'Maybe we should have gone with him,' he said, a few minutes after his friend was lost to sight.
'Three of us would make four times the noise he will,' Halt said.
Horace frowned, not quite understanding the equation. 'Wouldn't three of us make three times the noise?'
Halt shook his head. 'Will and Tug will make hardly any noise. Neither will Abelard and I. But as for you and that moving earthquake you call a horse…' He gestured at Kicker and left the rest unsaid.
Horace was suitably offended at this slur on his faithful horse. He was very fond of Kicker.
'That's a little harsh, Halt!' he protested. 'In any case, it's not Kicker's fault. He's not trained to move quietly…' He tailed off, realising that he'd just reinforced the very point Halt was making. The Ranger caught his eye and inclined his head meaningfully. Sometimes, Horace thought, a simple look or a tilt of the head could convey more sarcasm than a torrent of words.
Halt, understanding the concern for Will that lay behind Horace's suggestion, decided he should reassure him. But not for a few minutes, he thought. He was enjoying pulling the warrior's leg again. It was like old times, he thought. Then he scowled. He was getting sentimental.
'Will knows what he's doing,' he told Horace. 'Don't worry about him.'
An hour later, Abelard suddenly raised his head and snorted. Then, a few seconds after that, Will and Tug slipped out of the mist once more, cantering towards them. Ranger horses were amazingly light-footed, Horace thought. Tug's hooves made only the slightest of noises on the soft ground.
Will reined in beside Halt.
'They've stopped,' he said. 'They're camped in the woods about two kilometres further along. They've eaten and most of them are sleeping now. They have pickets out, of course.'
Halt nodded thoughtfully. He glanced at the sun.
'They've been travelling hard all day,' he said. 'They're probably going to rest up for an hour or two before they attack. Did you see any sign of a farm further on?'
Will shook his head. 'I didn't go past them, Halt. I thought I'd better let you know what was happening first,' he said apologetically. Halt made a small hand gesture, dismissing the need for apology.
'No matter,' he said. 'There'll be a farm close by. That's what they'll be heading for. They'll attack in late afternoon, when the sun's almost down.'
'How can you be sure?' Horace asked. Halt turned to look at him.
'Standard procedure,' he said. 'They'll have enough light to attack, but the farmers won't be able to see them clearly. So they'll be surprised and confused. And once they've run off the cattle, the darkness will cover their tracks from any pursuit. They'll have the whole night to make their getaway.'
'That makes sense,' Horace observed.
'They've got it down to a fine art, believe me,' Halt told him. 'They've been practising for hundreds of years.'
'So what will we do, Halt?' Will asked.
The grey-bearded Ranger considered his answer for a few moments then said, speaking almost to himself, 'Can't pick them off from a distance in this wooded country, the way we did at Craikennis.' In Hibernia, he and Will had decimated an attack with their rapid, long-range shooting. 'And the last thing I want is to get tied down in a defensive fight with them.' He looked up at Will. 'How many did you count?'
'Seventeen,' the young Ranger replied promptly. It was one of the questions he knew Halt would want answered.
Halt stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'Seventeen. And chances are there'll be only three or four able-bodied men at the farm.'
'If we get inside the farm buildings, the three of us could hold them off easily enough,' Horace suggested.
Halt glanced at him, conceding the point. 'That's true, Horace. But if they're stubborn, and the Scotti tend to be that way, we could be tied up for a day or more. And all that time, Tennyson will be slipping further away. No,' he said, coming to a decision. 'I don't want to just hold them off. I want to send them packing.'
The two young men watched him expectantly, waiting to hear what he had in mind. After a short silence, he spoke.
'Let's bypass the Scotti camp and get in front of them. I want to see where they're heading. Can you lead us past them, Will?'
Will nodded and turned Tug around, heading into the trees again. Halt stopped him.
'Just a moment.' He turned in the saddle and rummaged in his saddle bags for a few moments, producing a folded garment in brown and grey. He passed it across to Horace. 'You might as well put this on, Horace. It'll help conceal you.'
Horace took the garment and shook it out, revealing a camouflage cloak similar to those worn by the Rangers.
'It might be a tight fit. It's a spare one of mine,' Halt explained.
Horace swung the cloak around him delightedly. Even though it was made for Halt's smaller frame, the Ranger cloaks were of such a capacious design that it fitted him reasonably well. It would be far too short, of course, but on horseback that didn't matter too much.
'I've always wanted one of these,' Horace said, grinning at the cloak. He pulled the deep cowl up over his head, hiding his face in its shadows, and gathered the grey-brown folds around him.
'Can you still see me?' he asked. Thirteen They swung in a wide arc to skirt around the Scotti camp. Then, when Will judged they were well clear of it, they returned to their original path. The trees began to thin out for the last few hundred metres, until they rode into a small cleared field. There was a farmhouse and a larger barn on the far side, nestled into a thicker grove of trees. Smoke rose in a thin wisp from the farmhouse chimney.
Between the house and the barn was a fenced-off enclosure where they could see dark brown shapes moving slowly.
'That's what they came for,' Halt said. 'Cattle. There must be twenty or more in that paddock.'
Horace sniffed the pleasant smell of wood smoke from the chimney. 'Hope they're cooking something,' he said. 'I'm starved.'
'Who said that?' Will asked, feigning surprise and looking around in all directions. Then he pretended to relax. 'Oh, it's only you, Horace. I didn't see you there in that cloak.'
Horace favoured him with a long-suffering look. 'Will, if it wasn't funny the first half-dozen times you said it, why do you think it would be funny now?'
And to Will's chagrin, Halt gave a short bark of laughter at Horace's question. Then he was all business again. 'Where is everybody?'
At this time of day – in the midafternoon – they would expect to see people working around the farm yard. But there was nobody in sight.
'Maybe they're napping,' Horace suggested. Halt glanced sidelong at him.
'Farmers don't nap,' he said. 'Knights nap.'
'That's where we get the expression "a good knight's sleep",' Will said, smiling at his own wit. Halt turned a baleful eye on him.
'Horace is right. You're not funny. Come on.'
He led the way across the small field. Horace noted that both his companions now had their longbows unslung and resting across their saddle bows. And the flaps in their cloaks that protected their quivers from damp weather were folded back. He touched his right hand to his sword hilt. For a moment, he considered unslinging his round shield from where it hung behind him, on the left side of the saddle. Then he shrugged. They were nearly at the house now.
The thatch roof slanted down to form a shallow porch along the side of the house that faced them. Halt drew rein and leaned down in the saddle to peer under the edge of the roof.
'Hullo the house,' he called experimentally. But there was no reply.
He looked round at his companions and signalled for them to dismount. Normally, a rider arriving at a farmhouse wouldn't do this without invitation but it seemed there would be none forthcoming.