Gemmell, David – Morningstar

There were three thousand seven hundred foot-soldiers at the centre, Brackban standing in the fourth rank of seven with a standard-bearer beside him. The standard had been made by

Astiana; it was a simple piece, black linen upon which she had embroided a star of silver thread. Brackban was garbed for war in the black, enchanted armour, a raven-winged helm upon his blond head. Almost one thousand of our front-line troops wore breast­plates and carried round, iron-rimmed wooden shields. Most of them and around half of the others also sported helms of baked leather, some reinforced by bronze. But there were still many men who had no armour.

But Brackban was a popular man and the troops gathered around him, ready to fight and die for their homeland.

He had listened in silence as I told him of Mace’s quest – of his journey into the past. He did not, I think, believe me. And even if he did, it meant little to him. For all he took from the tale was that Mace had gone.

‘What now, Owen?’ he had asked me.

‘Prepare for battle. The Morningstar will return.’You seem confident.’I am.’Wulf does not agree with you.’He does not know all that I know. Have faith, Brackban. Tell the men that the Morningstar will be with them on the day of battle. Tell them he will come in glory, his armour gold and riding upon a huge white stallion. Tell them that.’I do not want to lie to them.’It is no lie.’To the left of the battlefield was Raul Raubert, with three hundred Angostin knights. These were men who had survived the first invasion, some by hiding, others by running. I was not inspired by them, but Raul was leading them and his courage was without question. His role was to deflect the enemy cavalry, hold them back if he could.

But all the reports suggested that Edmund’s force had more than four thousand heavily-armoured knights. Three hundred would not hold them for long.

Wulf had stationed himself on the right with the Men of the Morningstar, the archers and woodsmen. Eight hundred of these stood ready, their arrows thrust in the earth beside them, an indication for all that they were not prepared to run. Here were their weapons. Here they would stand.

It was noon before Edmund appeared, his column of knights riding along the crest of the hills in a glittering display of martial power. Behind them came the foot-soldiers, marching in ranks, disciplined and calm, every man clad in breastplate and greaves, carrying square iron shields emblazoned with dragons, leopards or griffins. The King himself could be clearly seen: his armour was polished like silver and he rode a tall horse, black as jet, its head and chest armoured with chain-mail and plate.

Slowly the infantry filed out to stand in ranks opposite us, about a quarter of a mile distant.

My fears began then in earnest, and I felt the weight of the unaccustomed sword that was belted to my side and the chain-mail shirt I wore. Beside me Piercollo waited grimly, a long-handled axe in his hands.

‘There are rather a lot of them,’ I observed, trying to keep my voice calm.

‘Many,’ he agreed.

The infantry alone outnumbered us by at least three – possibly four – to one. Eight to ten thousand men, battle-hardened and accustomed to victory.

I wondered how the battle would start. For here we were, all of us in a summer meadow, standing silently staring at one another. It seemed so unlikely that we were all about to be embroiled in a bloody fight to the death.

A herald rode from the Angostin camp, galloping his horse to within twenty paces of our centre. There was no breeze to speak of, and the herald’s words carried to every man in the front ranks.

‘The Lord of the Land demands that you lay down your weapons. He further insists that the rebel leaders Jarek Mace, Brackban and Owen Odell are to be detained and delivered to him. Failure to comply with these orders will result in the extermination of every man who holds arms against the King. You have one hour to make your decisions. If the men named are brought before the Lord Edmund within that time, no action will be taken against you.’Tugging on the reins, the rider galloped back to the Angostin lines, leaving a silent army behind him.

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