But Longstreet said, “I know I can count on you, George, when the time comes. And it’ll come, it’ll come.”

Armistead broke in, “Sorry to interrupt, but they’re calling for George at the poker table.” He bowed. “Your fame, sir, has preceded you.”

Pickett excused himself, watchful of Longstreet. Pickett was always saying something to irritate somebody, and he rarely knew why, so his method was simply to apologize in general from time to time and to let people know he meant well and then shove off and hope for the best. He apologized and departed, curls ajiggle.

Armistead looked after him. “Hope he brought some money with him.” He turned back to Longstreet, smiling.

”How goes it, Pete?”

”Passing well, passing well.” An old soldier’s joke, vaguely obscene. It had once been funny. Touched now with memories, sentimental songs. Longstreet thought: he’s really quite gray. Has reached that time when a man ages rapidly, older with each passing moment. Old Lothario.

Longstreet was touched. Armistead had his eyes turned away, following Pickett.

”I gather that George was trying to get us up front where we could get shot. Correct? Thought so. Well, must say, if you’ve got to do all this damn marching at my age there ought to be some action some time. Although-“ he held up a hand-“I don’t complain, I don’t complain.” He sat, letting a knee creak. “Getting rickety.”

Longstreet looked: firelight soft on a weary face. Armistead was tired. Longstreet watched him, gauging. Armistead noticed.

”I’m all right, Pete.”

”Course.”

”No, really. I…”He stopped in mid-sentence. “I am getting a little old for it. To tell the truth. It, ah…” He shrugged. “It isn’t as much fun when your feet hurt. Ooo.”

He rubbed his calf. He looked away from Longstreet’s eyes. “These are damn good cherries they grow around here.

Wonder if they’d grow back home.”

Laughter broke from Pickett’s group. A cloud passed over the moon. Armistead had something on his mind.

Longstreet waited. Harrison had to be back soon. Armistead said, “I hear you have some word of the Union Army.”

”Right.” Longstreet thought: Hancock.

”Have you heard anything of old Win?”

”Yep. He’s got the Second Corps, headed this way. We should be running into him one of these days.” Longstreet felt a small jealousy. Armistead and Hancock. He could see them together-graceful Lo, dashing and confident Hancock. They had been closer than brothers before the war. A rare friendship. And now Hancock was coming this way with an enemy corps.

Armistead said, “Never thought it would last this long.”

He was staring off into the dark.

”Me neither. I was thinking on that last night. The day of the one-battle war is over, I think. It used to be that you went out to fight in the morning and by sundown the issue was decided and the king was dead and the war was usually over. But now…”He grunted, shaking his head. “Now it goes on and on. War has changed, Lewis. They all expect one smashing victory. Waterloo and all that. But I think that kind of war is over. We have trenches now. And it’s a different thing, you know, to ask a man to fight from a trench. Any man can charge briefly in the morning. But to ask a man to fight from a trench, day after day…”

”Guess you’re right,” Armistead said. But he was not interested, and Longstreet, who loved to talk tactics and strategy, let it go. After a moment Armistead said, “Wouldn’t mind seeing old Win again. One more time.”

”Why don’t you?”

”You wouldn’t mind?”

”Hell no.”

”Really? I mean, well, Pete, do you think it would be proper?”

”Sure. If the chance comes, just get a messenger and a flag of truce and go on over. Nothing to it.”

”I sure would like just to talk to him again,” Armistead said. He leaned back, closing his eyes. “Last time was in California. When the war was beginning. Night before we left there was a party.”

Long time ago, another world. And then Longstreet thought of his children, that Christmas, that terrible Christmas, and turned his mind away. There was a silence.

Armistead said, “Oh, by the way, Pete, how’s your wife?

Been meaning to ask.”

”Fine.” He said it automatically. But she was not fine.

He felt a spasm of pain like a blast of sudden cold, saw the patient high-boned Indian face, that beautiful woman, indelible suffering. Children never die: they live on in the brain forever. After a moment he realized that Armistead was watching him.

”If you want me to leave, Pete.”

”No.” Longstreet shook his head quickly.

”Well, then, I think I’ll just set a spell and pass the time of day. Don’t get to see much of you any more.” He smiled: a touch of shyness. He was five years older than Longstreet, and now he was the junior officer, but he was one of the rare ones who was genuinely glad to see another man advance.

In some of them there was a hunger for rank-in Jubal Early it was a disease-but Armistead had grown past the hunger, if he ever had it at all. He was an honest man, open as the sunrise, cut from the same pattern as Lee: old family, Virginia gentleman, man of honor, man of duty. He was one of the men who would hold ground if it could be held; he would die for a word. He was a man to depend on, and there was this truth about war: it taught you the men you could depend on.

He was saying, “I tell you one thing you don’t have to worry on, and that’s our Division. I never saw troops anywhere so ready for a brawl. And they’re not just kids, either. Most of them are veterans and they’ll know what to do. But the morale is simply amazing. Really is. Never saw anything like it in the old army. They’re off on a Holy War.

The Crusades must have been a little like this. Wish I’d a been there. Seen old Richard and the rest.”

Longstreet said, “They never took Jerusalem.”

Armistead squinted.

”It takes a bit more than morale,” Longstreet said.

”Oh sure.” But Longstreet was always gloomy. “Well, anyhow, I’ve never seen anything like this. The Old Man’s accomplishment. Incredible. His presence is everywhere.

They hush when he passes, like an angel of the Lord. You ever see anything like it?”

”No.”

”Remember what they said when he took command? Called him Old Granny. Hee.” Armistead chuckled. “Man, what damn fools we are.”

”There’s talk of making him President, after the war.”

”They are?” Armistead considered it. “Do you suppose he’d take it?”

”No, I don’t think he would take it. But, I don’t know. I like to think of him in charge. One honest man.”

”A Holy War,” Longstreet said. He shook his head. He did not think much of the Cause. He was a professional: the Cause was Victory. It came to him in the night sometimes with a sudden appalling shock that the boys he was fighting were boys he had grown up with. The war had come as a nightmare in which you chose your nightmare side. Once chosen, you put your head down and went on to win. He thought: shut up. But he said: “You’ve heard it often enough: one of our boys can lick any ten of them, that nonsense.”

”Well.”

”Well, you’ve fought with those boys over there, you’ve commanded them.” He gestured vaguely east. “You know damn well they can fight. You should have seen them come up that hill at Fredericksburg, listen.” He gestured vaguely, tightly, losing command of the words. “Well, Lo, you know we are dying one at a time and there aren’t enough of us and we die just as dead as anybody, and a boy from back home aint a better soldier than a boy from Minnesota or anywhere else just because he’s from back home.”

Armistead nodded carefully. “Well, sure.” He paused watchfully “Of course I know that. But then, on the other hand, we sure do stomp them consistently, now don’t we, Pete? We… I don’t know, but I feel we’re something special. I do. We’re good, and we know it. It may just be the Old Man and a few other leaders like you. Well, I don’t know what it is. But I tell you, I believe in it, and I don’t think we’re overconfident.”