We follow them both soon and late.
The Gallowglass gang to die!
After a moment’s hesitation, Finlay raised his own voice, a fitting complement to hers. His heart bounded and rose. The men around them stared before beginning to step in time with the rhythm. One by one, beginning with Gregor, they joined in, a score of voices deep andstrong. Courage rose among them with the tune.
For fight they will wi’ sword or spear,
With blade and axe, their numbers dear.
The heart o’ courage lingers here.
We will follow wi’ strength o’ eye.
They lead us on to victory,
May the Gallowglass never die!
Anders slanted them a look and grinned. Reagan, still at their head, glanced back with a grin also. In a neighboring company, other voices took it up.
A kind of battle cry, the song was. A defiance of fear, and fate. How many of those who sang would survive? In what future might their ancient song be sung?
Katrin reached out and snagged Finlay’s fingers. Clutched tight. Would anyone notice? Did it matter if they did?
The sun rose, and the mist brightened strangely all around them before beginning to lift and giving way to a cold rain. Men continued to mutter as they tramped. Back so far in the ranks as they were, surely the fight—if ever they did sight the English troops—would be long over before they reached it?
They stopped moving. Waited, and waited some more. Many of the men sat down even though the ground was rough and sodden. Just ahead of them, Chief MacMurtray lowered himself to the ground with the help of one of the Gallowglass soldiers. They waited some more.
Eventually, Sir Robert Stewart rode back, shouting orders.
“The English army lies just ahead. We will take position and hold. Our division is to keep back—the king and Earl Moray will take the lead for the time being. Understand? Hold and wait!”
The tension, which had backed down a few steps during their singing, cranked up impossibly high.
Finlay sensed raw fear and uncertainty in the men around him,many of whom—just like Katrin—had never experienced such a conflict. Waiting before a battle was hard, but that was not the worst of it. The worst came when the world broke apart and a man committed himself to the killing, and death sprang up from the very ground.
He did not want that for Katrin. He did not want it for himself. He must heed O’Hanlon’s advice and get Katrin and her father to the rear when the battle began.
If he could.
The clouds moved across the moor as the rain came and went. Bit by bit, Finlay saw the vast army around him, shifting, shifting with their commanders directing them. The breath caught in his throat. No matter what forces the English possessed, surely they could not overcome so vast an army as this?
As the mist crawled away behind them, he saw where they were. Sprawled across a rise, all uneven and grizzled green, with a steep slope in front of them. To be sure, most the Scots army was in front of them now, two units having moved ahead. Across from them he saw another rise, this one topped by a stone monument. And there—there…
The English army looked vast, but nay, it could not number much better than half their own. Their position, though—did they stand the easier ground? Hard to tell with the masses of knights and horsemen and footmen obscuring the way. Finlay thought he glimpsed a wall, and much broken ground on the Scots’ side, which would complicate any kind of concerted charge. But his place was not to give the orders. He must try to protect those around him, even if it cost his life.
He turned to Gregor, still at his side. “Stay near to me when it begins.”
Gregor’s brown eyes had widened with fright. “When will it begin?”
“God knows.”
It once more started to rain, as if to add to their woe. A coldautumn rain it was, and heavy. It further obscured the limited view they had.
One of Robert Stewart’s captains came through on horseback, reinforcing his order. “Hang back. Hang back till ye’re needed!”
The army—their army—had split into three distinct detachments, the two that had moved forward poised to descend the slope. Earl Moray commanded the foremost, and the king—no one could call him a coward—led the other, visible on his mount even through the rain.
Across from them on the opposite side of the gully, the smaller English army had also broken into three. Finlay’s keen eyes saw they had many more mounted knights, men no doubt highly trained in warfare, who even at this distance looked lethal. And there was something about the disposition of their warriors…
