many sprawled with their heads at an impossible angle, which bespoke their death as the result of a sword stroke. Those who were badly wounded, but still lived, BOSON BOOKS
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groaned in their pain, but few cried out to him, or saw him pass. Those who could move alone were shuffling, crawling, and walking towards the castle, and among them were men carrying those too badly wounded to walk on rough stretchers.
Ahead of him, Jervis could see the enormous windmill that stood on the edge of the town. Fierce fighting had obviously taken place here, and bodies were piled up against the foot of the windmill, but he could see that the main thrust of the fighting had moved forward. He looked for the pennant of Duke Richard, but it was nowhere to be seen, despite his search all round the base of the mill. Looking down the slope to his left, he could see that the King s division had also moved up and forward, but still, there was no sign of Richard. He stood, undecided for a moment, and then made up his mind to return to de Warenne. It was clear that the battle was going in their favour, as anyone could see.
There was no need to stop and ask how the Duke s men, or the King s were faring. In any case, Jervis had a shrewd suspicion that de Warenne had sent him off the field for a while, to enable him to gather himself again. He turned and started back the way he had come, but as he came out from the shelter of the mill a movement on his left caught his eye. He turned, but it was too late. He saw a blur of movement, felt a heavy blow to the temple, and then he was tumbling over and over into a roaring, rushing blackness.
When he came to, it was much later in the day, and the sun was casting long shadows across the muddied turf. His head was pounding, and he put up his hand to feel the place where the pain was worst. He could feel a deep cut and his hand came away sticky with his own blood, but it seemed that the blow had done no more damage than that. He sat up, gingerly, and was rewarded with a rocking of the ground that made him regret the movement. Staring fixedly down between his splayed legs, he waited until the world steadied again, before trying to raise his head and look about him.
He was completely alone, apart from the dead around him. No living creature, man or horse, was anywhere in sight. He had fallen back behind the mill, he realised, and this, presumably, had sheltered him. Now, stretching out an arm, he used it to lever himself up, until he was standing. Still using the mill wall as a support, he edged round it. Halfway round the other side, there was a flight of wooden stairs, and a door at the top, which now stood open. He had no recollection of it before being struck down, but now it offered him sanctuary. He climbed up the stairs and looked peered into the open doorway. Silence and blackness met his gaze. Thankfully, he walked inside, and sank against the wall. He would wait here until he felt stronger, then make his way back to the castle. From the silence outside, it appeared that the fighting was over, and he could not pretend that he regretted missing it. At the moment, his strongest emotion was gratitude that he was still alive. He slid down until he was lying curled like a baby and sank into sleep.
When he awoke, although the cut on his head still throbbed, he felt much better. The twilight had almost ended, but there was sufficient light for him to see the open doorway outlined against the sky. He stood, a little stiffly, but was thankful to find that the ground no longer rocked under him. Cautiously, he looked round the edge of the door, but there was no-one moving nearby. He could see lighted torches flaming here and there, but they BOSON BOOKS
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were all nearer to the castle. He would go there, now, he decided, and find Earl de Warenne. Then, he would explain why he had not returned, as expected. Since the fighting had surely gone their way, de Warenne might not make too much of it.
Wearily, he climbed down the wooden stairs