Hawkwood had guessed that its use might also lull Quade into believing that his men, greater in number and armed with muskets and cold steel, were the superior force when compared to illiterate aboriginals whose weapons were those derived from wood and sinew.

And so it had proved, but it had been a ruse that could only be used once.

Quade, knowing the element of surprise had now been lost, would be reassessing the situation. He’d be calculating how many were arrayed against him and how best to retaliate. He would also be seething with rage that his plans had been thrown into disarray. Thus caution was liable to be thrown to the winds, giving way to impatience and rash decisions. Or so Hawkwood hoped.

From what he knew of the man, there was no way, having come this far, that Quade would simply scurry back to Plattsburg, tail between his legs. Knowing it was imperative that he got to Lacolle before word of his advance reached the garrison at Île aux Noix, he’d be intent on securing his goal.

So, with the fog starting to disappear, it wouldn’t be long before he made his move. For Major Harlan Quade was a man with something to prove, a man whose career depended on the success of this mission. And there was no way he’d allow a paltry wooden bridge and a handful of ignorant savages to stand in his way.

16

As he followed Oneas down the snow-covered forest track, Lawrence wondered how and where his guide had learned to ride. There had been no horses in the village and yet, watching how the Mohawk controlled his mount, it had become clear this was one warrior who was at home in the saddle.

It had to be in the blood, he’d decided. Domesticated dogs traced circles when lying down because that was how their wolf ancestors had flattened vegetation to make their beds; the habit was inbred. Perhaps it was the same with the Mohawk. Maybe they were descended from a race of ancient horse lords? Given their range of skills, it would have been interesting to have had warriors of the Kanien’kehá:ka fighting alongside him in Spain. That would have given the French something to think about.

The fog had precluded all thoughts of hard galloping and with no familiar reference points Lawrence was unsure how far they were from their destination. They had to be close. They had passed over a creek a mile or so back; the impact of the horses’ hooves on the bridge timbers had sounded like drumbeats as they had cantered across, even with the depth of the snow. A short distance further on, they had come across the first sign of military activity.