The Mohawk warrior handed the boy the reins of his horse and watched critically as he climbed up. Satisfied that the boy knew what he was doing, he wheeled his mount and took up position at the head of the line. With Tewanias riding point, the five men and the boy rode into the stream, towards the track leading into the forest. The dog padded silently behind them.

Halfway across the creek, the Indian turned to the boy and spoke. “Naho:ten iesa:iats?”

The boy looked to Wyatt for guidance.

“He asked you your name,” Wyatt said.

It occurred to Wyatt that in the time they’d spent in the boy’s company, neither he nor any of his men had bothered to ask that question. They’d simply addressed him as “lad” or “son” or, in Donaldson’s case, “young ’un”. Though they all knew the name of the damned dog.

The boy stared at Tewanias and then at each of the Rangers in turn. It was then that Wyatt saw the true colour appear in the boy’s eyes. Blue-grey, the shade of rain clouds after a storm.

The boy drew himself up.

“My name is Matthew,” he said.

1

Albany, New York State, December 1812

BEWARE FOREIGN SPIES & AGITATORS!

The words were printed across the top of the poster, the warning writ large for all to see.

Hawkwood ran his eye down the rest of the deposition. Not much had been left to the imagination. The nation was at war, the country was under threat and the people were urged to remain vigilant at all times.

He glanced over his shoulder. There were no crowds brandishing pitchforks or torches so he assumed he was safe for the time being. He recalled there had been similar pamphlets on display around the quayside in Boston, presumably the preferred port of entry for an enemy bent on subverting the republic. He wondered how many people read the bills and took note of their content; probably not as many as the government wished.

Fortunately for him.

The bill was stuck on the inside of a hatter’s shop window. Under pretence of casting an eye over the merchandise on display, he studied his reflection in the glass, wondering what a subversive might look like and if he fitted the bill. From what he’d seen of the country and its citizens so far, he thought it unlikely that he’d be stopped and asked for his papers, though in the event he was, the problem would not have been insurmountable.

He was about to walk on when movement in the window caught his attention: another reflection, this time of the scene behind him. A man, dressed in an army greatcoat similar to his own was making his way along the opposite side of the street. He was walking with a cane and Hawkwood could see that he was favouring his right leg.