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Thomas to see what badge they bore. One carried a small banner, red against the green and yellow of the trees.
    ‘Le Champ d’Alexandre,’ Sir Reginald said and, when Thomas looked at him quizzically, he pointed to the flat-topped western hill. ‘That’s what the local folk call it, Alexander’s Field, and my guess is that those bastards are exploring the whole damned hill.’ The Frenchmen, they had to be French if they were on that western slope, were well out of bowshot. Thomas wondered if they had even seen the archers, who were in the shadow of the willows growing close to the ford. ‘I didn’t want to bring a score of men,’ Sir Reginald said, ‘because I don’t want the bastards to think we’re interested in the ford. And I certainly don’t want the goddam bastards to see our wagons.’ Those wagons were parked on the Miosson’s northern bank, hidden from le Champ d’Alexandre by trees and by the high shoulder of the hill on which the forest of Nouaillé grew and where the prince had formed his line of battle. Sir Reginald frowned as he watched the Frenchmen who, in turn, gazed back at the two horsemen in the river. ‘It might be a truce,’ Sir Reginald went on, ‘but they still could be tempted by us.’
    The Frenchmen were indeed tempted. Their job was to probe the English position and, as far as they could see, the two horsemen were a long way from the rest of the prince’s troops and so they spurred forward, not charging, just coming slowly and deliberately towards the river. ‘They want to have a chat with us,’ Sir Reginald said sourly. ‘How good are your archers?’
    ‘As good as any.’
    ‘Boys! Have some target practice! Kill some trees, all right? Don’t aim at the men or horses, just frighten the bastards away.’
    The French had divided into two files, which were now coming faster down the hill, picking their way through the thick trees as the riders ducked under branches. Sam shot the first arrow. The fledging flickered white against the leaves, then buried itself in the trunk of an oak. Five more arrows followed. One struck a branch and tumbled, the others slammed hard into bark, and the closest was no more than two paces from a French horseman.
    Who abruptly curbed his horse.
    ‘Another shot each!’ Sir Reginald called. ‘Just a few paces short of them, boys. Let them know you’re here and you’re hungry!’
    The bows shot again, the arrows flew to thud into trees with appalling force and the Frenchmen turned away. One waved genially towards Sir Reginald, who waved back. ‘Thank God for archers,’ he said. He watched the Frenchmen push back up the hill until they were out of sight.
    ‘Sam,’ Thomas called, ‘fetch the arrows back.’ He had resupplied his men with arrows from the prince’s baggage train, but there were never enough.
    ‘I want you to stay here,’ Sir Reginald said. ‘All night. I’ll send the rest of your men down to join you. Do you have a trumpeter?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘I’ll send one. Stay here, and sound the alarm if the French come back in force. But keep them away if they do come. If they see the wagons close to the ford they’ll guess what we’re doing.’
    ‘Retreating?’ Thomas asked.
    Sir Reginald shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ He frowned and gazed blankly northwards as if trying to gauge what the enemy might do. ‘The prince thinks we should keep marching. He’s given orders that tomorrow morning, first thing, we cross the river and march south as if the devil himself was at our heels. A French attack would stop that, of course, but my guess is they won’t attack at first light. They’ll need at least two hours to draw their army up, and I want the wagons gone before they even know we were here, and then the rest of the army can slip over the river and steal a day’s march.’ He kicked his horse out of the ford, back onto the track that crossed the marsh. ‘But who knows what those goddamned churchmen are proposing? If we could have joined Lancaster …’ He let that thought trail away.
    ‘Lancaster?’
    ‘The idea was to join the Earl of Lancaster and make havoc in northern France, but we couldn’t cross the Loire. And nothing’s gone right since then, and now we’re trying to get back to Gascony without the bloody French killing us. So stay here till dawn!’
    To help an army escape.
     
    The Captal de Buch took twenty men-at-arms northwards. They rode past the Earl of Salisbury’s men who guarded the northern