The Golden Flask

Chapter Eleven

“ Father! Father!"

Alison jumped from the horse and ran to the stricken figure. Jake followed, scooping up his dented sword on the way.

Brown rolled out on his back, stretching up to look square at the moon. The golden orb hung above like a benign party lantern. An owl, startled by the carnage before him, crossed before it, his path a compass toward blessed Avalon.

"Papa, Papa."

"It's fine, my dear. I see your mother."

"No!"

The redcoats were charging across the field toward them, shouting. Oblivious, Alison kneeled down and held her father's head in her arms.

"Papa, Papa," she told him in a shaking voice. "I need you, Papa."

"Don't worry, child. You have our friend here." Brown reached up his hand to Jake, who took it gently. Already the grip was cold and weak. "Take care of her."

"I will, sir," said Jake, his eyes locking on the dying man's.

"I'm coming, Mary."

"Father!"

A haphazard volley of shot fired on the run missed Jake and Alison, but caught Jake's mare. The spy yanked Alison to her feet and pulled her with him toward a row of trees at the edge of the field. The girl stumbled and fell; Jake ducked back, took her under his arm, and began running again, holding her like a log plucked for the fire.

Only a macabre coincidence kept him from being speared through the back by the swiftest of their pursuers. Just as the redcoat reached out to stab him, the soldier tripped over the discarded head of his comrade, the same man Brown had earlier decapitated. The marine fell forward, and discovering what he had fallen over, began retching violently.

The two patriots reached the tree line barely ahead of a second lobstercoat. Jake tossed Alison roughly into a bush, then ducked as the marine charged; he was able to upend the man and grab a large tree limb as another soldier reached the woods. A swift slash disabled this attacker, and Jake turned his attention back to the first, still sprawled on the ground. A blow from his boot dispatched him from the active duty rolls; Jake helped himself to the man's bayoneted weapon and went to the bush where he had thrown Alison.

She wasn't there. He pushed through, stickers grabbing at his clothes and face. Jake had just yanked a particularly nasty branch from his cheek when his injured ribs were creased by a thin but still hurtful tree limb.

"Jesus!"

"I'm sorry," Alison exclaimed. "I didn't know it was you."

"Come on, before the others find us." Jake pushed her forward. The woods were just thin enough for them to run through, and the top cover filtered the moon's light, sheltering them with a veil of darkness. After they had gone a hundred feet or so, Jake pulled Alison to a stop, whispered that they should be quiet, and thus changed their tactic from rapid retreat to organized withdrawal.

The marines had lit torches and were scouring the field and the edge of the woods. The fight, however, had been knocked from them. Jake and Alison moved stealthily to the east, and within a half hour could no longer hear the English shouts, nor see their lights.

Another half hour of walking brought them to a road. Jake motioned with his hand that they should stop and rest; they were both so tired they flopped down right into the dust.

"I am sorry about your father," Jake told her. "I am truly sorry."

The girl did not say anything, but began softly weeping to herself. Jake knelt and held her in his arms. Back at the tavern, her body had felt considerably harder, more muscular, and though there was no mistaking her sex, he did not doubt her boasts about being stronger than many boys. Now, she felt as weak and soft as a tender kitten, stranded after its mother has been snatched away.

"I must go," said Jake. "I'm sorry for you, but my mission is critical. It will be light in a few hours, and I must find a way across the river. Hide here until dawn. The soldiers have given up their pursuit and will soon return to their boats. I'll continue south and find my way across with the light."

"We are barely a mile from the Hudson," said Alison, springing to her feet. "Come on."

"Wait. You can't come with me."

"You need me to show you the way. You can't go south here. And you will never get down the cliffs by yourself."

"Wait!"

Jake's protest was useless. The girl was already running full speed down the road in the direction of the river. Cursing beneath his breath, he ran to catch up. He soon found himself sliding off the road down a ravine Alison seemed to know as well as the furrows of her garden. His feet finally found a solid path, and once more he had to run to catch up with her.

Those who have sailed up the Hudson from the bay will well remember the massive rock ledge that seems to leap from the Hudson's waves straight up toward heaven. This part of Jersey appears to stand upon a solid platform, raised like the bank of the Nile by Moses against some foreign horde. Indeed, these natural defenses helped secure the patriots during the dark days of the British rush to take Manhattan.

But the fortress rocks are not as impenetrable as they seem from the water, and there are many points where they fade back from the river. Countless crevices and paths wind their way down, ancient ways first explored by the Indians who made their homes here. Alison led Jake down one now, slipping and dodging through the mazelike natural wall as if she were a raindrop descending to earth.

Here Jake's height and bulky shoulders proved something of a disadvantage. Normally sure-footed, with the balance of a squirrel, he found himself continually sliding one way or the other. It did not help that the route, though direct, was long as well as treacherous; he grew more and more tired as he went. At length, the lieutenant colonel began to wonder when he would reach the bottom, and even doubted the wisdom of his choice to try Manhattan from the Jersey shore.

"Here we are," said Alison finally, poking her way past some saplings that had forced themselves up in the crocks of the river stones. "God, look at the ships upon the river. They must belong to the redcoats we fought."

They did indeed. Three schooners escorted by a fifth-rate stood off the shore, while a dozen whaleboats scurried back and forth, taking men from the Jersey side to the ships. Fires burned on the ground above, and lanterns and torches glimmered in the boats, covering the proceedings with a golden glow.

"I don't suppose they've done me the courtesy of leaving a boat nearby," said Jake. Though his voice was sardonic, he nonetheless glanced up and down the shore.

"We can take that log and float across on it," suggested Alison, sprinting across the narrow ledge of shore.

"We can't do anything, miss," said Jake. "

You have to go back to your inn."

"Why? What luck will I have there?"

"I'm sure you could run a good business, if you put your mind to it. You are a good cook."

"The inn will be taken from me in a day, and you know it," said the girl. "Even if I were a boy, it would be so."

"Some neighbor will help you, I'm sure," said Jake.

"Here, this log will do nicely. Come now. You promised father you'd look after me."

Before he could grab her, Alison threw her weight against a large, broken tree trunk sitting at the waves' edge. Jake was surprised to see that she was strong enough to get it into the water by herself.

But if he had once been bemused by her determination, he had a considerably different opinion now. He could not traipse through the city of New York with a child at his elbow. She would be an unimaginable liability.

Or would she? Jake was known, but surely this girl was not. A brave young woman might serve the Cause in countless ways; many were doing so already.

The question was moot. Alison was already several yards from shore. Cursing, Jake slipped off his boots and took a few ginger steps on the rocks before diving into the river.