Trinity by Conn Iggulden Page A

bit and the delay, so that he reached down and patted its neck.
    ‘Easy there, boy. Let the archers clear the way.’
    Both sides had drawn to a halt by then, while loping bowmen darted through the trees and long grasses between them, raising dust and butterflies in their wake. It was a golden morning and, though he was outnumbered, Salisbury gripped his sword, hearing the leather saddle creak as he leaned forward. He had a dozen enemies, more, but only one who might have risked such a force and had the funds and men to send it against him.
    ‘ Percy ,’ Salisbury muttered to himself. He only hoped the old man was there in person, so that he could see him cut down. It was too late to curse himself for not expecting the attack. Salisbury had brought a larger force to his son’s wedding than anyone had thought necessary, but still, there was a veritable army riding against them. He told himself he should have guessed the Percy lord would not sit quiet in Alnwick while he lost manors. Salisbury knew every detail of the Cromwell dowry estates. It was one reason he had been so happy to receive them, to spite the bitter old man who ruled the north.
    He shook his head, clearing away regrets and doubt. His men were well trained and fanatically loyal. They would serve.
    Thomas, Lord Egremont, watched the neat files of archers trotting away. Over the long summer, the grasses had been baked almost to white, yet grown so tall that a man only had to drop to one knee to vanish. He’d had the very devil of a time even finding the Neville party in lands he did not know well. Trunning had sent scouts ranging out in all directions the night before, casting his net wider and wider until one of them came bolting back in, red in the face and yelling his news. The Percy swordmaster had the men up and ready to march while Thomas had still been yawning and staring around him.
    He and Trunning had said little to each other since the lines had been drawn in the yard at Alnwick. Thomas had told himself he didn’t need the sour little strip of gristle, but the truth was, Trunning knew how to campaign. Old soldiers and townsmen looked to Trunning for orders, because he was always there to give them. It was no great skill, as far as Thomas could see. All it required was an eye for small things and a blistering temper. Thomas wondered if he imagined the man’s disdain whenever their eyes locked. It didn’t matter, even so. They had found the Neville wedding party and though there were far more soldiers than either of them had expected, they still had the numbers to slaughter them all.
    Thomas drew up at the centre of a line of horsemen, forming the right wing to five hundred axe and sword men, already bright with sweat from the hard march through the pre-dawn. As the archers went in ahead, it was a chance for those men to catch their breath. At least the day’s heat was still no more than a threat. It would be a misery later on, with the weight of armour and weapons and the sapping exhaustion of using them. Lord Egremont grinned at the thought, an expression that faded slightly as he saw Trunning bring his mount up close and insert the animal into the waiting line. The man was never still, and Thomas could hear his hoarse voice yelling threats at some unfortunate who had wandered out of position.
    Ahead of them, six score archers disappeared into the brush, each man on his own as they advanced and sought out targets. Thomas had no idea if the Nevilles had brought archers with them. If they had not, his hundred and twenty would begin the butchery with shafts, cutting them to pieces without the loss of a single one of his small army.
    Thomas jerked his head up as he heard someone scream, a distant figure lurching out from where he had been hiding himself. More yells sounded and across the mile of open ground, Thomas could see scurrying men who stopped and seemed to twitch and then moved on, sending arrows ahead of them. He shuddered, imagining the