Since the Duke of Somerset had taken Guisnes Castle the year before, he’d been cut off from supplies. He’d promised the garrison prompt payment of their wages just as soon as a relief force came from England, but when that fleet reached the coast of France, the wind had turned and the fleet had drifted helplessly into Calais harbour where its supplies had been snapped up by the grateful Earl of Warwick. Warwick had then lined up every man of the relief force and those he recognised as having switched sides with Andrew Trollope the year before at Ludford, he hanged on the quayside.

Another force was fitted out back in England, but that too was captured, this time in a dawn raid while it was still moored in the harbour at Sandwich. Warwick’s men caught the admiral in bed, and brought him back to Calais as a prisoner along with some others the Earl had enjoyed mocking at the dinner board.

Since then Somerset’s men have lived hand to mouth, scavenging, bartering their futures and begging off the local population.

Now here they are, though, positioned across the road just beyond Newnham, ready to make a fight of it. Thomas watches as a detachment of soldiers breaks ranks and runs forward into the town.

‘Here we go,’ Walter mutters.

A moment later a plume of pale smoke spews from a straw roof, then another, then another.

‘Trying to draw the garrison out,’ Walter says.

If this is their plan it is working. The Newnham garrison in their red livery are now crossing the bridge to take up position along the town road west of the bridge. Thomas can even make out the garrison captain and the sergeants shouting at the men, keeping order. They watch in silence for a moment, impressed by the display. Three men on horseback ride the line, scanning the houses ahead for any sign of the enemy.

‘That’s it,’ Richard says suddenly. ‘Where are his horse? Why hasn’t Somerset brought his prickers? His scurriers? His scouts? Where are they?’

Walter nods.

‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘Don’t tell me the nobs walked all that way?’

‘Can you see any?’

‘Where’s Kit? He has the best eyes. Come up here, boy.’

Katherine hurries forward, pushing past Thomas. She still has no helmet for none would fit so small a head, even with a woollen cap beneath, nor any sword.

‘Can you see any horsemen among them?’ Richard asks.

There is a pause while Katherine scans Somerset’s army. The men gather around, staring through the trees.

‘None,’ she says.

‘Not even the banner-carriers?’ Richard asks.

Katherine shakes her head.

‘And if there are none on the field . . .’ Richard begins.

‘Then where are they?’ Walter finishes.