I sat on the edge of the bunk, staring at this violent hulk of a man. The American Northern Army, Nathaniel had said, possessed no capable leaders, and Arnold need no longer be considered. Fuddled as I was with fatigue and Madeira, I knew his information must have come from Marie de Sabrevois. What was more, I knew Marie de Sabrevois was a good spy, for she had the truth of it.

Beyond the open door, the mist was thinner in the gash between the dark hills—thinner, and a soft rose color. Above the bluish-pink walls of Ticonderoga I made out the red, white and blue of the flag that hung slack in the calm of this July dawn. A fleecy ball of smoke flew from the corner gun, and the slam of the gun was loud.

Drums rattled. Cap scratched his back against the door-jamb, and the cabin shook. Doc Means, seated on the floor, muttered and fell over on his side, sound asleep. Joseph Phipps was crouched against the bunk, motionless. He opened his eyes at the sound of the gun, looked from me to Cap: then slept again. Another gun slammed and another, all from the fort’s north platform.

“Well,” Cap said, yawning, “here they come.”

*    *    *

… I went to stand beside him. Through the shredded mist, to the northward, streams of bateaux moved in toward the point on which we must have landed last night, since a long line of British ships and schooners were anchored abreast of the point. Every bateau was loaded with men. It must be, I knew, Burgoyne’s main army coming up to the advanced post, ready at last to attack.

“Cap,” I said, “you’re a friend of mine, aren’t you?”

Cap eyed me doubtfully. “We better get a little sleep. You ain’t had much in the last few days, judging from the looks of your face, and you want to be able to keep your eyes open in case the British get to crowding us.”

“I can’t sleep,” I said. “I want some advice.”

“About your brother?”

“Yes.”

Cap hooked his thumbs in his belt and slapped his hands against his broad expanse of stomach. “The way I figure it is this: If your brother was dead, you wouldn’t be so careful about mentioning him. If he’d gone back to Arundel, Stevie’d have heard about it. He didn’t get tooken to the westward by those Indians of yours, so there ain’t many other places left for him to be. Either he’s a prisoner, or he’s joined the British; and if he was a prisoner, you’d be willing to say so. That don’t leave much leeway.”