Still, thought Taybard, as he sat beside his fire, with winter coming they would be billeted in some barracks somewhere, safe from shot and shell. It wouldn’t be so bad.
And maybe – just maybe – the Grey Ghost would take them home.
The fire grew, licking at the dry wood. Taybard shivered as the heat flowed over him. The sky was dark now, with not a star shining. A powerful, round-shouldered figure loomed out of the shadows and slumped down by the fire. Taybard glanced up at the bearded face of Kammel Bard. ‘Covenanters pulled back,’ said Kammel. ‘So I guess we won, after all. Any food?’ he asked, leaning his rifle against a tent rope.
‘Not yet. Where’s Banny?’
‘Lanfer sent him to guide the supply wagons in. Be more snow tonight, I reckon.’
‘I don’t think we won,’ said Taybard. ‘I don’t think anyone won this time.’
Kammel pushed back the chunky woollen hood he wore and scratched at his thick, red hair. ‘Well, we didn’t pull back, did we?’
Taybard shrugged. ‘How would I know? They say the battle stretched over nine miles. Some might have pulled back, I guess. Anyway, who decides?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, who decides who has won or lost? It’s not like Avondale any more. That was easy. We charged. They ran. We captured their cannon. Now that was a victory. Now we just charge each other, kill each other, and argue about who won.’
Other men began drifting into the camp, and from somewhere to the west came the smell of stew. The smell would be better than the taste, Taybard knew. Stale bread and a watery broth that would do little to dull the appetite. The fire began to hiss and splutter as sleet fell. Kammel pulled his hood back in place. Taybard stood and placed Kammel’s rifle inside the tent. ‘Did you get into the village?’ he asked.
Kammel shook his head. ‘Redeemers was there, questioning and such. No-one was allowed in. Doubt they had much food there, though. Covenanters would have taken most of it when they pulled out.’
The two men sat in silence for a while, ignoring the sleet, and enjoying what warmth they could absorb from the fire.
‘You ever think back to old Jaim Grymauch?’ asked Kammel, suddenly.
‘Aye, often,’ admitted Taybard. He glanced at his friend. ‘You didn’t like him.’
‘I never said that.’
‘He was a highlander. You always hated highlanders. Don’t you remember? We once had a row because I said your grandmother was a clanswoman, and you called me a liar.’
‘Well, I was younger then,’ said Kammel defensively. ‘But I always liked old Jaim. You remember that day, eh? Never seen the like. Knocked ’em all down, and cut Maev Ring from the fire.’ Kammel swung round to stare across the camp. ‘Damn, but I’m hungry,’ he said.
‘Won’t be ready yet.’
‘No, but they’re already standing in line.’
‘Let’s wait for Banny. He shouldn’t be long.’
Once more the silence descended. Taybard stared into the fire, thinking back to the day when Jaim Grymauch halted the execution of Maev Ring. It was something he would never forget. One lone highlander, surrendering his life to save the woman he loved. Jaim was a colossus that day, huge and seemingly invulnerable. He had scattered the guards, then drawn his massive sword and despatched three Knights of the Sacrifice. He had made it, with Maev, to the top of the cathedral steps. That was when the musketeers arrived. Taybard had run from the crowd, hurling himself at them, managing to ruin the aim of the nearest man. As the other musketeers fired Jaim had dragged Maev into a protective embrace. Lead shot ripped into him.
The death of a hero. Taybard would never forget it – even amid the sea of death that was this dreadful war.
‘Here he comes,’ said Kammel, pushing himself to his feet.
Taybard saw the slim figure of Banny Achbain striding through the camp. He approached the fire, crouched down and warmed his hands.
‘You won’t believe it,’ he said.
‘What?’ asked Kammel.
They say Lord Person has challenged the Grey Ghost to a duel. They’re going to fight tomorrow.’