Clutching his side, Philip stumbled toward the battlefront. His officers, Peter and Andrew, had gathered many among the opposition into their own ranks and were now driving a large number of Devia’s army back up the opposite hill. Though Philip should have been elated by the sight, he was not. Bodies lay strewn across the hillside in alarming numbers. Somehow he had to stop the killing!
Resolve drove him forward, but he misjudged his step and fell headlong over the bodies of Lance and Loren Newcastle. He knew the brothers. They were good men, as was their father who had stood by him today. It was clear from the bodies surrounding them that they had turned on the redcoats in the end. Philip wanted to cry. How many others had been deceived until the very last moment?
“Master Philip?” a small voice sounded above him.
Philip looked up into the startled face of the lad who had delivered his message to DeKlerk.
“Are you hurt, sir?” the boy asked.
“Just a scratch,” Philip responded, but his stained shirt, pale face, and trembling limbs belied his words.
“You need help,” the lad stated. “I’ll get someone.”
Philip closed his eyes and felt a strange comfort. He thought of Katherine, and a smile touched his lips. When someone called his name, he wanted it to be Katherine, so he was a little disappointed to find Peter Sikes looking down at him.
Philip’s mind returned to the battlefield. “Peter,” he whispered, “call off the pursuit!”
Sikes was clearly annoyed. “But, sir!” he resisted. “Many have turned to us in this battle, and the others flee before us!”
“Too many have died!” Philip coughed. “Call off the pursuit, and let those who flee consider their plight tonight.”
“But they have made their choice!” Peter persisted.
“Many who fight for us now were aligned with the enemy this morning,” Philip said. “We must give them time to reconsider.”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said reluctantly. Turning to a fellow officer, he gave the order to call men from the pursuit.
A trumpet sounded and men slowly gave up the chase. Returning in small groups, some began to put out fires the enemy had set in its retreat. Others began to search for family or friends among the casualties.
Philip was eased onto a pile of cloaks, and Peter bathed his wound. Drawing a needle and thread from his pack, Peter began to close Philip’s injury. Philip was a fortunate man. His wound was large but not deep. With a little care, he would heal.
When Peter was finished, Philip asked for a piece of paper. Quickly he wrote a note to Master Rhoop. “Where is my boy?” he asked.
The lad who had found him stepped forward, “Here, sir!”
“I have an errand for you, son,” Philip said.
“I’ll do anything, sir,” the lad replied.
“I know,” Philip said. “You’ve proved yourself more than once today already. Take this note to Master Rhoop at Stonewall. Tell the guards you have a message from Philip Stafford, and they will let you through.”
“Yes, sir!” The lad grinned from ear to ear. He was about to leave when Philip spoke again.
“Just a moment, lad,” Philip said. He tore a second piece of paper and began jotting another note. “Do you know Katherine Gammel?”
“I should hope so,” the lad said. “I’ve seen her on the streets of Sebring many times.”
“Good man!” Philip said, smiling. “You have two notes now. The first goes to Master Rhoop, and the second to Lady Katherine. You should find both inside Stonewall. Are you able to deliver these notes for me?”
“Yes, sir!” the lad said as he turned and raced toward Stonewall.