It wasn’t that far to the other side – sixty or seventy yards at the most – but they knew that trying to traverse even a relatively short distance presented a huge risk. In daylight it would be hard enough. At night, doubly so. Added to which, it wasn’t only the speed of the river that was worrying, it was the depth of it. Wavelets breaking energetically over the rocks in the middle of the current suggested that although it might not be that deep, the flow was impressive. Even if they did make it across, it was inevitable they’d end up wet and, as a result, a lot colder.

Several dots of fire light were visible through the trees to their right; reminders that the encampment was only a short distance away. How far exactly, it was hard to tell. In their present situation, the glow from just one fire would be enough to pose a threat.

Hawkwood cast his eyes back to the far shore. He judged it to be formidably steep on that side, too, though it could have been the trees casting unhelpful shadows. They came down very close to the water’s edge. He looked to his left. The river didn’t seem so broad in that direction. It was also further away from the camp. He tapped Lawrence’s shoulder and they set off along the bank. The rush and tumble of the water was loud in their ears and passage proved harder than it looked. There wasn’t much shoreline and their progress was hampered by rocks and tree roots.

They had covered some fifty paces when Hawkwood spotted what looked like a suitable crossing point. Several low-lying islets protruded from the middle of the river bed. Composed of pebbles and clumps of weedy vegetation, the largest wasn’t more than a yard or so in width, but its effect was to divide the river into two narrower and, hopefully, fordable streams.