Lawrence’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll wager that’s not gone down well.”

Hawkwood saw Cageaga’s face darken again. “You might say that.”

“Gives us an extra man, though,” Lawrence offered quietly.

Hawkwood did not respond.

“You’re not going to intervene?”

Hawkwood shook his head. “This is between them.”

“Well, from the look on Tewanias’s face,” Lawrence murmured, “I’d say we’re about to get a decision.”

They watched as Tewanias took Cageaga aside and placed a hand on his shoulder. The other warriors maintained their silence, their faces inscrutable in the fading light. The young warrior’s eyes remained fixed on a point between the two captains. When, after several minutes the men broke apart, his head lifted defiantly. Cageaga’s expression, Hawkwood saw, looked as if it was set in stone. It was Tewanias who delivered the verdict.

“Tewanias has told him that he can come, but he is to obey orders without question and he is to stay close to his brother. They’ll deal with him when they return home.”

“So it’s fourteen now,” Lawrence said, adding sotto voce. “Things are looking up.”

As Kodjeote joined the others Hawkwood saw one of them reach out and tug the younger man’s hair. As Kodjeote turned, his tormentor favoured him with a grin and nudged him with an elbow. The brother, Hawkwood guessed. It was the warrior who’d been introduced to him as Deskaheh.

“We’re wanted,” Lawrence said.

Hawkwood followed his gaze to Tewanias, who was standing next to a glowering Cageaga and beckoning for them to approach. The two war captains led them through a thin stand of trees to where a river lay across their path.

They had forded at least half a dozen water courses during their journey, all without mishap and with only one detour – around a small area of swampland three miles to the south. Thankfully, from what Hawkwood could see of it, this river didn’t appear to be much of an obstacle either. But it wasn’t the river that had drawn Tewanias’s attention.

The Mohawk chieftain pointed across the water to the woods on the opposite shore.

“Canada,” he said softly.

In that instant the weariness slid from Hawkwood’s bones. He heard Lawrence gasp and felt a touch on his shoulder. He turned. Lawrence grinned and held out his hand.

Hawkwood grasped it firmly.

All we have to do now, Hawkwood thought, as they removed their snow shoes, is find the enemy.

It was still dark when, ten minutes after the first soldier had been awakened by kicks to the soles of his boots, the last of the troops cast off their frost-stiffened blankets and emerged from their bivouacs. To everyone’s relief, no snow had fallen during the night. Instead, they found the countryside shrouded in fog.