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attention. The door was opened and a young officer stood there, barring the way. Allen had some recollection of him. It was the Frenchman, Lafayette. Peter spoke to him for a moment. Lafayette looked past Peter to Allen and to his surprise actually bowed slightly and offered a salute; Allen instantly stiffened and returned the gesture. The door closed behind them, and Allen suddenly felt awkward, indeed. Still at attention from returning Lafayette’s salute, he just stood there for a moment, knowing nearly all eyes were upon him. O’Toole came up to his side and that at least gave him a diversion to turn and speak to him.
    “Are you all right, sergeant?”
    “Well, sir, we are now in the belly of the beast, are we not?” O’Toole whispered, and he could not help but smile at this comment.
    “They’ll honor the flag,” Allen said.
    “Those first ones weren’t about to.”
    “This is General Washington’s headquarters, these are men of honor,” he said, deliberately loud enough so that those nearby could hear, “not those militia scum who nearly murdered us back on the road.”
    He said it loud enough so that Lafayette and others would hear of the incident.
    “If I’m granted an audience, you just remain here, go over to those trees over there so you are in the shade, and stand at ease. Don’t talk unless spoken to. Remember we are under a flag of truce so be careful of what you say. They might try and get information from you.”
    “Soul of caution it is, sir,” O’Toole replied.
    “Good man,” Allen replied, patting him on the shoulder to reassure him, even though the sergeant was an enlisted man nearly twice his age.
    “Major van Dorn?”
    He turned. It was Lafayette. Allen stiffened again to attention and saluted, the two following proper European custom.
    “I hope your journey here was without incident?”
    “No problem at all once I finally met Major Wellsley. Major Wellsley is a childhood friend.”
    “So I have heard. It was your brother who helped to successfully guide the attack at Trenton.”
    Allen could only nod.
    “On that indulgence of memory, his Excellency the general has agreed to meet with you, and to receive your letter. Your friend pleaded your case most persuasively.”
    “I thank you, sir.”
    Given Peter’s cool reception, this information surprised him. He followed Lafayette into the house, the main corridor filled with half a dozen officers who turned and looked at him. Lafayette went through the ritual of formal presentations, nods exchanged to each—Generals Greene, Stirling, the now legendary von Steuben, and the rotund artillery commander Knox. Except for the polite words of introduction, no comments were exchanged. He scanned each of them quickly, trying to imprint the memory of them into his mind if ever a day should come when they met on the field of battle.
    Lafayette tapped politely on a dark green door facing the main corridor, then slowly opened it. Within, General George Washington was looking up from behind a desk, and Peter Wellsley was standing stiffly at attention by his side.
    Lafayette led the way in, then closed the door behind Allen.
    “Your Excellency, I have the honor of presenting to you Major Allen van Dorn, of the staff of General Clinton. Major van Dorn, may I present to you General George Washington.”
    Allen stiffened to rigid attention, doffing his hat and bowing low. Washington rose from his chair, hatless and offering a salute.
    Washington then sat down, but no chair was offered to Allen.
    Allen studied the man closely. They had met once before, the day after Trenton when the general had offered him parole and exchange because of his brother’s service. The impression on him then was memorable, a towering man of muscular build, still young-looking in his early forties. The only imperfection in his features was the deep scarring of smallpox, but then again, that was true of a fair percentage of people in this world.
    General Washington had