roughly north-south, with the manor at the northern end, and the road to Nottingham running alongside a stream down the centre of the valley. To the east of the valley was thick woodland, to the west, rose steep bare hills with an ancient track running along the top. Robin’s plan was simple: our infantry, about two hundred men-at-arms, and perhaps a third of our bowmen, say twenty-five archers, would form a line across the road about halfway up the valley. They would make a shield wall blocking the way. They were bait. Robin wanted Murdac to attack the outlaw infantry with his cavalry, and when he did, Robin’s men would form up into an impregnable hedgehog, a ring of sharp spears and shields that no horse would charge.
‘We think he can muster, in total, only about two hundred and fifty knights and mounted men-at-arms and about four hundred foot soldiers,’ Robin told us.
‘We’re still badly outnumbered,’ grumbled Little John. ‘We have, what? Four score bowmen; two hundred men-at-arms and only fifty cavalry: three hundred and thirty men against six hundred and fifty. God’s holy toenails, that’s odds of two to one.’
‘Their infantry are not good,’ said Robin confidently, ‘and we have, as you have pointed out, John, about eighty prime bowmen who can knock out a sparrow’s eye at a hundred paces. We’ll win; it will be a tough fight, but we’ll surely win.’ And he carried on with the briefing.
The bulk of the archers would be hidden in the woodland to the east. As the cavalry attacked the hedgehog, the archers would emerge from the wood and fire into the advancing conrois from their right flank, hopefully completely disrupting their charge and killing many men and horses. ‘You are to command the woodland archers, Thomas,’ Robin said. And the one-eyed man nodded. If the cavalry attacked the archers they could retreat into the wood and safety. Even if the cavalry reached the hedgehog largely intact, they would still not be able to break it, if it was well formed and well commanded. ‘That’s your job, John,’ said Robin, for which he received a sarcastic: ‘Thanks very much.’ As their cavalry tried vainly to break into the ring of shields and spears, our own mounted force, hidden just behind the crest of the hills to the west, would swoop down and destroy the enemy horsemen from behind. ‘That’s you, Hugh, don’t bring the horses down until they are committed to trying to break the hedgehog. Then come down and smash them. Understood?’ Hugh said nothing.
With Murdac’s mounted men in flight, Robin continued, our men would then combine and march on the ranks of their infantry. Seeing their defeated cavalry streaming back to the lines, followed by our victorious troops, they were likely to flee, and if not, they would be softened up by our archers emerging from the wood on the left before being charged by the combined outlaw infantry and cavalry.
I thought it was a brilliant plan. I could see it all in my mind’s eye. The bloody field, enemy horsemen fleeing for their lives, the feeble cries of the enemy wounded, myself victorious after the battle. . Hugh awoke me from my reverie. ‘That’s all very well, but what if Murdac’s cavalry doesn’t attack,’ he said, with an edge of irritation in his voice. He was very put out that his brother hadn’t included him in his plans for the rescue of Marie-Anne and had been sulking all day.
‘If he doesn’t attack, so be it. The shield wall slowly retreats, making its way back to the manor, then we settle down and wait. When Murdac brings his forces up to attack us in this well-fortified manor, we still have archers to his left rear, and our cavalry to his right rear. We have him between three fires. Any more questions?’
Nobody said anything and so Robin dismissed us to make the men ready. As the captains left to organise their men, Sir Richard said to Robin: ‘It’s time I was on my way.’
I was appalled; I had assumed that Sir Richard, that supreme warrior, that
‘I can’t persuade you to join us?’ Robin asked.
‘As I told you before, it’s not my fight,’ said Sir Richard. ‘Christians should not shed each other’s blood when we need every good fighting man in the Holy Land. In turn, I ask you again, can I not persuade you to take the Cross? To join me in this great mission to free Jerusalem from the infidel?’
‘It’s not my fight,’ said Robin. They smiled at each other and clasped hands. Then Robin turned away and I was left with Sir Richard. ‘Are you really going to leave us?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
He looked at me and said gravely: ‘I’m sorry, Alan, but I must ride south to join Queen Eleanor. She is travelling the land and taking homage from the barons of England on behalf of her son Richard. My brother knights of the Order and I are our future King’s trusted counsellors — we ride with the Queen as an escort, but also we hope to persuade many of England’s nobles to take part in the holy pilgrimage that Richard has sworn to undertake next year. I would like to help you but I am engaged in God’s work, far, far more important than the outcome of this brawl.’
‘But this is your family’s land. This was your father’s house. Will you not fight to protect it?’ I asked.
‘It is mine no longer,’ said Sir Richard. ‘Our Order demands a vow of poverty. When my father died, I made over this hall and these lands to the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon. This place belongs to God, now. He will protect it. And have no fear, Alan, my friend, God will keep you safe through this battle, too, I am sure of it.’ He smiled. ‘That is. . as long as. .’ he stopped again.
‘What?’ I asked. ‘God will keep me safe as long as. . as long as what?’ There was a note of desperation in my voice that I wasn’t proud of.
‘God will keep you safe. . as long as you remember to move your feet!’ And with a grin and a gentle cuff to my head, he strode away to the stables. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
God might well have been keeping me safe, but I made my own preparations for surviving the battle. I sharpened both my sword and my poniard on a whetstone; I mended a rent in my aketon and padded the inside of my helmet with scraps of wool for extra protection. Around me the men were making similar preparations. I saw with a twinge of unease that Marie-Anne was busy cutting linen sheets into long strips to make bandages and I wondered how many of us would need them the next day.
My job during the fight was to act as a messenger for Robin. He would be with the infantry and I was to ride out to his captains — bowmen and horse, on either flank — and deliver his orders. It was a dangerous job that would depend on the speed of my horse to evade capture and death at the hands of the enemy. So I went to the stables and, on Robin’s authority, I chose the best horse I could find for the job: a mettlesome grey gelding, young and feisty; in fact, the same horse I had ridden on the night of the rescue. I had found that I liked him, and he seemed to like me. I brushed him down myself until his grey coat gleamed, and made sure he was well fed that evening with a hot bran mash. Then I went up to the walkway that ran all the way round behind the palisade to watch the sun sinking over the hills to the west. There were a dozen fellows with me, idling, gossiping, spitting over the rampart into the moat, and, as we watched the great red orb slide down behind the bare hillside, a stir of movement rippled through the men on the ramparts. Somebody pointed and I looked due south to the end of the valley and saw horsemen; a line of mounted men trotting down the valley towards us. They looked to be too few, no more than four dozen men, perhaps a three score at most, and I felt my spirits lift. We had about the same numbers of cavalry. In that arm, at least, we were equal. Perhaps God was looking out for us after all. And then, to my left, there was a gasp and I looked again and saw, on the horizon in the gathering gloom, a skyline thick with black figures, hundreds and hundreds of them, horses and foot, wagons and pack animals. It was a proper army, a horde. That thin line of horsemen, I realised belatedly, stupidly, had just been the scouts. A mere skirmish line that was equal in numbers to our entire mounted force.
Sir Ralph Murdac had come to Linden Lea.
Chapter Seventeen
As the light fled from the valley of Linden Lea, Sir Ralph’s vast host settled itself for the night, spreading out over the fertile land like a pot of spilled ink. They set up camp a mile from the manor, their cooking fires making dozens of pinpricks of light, winking in the blackness like the myriad eyes of an enormous beast that was waiting to devour us.
Robin’s estimation of their strength had clearly missed the mark, or he had been misled; their numbers must have been at least three or four times our own. When I mentioned this to Little John, who had come to stand by me on the rampart in the dusk and survey the enemy host, he merely shrugged, and said: ‘So we’ll have to kill
