Putting the thought out of his mind, he stood quickly and went to help with the horses. As he walked past, a few of the men looked up; some grunted, grinning, but most simply nodded at him. By the time he had found and saddled his own horse most of the men were up and moving. Black and Tanner appeared, talking quietly, coming towards him from out of the gloom, and they stopped when they came close.
“John here thinks we can ride straight into the camp,” said Tanner. “It’s enough of a natural stockade to keep them in when we enter, and hopefully, if we be quick, we can get in and catch them before they know what’s happening.”
“Yes, we should be able to. There only seems to be the one entrance, like a gate it is, in the south side.”
“So we’ll have to ride round their camp?” asked Simon. “Won’t they hear us?”
“No,” said Black. “The ground is soft all over there, if we go slowly we should be safe.”
Simon looked from one to the other. “Should we ride in? Why not leave the horses outside and rush in on foot? There may not be space to ride inside their camp, they may be able to pull us off the horses. Wouldn’t it be safer to rush them on foot?”
They looked at each other, then Tanner nodded. “Yes. Alright, but I think we ought to keep some of our men on horses outside, so that they can ride in if things go badly for us.” Simon agreed, finished tightening his saddle, and swung up onto the horse.
When Black and Tanner were also mounted they rode to the middle of the camp and Tanner explained what he wanted the men to do. He had brought five men with him, the remains of the original posse hunting the abbot’s killer, and Simon and Black had brought seventeen, so all told they were twenty-one now, after losing three at the scene of the travellers’ murder and another one to take back the young girl’s body.
As they all grouped, Tanner explained his plan. He wanted sixteen men to enter the camp and the remaining five to stay with the horses – if the fight went against them, these men could come in on horseback as a reserve and work as cavalry, knocking the trail bastons to the ground so that they could be bound. They wanted to catch as many as possible, he said. No matter what the posse thought of them, they deserved a trial. His voice was stern and hard as he spoke, as if he too did not care too much for their lives, as if he wanted to be able to kill them all, but he stuck to the plan they had agreed. He allocated the men to their places while they were all mounted and led them south to the trail. Here Fasten moved up to join him and they led the way along the trail together.
Even in the pitch darkness, Simon could see that the ground was open here. Now and then he could just make out the stunted shape of a tortured tree standing on the skyline, looking like the fossilised skeleton of an ancient creature as it stood on the wind-swept moor, but for the most part there was nothing to see, nothing but the continual sweep of the plains as they rose softly to the hills.
The two men in the lead rode at some distance apart, with the main group following in a bunch. There was no talking now, all the men were wound taut, their nerves on edge as they listened for the slightest sound over the creaking of leather and the metallic tinkle of harness. Occasionally there was a louder noise as someone knocked a weapon against another, swiftly followed by a curse, but apart from this they made no noise as they passed.
They moved down the side of the hill where they had made camp, then followed a brook that wound gently between the hills, the riders keeping their mounts from the water to prevent any noise, making sure their horses kept to the soft earth at the banks. It was ghostly here, with a vague grey glow just beginning to light the horizon to the east. There was no sound to distract the men, no screech of an owl or yap of a fox, just the muted gurgle of the stream and the squeak and jingle of the harnesses.
When they had gone just beyond the curve of a hill, Black turned his horse, leaving Fasten standing still out in front, and cantered back to the main body.
“We’re only half a mile from the camp now, it’s at the top of that hill. Leave your horses here, we’ll go ahead on foot.”
Slowly the men dismounted and handed their reins to the men who would hold the horses, then Tanner drew his sword and showed his teeth in a snarl of animal delight. “Come on, then.”
Chapter Eighteen
Black led them all up the hill, moving slowly and carefully in the faint luminosity of the brightening dawn, his sword a faint grey glimmer against the darker colours around.
Simon felt lightheaded and his chest seemed tight as he toiled slowly behind the hunter. He had a kind of nervous, almost fearful, trepidation at the thought of the fight to come, but step by step he found that it was becoming smothered by his anger and disgust at what these men had done, killing and raping in his shire. He gritted his teeth and carried on. His stomach felt empty, his muscles frozen, and his nerves were all on edge at the thought of fighting, but he slowly became aware of a gleeful expectancy. After all, these men would hardly surrender without a fight, they were trail bastons; they would know that after a trial all they could expect would be the noose. They must fight to the death, expecting no quarter, if they were given the chance. The posse must make sure they had no chance.
They slowly walked on, and then, when they were halfway up the hill, Black held out his hand stiffly in warning and the men all froze into immobility. Simon felt his bowels turn to water as he looked up the hill and saw a figure standing up, high above them, near a tree. If he saw the posse, he could give the alarm – they would lose the chance of surprising the outlaws. The figure seemed to be stationary for a while, then turned and disappeared, and Simon realised with a quick breath of relief that he must have been urinating. The hand slowly drifted away and they moved off again, their tension and excitement growing with every step.
There was a gully here, a steep-sided cleft in the hillside, with a small trickle of water at the bottom, and Black led them up it. The sides appeared almost to be cliffs, tall and grey, looming up on either side, with a slight, lighter greyness above them where the sky hurried towards dawn. They moved slowly and cautiously, trying to avoid the rocks that lay strewn all around as if intentionally placed to catch an unwary blade and give warning, pausing every now arid then to listen before continuing.
It was a miserable journey, one that Simon would never forget. They clambered over rocks and mud, trying to keep out of the water, trying to keep their weapons from knocking against the stone of the walls, walking hunched to prevent their being seen, but trying to move quickly so that they could get to the camp before dawn broke and maintain the surprise of their attack. Simon found his mind wandering as though it wanted to avoid thinking about the skirmish ahead, as though it wanted to ignore the danger they were walking into, and by ignoring it make it disappear. He found himself thinking about Lydford and his new role, thinking about his wife and daughter and how they would enjoy the life at the castle deep in the moors.
But then, with a feeling of near relief, he saw the hand come up again and realised that they were almost at the top of the gully. Up ahead he could see the lighter grey of the sky, outlining the top of the hill itself. Simon frowned as he peered ahead. He could see no sign of the trail bastons, no smoke from a fire, no movement. There seemed to be no one near, only the posse itself, and the only sounds he could hear were the heavy breathing of the men behind him and the blood hammering in his ears.
Black moved off softly and disappeared, a darker smudge against the horizon for an instant, then gone. Simon and the men stayed where they were and waited. It seemed like an hour before the hunter came back, but it could only have been a few minutes, and as he stood at the top of the gully he seemed to pause before waving them on.