In truth I was relying on a certain amount of good fortune that night. The fires had to be great enough in size and in number that they would be considered worthy of attention, but not so great as to invite their entire host upon us. A band of ten to thirty men we could probably fight, but more than that and we would be fortunate to escape with our lives. And therein lay the problem. If the rebels had any sense, they’d realise we wouldn’t be so foolish as to place a camp in clear sight of their own stronghold. They would suspect that something was amiss and so either ignore us entirely or else send so many men that we would stand no chance against them. The longer we crouched in silence in the damp undergrowth, watching the pyres flare as the wind gusted, the more such doubts crept into my mind. Much as I tried to remain patient, it was hard, for as soon as it was light, our plan would be revealed. The moment the first grey glimmer appeared in the eastern sky, we would have to leave, or else risk becoming trapped. The nights were growing longer these days as summer faded into autumn, but even so, by my reckoning, we had only a couple of hours until dawn. A couple of hours for the enemy to show themselves.
Tiredness pricked at my eyes like a thousand tiny pins. It seemed as if a week must have passed since we had left Cantebrigia, since we had met Hereward’s band by the edge of the fen, and yet it was only earlier that day. How long we must have waited there I do not know, but it felt like an age. Dawn crept ever nearer and I kept glancing towards the east, at the same time praying for night to keep the earth in its grip a little longer and for day to be delayed. Bowing my head, I closed my eyes, listening to the rising wind as it rustled the leaves above my head, feeling its touch upon my cheek as silently I implored the saints to bring us luck tonight. As if in answer there came the call of a moorhen, and I looked up to find the cloud clearing from the sky and the moon and stars emerging, casting their wan light upon the marsh-mist and the channel that separated the two islands.
Where, at last, I saw the unmistakable glint of steel. A spearpoint, most likely. No sooner had it appeared than it was gone again, but it was enough to know that the enemy were on the march.
‘Make sure your men are ready with their bows,’ I whispered to Hamo, who was beside me. ‘Let fly as soon as I give the signal.’
‘They’ll be ready,’ he retorted. ‘Have no fear about that. Just make sure that your men do their part.’
I didn’t care for his tone, but this was no time for us to argue. As much as we disliked each other, I needed him and he needed me. I was relying on his archers and their bows, since without them this ambush would not work, but equally it was in Hamo’s interest to help us, since if we died then there would be nobody left to pay him for his services tonight.
‘After you’ve weakened the enemy, I’ll lead the charge,’ I said. ‘You and your men will follow behind us. Do you understand?’
I spoke slowly so that he did not mistake my words, addressing him as one might a child, and like a child he scowled. ‘Yes, lord.’
I narrowed my eyes but said nothing more as I left him and his men to string their bows while I made my way along our line. I found Baudri crouching behind a fallen tree just a few paces from the edge of the copse, within clear sight both of the campfires and of the channel.
‘Do you see them?’ I asked. I could discern nothing amidst the night’s shadows, but his eyes were better than mine.
‘I see them.’ He squinted into the gloom. ‘Two dozen of them, by my reckoning. Possibly more than that; it’s hard to tell.’
‘Four of them to every three of us, then,’ put in Wace, who had been listening.
Two dozen. More than I would have liked to face, although it was about what I’d been expecting.
‘We’ve faced far worse odds before, and still we live,’ Wace pointed out, possibly sensing my anxiety.
He was right, of course, although we’d rarely done so out of choice; usually when the only alternative was certain slaughter. Wace knew as well as I did that this was a battle we didn’t have to fight. If we threw ourselves into this fray, then good men might lose their lives who did not deserve to. Enough people had died because of me in recent years, and I didn’t want to add to that tally if I could help it. We still had time to return to our boats and leave with our sword-edges unbloodied and ourselves unscratched; all I had to do was give the word. But then I’d have shown myself for a craven in front of not just my friends and my own oath-sworn hearth-knights, but also Hamo, who would quietly rejoice in my failure and, no doubt, make sure that all the other mercenary captains heard tell of it the moment we arrived back in camp.
‘What do you want to do?’ Wace asked, no doubt sensing my hesitation and perhaps some of the thoughts running through my mind.
Wace was more even-tempered and less hasty than either myself or Eudo, and I could always rely on him to give me sound advice. If he had any misgivings about our plan, or considered it a risk not worth taking, he would tell me. I trusted his judgement, and he trusted mine.
He and his knights were looking at me, waiting for my instruction. I felt the weight of expectation upon my shoulders. But we could hardly retreat now. Not after we’d come so far. I would not flee from this fight as I’d fled from Hereward.
‘We keep to the plan,’ I said. ‘But remember that the quicker we do this, the better. We’re stronger in numbers than we are if each man fights alone, so stay close to one another. That way we’re all more likely to make it through this with our heads still attached to our shoulders. I don’t want to be dragging anyone’s corpse back with me to Brandune.’
‘Nor I,’ Wace added. ‘So listen carefully, and heed what he says.’
The wind gusted suddenly, rustling the branches above our heads, and from somewhere out in the darkness came the piercing kew-wick of an owl. Otherwise all was quiet.