He paused, aware there were two choices now open to him. The first was to continue by stealth alone in the hope that he could achieve his objective without being discovered, which was unrealistic. The second carried an equal amount of risk, but was more overt and would involve a lot more nerve. If he could pull it off, though, hed undoubtedly save time.
He decided to go with the second option.
Placing his knapsack against the wall, he took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
Three men, coarse-faced and lank-haired, dressed in unbuttoned tunics, were seated at a rough table surrounded by walls festooned with tack. A small pile of coins and a tin mug sat by each mans elbow. In the centre of the table a half-empty bottle of rye whiskey stood next to a lantern and a wooden platter containing a hunk of bread, some sliced ham and a wedge of pale yellow cheese with a small knife stuck in the centre of it.
One of the men was holding a wooden cup. He gave it a shake as Hawkwood walked in; the resulting rattle was the sound that had been audible from the yard. Not pebbles in a log but wooden dice. The dice mans hand stilled and three sets of eyes registered their shock and surprise. Clearly, evening inspection by a ranking officer was not a regular occurrence.
Good evening, gentlemen.
Hawkwood fixed his attention on the man holding the dice. He waited two seconds, then demanded brusquely: Your name remind me.
The dice man scrambled upright. Corporal J-Jeffard, sir. His gaze flickered nervously to the collar and top half of the tunic, made visible by Hawkwoods unbuttoned greatcoat.
Ah, yes, Hawkwood said, injecting sufficient disdain into his voice to inform everyone in the room who was in charge. Of course. Labouring hard, I see.
The corporal reddened. His Adams apple bobbed. Hawkwood swung towards the other two, both of whom had also risen to their feet. One of them was trying to fasten his collar at the same time. Recognizing a losing battle, he gave up. Whereupon, reasoning that it might be better if he assumed at least some sort of military pose, he dropped his hands to his sides. His companion followed suit. The movement tipped his chair on to its back. All three men flinched at the clatter.
Hawkwood could smell the alcohol on their breath. And you are ? he enquired.
Private Van Bosen, sir.
Private Rivers, Captain.
Hawkwood viewed the bottle and the mugs. Care to explain, Corporal?
Jeffard flicked a nervous glance towards his companions.
Dont look at them! Hawkwood snapped. Look at me!
The trooper swallowed and found his voice. Taking a break between duties, Captain. We were about to return to our posts when you arrived.
Of course you were, Hawkwood said witheringly. Nice try. Shame youve been rumbled. If I were you, Id practise those excuses. You can put down the dice; Ive a job for you.
He paused, watching as a chastened Jeffard did as he was told, allowing the silence to stretch to breaking point before adding, Im here because I have urgent dispatches for both General Dearborn and Colonel Pike. I need two good mounts, saddled, fully equipped and ready to depart in ten minutes. Manage it quicker than that and you can finish your game. He turned to the others. Anyone else on duty here, or is this it?
A flustered nod from Van Bosen. No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. Just us, sir.
Hawkwood vented a silent sigh of relief as he waved his hand dismissively. Yes, well, whichever it is, I dont care, frankly. Only, with the three of you, it wont take long, will it? Ten minutes, gentlemen. Ill expect those damned animals to be ready or Ill want to know why. Dont make me put the three of you on a charge. That happens and youll be shovelling shit till doomsday.
Giving them no chance to respond, Hawkwood turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.
As soon as he was outside and out of sight, he moved swiftly towards the shadows cast by the farriers hut. Tucking himself against the wall, he waited. A few seconds later, he watched as the three troopers left the tack room and hurried towards the adjacent stable block. The moment they disappeared inside, Hawkwood, his movement concealed by the intervening hut, crossed to the stable block on the opposite side of the yard. Grabbing a lantern from the wall, he hauled back the door. He was immediately assailed by the pungent aroma of hay, horse sweat and fresh droppings.
The stalls were set out along both sides of a central aisle. Beyond the reach of the lantern glow, dark forms stirred restlessly in the shadows. Straw rustled. A soft whickering sound eddied around the walls as the stables occupants caught his scent. He moved down the aisle, treading carefully. He had no desire to panic the animals. At least not yet.
As he looked for an empty stall, he prayed that Jeffard and his cronies were as inefficient as they had appeared to be. With luck, the brew theyd been drinking would slow them down long enough to allow him the valuable seconds he needed.
Two stalls had been left vacant. Hawkwood picked the one furthest from the door and looked for a supply of dry straw. Bales of it were stacked in a storage area at the end of the aisle. Laying aside the lantern and working quickly, he broke open one of the bales, gathered the contents in his arms and piled the bulk of it loosely against the slatted walls of the empty stall, trailing the rest out into the aisle.
Then he set it alight.
He used the lantern. Hed been planning to use the stolen flint and steel to start the fire, but they werent needed. The accelerants had been provided for him. He watched anxiously as the first tentative flames scurried along the dry stalks. When he was confident the fire had taken hold, he tossed the lantern to one side and backed away, unlatching the doors to the stalls as he went. By the time he reached the main door, the first of the horses was already stamping the ground and snorting nervously.
Exiting the stable, Hawkwood propped the outer door open as far as it would go and retraced his steps to the farriers hut. He made it to the tack room just as Corporal Jeffard led the first of the saddled horses into the yard.
Hawkwood counted to five and strode arrogantly into view. His sudden appearance had the desired effect: the troopers started in surprise. The less time they had to think, the less likely they would be to question his orders or, more inconveniently, his identity. Hawkwood wanted them on tenterhooks as to what this supercilious bastard of an officer would do next. From their expressions, the ruse appeared to be working.
Well done, Corporal, Hawkwood drawled. Theres hope for you yet.
The corporal drew himself up. Theyre sound, Captain. They aint been out for a day or two, so theyll be glad of the exercise.
Then they wont be disappointed, Hawkwood thought, running a critical gaze over the animals. All right, gentlemen. Youve redeemed yourselves. You may return to your, ah duties.
A grin of relief spread across the corporals face. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.
At that moment Private Van Bosen lifted his gaze to a point beyond Hawkwoods shoulder and gasped hoarsely, Oh, Christ!
The exclamation was accompanied by the unmistakable clatter of hooves coming from the other side of the farriers hut.
Hawkwood, Corporal Jeffard and Private Rivers spun round in time to see a dark mass of stampeding horses careering noisily towards the open end of the stable yard and the darkness beyond.
At that moment Private Van Bosen lifted his gaze to a point beyond Hawkwoods shoulder and gasped hoarsely, Oh, Christ!
The exclamation was accompanied by the unmistakable clatter of hooves coming from the other side of the farriers hut.
Hawkwood, Corporal Jeffard and Private Rivers spun round in time to see a dark mass of stampeding horses careering noisily towards the open end of the stable yard and the darkness beyond.
Jesus! Jeffard stared in horror and disbelief at the vanishing animals.
Hawkwood frowned. I smell smoke.
Bloody stables on fire! Rivers yelped as the realization hit him.
Turning to Jeffard, who was holding the reins of the two saddled horses, Hawkwood barked, Wait here! Dont let them go! You two, with me! Move!
The blaze had spread quicker than he had anticipated. The interior of the stable looked to be well alight, though the fire had yet to reach the roof. From inside, the fizzle of burning straw and the splintering of timber could be plainly heard. It wouldnt be long before flames were dancing around the open door. Smoke was starting to pour through the gaps in the shingles, further darkening the already overcast night sky.
Hawkwood pushed Van Bosen towards the fire. Dont just stand there, man! Get buckets! We can save it! You, too, Rivers! Ill go for help!
Leaving them, Hawkwood ran back to where Corporal Jeffard was struggling to hang on to the two mounts. Both were now straining at the reins, having picked up the smell of the fire, and the scent of fear from their fleeing stable mates.
Give them to me! Hawkwood stuck out his hand. Fetch water! Ill alert the camp! If it spreads to the other blocks, were done for! Go!
Jeffard, mouth agape, passed the reins over.
Go! Hawkwood urged. Go!
Jeffard turned tail and ran. Pausing only to snatch up his knapsack, Hawkwood climbed on to the first horse. Coiling the reins of the second in his fist, he dug in his heels and spurred the frightened animals out of the yard. As he did so, he saw from the corner of his eye two figures running frantically with buckets towards the smouldering building.
When he was clear, Hawkwood looked back. There were no flames to be seen as yet, but it could only be a matter of time before they became visible. It was doubtful the corporal and his friends would be able to cope on their own. Soon, theyd have to decide whether to carry on trying to save the stable block, or let it burn while they led the remaining horses to safety. From what Quade had told him about the chronic shortage of horseflesh available to the American army, theyd be anxious to preserve at all costs the few they did have.
Either way, they had enough to keep them busy for the moment.
Leaving the scene of impending chaos behind him, he urged the horses up the trail and into the trees. It was darker in among the pines and the last thing he wanted was for the animals to stumble, but he was committed now so he prayed that animals accustomed to carrying dispatches at the gallop would be agile enough not to lose their footing on the uneven slope.
Keeping to the higher ground, he could just make out the rectangular shape of the soldiers barracks below him and the latrine blocks attached to each one. Lights showed dimly behind shuttered windows. From what he could see, most of the garrison was slumbering, oblivious to the drama unfolding at the other end of the camp.
A break appeared in the path. Hawkwood paused and took his bearings before dismounting. The last of the barrack blocks was now in sight. At any moment Corporal Jeffard and the two privates would tire of wondering why no help had arrived and decide to sound the alarm for themselves. When that happened, all hell would surely break loose. Tethering the horses to a tree, he made his way down the slope using the woods as cover.
The camp guardhouse lay at the north-eastern corner of the cantonment at the end of a short path linking it to the parade ground. Two-storeys high and built of brick and stone, its entrance was protected by a wooden porch.
And an armed sentry.
Hawkwood waited until the sentrys back was turned before emerging from the trees at a leisurely pace. He was twenty yards away from the building when the challenge came.
Halt! The sentry stepped forward, musket held defensively across his chest. Who goes there?
Hawkwood kept walking. Captain Hooper, with orders from the colonel. Stand down, Private. Youve done your job. Hawkwood hardened his gaze, letting it linger on the sentrys face. Whos the duty sergeant?
Recognizing the uniform and disconcerted by the clipped authority in Hawkwoods voice, the sentry hesitated then stood to attention. Thatll be Sergeant Dunbar, sir.
And is he awake? Hawkwood forged a knowing smile to give the impression that he and Dunbar were old comrades.
Yes, sir. The sentry relaxed, allowing himself a small curve of the lip.
Glad to hear it. Hawkwood raised a dismissive hand. Dont worry. Ill find him. Carry on.
Sir. Flattered at having been invited to share a joke with an officer, the sentry shouldered arms and resumed his stance.
Hawkwood let out his breath.
Not far now.
It didnt matter which army you fought for, guardhouses were always cold, cheerless places, built for purpose and furnished with only the most basic of amenities. So Hawkwood knew what he was going to see even before he passed through the door. Thered be a duty desk, above which would be affixed a list of regulations and the orders of the day; an arms rack; a table and a couple of benches; probably a trestle bed or two; a stove and, maybe, if the occupants were sensible and self-sufficient enough, a simmering pot of over-brewed coffee and a supply of tin mugs.
He wasnt disappointed. The only items he hadnt allowed for were the four leather buckets lined up along the wall just inside the door; fire-fighting for the use of, as the inventory might well have described them.
Four buckets arent going to be nearly enough, was Hawkwoods passing thought as he turned his attention to the man behind the desk, who was already rising to his feet at the unexpected and probably unwelcome arrival of an officer.
Sergeant Dunbar, Hawkwood said, making it a statement, not a question. Just the man.
Always pander to the sergeants. Theyre the ones who run the army. Its never the bloody officers.
The sergeant frowned. Captain? he said guardedly.
Hawkwood didnt bother to reply, but allowed his gaze to pass arrogantly over the other two men in the room, both of whom were in uniform, muskets slung over their shoulders. Relief sentries, presumably, either just returning from their circuit or about to begin their rounds. They straightened in anticipation of being addressed, but Hawkwood merely viewed them coldly in the time-honoured manner of an officer acknowledging the lower ranks; which is to say that, aside from noting their existence, he paid them no attention whatsoever. Neither man appeared insulted by the slight. If anything, they seemed relieved. Let the sergeant deal with the bastard, in other words.
Everything in order here? Hawkwood enquired.
The sergeant continued to look wary. Yes, sir. All quiet.
Good. Im here on the colonels orders: I need information on the prisoners that were transported from Deerfield earlier today.