Which was why he had brought the half bottle of brandy from Duffy's Ford. He touched his inner pocket now to make sure the flask was still there. If he were going to make his way into the enemy camp, he would have to remove one of the guards — probably the one he had observed earlier. Of course, if necessary, he could make his way through the sentry line undetected without resorting to violence. But it would take considerably longer. Unseen movement across an open space like the one that faced him would be a slow and time-consuming business. And he would be silhouetted by the glow of the camp fires behind him.
So the quickest and safest way was to remove one of the sentries, leaving a gap in the screen that he could slip through. But that raised another problem. He didn't want the enemy to know he'd been here and an unconscious sentry was a sure sign that someone had infiltrated the camp.
Unless he was drunk. If a sentry were found reeking of brandy and sleeping peacefully under a tree, no amount of protesting on his part would convince his superiors that he had been attacked.
Will peered into the dark shadows below him now. Earlier, he had noted a few reference points to guide him to the point where the sentry was based. Now he saw a slight movement near that spot. He began moving down the slope towards the level ground, moving crabwise across the slope to bring him out at a point level with the sentry.
There was a constant murmur of conversation from the camp. Occasionally, a burst of laughter or the angry sounds of voices raised in an argument would punctuate thesound. That underlined another reason why Will didn't want to take too long getting inside the sentry line. He wanted to move around the camp while the men were still awake and talking. If he could eavesdrop on their conversations, he might pick up some idea about what they were planning. Once inside the camp, he was confident he could move freely about. Paradoxically, once he was inside, the less he tried to conceal himself the less likely he was to be stopped and questioned. But it was the first hundred metres of clear space between the sentry line and the camp that was the main danger. There was no reason why anyone should be moving towards the camp from that direction. Those inside the tent lines, their eyes dazzled by the fires, would be unlikely to spot him. A sentry, standing in the dark and looking back to the light, could easily see him silhouetted.
He felt the ground levelling under him now and he knew he must be close to the sentry's position. He slipped between the trees like a shadow, making a few more metres. Then he heard the sound of a man clearing his throat and shuffling his feet. He couldn't have been more than ten metres away. Close enough, Will thought. He slid down behind the bole of a tree, keeping its mass between himself and the sentry, wrapped himself in his cloak and settled down to wait.
He was there for the best part of an hour. Unmoving. Silent. Invisible. From time to time he heard the sentry moving about, or coughing. Once or twice, the man yawned, the sound clearly audible in the silence of the trees. The murmur of voices from the camp formed a constant background and Will was grateful for it. When
the time came, it would help conceal any small noise he might make.
As he sat there in the darkness, he reflected that this had been the hardest part of his training: schooling yourself to remain unmoving, to resist the sudden urge to scratch an itch or to shift your position to ease a cramped muscle. This was why it was so important to assume a comfortable position in the first place, and to let the body relax completely. Yet there was no such thing as a completely comfortable position — not after you had been in it without moving for more than thirty minutes.
The ground beneath him had seemed soft and resilient when he sat down. He guessed it was formed of a thick mat of fallen leaves. Yet now he was conscious of a twig or a rock digging uncomfortably into his backside. He longed to lean to one side, reach under his backside and remove it but he resisted the urge. Chances are he could do it without making noise. But to do so would be to give in. Then, the next time he felt the urge to shift his position, it would be that much easier to convince himself that it was safe to do so. And the time after that, easier still. The result would be that he would be constantly shifting and, no matter how quietly he managed it, movement was the surest way to be discovered. So he sat without moving. He clenched his fist and concentrated on the pressure on his fingers and the muscles in his forearm to take his mind off the discomfort in his behind. The trick worked, at least for a while. When the twig made its presence felt once again, he bit gently on his lower lip to distract himself from it.
`There you are! Wondered where you'd got to!'
For a brief moment, he thought that the words, spokenso close to him, were actually addressed to him. Then he realised that it was the sentry's relief, speaking to the man who'd been on duty for the past four hours.
Of course, the original sentry had taken a spot under the trees, where he was screened from the rest of the line. The relief must have had difficulty in locating him.
`About time you showed up,' said the original sentry. He sounded slightly aggrieved. Sentries usually did. They all assumed that their relief was late. Will could make out the small sounds of the man gathering his gear together, preparing to return to the camp.
The new man ignored the complaint. 'Not a bad little nook you've got here,' he said.
`Well, it's out of Tully's sight, that's the best thing. And happen it should rain, you'll be sheltered by the trees here.'
Tully, Will assumed, was the sergeant of the guard.
`I'll be off then. What's the grub tonight?' said the first sentry.
`Not too bad at all. The hunters brought in a few deer and some geese. For once the cooks didn't ruin it completely.'
The departing sentry grunted in appreciation. 'Well, I'd best get to it then. I'm famished. Enjoy yourself,' he added sardonically.
'Thanks for your kind thoughts,' his replacement said, matching the tone. The men might be comrades in arms, Will thought, but judging by their respective manners, they weren't friends.
While they had been talking, he had taken advantage of the noise they made to rise and slip closer to them. He wasn't concerned that he'd be seen by either man — his
cloak and the surrounding darkness made sure of that. Now he was barely three metres from the new sentry, his face shadowed by the cowl of his cloak and a striker grasped in his right hand. In moving closer, he had. gone in an arc, so that he was behind the sentry. He waited, flattened against a tree, until the departing guard's footsteps had faded away. As he had expected, the new sentry began to make himself comfortable, setting down his gear and checking his sightlines.
The time was now, Will thought, before he had a chance to settle in, while his mind was still distracted by the recent conversation. He risked a glance around the tree. The man was standing with his back to Will. He was armed with a spear and a spiked mace hung at his belt. His cloak was bundled on the ground beside him — presumably he'd don it when the night became colder — and a flask and mug were placed on the ground at the base of a flat rock that stood about a metre high. As Will slipped forward, the man leaned back, resting on the flat rock, his spear in his right hand. He sighed quietly — the sound of a man resigned to four hours of boredom and mild discomfort.
Will hit him hard behind the ear with the striker. The sigh, barely finished, turned to a strangled grunt and the man collapsed sideways off the rock, unconscious. His grasp on the spear was relaxed and it fell in the opposite direction, making barely any noise on the forest floor.
Will stood over the sprawled form for a few seconds, the striker poised, ready for another blow if needed.
But the man was well and truly out. His arms and legs lay at odd angles, indicating a total lack of tension in hismuscles. He should remain this way for at least an hour, Will thought. That should be ample time for him to scout around the camp. He rolled the man over onto his back and, seizing him by the shoulders of his jacket, dragged the lifeless form to a tree. As ever, he marvelled at how heavy a human body could become when it was complet
ely limp like this. He propped the man into a semi-reclining position against the tree, arranged his arms and legs to look as if he were sleeping, then poured the brandy over the front of his jerkin. For good measure, he pried the man's lips apart and sloshed some of the spirit inside his mouth.
He stepped back, eyeing his handiwork. Now, even if the man regained consciousness and raised the alarm, the spilt liquor would tell its own story to his superiors. Tossing the flask down beside the recumbent form, Will gathered his cloak about him and slipped out of the trees into the open space leading to the camp site.
He dropped to the ground and moved in a rapid crawl, dragging himself with his elbows, driving himself forward with his knees. Once he reached the tent lines, he continued to crawl until he was past the first few rows. Then, in the shadowed area between two tents, he rose carefully to his feet and waited for a few seconds.
There was no indication that anyone had noticed him. He slipped back the cowl from his face, stepped out of the shadows and walked casually through the camp towards the large central tent. Noticing a bucket full of water standing outside one tent, he glanced around to see if anyone were observing him. Satisfied that he had aroused no attention, he hastily grabbed the bucket and continued on his way.
A few metres on, he passed three men. Seeing the bucket, they assumed he had gone to fetch water. Always seem to have a purpose, Halt had taught him years ago. If people think there's a reason you're in a place, odds are they won't bother to challenge you.
`Right again, Halt,' he muttered to himself, and continued to make his way further into the camp.
* * *
Chapter 21
* * *
From his vantage point above the camp, Will had taken note of several of its key features. The cooking area was in the centre of the untidy cluster of tents. That was only to be expected. If the cook fires were placed to one side in a large camp like this, some of the men would have to traverse the entire area to get their food. This was the most convenient position for everyone. The luckiest, of course, would be those closest to the cooks. Being just minutes from the cook fires, they'd enjoy hot meals. So the more senior members of the band had placed their tents towards the middle. People on the fringes of the camp would find their meals lukewarm by the time they brought them back to their tents. The lower your rank, the further from the cook fires you were.
Which also dictated the position of the commander's tent. It was close enough to the cooking fires so that the leader's food would be hot and fresh, but just far enough away to be clear of the noise and the smoke.
Will headed now for the cook fires. It wasn't hard to get a bearing on them. Fires to provide for the needs of over a hundred men would need to be big and numerous. The leaping sparks whirled up into the sky above them and the glow of the flames was visible from anywhere in the camp.
He walked into the clear space around them. Men were bustling about, preparing the meal. As the sentry had stated, there were several deer carcasses turning on spits. Another smaller fire had a brace of geese turning slowly, dripping fat with each revolution so that the flames leapt and spluttered. In addition, there were large cookpots set over several smaller fires. As he watched, a sweating attendant, his face livid in the firelight, dumped a bucket full of peeled potatoes into one, leaping back hurriedly to avoid the splash of boiling water.
Will knew it was important that he keep moving. If he were to stand around gaping, sooner or later someone would challenge his presence and want to know who he was. He had the cowl on his cloak thrown back, of course, and in the uncertain firelight the cloak's camouflage pattern wasn't really noticeable. He had left his bow and quiver with Tug and was armed only with his two knives. To all intents and purposes, he looked like anyone else in the camp. Except none of them were standing still, looking at what was going on around them. He moved forward towards the man who'd just dumped the potatoes into boiling water. The cook looked up at him, a scowl on his face.
`We'll tell you when the food's ready,' he said unpleasantly. Cooks were used to being harassed by the men. Either the food wasn't ready on time or, if it were, it wastoo cold. Or overcooked. Or undercooked. Or just generally not good enough.
Will made a negative gesture with his free hand, indicating he wasn't trying to jump the queue. He held up the bucket of water.
`John said to bring you this water,' he said.
Two things he was sure of. In a camp this large, there would be half a dozen people named John. And cooks were always in need of water. The cook frowned now.
`Don't remember as I asked him,' he said. Will shrugged and turned away, still with the bucket in his hand.
`Suit yourself,' he said. But the cook stopped him quickly. He might not have asked for water but he'd need it sooner or later and it would save him the trouble of fetching it.
`Put it by here, then. Might as well have it if you've brought it.'
`Fine.' Will set the bucket down. The cook nodded a reluctant acknowledgment.
`Tell John thanks,' he said and Will snorted.
`Wasn't John who had to lug it here across the camp, was it?' he said archly.
`True enough.' The cook understood the implied message. 'See me when we're serving. There'll be some extra for your plate.'
Will touched his forehead. 'Grateful to you,' he said, and moved away. He glanced back after a few paces but the cook had already lost interest in him. Will moved away, his pace brisk, heading for the central command pavilion. It was less than thirty metres away and he could see it
clearly. It stood a little apart from its neighbours, at the top of a slight slope, with a large fire in front of it. There were two sentries placed either side of the entrance and as he watched, three men approached, waited to be recognised, and headed inside. Shortly after, a servant appeared with a tray bearing thick glass tankards and a wine flagon. He went inside and reappeared a minute or so later.
Will walked past the large tent, staying well away from it, on the far side of the cleared area. Out of the side of his eyes, he regarded the position. Sentries at the front, of course. But he was willing to bet the back of the tent was unguarded. After all, he realised, the two sentries were more a mark of authority than a security measure. There was little chance of anyone attacking the command tent in this camp. He continued on. The open space ended and now the ragged lines of tents resumed, the individual tents placed only a few metres away from each other. He passed several where the tent flaps were open and men were sprawled inside or on the ground outside, talking among themselves. He muttered a greeting to one group who looked up at him with mild curiosity. He waited until he had passed several unoccupied and unlit tents. Then, glancing quickly around to see that nobody was watching, he dived into the shadowed space between two of them. Crouching, he moved to the rear, and so to the next avenue of tents. Now he dropped full length, pulling the cowl of his cloak over his head once more, and lay like a shadow, observing the next lane that he had to cross. There was little activity here. He waited several minutes to make sure, then rose smoothly to his feet and moved across the line into the space between two tents on the opposite side. One of them was occupied and lit from within and hecould see a shadow on the canvas as the occupant moved around.
Again, he moved to the back of the tents. He estimated now that he would be behind the command pavilion if he were to head back along the next lane. Checking as before that the way was clear, he rose and walked unconcernedly back the way he had come.
He could see the command tent again. It bulked much larger than the others and stood in its own empty patch of ground. He was right. His movement back through the tent lines had brought him out level with the rear of the big tent. His original assumption also proved to be correct. There was no guard at the rear. Still, he could hardly hope to walk out of the tent lines and stroll up behind the pavilion to eavesdrop without someone noticing him, so he cut left between two more tents and moved to the next lane.
He took stock of the s
ituation. There were men in front of some of the tents in the next line. But the two closest to the open space where the pavilion was pitched were dark and empty. Will looked around quickly. The tent to his left was occupied, but the flaps were drawn closed. There was a bundle of kindling by the small fireplace in front of it. Quickly he moved to it, stooped and swung the bundle up over his shoulder. He trudged along the tent line now, carrying his firewood, passing the men who were sitting talking. They barely gave him a glance. As he reached the final tent, he swung the pile of branches down and placed it beside the fire, then, in one quick movement, he slid out of the tent lines to the darkened area beside them and went quickly to ground, his cloak wrapped around him, his face concealed once more beneath the cowl.
He snake-crawled several metres into the open but unlit space, driving himself forward with elbows and knees. After a few moments he stopped to see if there had been any reaction to his approach. Nothing. He glanced up to get his bearings and slithered towards the back of the pavilion, sliding through the rank grass like a serpent, the mottled pattern on his cloak breaking up the outline of his body and letting him merge into the shadows and uneven hollows of the ground around him.
He moved carefully now and it took ten minutes for him to cover the thirty metres to the rear of the pavilion. At one stage, a group of men emerged from the tent lines and headed towards the larger tent. There were four of them and they came dangerously close to the spot where he lay, not daring to move a muscle. He felt his heart hammering behind his ribs, was sure they must be able to hear the sound as well. No matter how many times he had done this, there was always the fear that this time they must see the prone shape lying unmoving a few metres away. The men were drunk and talking loudly, staggering slightly on the uneven ground. One of the sentries stepped forward, holding up a hand to stop them. Will lay, his head to one side so that he could watch what was happening.
THE KINGS OF CLONMEL Page 14
