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devil.’
    ‘Even the devil doesn’t fight like a Gascon, sire.’
    The prince laughed.
    He smelt victory.

Sixteen
     
    Roland de Verrec had spent the battle on horseback. He would have felt uncomfortable fighting on foot, not because he had no skills at such combat, but because he had no close friends in the battle line. Men fought in pairs or in groups, united by kinship or friendship, and sworn to each other’s defence. Roland de Verrec had no kin in this army, and his friendships were tenuous, and besides, he wanted to find his enemy. When the French had first burst through the gaps in the hedge to drive the English line backwards, Roland had searched the banners for the green horse of Labrouillade and had not seen it. So he had stood his destrier close to the Prince of Wales, though not so close that he would be noticed, and he had gazed through the hedge’s widest gap trying to find the green horse among the two battles waiting to attack, and still he had not spied it. That was hardly surprising. The waiting battles were flamboyant with banners, flags, and pennants and there was little wind to spread them, so little wind that the man holding the oriflamme was waving it from side to side so it would be noticed. That pennant was a ripple of bright red that was drawing ever closer to the English hill.
    Robbie had joined him. The Scotsman, like Roland, was friendless in this army. It was true that he counted Thomas as a friend, but that friendship was marked by generosity on one side and ingratitude on the other, and Robbie felt shamed. In time the friendship could be mended, but for now Robbie did not think Thomas would trust him as a neighbour in battle and so, like Roland, he had watched the fight from behind the line. He had watched the English take the French charge, stop it, and repel it. He had heard the misery of battle, the screams of men being mangled by steel; he had watched the French try again and again to break the line and seen them lose heart. They had retreated. They left bodies behind, more bodies than the English, many more, but then it was always easier to defend. The English had to hold their line. Men who were reluctant to fight had small choice but to stay with their neighbours; they did not need to step forward and initiate battle, but the French had to advance. The more timid would hang back, leaving the bravest to fight, which meant the bravest were often isolated, set upon by half a dozen defenders, and it had been the French who had suffered most through their bravery. Now it would all start again.
    ‘What happens now?’ Roland asked suddenly.
    Robbie gazed at the approaching French. ‘They come, they fight, who knows?’
    ‘I didn’t mean that,’ Roland said. He too watched the approaching French. ‘They saved their best to last,’ he added.
    ‘Their best?’
    Roland could see some of the banners now because the standard bearers were waving them to and fro. ‘Ventadour,’ he said, ‘Dammartin, Brienne, Eu, Bourbon, Pommiers. And the royal standard too.’
    ‘So what did you mean?’
    ‘I mean what happens after the battle?’
    ‘You marry Bertille.’
    ‘With God’s help, yes.’ Roland said, touching the blue silk scarf at his neck. ‘And you?’
    Robbie shrugged. ‘I stay with Thomas, I think.’
    ‘You won’t go home?’
    ‘I doubt there’ll be a welcome for me in Liddesdale, not any more. I’ll have to make a new home.’
    Roland nodded. He still watched the approaching battle. ‘And I shall have to make my peace with France,’ he said wistfully.
    Robbie patted the neck of his horse, a piebald destrier that had been a gift from Thomas. ‘I thought your lands were in Gascony?’
    ‘They are.’
    ‘Then do homage to the Prince of Wales. He’ll restore your lands.’
    Roland shook his head. ‘I’m French,’ he said, ‘and I will ask France’s forgiveness.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose it will cost money, but anything is possible with money.’
    ‘Just make sure you kill him quickly,’ Robbie said. ‘I’ll help you.’
    Roland did not respond at once. He had seen a flash of green in the enemy ranks and was watching the place. Was it a green horse? ‘Quickly?’ he asked after a while, still staring. ‘Did you think I would torment Labrouillade to death?’ He sounded offended. ‘He might deserve torment, but his death will be quick.’
    ‘I mean kill him before he has a chance to surrender.’
    Roland at last turned from the approaching