Trinity by Conn Iggulden Page B

panting archers trying to look in all directions, waiting always for the sudden agony as they were seen and spitted through with a shaft. It was ugly work and it was clear by then that the Nevilles had their own lads out with bows to meet them.
    Thomas took a breath, looking stonily ahead rather than at Trunning for his approval.
    ‘Close up on them! With me, in good order!’ he shouted along the line.
    The men-at-arms took a firmer grip on their swords and axes and the horsemen clicked tongues in their cheeks, urging their mounts into a slow walk forward. The archers would be reaching the Neville lines, in range to bring them crashing down.
    Ahead of him, Thomas saw two burly men stand up suddenly, appearing out of the gorse and bushes. He saw them bend longbows and jerked his shield up, rocked back an instant later as a shaft struck it with a loud crack. The other disappeared past him, causing someone to cry out in pain or shock behind. Trunning was bellowing an order, but the line was already moving. Archers had to be charged and the line of horsemen surged ahead of those on foot, shields held high and visors down, swords ready to strike. Thomas felt excitement swell as he used his spurs to send his huge black horse into a plunging canter.
    The two archers tried to dodge, throwing themselves to the ground as the first horsemen closed the distance. Thomas saw them in a cloud of dust, scrabbling desperately to fend off hooves and a sword-blow as a knight galloped over them. Then they were behind, left for the axemen to cut as they raced up.
    He was riding hard by then, the line of armoured knights growing ragged as they encountered the natural obstacles of the land. Thomas felt his mount bunch and guided it over a thornbush, clipping it with its hooves so that the thing quivered in his wake. He adjusted his shield and leaned back, slowing the pace so that he would not get too far ahead. The Nevilles were there, just eight hundred yards or so away, looking small and weak against the pounding line of horses.
    ‘Lord Egremont! Slow down, you stupid …’
    Thomas looked around in fury as Trunning’s horse cut across him. The man had the impertinence to take hold of his reins and yank on them.
    ‘Take your hands off!’ Thomas snarled at him. He looked around then and saw that he had left his main force far behind.
    Trunning removed his grip, raising his visor and mastering his anger with some difficulty.
    ‘My lord, you’ll have them all blown, trying to keep you in sight. Half a mile is too far to run in mail. Where are your wits! Did those archers break your courage? Whisht, man, there aren’t so many now.’
    Thomas felt an almost overpowering desire to cut Trunning from his saddle. If he’d thought his father’s man could have been surprised he might have risked it, but Trunning was a veteran, always ready to leap away or attack. Even the swordmaster’s horse seemed to skitter in small steps from side to side, the old bag of bones as used to the clash of arms as its master. Thomas knew by then that Trunning was right to have halted him, but the words still stung and he could hardly see for rage.
    ‘See to the men, Trunning. Shout and order them as you please, but I’ll have your head on a pike if you dare touch my reins again.’
    To his disgust, Trunning merely grinned and pointed at the Neville force.
    ‘The enemy lies over there, Lord Egremont, if you are uncertain. Not here.’
    ‘I sometimes wonder, you pompous little whoreson,’ Thomas snapped. At least he’d scored a point with his father’s man. Trunning’s face darkened and he opened his mouth to reply, then ducked suddenly from some instinct as arrows flew around them, sent from both sides. Thomas swore, seeing two archers in jerkins of silver and red fall with arrows through their chests. He raised a hand in thanks to the pair of his men who had brought them down. They touched their forelocks to him, loping on.
    ‘Close up!’ Trunning roared.