Towbray spat, contemplatively, on the ground. “The Royal Standard,” he said.

“She has a babe on her breast.” Crowbeard paused. “Sweet Jesu, my lord earl. She’s foaled.”

Towbray nodded. “Just sit and watch, Kit,” he said.

The Queen rode down the hill until she was in easy bowshot of the Towbray men-at-arms, and then she rode along their front, attended by just one knight. She rode from near the village lane to well over by the Harndon militia.

While she made her ride, the Galles of the rearguard finally broke through the carts and the panicked routiers choking the main road and began to enter the field behind Towbray. Half a mile away, Towbray could see de Vrailly’s banner.

Some of his men-at-arms were kneeling.

Towbray chuckled. He watched her pass back, headed up the hill to the town on the crest.

A rider dressed in Du Corse’s livery reined in. “My lord earl?” he asked. “Monsieur Du Corse asks your support in assaulting the village. Peek-ton,” he said, pointing up the hill. “He orders that you cover this side of the lane, and he’ll go up his side.”

At the word orders, the earl frowned. But he thought a moment and nodded. “I agree.”

The courier bowed and rode away, picking his way as best he could along the ploughed ground.

“What orders, my lord?” Crowbeard asked.

Towbray made a little motion with his eyebrows, almost lost in his bascinet, but Crowbeard had known him his whole life. “Monsieur Du Corse orders me to—how was it phrased? Cover? This side of the lane.” He nodded. “Alban—such a difficult language. Do you think we could cover our side from the little rise just here?”

“You mean to leave Du Corse to his own devices and let him swing in the wind?” Crowbeard said.

Towbray made a clucking sound with his tongue. “I mean that on the one hand, Kit, the newborn King of Alba rode along our ranks and I doubt there’s five lads out there with any heart for this fight—eh? And on the other, that Gallish prick had the nerve to give me—me orders.”

“Might ha’ been any pretty wench wi’ some base-born bastard,” Crowbeard said, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Towbray shrugged. “Let’s go and cover the hill,” he said. He sent a messenger to order the Harndon militia to go forward to the base of the first swell.

Their dogged slowness made his men look positively eager for a fight.

Gabriel handed the pennon back to Foliak and slapped his armoured back with his own gauntlet. “I’d never have believed it,” he said. He looked at Ser Francis, who was watching the Harndon militia through the hedge.

“Some of them even cheered us,” said the Queen.

The captain dismounted. “Every jack of you on this hedge,” he shouted. “Get up and go to the other side of the lane. Move. Move!”