Authors: David Garland
"You're a fool, Skoyles," he said as he advanced. "Always strike a man when he's down. That's what I'd have done."
"Yes," said Skoyles with contempt, "and you'd do the same with a woman. You'd seek to take advantage of her weakness, as you did with Elizabeth. That's despicable."
"All's fair in love and war."
Without warning, Featherstone tried a first thrust with his sword but Skoyles parried it with ease. Featherstone circled him before making another
attack. This time, he flicked his wrist from one side to the other so that Skoyles had to dodge or parry a series of vicious slashes. As he backed away, Skoyles came up against the trunk of a tree. Featherstone saw his opportunity. After putting Skoyles on the defensive with another fierce attack, he tried to skewer him to the tree with a powerful thrust. Skoyles eluded it just in time, and the point of the sword went into the wood. Before Featherstone could pull it out again, Skoyles smashed the butt of his rifle down hard on the blade and knocked the weapon from his enemy's grasp.
"What are you going to do now?" Featherstone taunted him, backing away. "You don't have the nerve to finish me off, do you? Captain Skoyles would never kill an unarmed man from his own regiment."
"Watch me," said Skoyles.
Tossing the musket away, he flung himself at Featherstone and they grappled hard for a while before trading punches. Skoyles was lighter on his feet and able to evade some of the blows, but he was conscious of the fact that he was still carrying a wound in his shoulder. Within seconds, it had reopened and started to bleed. Skoyles needed to bring the fight to an end. The longer it went on, the more the advantage would swing in favor of Featherstone. The other man seemed to realize that. Though blood was gushing from his nose, Featherstone gave a wolfish grin and closed with him again, grabbing him by the arms and trying to throw him to the ground.
Skoyles could see what his adversary was doing. As they swayed to and fro, Featherstone was keeping one eye on his discarded sword, waiting for the chance to retrieve it. There would be no thought of mercy then. Skoyles would be cut to shreds. To avoid that fate, he did his best to stay between Featherstone and his weapon, but it was not easy. The pain in his shoulder was intense and his strength was fading. With a supreme effort, Featherstone hurled him to the ground and ran back to the tree to pick up his sword. Skoyles rolled over several times and grabbed his musket but he was too late to defend himself. Featherstone's weapon was already raised for execution.
Then a shot was fired nearby. It made Featherstone pause and look up for one, fleeting, lifesaving second. It was all the time that Skoyles needed. With a decisive upward thrust, he pierced the other man's heart with the bayonet and held it there, watching the expression on Featherstone's face change from triumph to horror and then to a glassy-eyed despair. His victim shuddered uncontrollably. It was all over. Dropping his sword, Harry Featherstone collapsed
sideways to the ground in a pool of blood. Skoyles withdrew his bayonet and tossed his musket aside.
As Skoyles struggled to his feet, Major Clark came through the bushes with Ezekiel Proudfoot behind him. They looked at the disheveled victor and saw the blood staining his shirt.
"Are you hurt, Jamie?" asked Proudfoot with concern.
"Not anymore."
"What happened?"
Skoyles looked down at the body. "We settled an old argument."
"He was the last of them," said Clark.
"Who fired that shot?"
"I did. I killed the man you knocked out with that spade."
"You also killed Major Featherstone," said Skoyles. "But for that shot, I might not still be alive." He put a hand to his wounded shoulder. "What happens now?"
"We get out of here fast."
"The horses are waiting," said Proudfoot.
"What about the dead bodies?" said Skoyles.
Clark was practical. "No better place to hide those than in a churchyard," he said. "We can't leave them aboveground as evidence."
"This one does not deserve a Christian burial."
"He'll have to go into the grave with the others. After we've taken off his boots, that is."
"His boots?"
"Yes, Jamie," Proudfoot explained. "Boots are much needed in Valley Forge. We've six pairs to take with us."
"As well as all the weapons we've just acquired," said Clark. He shrugged an apology. "I'm sorry that this had to happen. We hoped to give you a quiet funeral."
Skoyles gazed down at Harry Featherstone. "I would not have had it any other way," he said. "This man was my nemesis. Not anymore."
He continued to stare at the corpse as the full implications of what he had done slowly dawned on him. In killing Featherstone, he had exacted revenge for past crimes and liberated Elizabeth from the man's unwanted attentions. But he had done much more than that. Skoyles had, in effect, changed one life for another. He had severed his links with a British army that he had served
devotedly since he was a callow youth. What lay ahead for him, he did not know but he was keenly aware of the friendships and camaraderie and the unquestioning loyalty to the Crown that now lay behind him. Standing over the dead body of Major Harry Featherstone, he was renouncing his birthright and becoming an American. The impact on him was profound.
"We must go," said Clark, crisply. "I've organized a burial detail to take care of things here."
"Did you hear that, Jamie?" asked Proudfoot, touching his arm to bring him out of his reverie. "Are you ready to come to Valley Forge?"
"Yes," replied Skoyles with conviction. "I am."