“What do you think of,” the king asked, “at a time like this?”
Gill snapped out of his musing. “Now? I wonder how the battle will play out. Once upon a time, I thought of my family. It’s different for every man.”
The king nodded thoughtfully. “Why do they wait?” He nodded toward the opposing force.
“There’s no way to know. They might be having second thoughts. Your cousins might not be as confident in their men’s resolve as they made out. They might be trying to come up with an alternative, or merely taking a little time to let their breakfasts settle.”
“You think they might be considering surrender?”
Gill wanted to laugh, but recognised that the king was serious. “I doubt that. What with all that’s … happened to you, I reckon they see too good an opportunity here. They’ll come at us as soon as they’ve built up the nerve.”
“This waiting is…” the king said.
“Always the hardest part,” Gill said. “When things get started, it’s almost easier. There’s nothing to do then but fight for all you’re worth.”
As though they had heard him, the enemy started to move toward the village. It was difficult to tell from that distance how well they moved as a unit—they were still little more than a dark row of figures on a green field. The sound of marching and rattling weapons gradually grew to fill the air. It was an ominous sound all by itself. When you realised it was the sound of men coming to try and kill you, it was terrifying. Considering how many times he had heard it, and the effect it was having on him, he pitied the men who were confronting it for the first time. They had nothing to guide them but their imaginations, which were undoubtedly multiplying their fear of the unknown.
“I suppose we should be grateful they don’t have any siege equipment,” the king said.
Gill nodded. “It certainly wouldn’t have made life any easier for us. We’ll have troubles aplenty as it is.” He didn’t know much about the king’s cousins. As with all senior aristocrats, they were Academy graduates, but being an Academy graduate didn’t say a whole lot. They would have had the same military education and training as all others who graduated as bannerets, but a man who knows land and titles await him tends to be less diligent than one who knows that the lessons he’s learning might save his life one day. One way or the other, he’d find out soon enough.
A crossbow bolt shot out from the pickets, followed by a shout to hold fire. Gill couldn’t see where the shot had landed, but knew the enemy were still too far away for it to have hit one of them. Nerves were building; he hoped Savin’s officers were up to the task of keeping their men under control until the action started.
“Sire, it might be best for us to return to the belfry to observe. You’ll be able to command far more effectively if you can see everything that’s going on.”
“I want the men to be able to see me,” the king said.
It was a noble intention, but not one that served them best. “There’ll be a time for that,” Gill said. “Until the enemy are fully engaged, or as much as makes no difference, it’s best if you can see what they’re up to.”
Boudain nodded slowly, as though he was unconvinced, and thought it was cowardly to retreat to the comparative safety of the belfry. After a moment, Gill cleared his throat, and finally the king moved off. Gill followed.
Savin and a collection of runners also crowded into the small room at the top of the belfry, spilling onto the steps that led to the ground. When Guillot looked out, he saw that the enemy army had halted again. Skirmishers advanced from their line; an archer stepped forward and fired a ranging shot. As soon as it landed—mere paces from the pickets—a hundred or so of his colleagues rushed forward and fired the first salvo.
Gill wanted to shout at the men below to take cover, but they could all see what was happening, and it was their officers’ responsibility anyway. He heard the orders and saw the men react. Thankfully, most of the arrows thudded into the picket or overshot and hit nothing but dirt. There were only one or two cries of pain, but Guillot knew there would be far more before the day was out.
The attack had come on the part of the picket wall that Gill had designated as “Sector B.” It faced the approaching enemy, so it seemed the most likely point of attack. If the king’s cousins focussed their attack here, then Gill could pull men away from other sections, keeping his reserve intact, ready to react to any change in circumstances.
“Do we just wait for them to dictate how it all unfolds?” the king said.
“Pretty much. That’s the curse of defending a position. We’ll start making life difficult for them soon enough. The captains on the picket will have their bowmen start to fire as soon as it’ll be effective. They’ll shoot down any of the skirmishers that get too close, but for now, we don’t want your cousins to know how many bows we have.”
“I’m not going to lie, Villerauvais,” the king said. “I’m going out of my mind. How can you stand still and watch this?”
Gill shrugged. “Best to enjoy it as long as you can, Sire.”
The king returned his gaze to the skirmishers, who were withdrawing once again, having completed their probing of the pickets while leaving only a handful of bodies lying on the grass. The captains had done as instructed, and their true number of bowmen would remain a surprise until the main force approached.
As soon as the skirmishers got back to their lines, the enemy archers began a consistent barrage. A moment later, the army moved forward. Gill had wondered if they would split their forces and attack two parts of the picket, but it didn’t look like that was their plan. Gill wondered if the cousins were unwilling to share command.
He cast a glance at Savin, wondering if the loyal cousin was regretting having remained on this side of the picket. It was a big gamble for him. If they successfully fended off the attackers, Savin’s fidelity would bring him riches and titles that would make him one of the most powerful magnates in the land. If not? He had passed up the opportunity to be king. When he spotted Gill staring at him, he raised an eyebrow, quizzically. Gill gave him a wry smile before returning his attention to the advancing army. No matter how the day went, Savin would probably feel like a loser. It made Gill glad he wasn’t still trying to climb the slippery pole of court politics and position.
Volley after volley of arrows fell, peppering the ground, the picket, and any unfortunate whose effort to take shelter wasn’t good enough. Under this cover, the enemy force advanced. Gill knew it was a sound tactic, so long as their commander remembered to cease fire before his troops marched into the kill zone. As soon as the rain of enemy arrows stopped falling, their own bowmen would be free to unleash a barrage of their own.
The air was filled with the sound of marching, the whistling of arrows, the thud of impacts, and occasional screams. Then the arrows stopped. It took the defenders a moment to react to the change, first with hesitant looks over the top by the officers, then with commands to return fire. Gill felt oddly disconnected from it all, up in the belfry. He couldn’t claim that he would rather have been down with the troops manning the pickets, but all the same, he didn’t like being stuck in the bell tower, observing. It was the best place to command from, and it seemed that was the role the king most needed him to fulfill.
The approaching line opened up in several spots along its length, to allow small groups of men carrying wooden ladders to approach the fortifications. The invading army let out a roar and surged after them. Gill felt his heart quicken. The foreplay was over and the main event had begun. He held his breath as the cousins’ army reached the picket—a bodged-together mix of quickly constructed palisades, overturned carts, and furniture; suddenly it looked far less imposing than it had only moments before. The first charge was a critical moment. It could all end in that one blink of the eye—this was when the attackers were at their most motivated, and the defenders most likely to decide running for the back wall was their best chance of surviving.