“Oh, absolutely,” William answered quickly. “She’ll have two tiny black marks high up on that wall. Unless we lose another arm, in which case she’ll only have one.”

Robin swallowed. “Maybe you’ll luck out and the treb’ll take your head off as it falls apart.”

William’s face contorted. “How is that lucking out?”

“Well you wouldn’t have to worry about any of this anymore.”

“If I die tomorrow,” William eased off back toward the main camp, “I am absolutely blaming you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Robin followed. “But if you die tomorrow, King William, I’ll be so upset with you I very well might kill you.”

William laughed. “And I’ll keep that in mind, King Robin.”

ROBIN DEMANDED A REPORT as they approached, startling the group of worried noblemen into an impossibly more baffled state. Some of these barons had never been to war before, and were ill-suited for every bit of it. There were others, particularly those who had been part of the Kings’ War fourteen years ago, that were anything but keen on taking orders from Robin or William. While wearing the crown they held Richard’s authority, but it was delightfully ambiguous as to how much power they held in plainclothes. Both Robin and William had learned quickly that this ambiguity played far more often to their advantage than not.

“It’s not good, Robin,” answered an older man, the Earl of Derby, named William de Ferrers. His bald head and goblin-thin frame put him more at home in a cave than at a warfront, but his was a patient, gentle soul. He was one of the few commanders whose wisdom seemed sincere, and never treated Robin’s command with disdain. However, he stiffened when he realized Robin was not alone. “Wendenal,” the earl said respectfully.

William ignored the greeting. “How is it not good?”

Ferrers shifted back to Robin. “I would venture we have not even a single regiment that is fully outfitted. I’ve reallocated everything we have. Yes, we have complete battalions of swordarms, but at the expense of taking the shortarms from our archers and pikemen. Hazard, a thousand men have no weapons at all, and a thousand more have nothing for close quarters.”

“Thrilling,” Robin said. Two full ships of weaponry had sunk into the Mediterranean off the coast of Cyprus, during the storm that had capsized King Richard’s family. Ferrers and his companions had been tasked with moving their remaining weaponry around, but it seemed they were slightly more fucked than Robin had guessed. “What about legs, do we have enough legs?”

“Legs?”

“Legs, two legs, like these ones.” Robin demonstrated what legs were.

The earl seemed uncertain how to respond. “Are you asking me if the men have legs?”

“I was going…” Robin laughed it off. “I was going to say that they may not have swords, but at least they can still run away.”

“I see.”