Chapter 3: A Bit Of Female Advice

 

     "Sorry your majesty, the next batch is spoken for."

So says Benny to a diminutive and foppishly dressed man under the arching branches and browning leaves of the Tradail Oak, his escort of two redcoats watering their horses at a nearby hollowed out log.

"Well Mister Benjamin Reed, that delivery had better not be to any of the Virginia militias. My master is called Bloody Ban for a reason, and I'm just his valet so your obsequiousness won't work with me."

"Tell you what mister footman, you can have one cask for a bit of female advice."

      After accidentally witnessing the menarche ritual, Benny had been obsessed with the Cherokee woman. Ever since his mother had departed from the Tazewell settlement seven years before, he'd been so focused on keeping his deceased father's copper forge running that he'd skipped the usual teen rites of passage. He'd completely missed the occasional square dance, having finished schooling in smithing before she left, and there were no debutante balls in those early days of the American frontier before tobacco and slavery had made it over the Blue Ridge. 

     By age twenty, however, Benny's trade in copper and booze had provided him with enough food and clothing that he was beginning to daydream of nighttime company. The moonlit images of long black hair and a glistening stare beside a tinkling waterfall were distracting him from maintaining the fires that kept his businesses running. 

    The jack-a-dandy's master was an officer of the British Legion only recently transferred to the southern campaign. Banastre Tarleton was already notorious in the backcountry for his having taken no quarter after a victory at the Battle of Waxhaws, his Raiders ignoring the white flag of surrender and dispatching a detachment of Virginia militiamen. 

     "Heigh-ho mate," laughs the valet. "I'm the wrong sort for that kind of advice, but I'll take a stab in the dark if my prevarications might relieve Banastre of his nightmares."

"I've fallen for this Cherokee girl," Benny blurts.

"Well now, my molly-house down in Charlotte has a few wenches."

"Not that! I need to decide if I should follow her across the ridge."

“Young men’s love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes, as the Bard warned Romeo once upon a time."

"In that case, I'm seeing a jaunt into Kentucky."

"Then you must also perceive that the savages take more than Tarleton's quarter."

"Much obliged, your highness. Just send your henchmen over there to pick up the keg beside the trough in the morning."