At the Queen_s command

Supplies still had not come upriver by the second of July, when Forest determined his force would leave Hattersburg. The locals, happy for the relief from the Norillian cavalry, opened their larders and magazines to the Rangers. Each man was able to refill his supplies and add another fifty rounds of ammunition and powder. Every squad carried an additional two pounds of brimstone, the burden of which rotated through the squad.

During the week Nathaniel had a course of discussions with men in both companies. Looking the force over, it wasn't too difficult to pick out men who were the natural leaders, even if they'd not been the ones who had been voted an officer. All the soldiers looked up to these men, for their leadership, their encouragement, and their favor.

Nathaniel found a way to have a conversation that, in part, got around to pointing out just how hard-working Lieutenant Caleb Frost really was. Nathaniel allowed as how Caleb was working himself to death, doing all the things that other men ought to be doing. He suggested that a man who let another man do all that wasn't really a man, and it was a shame to let a young buck like Caleb ruin himself.

Things began to change. Men started doing all the things Caleb had done, and without being asked. Squads took it upon themselves to pitch his tent for him, or invite him to share their supper. Men always brewed an extra cup of tea or found an extra pinch of salt for him.

The week in Hattersburg did Caleb well. He managed to catch up on his sleep and let his feet heal. When Kamiskwa and the Shedashee returned, they fashioned new moccasins for the Bookworms and shared supplies of salve that brought most of the young men back into marching shape.

When it came time to move on, two of the Bookworms couldn't continue. That morning the men were all but in tears, even though they were having a hard time standing up straight for review. Major Forest gave them courier duty. He put them in charge of writing letters for those that wanted them written, and to carry them back to Temperance. He also dictated an account of events so far, and asked for that to be passed to Mr. Wattling and Doctor Frost.

The rest of the Bookworms got shuffled into other squads and Makepeace was given the hardest men in the unit to call his own. The Bookworms started as mascots, but the men came to appreciate them for their intelligence. The Bookworm journals became squad journals, and the burden of carrying them passed around as did the spare brimstone.

The Rangers even made room for Reverend Beecher. Though Nathaniel cared little for him, and he did make maddening demands on individuals, a solid core of Rangers took solace in his reading Scripture aloud. Beecher, when he wasn't actually trying to preach, had a good voice and managed to calm fears.

The news that Kamiskwa brought of the Prince's group was not good. By the time Major Forest's unit left Hattersburg, the Colonials were still a week back, and Rivendell a day behind them. Cutting a road through the wilderness had left the Colonials exhausted and furious with Rivendell's constant entreaties for more speed.

Forest fell in beside Nathaniel as they headed northwest out of Hattersburg. "If I calculate things right, we will reach Fort Cuivre about the same time they get to Anvil Lake. End of July is going to be very busy."

"I reckon." Nathaniel nodded easily. "And as long as I see August, I am right fine with that."

Chapter Fifty-Seven

July 1, 1764

Lindenvale, Mystria

P rince Vlad swiped a forearm over his face, smearing mud, then put his floppy-brimmed hat back on. He leaned back against Mugwump's flank, cool stream water flowing around his knees. The wurm, his head upstream, lowered his muzzle and let water flow into him.

"Prince Vladimir, you can postpone things no longer."

The Prince looked toward the shore, where the stream had overflowed its banks. Bishop Bumble stood there, hands on hips, his face reddened beneath a black hat, his white hose mud-stained, and his feet slowly sinking into the ooze. How the man had managed, from the knees up, to remain spotless, Vlad could not imagine.

Bumble wagged a finger. "You are jeopardizing men's souls, sir. You have them working on the Sabbath. You refuse to give me time to conduct a proper service."

Vlad dropped to a knee, letting the water swirl up around his waist and scrubbed his hand clean. He scooped up a double handful of water and drank.

"Are you listening to me, Highness?"

Vlad looked up, water dripping from his unshaven chin. "I hear you very clearly, Bishop. I explained this morning that you could have a half-hour."

"I said proper service, sir." Bumble twisted to point back at the work crews and nearly toppled when a foot came free of a shoe. "It is bad enough that they are working on the Lord's Day!"