‘All right, this is it, boys,’ he says. ‘This is it. We won’t have time to cut stakes so we’ll have to shoot quick and accurate and pray they don’t catch us in the open.’

Thomas checks his bow, his arrows, his blade. He presses the helmet down on to his head and all sounds are muffled. He wishes he had found a buckler like the other men. He glances at Katherine, still unsettled by what happened between them on the beach. He had not meant anything by trying to hold her, only that . . . What? He shakes his head.

She is tying Richard’s horse’s reins to the bough of a tree. Yet he must say something. If he is going into battle and is killed – well, she must know what he meant and what he didn’t mean. She turns and catches his gaze. He almost glances away, ashamed, but she hurries to him.

‘Thomas,’ she begins. ‘Listen to me—’

‘I’m sorry,’ he interrupts. ‘For earlier.’

Katherine waves it away. It is as if she has already forgotten it.

‘It’s not about that,’ she says. ‘Look. I’ve been watching the men in the butts. I’ve seen how you shoot. You form a pattern, like a block, don’t you? And then loose your arrows.’

Thomas nods. It is exactly as she imagines.

‘So?’ he asks.

‘So if you come up behind the horsemen, when you shoot at them they’ll ride out of range, won’t they? Or they’ll turn and ride you down. They’ll still be able to attack the garrison troops. But if you cross the marsh and follow the dyke there’ – she steps up to the brow of the hill and points to a length of earthwork that runs beside the road – ‘you might get alongside the horsemen as they charge the garrison. That way you’ll get each and every one of them. That way Riven will not get away.’

Thomas sees what she means. The road along which the horsemen will ride is bracketed on one side by a steep dyke that holds back the marsh and the cesspit. If they can cross the marsh they might reach the dyke and from there they can cut the horsemen off before they reach Newnham.

‘Tell Richard, will you?’ she asks.

Thomas nods and sets off after the archers as they hurry down the slope. All chatter has stopped now. Faces are pale. Hands keep moving from bow to string to arrow bag to crown of helmeted head as each man checks his equipment over and over again. They run down the sandy lane until it bottoms out and then rises again between two muddy furlongs where onions grow. Here they pause so that Walter can sight the horsemen. Thomas crouches next to Richard.

‘Godspeed, Thomas,’ Richard says, fiddling with his visor. ‘Remember our practice and we shall come through this with our smiles in place.’