State of Independence

David MacLeod tossed aside his tricornered hat as he walked into the bar. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Fox,’ he said to the landlady. She nodded back, clearing glasses from the tables. The blackboard behind the bar read ‘Steak pie 1/6’ in red, blue and white chalk. He crossed over to a table, and sat down next to an older man, his face very lined. ‘Hallo, Rex,’ he said. Rex smiled and finished his draught. David nodded to Mrs Fox for more drinks. ‘Cloudy day,’ said Rex slowly, looking out the window with rheumy eyes at the landscape.

     ‘Yes,’ said David. ‘Many more clouds are coming.’ Rex coughed.

     ‘Reckon there might be about… forty south-west.’ He fell to coughing as Mrs Fox provided the drinks. David smiled at her.

     ‘Many customers today?’

     ‘It’s as you see it.’ Her voice was flat and toneless. He paid her and she left them.

     ‘I last saw the sun sinking to the west,’ said David.

     ‘That is where it usually goes,’ said Rex patiently. ‘But today, I saw it rise forty in strength.’ David looked over Rex’s shoulder. He could have been mistaken, but the menu now read, ‘Fish pie 3/4.’ He thought nothing of it. He drank deeply of the wine. It reminded him of his former campaign against the French, some twenty years ago. There came a gust of wind as the door opened to admit two men in long travelling cloaks. They looked intently at the menu, still clearly outlined in red, white and blue chalk.

     Mrs Fox’s tone was markedly more friendly to them. ‘You’ll be having the special,’ she said. The visitors turned and raised their hats to David and Rex. David nodded briefly, considering the information Rex had given him. This was a different front to the one he was used to fighting on.

     ‘Forty,’ he mused aloud. ‘Forty… like a fort.’ It seemed unaccountably funny. Rex slumped headfirst onto the table. David found his reactions slowing, vision blurred. He looked up at the menu. If he had been able to make out the words, he would have read, ‘Pheasant 2/3’ in red, white and blue chalk. The two men who had come in after him moved silently to stand behind him, casting a shadow like the gallows. There was the sound of a musket being cocked. He heard Mrs Fox’s voice behind him.

‘This is for my husband. You may remember him, Colonel. You had him shot.’