The village was too small to provide more, Hawkwood had told him. And Tewanias had to leave men behind to protect the families. “Besides,” he’d added, “we don’t need that many. We only need enough.”

“To do what?” Lawrence had asked.

“Scare the bastards shitless.”

For reasons he couldn’t quite understand, that statement had sent of a shiver of apprehension down Lawrence’s spine. The feeling was not dispelled when he’d seen the warriors who would be accompanying them.

Dressed for winter in buckskin coats, leggings and calf-length moccasins, with long guns strung across their backs, they might have passed for a hunting party about to set off after game had it not been for the accoutrements and additional weaponry they were carrying: swords, war clubs, knives and tomahawks. At Hawkwood’s request, a couple of the men also carried bows. Not all wore scalp locks. A few of the younger-looking ones had full heads of tied-back hair. Even with their features unpainted they looked fit and formidable.

Tewanias introduced them by name and clan affiliation, each man responding with a saturnine nod. Hawkwood heard the names Effa, Opio, Alak and Deskaheh and hoped he’d remember the others when the time came.

As they’d made their way from longhouse to palisade, the women and children and the men who were staying to guard the village gathered to watch them depart.

Whereas new recruits setting out from an English hamlet might be expected to march off to the sound of fife and drum, the departure from Gaanundata was accompanied by a subdued, almost mystical, silence. No one waved. No one called a farewell. Taking the path to war was not a joyous occasion but one which demanded great solemnity, born of the understanding that some of those who were leaving might not return. As they headed for the woods, Lawrence took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder. No one had remained at the entrance to see them leave. The villagers had already returned to their fires.

For the first mile, the path led downhill. Descending the slope, Hawkwood looked back. It was not difficult to see how Gaanundata had got its name, nor why it had remained hidden. Protected on three sides by densely wooded, near-vertical slopes and on the other by a deep river gulley, access to the site was via a narrow deer track that snaked its way up through the forest from the gulley floor. Had they been seeking the place on their own, it was doubtful they’d have found it, even with directions. Not until the top of the bluff was reached, where the trees thinned out, did the palisade come into view. In the light of day, a person could easily pass within one hundred paces of the wall and not know it was there. In a gathering gloom, with snow falling thickly, it would have been next to invisible.