“Certes there’s none near me,” barked an older voice. “Now shut up and ride.”

The prickers passed.

The mirror flashed again. This time, it flashed just once.

The captain shook his head. “Ready,” he called softly.

Gavin didn’t know any of the banners that rounded the bend a bowshot to their right, coming from the south. But the enemy vanguard was well closed up, and very professional—three hundred lances in crisp array, all in full armour. Behind them marched a dense column of infantry.

The mirror flashed again. This was a longer signal.

“Better than I deserve,” the captain said, but his demeanour had changed. The anxiety was gone. He was smiling.

The enemy van was moving at the speed of a swiftly marching man. A babble of Gallish came floating on the morning air.

Gavin had time to think that just the vanguard outnumbered them enormously. And he cursed inwardly, as nowhere did he see de Vrailly’s banner.

Ganfroy quivered with excitement. The captain put a hand on the younger man’s arm.

“Nothing for us to do,” he said. “Gelfred will open the dance.”

The enemy vanguard began to pass them. They were so close that Gavin could see individual faces—some dark and heavy, some boorish, but many men were laughing and some—too many—looked like good men, good companions for an evening’s drinking or a joust.

He’d never fought this way before. He didn’t like seeing his enemies as cheerful, open-faced fellows.

Off to the south, there were screams. A cheer. More screams.

“Stand up!” the captain called.

All through the woods, men stood. They weren’t in neat lines, and here and there, despite the bugs, a man had fallen asleep.

The captain stood with his back to the enemy, as if oblivious of them, watching the woods on either side of him. Then he raised a horn to his lips.

The men on the road were just reacting.

They still weren’t sure what they were seeing.

Gavin loosened his sword in its sheath and gripped his spear. What he really wanted to do was scratch the new bites on his groin.

And perhaps hide.

The horn went to his brother’s lips.

“Now and in the hour of our deaths,” said a voice.

The horn sounded. As soon as it rang out, a hundred other horns were raised and blown, so that the woods rang with them, over and over, as if every hunting pack in Alba was coursing in the woods.

Archers with a clear lane of trees began to loose shafts.

Those without moved forward.

The horns went on and on.