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hundred and six knights, and three hundred and seventeen crossbowmen. Will that be enough?’
    ‘Who said that?’
    The regent might have been old, but there was nothing wrong with his hearing: pausing in the very act of asking the clerk to reckon the final tally, he had whirled and snapped out the question. His eyes swept the tent.
    Edwin found himself standing in the middle of a growing space as men melted away from him. He stood exposed and petrified, his face burning, breathless, knees trembling, wishing the ground would open so he could sink into the earth and hide. He had interrupted the council of lords! What punishment was to be his? He couldn’t speak and dared not meet the eyes of his lord, whose temper was legendary.
    The regent was addressing him. ‘You there.’ Edwin forced himself to look up and meet the gaze, quaking. He was face-to-face with William Marshal. Oh dear Lord. How had his life come to this? He cowered and awaited his fate.
    The regent noticed the badge on Edwin’s tunic and raised an eyebrow. ‘One of yours, Warenne?’ The earl nodded without speaking, and Edwin winced at the thought of the conversation they would probably have once this meeting was over. The regent spoke again, but thank the Lord he sounded more interested than angry. ‘How did you reckon so quickly?’ Without waiting for an answer, which was good, as Edwin didn’t have one, he turned to the clerk. ‘Is he correct?’ The clerk was still frantically scribbling on his list. ‘Hurry up, man!’ After a few moments of pained silence broken only by the scratching of a pen, he finished writing, wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked up.
    ‘Yes, my lord. Four hundred and six knights, and three hundred and seventeen crossbowmen, as he stated.’ He looked spitefully at Edwin, obviously feeling that he had been made to look a fool.
    Edwin shivered as the regent looked over him appraisingly, but all he said was, ‘Well done. It is good to have men around us with quick wits. Warenne, I compliment you.’ He moved back to the table.
    It was over. Edwin’s legs had turned to water and he wanted nothing more than to sink to the ground, but he could not, would not, while he was still in here. The feeling of being hot carried on as the glances of other men fell on him, but at least he was no longer the centre of attention as the discussion at the table continued.
    He didn’t take in much of the rest of the conversation – something about scouting and being able to speak with those inside the besieged castle – so concerned was he with his determination to stay on his feet, but soon enough he was following Sir Hugh out of the tent and into the cool night air. The freshness, after the heat and humidity inside, revived him and he began to look around him again. The knight, after several quips from others, nudged him. ‘Well, well, coming to the attention of the regent himself, eh? We’d all better look out for our positions!’ Horrified, Edwin started to deny any intent, but Sir Hugh merely chuckled into his beard. ‘Have no fear, boy, I’m jesting with you.’ He slapped Edwin on the back.
    The knight set off back to their part of the camp. Edwin followed him and then asked whether they should wait for the earl, who had not yet issued forth from the tent. Sir Hugh looked more serious. ‘No. Didn’t you hear? The lord regent wished to speak with him alone. I don’t think this bodes well at all.’
    They were both sombre as they returned to the camp.

     
    It was deep into the night when Edwin was awakened by Adam. He groaned as the boy shook him, trying to rid himself of the fog of sleep, but eventually he threw off his blanket and stood, stretching his muscles after they had stiffened even more on the hard ground. In a daze he followed the squire towards the earl’s tent, unsure of why he had been summoned but certain that it was not to hear any good news.
    As he entered the tent the first thing he saw in the dancing