“I did, sir, yes.”

“And how was he?”

“The surgeon said he should make a good recovery.”

“Splendid! Though not the most tolerant of patients, I’m told.” There was humour in the statement.

“No.” Hawkwood smiled at the recollection. Lawrence swearing fit to bust as Surgeon Brossard poured the whiskey.

“Well, I’m glad he’s on the mend. We need men of his ilk.”

Ilk? Hawkwood thought.

The ride from Lacolle had taken the full day, with a change of horses at the halfway mark, a small, unobtrusive inn and livery stable sequestered by the army for just such a purpose. By the time they arrived at Longueil, the dark had fallen. A cold fog covered the St Lawrence but it hadn’t prevented them seeing the lights of the city twinkling on the far bank.

The last ferry of the evening had departed so they’d found accommodation in an army guardhouse, a relic from the town fort, which had been deemed unsafe and torn down a couple of years earlier. The guardhouse’s state of repair had suggested its own demolition wouldn’t be long in following, but for the one night it had provided a warm, dry billet and that was all that was required.

They’d caught the ferry the next morning and the dispatch rider had escorted them to military headquarters, where a clerk in the Adjutant General’s office had been sent to secure Hawkwood a berth on a Quebec-bound schooner leaving at midday. Lawrence had accompanied him to the quay.

“Seems odd to be saying farewell,” Lawrence said, smiling. “Reminds me of London. We meet, we enjoy a brief period of excitement and then we say our goodbyes.”

“I’m not sure I’d call what we’ve been through a ‘brief period of excitement’,” Hawkwood said. “But each to his own.”

“Hah!” Lawrence let go a laugh. “Well, then, let’s say that time spent in your company is never dull.”

“Dull would be nice,” Hawkwood said, “once in a while.”

“Then here’s hoping for a very dull voyage home, my dear fellow.” Lawrence held out his hand. “O:nen ki’ wahi’, Captain.”

Hawkwood smiled. “You, too, Major.”

The two men had shaken hands at the foot of the schooner’s gangplank. Lawrence’s last words as Hawkwood turned to board were, “I know it’s against your better nature, but this time, Captain, do try and stay out of trouble.”

Sir George turned away from the window. He looked pensive. “Y’know, I can’t decide if we were lucky or if the Americans were just incompetent.”

Assuming from the lengthy pause that followed that he was expected to supply some pearl of wisdom on the subject, Hawkwood said cautiously, “They were so desperate for a win, I doubt they thought it through.”

Well, Quade didn’t, at any rate.