Victory of Eagles

“I don’t hold with this cookery much,” Maximus had said, licking his chops, having slowly and thoughtfully wrecked seventeen bushels of potatoes roasted in their skins, “but these are not half bad, if one ca

Temeraire took a long time over his own meal, but at last he had stretched it as far as it could go, and Maximus was eyeing the last pile of sheep-intestines hopefully, so Temeraire had to finish it off; and then he had nothing to do but lie uncomfortably in the mud, curled up small to stay warmer, and worry about Laurence.

“Of course he ain’t happy,” Gentius said sleepily. “The country overrun by all these Frogs, who would be happy? I would not think much of his sense if he were dancing a jig.”

“But that is not the same as unhappy,” Temeraire said, “when we are going to fight to make the French leave, and will have some battles soon.”

Gentius cocked his head ruminatively. “Men like to be unhappy sometimes,” he offered. “My second captain would come sit under my wing with a book and weep over it, most evenings. I thought at first she must be wounded, but she told me not to fret at all, she liked to do it; and the next morning she would be right as rain again.” Temeraire was doubtful; he had never noticed Laurence weeping over a book, although sometimes he did not enjoy them very much.

But he did not quite like to press the conversation very far. To be perfectly honest, Temeraire was a little concerned—he was perhaps anxious—very well, he was afraid, that he might learn that Laurence was not so much upset as angry—He was afraid that Laurence was angry with him.

Temeraire had not quite understood what it would mean, for Laurence to be called a traitor. Of course, the Government meant to execute him or imprison them away from one another, but Temeraire had thought, with those two fates averted, that otherwise all would be much the same; and at first it seemed so: they flew together, and were given orders, and everything nearly like. But it was not the same at all. Of course there had been no other alternative but to take over the cure; only, Temeraire had not quite understood, before they went, that treason meant Laurence should be losing his life, and his crew, and his rank.

“At least,” he said, “at least, you are still my captain; and after all, while there are many captains who have some sort of dragon, I am the only dragon who is a commodore—” But when he had tried this argument out privately to himself, it did not sound really consoling after all: puffing himself off, as though Laurence ought to be satisfied with Temeraire’s consequence and none of his own—insult to injury, and Laurence had lost his gold bars, too.

Temeraire raised his head out of the mud and said, “Roland, do you know Captain Fenter’s neck-chain, the gold one, with the emerald? It is not official, is it? Anyone might wear something of the sort?” It was a handsome piece which he and all the others at Loch Laggan had remarked, on the captain of a smug Anglewing named Orchestia; and, Temeraire thought, something very suitable to the captain of a dragon of elevated rank, however neglectful of him the Corps might be. “Do you suppose that Laurence might buy something like it, here in town?”

“I expect he could not afford it; the law-suit, you know,” she said wisely, looking up from her boots, which she was blacking.

“What law-suit?” Temeraire said, puzzled.

“Over those slaves,” she said, “which we let loose in Africa. Those slave-owners we carried back sued the captain, and I suppose he could not fight the suit very well, as he was in prison, so they have taken all his capital.”

“Taken it?” Temeraire with difficulty kept his tail from quivering and thumping upon the ground. “Surely not all his capital,” he said, in a struggling voice.

“I heard it was ten thousand pounds, or something like,” Emily said.

“Ten thousand pounds!” Gentius exclaimed, horror-struck, his head jerking from the ground, the mud squelching dreadfully. “Ten thousand pounds! You did not say anything about ten thousand pounds gone. Why, that is ten of those eagles, or more,” and everyone murmured shocked; even Maximus and Lily flinched, and could not quite look at Temeraire.

Temeraire felt quite staggered, and nearly ill. Laurence had not said anything beforehand; he had not said that all his treasure should be taken away; or so Temeraire tried to argue to himself. But it felt a very flimsy and weak excuse, and when he opened his mouth to make it to the others, he stopped without giving it voice. He had not troubled to find out, and now here he was, himself a commodore, showing away with jewels and two epaulettes, while Laurence had nothing but a plain coat growing every day more shabby.

“Ten thousand pounds,” Gentius said again, censoriously, wagging his head from side to side. “You have certainly made a good mull of it,” and Temeraire huddled himself down, feeling all the justice of the condemnation.

“But, if we had not taken over the cure,” he said, rather small, “a great many dragons should have died, even who had nothing at all to do with the war, or France. It ca

“If you ask me,” Perscitia said, after a moment, “the French ought to have given you some treasure to make up for it, as you went on their account; at least, not precisely on their account,” she amended, “but they did well out of it, so I don’t think much of them letting you come out the worser, when you needn’t have done it at all.”

“Well,” Temeraire said, and was forced to admit that such an offer had been made, and a most handsome one. “Only Laurence said no, because that would have been more treasonous,” he finished.

“I don’t see myself how getting treasure, after you had already done treason, could make it any worse,” Chalcedony said. “After all, they are the enemy, and if they gave you treasure, they would have less, and that would be worse for them; so if you ask me, it would really have been making up for the treason, to take it,” which struck Temeraire as a very just point, and one he rather wished he had thought of at the time.

“Only, I did not realize Laurence would lose his capital,” Temeraire said unhappily, “so I did not think it would be so important.”

“Well, well, you are a young fellow yet,” Gentius said, relenting a little, “and you have time to make it up. Win battles, take some prizes while you are at it, and it will all come right in the end—Government will do you up right, if you are only heroic enough.”

“But I have been very heroic,” Temeraire protested, “and they have not been fair at all; they have even tried to take Laurence away from me.”

“You ain’t been the right sort of heroic,” Gentius said. “You must win battles, that is the road. That is how my first captain was made, you know; they did not use to let Longwing captains be captain, properly. They called her only Miss, and there was a fellow aboard she was supposed to listen to, only he was a lummox and managed to be drunk out of his wits just when we had a battle to go to, and all our formation waiting.” He snorted. “So she said to the crew—‘Gentlemen’—” and here he paused, rubbing his forelegs restlessly against one another, with a frowning expression.

They waited, and waited, and waited; although Temeraire was almost quivering with impatience: if Gentius’s captain had gone from Miss to Captain, surely Laurence might have his rank repaired, in the same fashion—

“It is difficult to remember, the way she said it, exact,” Gentius said defensively. “They don’t talk as they used to, but I think I have it: she said, ‘Gentlemen, seeing that our duty consisteth in going to war, I should judge this a sad excuse to fail in it, insofar as we expect to contrive without Captain—without Captain—’ Bother,” Gentius muttered, interrupting himself, “I have forgot his name. But she said it,” he went on, “and she said, ‘insofar as we expect to contrive without his company, no worser an outcome upon the field than our absence will ensure, the which I will stand surety for: therefore will I still go, and any man who wisheth not to venture himself, under my command, may remain behind.’”