Trinity by Conn Iggulden

years. It was not the sort of thing to say in front of a new bride, though Salisbury was pleased to see Maud leap into a saddle, as nimble as any farm girl of good stock. Her long skirts rode high up her legs and, in the presence of his wife, Salisbury looked away. His son blushed and dismounted to tug the layers down.
    ‘Let it be, John. I’ve seen a girl’s legs before. Alice? Heed your son in this. I’ll want you safe. Stay well clear of any fighting, unless the day is lost. Then you’ll run south, back to Tattershall.’
    ‘Sheriff Hutton is closer – and ours,’ his wife said, wasting no words with her husband twitching to be away.
    ‘We don’t know what lies ahead, Alice, just behind. Follow John. The south is clear and Cromwell will surely keep you safe until one of the family comes for vengeance. That’s if I fall. These are my best men, Alice. I’d risk my last coin on them.’
    ‘You want us to ride now?’ his wife said.
    He loved her then, for the serious look and the complete lack of any fear in her. Salisbury could see Maud watching the older woman and learning just a little about being a Neville that day.
    ‘Not until you hear I have fallen, or the day is lost. You’ll be safer here, with my men in reach, than riding out.’ He stopped, realizing that an enemy could well have circled around in the night, ready to catch anyone escaping to the south.
    ‘Carter! Come here, would you?’ he called to a heavyset horseman passing them.
    The man jerked in the saddle, craning around to see who spoke his name, then turning his horse in place with great skill.
    ‘Good man, Carter,’ the earl said as he came close. ‘I need some fellows to scout to the south, to check the line of retreat. Take four and report back here to the Countess.’
    ‘Yes, my lord,’ the man replied, raising his visor and whistling sharply to catch the attention of a group of riders belting past.
    ‘Good enough,’ Salisbury said. He smiled at his wife and son. ‘I’m needed now. God’s blessing be on you all. Ladies, John. Good luck.’
    Salisbury dropped his visor and dug in his heels, missing the spurred boots that would have had his horse leaping forward regardless of who or what lay in front. Yet he had a sword in his right hand, a shield in his left and good iron around his throat. It would have to do.
    He cantered up to the ranks of mounted Neville men, then through them as they pulled aside to let him come to the front. Salisbury could see a large number of soldiers riding and marching without haste towards his position. He squinted into the distance, wishing he had the sharp eyes of the young lad who’d spotted them first. Whoever they were, they wore no colours, carried no banners ahead of them. He swallowed dryly at the numbers, more than three times the size of his own force.
    ‘My wife said I’d not need so many of you, not for a wedding walk,’ he said to the man next to him, making him grin. ‘If any of us live through this, be so kind as to tell her she was wrong, would you? She’d be grateful for the knowledge, I’m sure.’
    Those around him chuckled and Salisbury was pleased at their confidence. Every man there had fought against hordes of savage Scots up on the borders when he’d last been Warden for the king. They knew their trade and they were well armoured in steel ring mail or plate, backed by sixty good archers who could take a bird in flight if there was a flagon of beer for the shot.
    ‘Skirmishers! Seek ’em out!’ Salisbury roared, sending his archers loping into the long grasses ahead. He could see the approaching force bleeding its front edge as they did the same, dark trails of bowmen trotting away from the main force to wreak havoc and destruction. They would meet each other in the sun-dried meadows between, slotting arrows down the throats of those they faced. Numbers would tell there and he strained his eyes to see how many came against him. His charger snorted, chafing at the