Walking in line, the ground crunching crisply beneath his feet and with musket to hand, it occurred to Hawkwood that it had been a good few years since his last forced march, leading a band of guerrilleros in pursuit of a French reconnaissance patrol. It had been a hard slog, alternating between trotting and walking, over difficult terrain, some of it mountainous, most of it forested. Not that much different to the country they were traversing now, except here there was snow instead of scree.

The snow shoes made the going easier, though there was definitely a knack to wearing them. Only the toe end of the foot was attached to the shoe. The trick, as Hawkwood remembered and as Lawrence soon learnt, was to keep the heel elevated and the feet well-spaced and not to lift the foot too high off the ground. In order to don the shoes, they had dispensed with their boots, which would have placed strain on the rawhide webbing. Instead, both were wearing knee-length moccasins.

Though the shoes were not built for speed, once they’d grown used to the odd, sliding gait that was required they were able to maintain a decent stride. The moccasins helped, for they provided both comfort and suppleness; especially useful when wading a stream or river, for their flexibility offered a much better grip than boots would have done.

Mindful of Tewanias’s fears that Oneida scouting parties were increasing their range, there was little talking. It was as if each man was held in thrall by the stillness surrounding them; stillness that only ever seemed to occur in thick, winter-bound forests. Occasionally, a bird would sing out or a tree branch would snap under the weight of snow. When that happened, they would halt and stand in silence for a minute or so before moving on, but there was never a sight or a sound to suggest the enemy was close.

At one point, Lawrence broke the spell.

“Y’know this could be a wild-goose chase. Just because a column’s on the march don’t mean it has Lacolle in its sights. We’re going to look like damned fools if all they do is stay this side of the border or turn left at Chazy.”

Hawkwood spoke over his shoulder. “I’d rather look a fool for crying wolf than not cry at all and discover we were right in our suspicions. At least this way we can make our own reconnoitre. In any case, our troops have to be warned about the bigger invasion threat.”

“Think we can beat the buggers to the mark?”

“Hard to say. They’ve had a head start, but if we keep to the pace, we may have a chance. That many on the move, they’ll have to call a rest at some point, which might work in our favour. If they’re riding, the officers’ horses’ll need watering. The troops too.”