The brigadier dug into his pockets and drew out some gold coins. “Five guineas to take us downriver. Five more when we get there.”

Thomas looked wary. He couldn’t get five guineas for a month’s, two months’ hard labor on the river. Greed fought with fear.

“I’ll take those now,” he finally said. “But ten more when we get there.”

“Done. Let us leave at once.”

Once they were out of the basin, the big sail was hauled up and they made good time through the muddy water. Rounding the Isle of Dogs, they looked back and saw an approaching warship coming down the river behind them. Thomas shouted commands and the sail came down; they drifted close by the docks on the shore there. The ship went smoothly by, the sailors visible on deck giving them no heed. They went on when it had passed, moving quickly and uneventfully until Tilbury came into sight.

“Mother of God…” the helmsman said, standing and shading his eyes. They all looked on in horrified silence at the smoking ruins of the shattered fortress. Walls and battlements had been destroyed, dismounted gun barrels pointed to the sky. Nothing moved. Thomas automatically turned closer to shore at the sight of the four hulking black ships that were anchored across the river. The stars and stripes of the American flag flew from a flagstaff at the stern of the nearest warship. Beyond them, in midstream, the masts and funnel, some of the upperworks of a sunken ship projected a few feet above the water.

“Is she… one of ours?” Thomas asked in a hushed, hoarse voice.

“Perhaps,” Somerville said. “It does not matter. Proceed downstream.”

“Not with them ships there!”

“They are not here to harm a vessel like this one.”

“You can say that, your honor, but who’s to tell.”

Somerville was tempted to reason with the man; reached into his pocket instead. “Five guineas right now — and then ten more when we get downriver.”

In the end avarice won. The lighter crept along the riverbank, slowly past the ruined fort. The warships anchored in the river ignored it. Then they moved faster once they were past the invaders, swept around the bend under full sail.

Ahead of them, anchored by the channel, was another ironclad, bristling with guns.

“Drop the sail!”

“Don’t do that, you fool,” the brigadier shouted. “Look at that flag!”

The British white ensign hung from the staff at her stern.

A MONARCH’S PLIGHT

General Sherman allowed thirty minutes to make absolutely sure that the battle for London was truly won. He went carefully through the reports, checking the references on a map of the city spread across the ornate desk. Through the open window behind him he could hear that the sounds of battle were dying away. A rumble of cannon in the distance, one of the ironclads from the sound of it. They were proving invaluable in reducing the riverside defenses. Then the crackling fire of a Gatling gun.

“I think we have done it, Andy,” he said, sitting back in the chair. His chief of staff nodded agreement.

“We are still finding pockets of resistance, but the main bodies of enemy troops have all been defeated. I am sure that we’ll mop up the rest before dark.”

“Good. Make sure that sentries are posted before the men bed down. We don’t want any surprise night attacks.”

With the city secured, Sherman’s thoughts returned to the next and most important matter at hand.

“You made inquiries. Did you find out where the Queen went?”

“No secret of it — everyone in London seems to know, the ones near the palace saw her pass by. Windsor Castle, they all agree on that.”

“Show me on the map.”

Colonel Summers unfolded the large-scale map and laid it over the one of London.

“Quite close,” Sherman said. “As I remember, there are two train lines going there from London.” He smiled when he saw his aide’s expression. “Not black magic, Andy. It is just that I have been a keen student of my Bradshaw — the volume that contains timetables for every rail line in Britain. Get a troop of cavalry to Paddington Station. Seize the station and the trains.”

Reports and requests for support were coming in and for some time Sherman was kept busy guiding the attacks. Then, when he looked up, he saw that Summers had returned.

“We’re not going anywhere by train for some time, General. Engines and rails were sabotaged at Paddington.”

Sherman nodded grim agreement. “At the other stations as well, I’ll wager. They’re beginning to learn that we make good use of their rolling stock. But there are other ways to get to Windsor.” He looked back at the map. “Here is the castle, upriver on the Thames. Plenty of twists and turns to the river before it gets there. But it’s pretty straight there by road. Through Richmond and Staines, then into Windsor Great Park.”

Sherman looked at the scale on the map. “Must be twenty-five, thirty miles.”

“At least.”

“These soldiers have had a long day fighting; I’m not going to have them endure a forced march after that. Can we spare the cavalry?”

“We certainly can — now that the city has been taken. And they are still fresh.”

“Can we round up more horses?”

“The city is full of them, dray horses for the most part.”

“Good. I want the entire troop to take part in this. Round up all the horses you need and harness them to some Gatling guns. We’ll move them out when the guns are ready. I’ll take command. Make sure the city stays pacified.”

“What about the river, General?”

“That was my next thought. There are plenty of small boats in the Thames that we can commandeer. Put some of our sailors in each one to make sure the crews follow orders. Get a company of troops upriver that way. General Groves will be in command. If he gets there first I want his men to get around the castle but not attack it until he receives the command from me. Whoever is in the castle now — I want them still there when we occupy it.”

“Understood.”

The cavalry went west at an easy trot, General Sherman and his staff to the fore. Almost as soon as they had passed through Chelsea, where a bitter battle had been fought to take the barracks, all signs of war fell behind them. Distant guns still rumbled sporadically, but they could have been mistaken for thunder. The streets were strangely empty for the time of day, though the soldiers were aware of watching eyes from the passing windows. The only untoward incident occurred when they were passing through Putney.

There was the crack of a gun and a bullet passed close to General Sherman.

“Up there!” one of the soldiers shouted, pointing to a puff of smoke from the window of a residence. One after another the cavalrymen fired, their bullets crashing the glass from the window and sending chunks of frame flying.

“Leave it,” Sherman ordered. They galloped on.

It was late afternoon before they passed through Windsor Great Park and saw the crenellated towers of the castle ahead. As they came through the woods, they saw that there were American riflemen who had taken up positions behind many of the trees facing an open green field. A sloping lawn led up to the castle beyond. A major of the Kentucky Rifles stepped forward and saluted Sherman as he slid down from his horse.

“Men all in position, right around the castle, sir.”

“Any resistance?”

“They tried some potshots from the windows, but stopped when we returned their fire. We stayed away, like you ordered. Gates closed tight, but we know there are a passel of people inside.”

“Is the Queen among them?”

“Don’t rightly know. But we rousted out some of the citizens from the town. All say the same thing, and I think they are too frightened to lie. Lots of carriages came today — and the Queen’s was one of them. Nobody come out since.”

“Good work, Major. I’ll take over from here.”