riders stopped and sent the other on ahead while he tarried there.
Scouts, I thought. Wary, they were, and right prudent to be so.
The soldier below me was so close, I could smell the damp horsehair scent of his mount and see the steam puff from the animal’s nostrils and rise from its warm, sodden rump. I kept my head low and remained dead still the while, as would a hunter in the deer blind. In a moment, I heard the jingle of horse’s tack once more and the second rider reappeared. This time, eight mounted soldiers followed in his wake. All of them joined the first knight, who ordered the lot to take up positions along either side of the road.
So now! These were not complacent fools. They had identified the hollow as potentially dangerous and were doing what they could to pare that danger to a nub. As the last soldier took his place, the first wagon hove into view. A high-sided wain, like that used to carry hay and grain, it was pulled by a double team of oxen, its tall wheels sunk deep in the snow-covered ruts of the King’s Road. And though the wagon bed was covered against the snow, it was plain to a blind man by the way the animals strained against the yoke that the load was heavy indeed. Within moments of the first wain passing, a second followed. The oxen plodded slowly along, their warm breath fogging in the chill air, the falling snow settling on their broad backs and on their patient heads between wide-swept horns.
No more appeared.
The ox-wains trundled slowly down between the double ranks of mounted knights, and that hint of smoke tickled my nostrils again—nor was I the only one this time, no mistake. The soldiers’ horses caught the scent too, and came over all jittery-skittery. They tossed their fine big heads and whinnied, chafing the snow with hooves the size of bleeding-bowls.
The soldiers were not slow to notice the fuss their mounts were making; the knights looked this way and that, but nothing had changed in the forest ’round about. No danger loomed.
As the first wain reached the far end of the corridor, I caught a flicker of yellow through the trees. A glimmering wink o’ light. Just that quick and gone again. With it, there came a searing, screeching whine, like the sound an arrow-struck eagle might make as it falls from the sky.
The short hairs on my arms and neck stood up to hear it, and I looked around. In that selfsame moment, one of the scouts’ horses screamed, and broke ranks. The stricken animal reared and plunged, its legs kicking out every direction at once. The rider was thrown from the saddle, and as he scrambled to regain control of his mount, the animal reared again and went over, falling onto its side.
The other knights watched, but held firm and made no move to help the fella. They were watching still when there came another keening shriek and another horse reared—this one on the other side of the long double rank. As with the first animal, the second leapt and plunged and tried to bolt, but the rider held it fast.
As the poor beast whirled and screamed, I chanced to see what none of the soldiers had yet seen: sticking from the horse’s flank low behind the saddle was the feathered stub of a black arrow.
The knight yelled something to the soldier nearest him. My little bit of the Frankish tongue serves me well enough most times, but I could not catch hold of what he said. He flung out a beseeching hand as the horse beneath him collapsed. Another soldier in the line gave out a cry—and all at once his horse likewise began to rear and scream, kicking its hind legs as if to smite the very devil and his unseen legions.
Before a’body could say “Saint Gerald’s jowls,” three more horses—two on the far side of the road and one on the near side—heaved up and joined in that dire and dreadful dance. The terrified animals crashed into one another, bucking and lashing, throwing their riders. One of the beasts bolted into the wood; the others fell thrashing in the snow.
It was then one of the knights caught sight of what was causing all this fret and flurry: an arrow sticking out from the belly of a downed horse. With a loud cry, he drew his sword and called upon his fellows