“I’m still surprised at the number of wagons, sir. I thought we were traveling light.”
“This is light,” Grant snorted. “We still have to carry food and ammunition, don’t we? Only the cannon, shells, and extra ammunition went by boat, along with additional food, uniforms, blankets, and, of course, the luxuries without which General Burgoyne cannot live and will require once we arrive.” This last comment was said with contempt.
“Well, at least we get to ride,” Fitzroy said in an attempt to make pleasant small talk with Burgoyne’s second in command.
Grant sneered. “Are you that stupid, Major? When we really get into the woods, we’ll all be walking. Any man on horseback will simply be calling out for the rebel sharpshooters to kill him. And yes, don’t laugh. I too will be marching and I will hate every bloody damn moment of it.”
Why hadn’t he thought of that? Fitzroy wondered. He pulled away from the general and commenced to look around. Flanking patrols were out and the woods were sparse. No enemy could be hiding in them.
Or were they?
* * *
The British column snaked its way out of Detroit and began to slowly westward. Even though Burgoyne had seen to it that many of the encumbrances that had delayed him on his march to Saratoga were either left behind or were going by boat, the march was moving exquisitely slowly.
“Bloody hell,” Sergeant Barley said, “I’ve seen dead men move more quickly.”
Barley, Owen, and two more men were hidden in the trees and bushes that lined the trail. The leaves and shadows made them virtually invisible if they didn’t move. The British were less than a hundred yards away and struggling mightily against the forest that had only begun to envelope them. Flankers and Indian allies occasionally made their presence known, but they were looking outward and Owen and his men were already inside their loose perimeter. Owen wondered how the going would be for the British when the trees began to thicken.
They waited until dark and Owen ordered them to withdraw. When they’d reached the relative safety of woodlands outside the range of the patrols, Barley grabbed Owen’s arm and grinned wickedly.
“We’re not going to give them a good night’s sleep, are we, Owen?”
The British column, with the tail of it scarcely out of their camp at Detroit, had bedded down for the night. Even the patrols had largely gone to ground to await the dawn and the continuation of the march. A patrol of about twenty men was only a few hundred yards away, protected by a pair of sentries.
“Why don’t we see if Franklin’s crossbows work?” Owen said with an evil grin.
They daubed their faces with dirt and moved slowly to the patrol’s camp. Owen noted that the bloody fools had built a campfire and were cooking something, probably a stew with a local rabbit as the guest of honor. A sentry moved between them and the fire. He was less than fifty yards away.
“Mine,” Owen said. “Officers always get first choice.” Barley responded with an obscenity but didn’t argue.
Owen silently cocked his crossbow and moved slowly closer. He didn’t think the Brit would see him since the man kept looking towards the camp, the fire, and his dinner cooking; thus destroying his night vision.
Owen was only about ten yards away from the man when he fired. The sentry dropped immediately with a bolt through his skull. There had been little noise.
Owen sent Barley to watch for the other sentry while he and the other two men crept closer to the camp.
A scream tore through the night. Shit, Owen thought. Barley’s kill hadn’t been clean. The men around the fire stood in alarm. “Fire,” Owen ordered and three more bolts flew silently to their targets. Two men dropped to the ground while the third howled and hopped around with a bolt in his leg. They loaded quickly and fired another volley, this time with Barley joining in. Two more men fell writhing.
The remaining British fired their muskets indiscriminately at their silent and invisible enemy, hitting nothing. Still, they were alert and angry. “Fall back,” Owen ordered.
“One more shot,” Barley pleaded.
“Christ no,” Owen said. “They’re aroused now and there will be others coming from all over the place. We run like the devil and come back tomorrow.”
Barley’s teeth shined white in the night. “Sounds like a wonderful idea to me, Lieutenant.”
* * *
Sarah stood naked in the basin of water. She took a wet cloth from a basin on a table beside her and used it to rinse out her hair. She enjoyed the feel of the water running down her body. It was warm outside and the water felt cool and refreshing. She was in the storeroom where she now slept.
There was a knock on her door and she stiffened. “Who is it?”
“It is I,” came the familiar voice of Benjamin Franklin. “May I come in? I understand you wished to speak with me. Or isn’t this a good time?”
“I’m bathing,” she said, thinking about the comment that she should use her feminine wiles to pry information from Franklin.
“Then it would be a marvelous time,” Franklin said.
She reached over to the table, grabbed a thin shift and pulled it over her head. “Then do come in,” she said sweetly.
The door opened and Franklin’s head poked around it. He saw Sarah and his face lit up. The thin shift had plastered itself to her wet body. “There truly is a God and I am in heaven,” he declared. “Thank you, God.”
“You have to be dead to be in heaven, Benjamin. And for God’s sake, close that door.”
Franklin did as he was told and, grinning broadly, sat down in a chair a few feet away from Sarah. He made no move to come closer or to touch her.
“There is a painting of great renown,” he said. “It’s called ‘Venus Rising From the Sea,’ or some such and it’s by an Italian with a name that’s impossible to spell. Botticelli, I believe, although it doesn’t matter. I believe you would have made a marvelous model for Venus. Or she for you.”
Sarah stepped out of the basin. “I’m flattered.”
“You are even lovelier than many of the French noblewomen I’ve had the pleasure of seeing undressed. They are such a pallid bunch, while you are so refreshingly healthy. Even your hair, though wet, is so lovely. Frenchwomen’s hair is puffed and plastered and sculptured so that it weighs heavily. I also have it on good authority that Frenchwomen’s hair is often rife with vermin of all sorts.” He sighed. The wet shift was so thin that she might as well be naked. “Tell me, has Will ever seen you thusly?”
“No. At least not yet.”
“Then I’m flattered. However, as much as I am thrilled beyond words to be in your presence, I cannot help but feel that you are using me, shamelessly taking advantage of an old man’s now unfulfillable desires.”
“As always you are correct. I wish to know something. Where is my uncle? What have you done with him and the others who worked in Merlin’s Cave?”
“Nothing sinister, my exquisite young friend. I simply felt that they could concentrate on their efforts far better if they were away from the distractions of this town.”
“Should I assume they are working on something secret? After all, I find it hard to believe that a man of your intellect could only come up with the crossbow and the pike as an answer to England’s great army.”
Franklin chuckled. “And believe me I have tried. At first I thought that my experiences with electricity would result in a weapon that would tip the scales in our favor, but it’s proven beyond us. Electricity will someday make a good weapon, but it won’t happen in this war.”
“And nothing else?”
“Just small things that will annoy and inconvenience the English, but nothing that will stop them or offset their numerical strength.”
“I’m genuinely sorry to hear that.” Sarah stood in front of Franklin. His eyes again wandered down where the shift clung to her firm breasts and nipples and her flat belly and hinted at the pale hair between her thighs. She smiled and handed him a towel. “Would you please help dry my hair?”