”Let’s concentrate. General, concentrate. I can’t risk losing a brigade.”

Hood said nothing, glanced at Longstreet. McLaws was not quite sure where to post his Division. They discussed that for a while, and then explained it to Hill. Longstreet turned suddenly to Sorrel, who was standing by.

”Major, I need something to eat.”

”To eat, sir? Of course, sir. What would you like, sir?”

”Marching food,” Longstreet said, “I don’t give a damn what.”

Sorrel moved off. Longstreet looked up and saw Harry Heth, a white bandage on his head, standing weakly by a tree, looking down vacantly to the map table, trying to comprehend.

”How are you. Harry?” Longstreet said.

Heth turned, squinted, blinked. “I’m fine,” he said.

”What’s happening? Are you going to attack? Where’s my Division?”

Lee said, “Your Division will not fight today. General. I want you to rest.” There was that tone in his voice, that marvelous warmth, that made them all look not at Heth but at Lee, the gray beard, the dark-eyed, the old man, the fighter.

”Sir, I’m fine,” Heth said. But he could not even stand without the hand on the tree.

Lee smiled. “Of course, sir. But I would rather you rested. We will soon be needing you.” He turned back to the table. “Gentlemen?” he said.

They moved out. Alexander was off to place the artillery.

McLaws moved out to join his Division. Hood walked for a moment at Longstreet’s side.

”We marched all night,” Hood said. “Took a two hour break, from two A.M. to four, then marched again to get here.”

”I know,” Longstreet said.

”Law’s people will come even farther, with no rest. It’s twenty-four miles to Guilford. He left at three A.M. When he gets here he’ll be pretty tired.” Hood squinted at the sun.

”Not that it makes much difference, I guess. But one thing, General. Everybody here’s had first crack at the water. I want to round some up for Law’s boys when they arrive. They’ll be thirsty, wells may be dry.”

”See to it,” Longstreet said. “Any way you can.” He paused, watched the men around him moving into motion, men mounting on horses, cannon moving past and swinging into position, the artillery people beginning to dig trenches alongside the guns. He said, “Your idea of moving to the right was sound, but his mind was set. Well, we’ll do what we can.” He turned. At moments like this it was difficult to look a man in the eye. He put out his hand.

”Well, Sam, let’s go to it. Take care of yourself.”

Hood took the hand, held it for a moment. Sometimes you touched a man like this and it was the last time, and the next time you saw him he was cold and white and bloodless and the warmth was gone forever.

Hood said, “And you, Pete.” He walked away, thin, awkward, long bony strides. Longstreet thought: Best soldier in the army. If it can be done, he will do it. He and Pickett. My two. Oh God, there’s not enough of them. We have to spend them like gold, in single pieces. Once they’re gone, there will be no more.

Sorrel appeared with a tin plate, a steaming slab of meat.

”What’s that?” Longstreet sniffed.

”Bit of steak, sir. Compliments of Major Moses.”

Longstreet picked it up in his fingers, too hot, sucked the ends of his fingers: delicious.

”Major Moses thought you wanted fighting food, sir.”

Longstreet ate with slow delight. Hot food for a hot day.

Will be much hotter later on.

Longstreet moved toward his command. The corps was to be led into position by Lee’s engineer. Captain Johnston, who had scouted the area this morning. Lee had gone off to see Ewell, to explain the attack to him. Longstreet told Johnston, “Time doesn’t matter here. What matters is surprise. We must go on unobserved. We’re hitting them on the flank. If they see us coming they’ll have time to swing round their artillery and it’ll be a damn slaughter. So you take your time. Captain, but I don’t want us observed.”

Johnston saluted, his face strained. “Sir,” he said, “may I make a point?”

”Make away.”

”General Lee has ordered me to conduct you to the field. But, sir, I scouted the Union position this morning, not the roads leading to it. I don’t know much more about how to get there than you do.”

Longstreet sighed. Stuart’s fault. If there were cavalry here, the roads and routes would be known. Longstreet said, “All right. Captain. But anything you know is more than I know.”

”But, sir. General Lee is giving me responsibility for an entire corps.” Johnston sweated.

”I know, Captain. It’s a weight, isn’t it? Well. You lead on as best you can. If you get nervous, call. But I don’t want us observed.”

”Yes, sir, very good, sir.” He rode off.

Longstreet took out a treasured cigar, lighted it, chomped it. Stuart. He ought to be court-martialed.

Would you do it? Court-martial Stuart?

Yes, I would.

Seriously? Or are you just talking?

Longstreet thought a moment. Lee wouldn’t. Lee won’t.

But I would.

The long march began at around noon, the sun high in a cloudless sea of burning haze. A messenger came in from Law: he had joined Hood’s column back at Willoughby Run. A superb march. Longstreet sent his compliments, hoped Hood got him the water. On little things like that-a cup of water-battles were decided. Generalship? How much of a factor is it, really?

He rode in the dust of a blazing road, brooding in his saddle. The hot meat had fired him. He rode alone, and then there was cheering behind him, raw, hoarse cheering from dusty throats, and there was Lee-the old man with the slight smile, the eyes bright with new vigor, revived, the fight coming up to warm him like sunrise.

”General.” Longstreet touched his cap.

”You don’t mind if I accompany you?” Lee said in the gravely formal gentleman’s way.

Longstreet bowed. “Glad to have you with us.” There was a peculiar hilarity in Longstreet’s breast, the mulish foolish hungry feeling you get just before an assault. There was a certain wild independence in the air, blowing like a hot wind inside his head. He felt an absurd impulse to josh old Lee, to pat him on the back and ruffle the white hair and tell immoral stories. He felt foolish, fond and hungry. Lee looked at him and abruptly smiled, almost a grin, a sudden light blazing in black round eyes.

”Heat reminds me of Mexico,” Longstreet said. Visions of those days rolled and boiled: white smoke blowing through broken white buildings, wild-haired Pickett going over the wall, man’s face with pools of dirt in the eyes, sky wheeling in black blotches, silver blotches, after the wound. Lieutenant Longstreet: for distinguished service on the field of battle…

”Yes, but there it was very dry.” Lee squinted upward.

”And I believe it was warmer. Yes, it was undoubtedly warmer.”

”That was a good outfit. There were some very good men in that outfit.”

”Yes,” Lee said.

”Some of them are up ahead now, waiting for us.”

And the past flared again in Longstreet’s mind, and the world tilted, and for a moment they were all one army again, riding with old friends through the white dust toward Chapultepec. And then it was past. He blinked, grimaced, looked at Lee. The old man was gazing silently ahead into the rising dust.

”It troubles me sometimes,” Longstreet said. His mind rang a warning, but he went on grimly, as you ride over rocks. “They’re never quite the enemy, those boys in blue.”

”I know,” Lee said.

”I used to command those boys,” Longstreet said.

”Difficult thing to fight men you used to command.”

Lee said nothing.

”Swore an oath too,” Longstreet said. He shook his head violently. Strange thought to have, at the moment. “I must say, there are times when I’m troubled. But… couldn’t fight against home. Not against your own family. And yet… we broke the vow.” Lee said, “Let’s not think on this today.”