Hawkwood swore again. Before Lawrence could argue, he probed Lawrence’s lower back, breathing a sigh of relief when his fingers found the exit wound. Lawrence jerked at the touch. Hawkwood took his hand away and tried to recall the sequence of events.

Only two muskets had been fired during the skirmish. Determining the source of the shot, therefore, wasn’t difficult. It had to have come, Hawkwood realized, from the weapon he’d deflected.

“Well?” Lawrence said. “Will I live?”

“It didn’t hit bone, far as I can tell; just flesh and muscle. It went through, too, which is the good news, but there could be matter in the wound. Is there much pain? And don’t bloody lie.”

“Not much at the moment. I was lying earlier, but right now I’m half numb from that bath I’ve just taken. I can walk, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Looking across the river towards the camp, he shivered again. “We can’t stay here. Quade will be wondering if his execution squad completed their task. They don’t report back to him, he’s going to come looking.” He smiled wryly. “We should have buried them all in the bloody pit. That would have kept the bastard guessing.”

“Wagon and horses, too?”

Lawrence reached for his coat, grimacing as he leaned down. “I’d have got you to do the heavy lifting.”

Hawkwood unpacked his bundle and put on his socks. He watched anxiously as Lawrence unrolled his coat and stepped into his boots. They had survived the ordeal because, remarkably, the coat had escaped total submersion. It had also been wrapped tightly. As a result it was only slightly damp on the inside and therefore wearable. The same could not be said for Lawrence’s jacket and beeches, which had taken the brunt of the ducking. They were wet through.

“Wait,” Hawkwood said, as Lawrence went to fasten the coat. “Give me your scarf. Open your shirt.”

Lawrence did as instructed. Hawkwood took his own dry scarf and rolled the ends to create two pads which he pressed firmly on to the entry and exit wounds. Instructing Lawrence to hold them in place, he tied the second scarf around Lawrence’s waist to keep the makeshift wadding secure. “It’s a good job the water was so damned cold. It’ll help staunch the blood flow, at least for a while. We’d best find somewhere to set a fire and dry off. I can take another look at it then. I reckon we’ve got a bit of time; they won’t come after us before daybreak.”

“You’re positive they’ll come?” Lawrence asked, fastening his coat and re-attaching the strap to his musket.