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journey to the little farm in the east to collect the two calves. The buzzing of the flies over the back of the wagon added a touch of verisimilitude to the tale, Clifford thought with a pained wince. They were rising in waves and resettling on the carcasses.
“And who are these, I wonder?” he murmured.
“Who?” Adam asked, his train of thought broken. Turning, he could see at last the source of the noise he had heard earlier.
Coming down the road toward them was a group of men, but these were no ordinary travellers, and Adam felt himself stiffen. They were soldiers.
Out in front were two riders on tired-looking but sturdy ponies. Both wore quilted jacks, stained and filthy from long use, over green tunics. One had on a basinet with the visor tilted up, and held a lance in his hand, while the other wore a long-bladed knife like a short sword. Both stared at the two men by the road, and the helmeted one winked at Adam before passing.
Behind them came another, seated on a massive black stallion which gleamed as if it had been oiled as it passed among the pools of daylight. It was this man who immediately caught Peter’s eye.
He was huge, at least six
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