He turned to Tewanias. “Leave me your guns. Make your escape. There’s a time to stand and a time to retreat. This is not a good day to die, rake’niha; not for a king you will never meet, who lives across an ocean you will never see.”

Tewanias looked back at him. “You think that is why we are here? If that was so, these men would have left the fight when the Yan-kees attacked us in the woods. We are Kanien’kehá:ka. We fight the Yan-kees because they and the Oneniote’á:ka are our enemy, and we stay because of the totem you wear beneath your shirt. It is the same totem handed to me by my father, who received it from his father before him. I have no son of my own. That is why I gave the totem to you. You are Kahrhakon:ha, adopted son of Tewanias, war captain of the Kanien’kehá:ka. We do not fight for the Great King beyond the Water, Mat-huwa. We fight for you.”

Hawkwood stared at him, a lump forming in his throat.

“Then can we fight them now,” Cageaga urged. “Otherwise, we will be here all day. I do not think I will last that long.”

Hawkwood placed his hand lightly on Cageaga’s shoulder. “You forget – it is just a scratch.”

Cageaga awarded them with a ferine smile.

Hawkwood removed the tomahawk from his belt. “They’ll want to finish it quickly. There may only be time for one shot. Tell your men to pick their targets. Aim for the officers and the sergeants. Then be ready to fight.”

“Ea,” Tewanias said, and relayed the order, sliding the war club from his shoulder. Around him, the remaining warriors began to shed themselves of their clubs and edged weapons, placing them within easy reach.

Hawkwood saw Kodjeote exchange looks with his brother.

Peering over the logs, Hawkwood searched for Quade but couldn’t see him. Then his attention was caught by a small knot of men standing off to the side, behind the skirmish line. As he watched, the knot broke apart and Quade was there, pistol in one hand, sword in the other.

Hawkwood raised the musket, ignoring the pull on his wounded arm and sighted on Quade’s chest. It was a long shot, literally, but there might not be an opportunity to take another. Taking an even breath and holding it for a count of three, he squeezed the trigger.

At the exact same instant as the road – and Quade with it – disappeared behind a cloud of smoke as the skirmishers opened fire.

In that split second between his shot and the eruption of the smoke, Hawkwood thought he saw Quade stagger, but by then his view was obscured. He swore in frustration.