“Like the one that they gave us, eh, West? Rope across the road and all that?” He chuckled to himself. “Two days’ march behind, you say? This is useful information. This is damn useful!” Burr winced and put one hand on his gut as he moved back to his table, picking up a ruler and starting to measure out distances. “Two days’ march. That would put him somewhere here. You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, Lord Marshal.”

“If he’s heading for Dunbrec, he’ll pass near General Poulder’s position. It might be that we can bring him to battle before he gets round us, perhaps even give him a surprise he won’t forget. Well done, West, well done!” He tossed his ruler down. “Now you should get some rest.”

“I’d rather get straight back into it, sir—”

“I know, and I could use you, but take a day or two in any case, the world won’t end. You’ve come through quite an ordeal.”

West swallowed. He did feel terribly tired all of a sudden. “Of course. I should write a letter… to my sister.” It was strange saying it. He had not thought about her for weeks. “I should let her know that I’m… alive.”

“Good idea. I’ll send for you, Colonel, when I need you.” And Burr turned away and hunched back over his charts.

“I won’t forget that,” whispered Pike in West’s ear as he lurched back through the flap into the cold.

“It’s nothing. They won’t miss either one of you at that camp. It’s Sergeant Pike again, is all. You can put your mistakes behind you.”

“I won’t forget it. I’m your man, now, Colonel, whatever happens. Your man!” West nodded as he made off, frowning, through the snow. War killed a lot of men, it seemed. But it gave a few a second chance.

West paused on the threshold. He could hear voices inside, chuckling. Old, familiar voices. They should have made him feel safe, warm, welcomed, but they did not. They worried him. Scared him, even. They, surely, would know. They would point and scream. “Murderer! Traitor! Villain!” He turned back towards the cold. Snow was settling gently over the camp. The closest tents were black on the white ground, the ones behind grey. Further back they were soft ghosts, then only dim suggestions through the flurry of tiny flakes. No one moved. All was quiet. He took a deep breath and pushed through the flap.

The three officers were sat around a flimsy folding table inside, pushed close up to a glowing stove. Jalenhorm’s beard had grown to shovel-like proportions. Kaspa had a red scarf wrapped round his head. Brint was swaddled in a dark greatcoat, dealing cards out to the other two.

“Close that flap damn it, it’s freezing out—” Jalenhorm’s jaw dropped. “No! It can’t be! Colonel West!”

Brint leaped up as though he had been bitten on the arse. “Shit!”

“I told you!” shouted Kaspa, flinging down his cards and grinning madly. “I told you he’d be back!”

They surrounded him, clapping his back, squeezing his hands, pulling him into the tent. No manacles, no drawn swords, no accusations of treason. Jalenhorm conducted him to the best chair, meaning the one furthest from imminent collapse, while Kaspa breathed into a glass and wiped it clean with his finger and Brint pulled the cork from the bottle with a gentle thwop.

“When did you get here?”

“How did you get here?”

“Were you with Ladisla?”

“Were you at the battle?”

“Hold on,” said Jalenhorm, “give him a minute!”

West waved him down. “I got here this morning, and would have come to you at once apart from a crucial meeting with a bath and a razor, and then one with Marshal Burr. I was with Ladisla, at the battle, and I got here by walking across country, with the help of five Northmen, a girl, and a man with no face.” He took the glass and gulped down the contents in one go, winced and sucked his teeth as the spirit burned its way down into his stomach, already starting to feel glad that he decided to come in. “Don’t be shy,” he said as he held the empty glass out.

“Walking across country,” whispered Brint, shaking his head as he poured, “with five Northmen. A girl, you say?”

“That’s right.” West frowned, wondering what Cathil was doing right now. Wondering whether she needed help… foolishness, she could look after herself. “You made it with my letter, then, Lieutenant?” he asked Jalenhorm.

“Some cold and nervous nights on the road,” grinned the big man, “but I did.”

“Except that it’s Captain now,” said Kaspa, sitting back on his stool.

“Is it indeed?”

Jalenhorm shrugged modestly. “Thanks to you, really. The Lord Marshal put me on his staff when I got back.”

“Though Captain Jalenhorm still finds time to spend with us little people, bless him.” Brint licked his fingertips and started dealing four hands.

“I’ve no stake, I’m afraid,” muttered West.

Kaspa grinned. “Don’t worry, Colonel, we don’t play for money any more. Without Luthar to make poor men of us all, it hardly seemed worth it.”

“He never turned up?”

“They just came and pulled him off the boat. Hoff sent for him. We’ve heard nothing since.”

“Friends in high places,” said Brint sourly. “Probably swanning about in Adua on some easy detail, making free with the women while the rest of us are freezing our arses off.”

“Though let’s be honest,” threw in Jalenhorm, “he made free enough with the women even when we were there.”

West frowned. That was all too unfortunately true.

Kaspa scraped his hand up off the table. “So anyway, we’re just playing for honour.”

“Though you’ll not find much of that here,” quipped Brint. The other two burst out laughing and Kaspa dribbled booze into his beard. West raised his eyebrows. Clearly they were drunk, and the sooner he joined them the better. He swilled down the next glass and reached for the bottle.

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” Jalenhorm was saying, sorting his cards with fumbling fingers, “I’m glad as all hell that I won’t have to tell your sister anything for you. I’ve scarcely slept in weeks for thinking through how I’d go about it, and I still haven’t got a thought in my head.”

“You’ve never yet had a thought in your head,” said Brint, and the other two chortled away again. Even West managed a smile this time, but it didn’t last long.

“How was the battle?” asked Jalenhorm.

West stared at his glass for a long moment. “It was bad. The Northmen set a trap for Ladisla and he fell right into it, squandered his cavalry. Then a mist came up, all of a sudden, and you couldn’t see the hand before your face. Their horse were on us before we knew what was happening. I took a knock on the head, I think. Next I remember I was in the mud on my back and there was a Northman bearing down on me. With this.” He slid the heavy sword out of his belt and laid it down on the table.

The three officers stared at it, spellbound. “Bloody hell,” muttered Kaspa.

Brint’s eyes were wide. “How did you get the better of him?”

“I didn’t. This girl I was telling you about…”

“Yes?”

“She smashed his brains out with a hammer. Saved my life.”

“Bloody hell,” muttered Kaspa.

“Phew,” Brint sat back heavily in his chair. “Sounds like quite a woman!”

West was frowning, staring down at the glass in his hand. “You could say that.” He remembered the feeling of Cathil sleeping beside him, her breath against his cheek. Quite a woman. “You really could say that.” He drained his glass and stood up, stuck the Northman’s sword back through his belt.

“You’re going?” asked Brint.

“There’s something I need to take care of.”

Jalenhorm stood up with him. “I should thank you, Colonel. For sending me off with the letter. It sounds like you were right. There was nothing I could have done.”

“No.” West took a deep breath, and blew it out. “There was nothing anyone could have done.”

The night was still, and crisp, and cold, and West’s boots slipped and squelched in the half-frozen mud. Fires burned here and there and men clustered round them in the darkness, swaddled in all the clothes they possessed, breath smoking, pinched faces lit in flickering yellow. One fire burned brighter than the others, up on a slope above the camp, and West made for that now, feet weaving from the drink. He saw two dark figures sitting near it, taking shape as he came closer.