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It had taken him some time, but Adam had finally calmed down.
He had gone back to his Beauty and the Beast manuscript and made a few adjustments with Martin's help, particularly in the dialogue.
Not much differed from the version made famous by Disney, but the story strayed significantly from the one published by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont in 1756, and even more from Gabrielle-Suzanne de Villeneuve's 1740 version.
In the oldest version, fairies played a central role, whereas Leprince de Beaumont's tale focused more on Belle's family.
Thanks to Martin, Adam had managed to get a copy of each and compare them to the version he knew. He was surprised by both the style and the content.
Far from being just a children's story, these were philosophical and moral tales, warning young readers against jealousy, vanity, and pride, and encouraging them instead to cultivate kindness, love, and courtesy, and not to judge others based on appearance.
To 18th-century readers, characters like Gaston or the enchanted objects would probably seem like a refreshing novelty.
Adam was hopeful that his work would be a great success.
Once the story had been revised to satisfy the royal censors, the manuscript was again entrusted to Martin's parents, who handled everything on his behalf.
In the meantime, he finished Pirates of the Caribbean, more out of stubbornness than any real hope of seeing it published someday. He didn't change a single word.
To him, the first film was absolutely perfect and nothing should be altered.
Aside from that, everything was going well at Fort Bourbon.
Training continued regularly, and ongoing construction progressed at a good pace. The brickyard had doubled in size, and daily output had more than doubled.
As for the road leading north from the fort, it now reached the ruins of Fort William Henry, on the southern shore of Lake George.
August passed in relative calm.
There were a few skirmishes in the forest, and light enemy troops tried to cause chaos in the heart of the French colony. While they managed to inflict some damage, it was of little consequence to the kingdom.
Adam had led a few minor operations himself, but none were significant enough to go down in the history books.
That calm was broken on September 3, 1761, when important news arrived from England.
The Marquis de Montcalm immediately gathered the fort's officers to share the events.
"Gentlemen," he began solemnly, "young George III has married a princess from the Holy Roman Empire. She is seventeen and her name is Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. She is the daughter of the late Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz."
Adam, like several others, didn't quite know how to react or what to think.
That never-ending name made it sound like the lucky bride came from an ancient and powerful family. Murmurs began to rise around the young man.
"A duke's daughter? I suppose that's not too surprising. It probably takes at least that to be considered a serious candidate."
"Good grief, what a name! Mecklenburg-Strelitz… Sounds like the name of a great general!"
"If she's from the Holy Roman Empire, does that mean the Emperor will support the British?"
"Damn! That would be dangerous! Can we handle it?"
"I think so? After all, His Majesty has the greatest army in the world!"
Everyone seemed to have an opinion, and anxiety was starting to take over. The Marquis swiftly put an end to it.
"Although she's from the Empire, it seems she's not from a particularly powerful house. Don't forget that the Holy Roman Empire is not France. There, one can be a duke and only own a tiny domain with little fortune. Just because this young lady is marrying the King of England doesn't mean the Emperor will send his armies against us. We fought alongside them and won great victories, including that of Rossbach! They have no reason to involve themselves in this war again!"
Adam let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Phew! That was close! Who knows how many more years this damned war would've lasted if the Empire had turned against us?
"The marriage announcement," Montcalm continued, "was made on July 6. The ceremony was to be held on August 22. It's still too early to know how it went, but there's no indication it was delayed. We also know that George III and his wife will be crowned King and Queen Consort of the United Kingdom and Ireland… and Electors of Hanover—although that territory is under our control—on September 8."
Wait, what? He hasn't been crowned yet? What kind of mess is this? So… he's still not officially king?
He leaned toward Martin and whispered in his ear:
"Hey, is it normal that he's not king yet? I mean, George II died more than a year ago, right?"
"Huh? Oh, yes. That's normal. There's always a mourning period. And besides, a ceremony of that scale doesn't happen overnight. It takes time to organize everything. There will be tons of guests, from all over the world."
"Really? Well, I guess that makes sense."
Hmm… Even if their finances are in shambles, I guess the Crown can't afford to hold anything less than a grand ceremony. They'll dig themselves even deeper into debt just to avoid looking ridiculous in front of nobles and diplomats. I wonder if France will send someone anyway? I doubt it. But you never know.
"The other piece of news I must share with you is more troubling," Montcalm continued, "and it confirms what we feared. A large squadron left Portsmouth a month and a half ago. It should be nearing the American coast—if it hasn't arrived already."
At once, all faces darkened. A heavy silence fell over the room, so deep that even a fly wouldn't have gone unnoticed.
"We don't know its destination. Our agents in England were unable to obtain that information. This fleet could just as well be heading to Jamaica as to the southern British colonies, which remain highly profitable for the Crown. As you know, they have lost control of Georgia and South Carolina. With our support, the Spanish are currently trying to seize North Carolina, but they're facing stiff resistance. The arrival of this squadron could tip the balance of power there."
Then… can't we just send some ships over?
Adam kept that thought to himself, not wanting to draw attention in front of so many men, most of them high-born, and focused instead on the general's announcements.
"If, as the Secretary of the Navy, Count de Ferrière, suspects, this squadron is headed for the northern regions—our region—then we must prepare for one or more large-scale attacks before winter. Make sure your men don't neglect their training or the upkeep of their weapons. I'll issue orders to further increase our stores of food and powder. Monsieur de Bréhant, send a detachment as close to Albany as possible. I want to be informed at the slightest movement."
"It will be done, General."
Montcalm was about to conclude the meeting when a hand was raised.
"Captain Briscard?"
"General, do we know how many men embarked in Portsmouth? Even a rough estimate?"
"I should have mentioned that earlier," Montcalm admitted. "As you might guess, we don't have an exact figure, but it's said to be over two thousand men—perhaps close to three thousand."
Adam swallowed hard at that number. Laughable in Europe, it was large enough on this side of the ocean to shift the course of the war.
Everyone present understood that.
"And their commander?" Briscard asked again. "Do we know who it is?"
Montcalm hesitated for a moment. His expression grew hard.
"It hasn't been confirmed, but it may be General Amherst."
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Adam, Martin, André, and Jean-Baptiste were walking side by side toward the training field, where their companies were conducting joint exercises. In their absence, the lieutenants had taken over.
Upon their return, the four officers were pleased to see that order and discipline had been perfectly maintained. Not a single man had taken advantage of the situation to slack off.
The entire scene radiated discipline.
To Adam's eyes, the contrast was striking compared to what he'd seen in Germany at the beginning of the war. Back there, he'd felt like part of a massive, ragtag group of half-starved, half-sick men with wildly varying morale.
This was nothing like that.
Here stood men—real soldiers—all loyal to the Crown.
They moved as one, a unified block marching with a brisk, steady pace, equipped as though heading out on a long campaign. On the officers' orders, the four companies deployed as if to face an enemy line.
Step by step, with remarkable fluidity, they took up firing positions and opened fire at targets over a hundred meters away. The volley was long and powerful.
A thick white cloud instantly engulfed the troop, but they paid it no mind—the next orders were already being given.
They reloaded within seconds, then advanced quickly toward the targets without breaking formation. The men moved as one.
After covering about twenty meters, the lieutenants ordered the troops to halt. They ensured the line was clean, then gave the command to assume firing positions once again.
Adam smiled faintly.
"They've really come a long way," he said quietly.
"Yes, it's impressive," André agreed, clearly pleased with the display. "It's like they've been doing this all their lives."
"I think they're ready," added Jean-Baptiste, arms crossed over his chest, a thin smile on his lips despite his bulldog expression. "The redcoats will regret giving us so much time to prepare."
Adam glanced at his friends and said thoughtfully:
"Maybe we should strike first. If we wait for their reinforcements to arrive—especially if Amherst is in charge—we might be in real trouble."
"Tempting thought, but it's too risky," Jean-Baptiste replied with certainty. "Defenders always have the advantage. We saw it at Fort Carillon, and here at Fort Bourbon."
"But we took Fort Edward… and plenty of other forts too. Not to mention Albany."
Captain Gauthier shook his head.
"That's not the same, François. We caught them by surprise, or we had overwhelming numerical superiority—enough to cancel out their geographical advantage. If we attack Albany, we'll face a large, trained garrison, fully prepared for such an event. There's a reason we haven't moved all spring or summer."
Adam mulled it over for a moment but couldn't come up with a solid counterargument.
He knew these truths—he had read and reread them in the war memoirs he had studied.
Ah, if only they had known… They should have burned Albany when they had the chance!
"And what about them? Are they going to wait for General Amherst to arrive?"
Jean-Baptiste Gauthier shrugged.
"Who knows? That's what I would do in their shoes. Although… the longer they wait, the greater the risk of having to besiege us in the middle of winter. It's still only September, so they've got time, but the longer they delay, the slimmer their chances of victory become."
"Shouldn't we warn our men?" Martin asked, tucking a rebellious strand of hair back under his tricorne.
Gauthier frowned.
"Warn them about what? That Amherst is back with two or three thousand men? No. That could hurt morale. Let's keep things vague."
"But," André interjected, "we can tell them that our Spanish allies, with our support, are doing well in the south and winning several great victories. Let's say the British are desperate and playing their final cards just to save face… and that's exactly why we need to continue—better yet, intensify—our training. They don't need to know more than that."
Adam and Martin nodded, though they didn't entirely approve of the approach.
They knew how crucial morale was. The senior officers relied on the subalterns to filter information and ensure that it didn't collapse.
There was a difference between being close to your men and being too close to them. Honesty, like any medicine, could become poison if poorly dosed.
Control was what mattered.
From the very beginning, Adam had been reminded of this by Colonel de Bréhant, who had warned him about his excessive closeness to the troops. There was a reason officers dined and lodged apart from their men.
Maintaining a certain distance wasn't just tradition—it was essential for the health of the garrison. Sometimes, it was necessary to bite one's tongue or downplay bad news.
And the arrival of a competent general like Jeffery Amherst clearly belonged in that category.
"Gentlemen, formation!" Jean-Baptiste Gauthier ordered in a powerful voice.
Quickly, all the men assembled before the four officers and formed up. Each company arranged itself into a rigid square, as if these men had been cast from the same mold.
Adam, standing in front of his own company, gave a brief nod, then returned to his place beside his comrades.
As the eldest, André Louis was designated to speak.
"Gentlemen, we have returned from a meeting at the fort. There is nothing alarming—just news from Europe. His Britannic Majesty, King George III, has married and will be crowned in five days. This marriage will have no effect on the war, aside from costing their kingdom a great deal of money."
A soft murmur of satisfaction rippled through the ranks, though no one turned to see who had chuckled.
André continued:
"The war goes on, but we all believe it's nearing its end. Still, we must remain cautious. Until a treaty is signed, we must be ready. For now, nothing is set in stone, so there is to be no slacking off. We are talking about the British! These people are devious! If they were capable of attacking us without a declaration of war, then they are just as capable of attacking the day before—or even the day after—a peace treaty is signed!"
Adam narrowed his eyes but stayed silent. He watched his men, focusing on André's words.
"It's September. Autumn is near, and winter will follow. But even that won't protect us from our enemy's duplicity. Just as you've improved over the past few months, our enemies have had ample time to prepare for a major offensive. It could come tomorrow, next week, in a month… or in the dead of December! So don't let up!"
Several soldiers nodded, clearly ready for a fight.
"The young King George has inherited a ruined kingdom and colonies on the verge of collapse. Our allies are just as formidable as we are! We are receiving regular reports of great victories, both on land and at sea. The British must be furious. The Marquis de Montcalm is very pleased with you and proud to command you. He is counting on every man in this garrison to hold the line—to prevent the enemy from regaining even a single acre of what we have conquered in these past years! Let us not disappoint him!"
A fierce fire lit up in every gaze. Adam himself felt a surge of enthusiasm rise within him.
He was deeply impressed by André's speech, and had to restrain himself from applauding.