Threetrees shrugged. 'Maybe. It's the time of year for it. Either way they were on the road, in column, tired from a long day's tramp. Bethod came on 'em from here, and from up there, on the ridge. Arrows first, to break 'em up, then the Carls, coming down from the tall ground, screaming and ready to go. The Union broke quick, I reckon.'

'Real quick,' said Dow.

'And then it was a slaughter. Spread out on the road. Trapped against the water. Nowhere much to run to. Men trying to pull their armour off, men trying to swim the river with their armour on. Packing in and climbing one on top o' the other, with arrows falling down all round. Some of 'em might've got as far as those woods down there, but knowing Bethod he'd have had a few horsemen tucked away, ready to lick the plate.'

'Shit,' said Dogman, feeling more than a bit sick. He'd been on the wrong end of a rout himself, and the memory weren't at all a happy one.

'Neat as good stitching,' said Threetrees. 'You got to give Bethod his due, the bastard. He knows his work, none better.'

'This the end of it then, chief?' asked Dogman. 'Bethod won already?'

Threetrees shook his head, nice and slow. 'There's a lot of Southerners out there. An awful lot. Most of 'em live across the sea. They say there's more of 'em down there than you can count. More men than there are trees in the North. Might take 'em a while to get here, but they'll be coming. This is just the beginning.'

The Dogman looked out at the wet valley, at all them dead men, huddled and sprawled and twisted across the ground, no more 'n food for crows. 'Not much of a beginning for them.'

Dow curled his tongue and spat, as noisy as he could. 'Penned up and slaughtered like a bunch o' sheep! You want to die like that, Threetrees? Eh? You want to side with the likes of these? Fucking Union! They don't know anything about war!'

Threetrees nodded. 'Then I reckon we'll have to teach 'em.'

There was a great press round the gate. There were women, gaunt and hungry-looking. There were children, ragged and dirty. There were men, old and young, stooped under heavy packs or clutching gear. Some had mules, or carts they were pushing, loaded up with all kinds of useless looking stuff. Wooden chairs, tin pots, tools for farming. A lot had nothing at all, besides misery. The Dogman reckoned there was plenty of that to go round.

They were choking up the road with their bodies and their rubbish. They were choking up the air with their pleading and their threatening. Dogman could smell the fear, thick as soup in his nose. All running from Bethod.