She leant on the barricade, looking out at the shadowed swamps. There was a little movement there, but not much: not an attack, not yet. The sun overhead had them boiling in their jackets, but the Denlanders were confined in the damp and constant heat of the swamps. Did that wear them down? Did they lose their will to win? It seemed they did not. She remembered their quiet determination to endure anything for their country. They had made themselves at home in the swamps, like fish in water, whilst the Lascanne soldiers could only hold their breath and count the moments until they emerged.
And still the enemy held off. What had happened now? Were the Denlanders waiting for even more reinforcements, or for more intelligence? Perhaps they had spies out who were expected back with vital word. Mallen had only two of his picked scouts left. He no longer went out hunting the Denlanders. Their agents moved unmolested, save where they came within musket range of the camp.
Tubal hobbled out from the camp to join her in staring out over the barricade, over the trench, over the fence of sharp stakes they had put up after tearing down the colonel’s command hut.
‘Today, do you think?’
She shrugged. ‘In their place, I’d have moved already. They’re patient people, Tubal.’
He pushed himself up to perch on the barricade, leaning his crutches against it carefully. He had a Denlander gun slung over his shoulder by its strap: one never knew when the hammerblow would come.
‘You and me together out here, it’s like a family outing,’ he said. ‘Damnedest thing, but I never really knew you back at Grammaine. You were just Mary’s other sister.’
‘Other sister?’
‘Well, yes,’ he said, without apology. ‘Hell, if I’d known you were like this, I’d have been scared to death of you.’
They both glanced over at the sound of footsteps and saw that Scavian was coming out to join them. His maimed hand was concealed by a black glove he had found somewhere, the empty ring and little fingers pinned back onto the palm.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘Good afternoon,’ Tubal corrected him. ‘Come for the view or for the healing waters?’
‘The company,’ replied Scavian firmly. He put his intact hand on Emily’s shoulder and squeezed, and she covered his fingers with her own. The look they shared was private, filled with secrets. He had given her one thing that she could not reveal even to Mr Northway – even to the Mr Northway who would never receive her final letter.
Emily’s heart lurched and she scrabbled for her gun, but her swift glance at the treeline registered only a small party of about a dozen, leaving the shelter of the trees. They held before them a flag of blank white, somewhat greater in size than Caxton’s purloined handkerchief.
Parley? They wanted to talk.
‘Truce?’ Scavian frowned. ‘What is there to talk about? In truth we’ve both sides made our positions clear over the last three years or so.’
‘Unless . . .’ Tubal’s eyes met Emily’s.
‘Something’s changed,’ she said. ‘For them, something’s changed.’ A keen edge of excitement began cutting into her. ‘It’s been so long since we’ve had any news. Do you think . . . ?’
‘Hold your fire!’ Tubal shouted out, as some of the men at the barricade sighted down their guns. ‘Don’t you recognize a flag of parley when you see it?’ Of course, some of the newer recruits probably didn’t.
‘The Couchant front, of course,’ Scavian exhaled. ‘With our cavalry up there, in the passes and the high plains, how long could it be, really?’
‘Don’t get too confident. It could be something else,’ Tubal warned him.
‘Such as what? What can you think of that would drive them out here to talk to us? The state of the weather?’
‘It has been unusually sunny, even for summer.’ Tubal gave a strained smile. ‘They might just want . . . to take back the bodies of their dead, or something.’
The Denlander embassy had halted now, somewhere halfway between treeline and camp, and were waiting patiently.
‘You need to go and talk to them,’ Emily told Tubal.
He kicked one shoe idly against the barricade. ‘That isn’t going to happen,’ he said philosophically. ‘Em, I think the momentous duty is yours.’
‘Mine?’
‘You’re my second. Hell, you’re actually the second-ranking officer in the entire camp right now. Also, you can have a go at running for it if things go wrong.’