the American Gulf Coast invasion. And none dared query him. He had remained in seclusion while the American newspapers crowed about the wonderful victory. When he emerged and once more assumed command of the armies there was no one so bold as to mention anything about the matter. It was part of the past; he looked forward to a brilliant future.

There were murmurs of greeting, most polite since the Duke was not only the Queen’s cousin as well as being Commander-in-Chief of all the British armies. They looked with interest at the lean officer who stood beside him, almost skeletal in comparison to the Duke’s portly figure. Instead of a stock or cravat they could see that the man’s neck and throat was covered with bandages and he held his head at a stiff angle. The Duke nodded in his direction.

“You may know Colonel Dupuy of the 56th West Essex? Home on a spot of sick leave, font of information on the colonials. Speaks well of their weapons and he appears to be most contemptuous of ours. Wants to spend money, a good deal of money I dare say. There Colonel, that chappy there is the one you want to speak to. Name of Gladstone, Chancellor of the Exchequer.”

“My pleasure, Colonel. I hope you are recuperating well.”

“Fine, thank you, sir.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

“And what is it that you want to spend our nation’s gold on?”

“Guns, sir,” Dupuy said. “Modern rifles, breech-loaders at that.” He touched his throat. “Of the kind that did this. At a range of hundreds of yards.”

“You, sir,” Palmerston rumbled angrily, “you feel that your country has been amiss in supplying its military?”

“No, your Lordship, I did not intend that. I meant that the military, myself included, has accepted the status quo and not thought enough about modernization. Do you realize that some of my men actually use Tower muskets?”

“Brown Bess won wars,” the Duke said.

“Won, sir, in the past, sir. Fifty, a hundred years ago. One of my officers was so contemptuous of the weapon that he went so far as to say, humorously of course, that he preferred the good English longbow. Far better and more accurate than a musket. Four times the rate of fire. Does not discharge smoke that gives away a soldier’s position.”

“Quite a wit,” Palmerston said, angered at the levity. “Are your officers always this impertinent?”

“Rarely. This one won’t repeat his impertinence. He fell at the Battle of Plattsburgh.”

“You mention only weapons,” Lord Russell said. “Do you also take fault with our morale, our organization, our abilities to fight?”

“Don’t misunderstand me, your Lordship. I am a professional soldier in the most professional army in the world — and proud of it. But put simply, bullets win battles. If an enemy fires ten bullets at me in the time it takes me to fire one — he is then as good as ten soldiers. Which means that there are no longer level terms in combat. A hundred against a hundred means my hundred against their thousand. That is an engagement that cannot be won.”

“Training is what counts,” the Duke said. “That and morale. We have the morale and the training and the resolution to fight and win in every part of the world. This Empire was not built by men of little resolve. We have not lost in the past and we shall always win in the future. This minor setback will be overcome. The enemy will be trounced and we shall be victorious. We lose battles — but we do not lose wars. A temporary setback can lead to a future victory. If the enemy were to plead for peace we might grant it. But only so that we could return in even greater force later. In the end we will triumph.”

He stared around angrily waiting for someone to contradict him.

In the silence that followed they welcomed the announcement that Her Majesty had arrived. They turned and bowed her presence to her chair. Queen Victoria was garbed all in black; black gloves and tiny black veil, she mourned and would forever mourn her lost Albert. Since his death she had become more and more unstrung. Her face was puffy and blotchy and she had put on more weight. Members of the court worried about her sanity. She nodded at the Duke of Cambridge.

“I understand that it was you who called this meeting?”

“I did indeed. Matters of policy to discuss, serious ones. But first, if you please, I would like you to hear a personal report on the war that has affected me as no dispatch or written command has. A verbal report by one who has fought in it. Colonel Dupuy.”

“Well then, speak up. What of the war, Colonel?”

“I regret, ma’am, that I bring only bad news.”

“I am sure of that!” she said shrilly. “There has been too much of this of late, far too much.”

“I regret deeply that I must add to your disquiet. Your Majesty’s soldiers and matelots have fought most valiantly, I assure you of that. But we are outgunned on land, overwhelmed at sea. I assure Your Majesty that brave men have done their best, courage has not been lacking — but the material of war has…”

His voice was even hoarser and he touched his throat with his fingertips as though in pain. The Queen raised her hand.

“Enough! This man is injured and he should have attention — not an audience before the Queen. Have the colonel helped out, see that he is rested. It hurts Us to see a brave man who has suffered for his country, in this parlous state.”

She was silent until the colonel had backed tremorously from the room, then rounded on the Duke.

“You are an imbecile! You brought that man here to embarrass Us, to make some vague and obscure point that completely escapes me? I want you to know that We are not amused.”

The Duke of Cambridge was not fazed at all by her anger. “Not obscure, dear cuz, but painfully clear. We are stalemated in this war and appear to be suffering great losses on the Northern Front. I want your Prime Minister and his cabinet to be sure that they understand that fact. And I have even worse news. This colonial war seems to have spread. We have reports that regiments of the Confederacy have joined the Union in attacking our troops.”

“That cannot be!” Queen Victoria shouted, her face twisted with anger.

“It is true.”

“They cannot be that duplicitous. This war began because of their two wretched diplomats who are still in enemy hands. When we fight to defend them they react in some sly, Yankee way. Are you telling me that they have combined to defeat Our will?”

“They have. Perhaps it was due to a diversional attack we launched in the south of the country — we will never know.”

Only silence followed this preposterous statement; none dared to speak. History is written by the powerful. Blandly and easily the Duke spoke on.

“So now that we are acquainted with all the facts we can determine the course of the future.”

“My patience is at an end,” she shrieked. “Tell me what is going to happen!”

“A decision must be made. A choice is quite simple. Peace — or barring that — a wider war.”

The Queen’s patience, never very good, was at an end and she was screaming. “You speak of peace after the humiliation We have suffered? You speak of peace with these colonial creatures who killed my dear Albert? Are we, the greatest Empire the world has ever seen, are we to humble ourselves before these backwoods rebels, these murderous swine?”

“We need not be humbled — but we should consider opening negotiations to discuss peace.”

“Never! And you gentlemen of the Cabinet, do you hear what I have said?”