Turning up his collar and adjusting his borrowed cap, Lawrence mounted carefully. “If I fall off this time, at least I’ll have you to catch me.” He glanced around him. “I thought Tewanias might be here to say his farewell.”

“We’ve already said our goodbyes,” Hawkwood said.

Lawrence looked at him, unsure.

Hawkwood did not reply. Lifting the reins, he caught the dispatch rider’s eye. “After you, Corporal.”

With that they set off, walking their horses away from the post. It wasn’t until they were clear of the tents and beyond the perimeter that Hawkwood looked back over his shoulder. The place was waking up. Smoke rose from the blockhouse chimney and from the campfires; bodies were gathering around them in preparation for the queue to the cook tent. From one of the huts, a figure emerged, tall and dressed in a dark cloak. For a second it did not move, but then, slowly, a hand was raised.

Hawkwood reined in and lifted his right hand in acknowledgement. He watched as the figure held the pose before it turned and disappeared. Steering his horse around, he found Lawrence had been watching him. Hands resting easily across his pommel, the major waited as Hawkwood drew level.

No words were spoken as they kicked their horses into motion and followed the corporal down the snowy, forest track.

EPILOGUE

“Quite a sight, ain’t it?” Sir George Prevost spoke from behind Hawkwood’s right shoulder.

It was hard to argue. Indeed, it would have taken an idiot or a blind man to disagree, for the view from the chateau’s window was more than “quite a sight”. It was spectacular.

The chateau was the Chateau St Louis, the official residence of the Governor-in-Chief of the Canadas, probably the only title grand enough to match the building’s extraordinary location. Built on the rim of a terrifyingly high, near-vertical bluff, the chateau overlooked the confluence of the Charles and St Lawrence rivers. It was, Hawkwood thought as he stared out at the scene spread below him, like standing on the edge of the world.

He wondered how far the view extended. Miles, probably. Tens of miles on a clear day. Today wasn’t that clear, though, for outside a light sleet was falling. Nothing, however, not the sleet nor the cold, pewter-coloured sky, could detract from the extraordinary aspect on the other side of the glass. His gaze moved out over the slanted rooftops of the lower town and the docks crouched at the foot of the bluff, across the mile-wide river, to a small sprinkling of lights on the eastern shore.