Only Stadham moved towards him, speaking almost without moving his lips.

“There’s no hope for it now, sir. I’ve seen this sort of thing before. We’ll be lucky to escape with our lives!”

“Esberg!” shrieked the men at the back of the parade who had first voiced the refusal. “Back to Esberg! If they won’t lead us home, we’ll go on our own!”

“Right! Yes!” Again the storm of agreement, and now the men began to break ranks, their noncoms unable to decide what to do.

“But if we go”-a piercing voice carrying above the tumult-”we might carry the green plague with us! Do you want to carry that back to your families?”

“Burn the camp, then!” came the mad howl in answer, and all at once the army was a mob. Some of them hurled their arms down and snatched brands from the Duke’s pyre to wield like torches as they led the rush; others paused long enough to hurl final insults at their officers-Yanderman was prepared for an instant to be picked up and thrown into the flames with his master-and then they were headed for the camp gates, screaming and starting fires as they went.

XIII

After his first moment of shock, Conrad had dived for concealment in a small hollow between two clumps of shrubs. For what felt like a century, and might in reality have been some hours, he lay there on his belly trying to follow the progress of events from the sounds that reached him and very occasionally, when things quietened down, daring to raise his head and peer out.

Directly they emerged from the camp, the soldiers seemed to split into two main factions, and there was a great deal of shouted argument. Conrad caught snatches of phrases-something about the green plague, and going the same way as the Duke-and was transfixed by the realisation of what had presumably happened: the Duke, whose leadership had been praised by the soldiers who came to Lagwich, must be sick or dead.

Some of the soldiers, however, headed back into the camp almost at once. Shots followed, and sometimes screams as well; then from behind the now dense veil of smoke they began to re-emerge singly and by groups, laughing and staggering under loads of loot-gaudy clothing, fine swords, jars and kegs of liquor and bags so heavy they must contain precious metal or coins.

Before that, however, the larger portion of the army-consisting of those men more afraid of the green plague than eager for easy pickings-had formed up in rough order under ad-hoc leadership and set off shouting and chanting in the direction of Lagwich. Watching them, Conrad knew that it was his strict duty to sneak back to the town’s land somehow and warn the people. But when he desperately cast about for a possible route, he could see no cover-and if he showed himself, it was much too likely he would be shot down on principle.

He was almost overwhelmed by relief when he realised, some minutes later, that others beside himself had decided to keep an eye on the army camp. The familiar blast of Waygan’s horn sounded an alarm, and the disappearing tail of the rabble-army broke from its formation and ran out of sight in a way which suggested anger-anger at not falling on an unsuspecting prey, was Conrad’s guess.

Then more shooting drew his attention back to the camp, and he peered between the leaves of the sheltering shrubs and tried to figure out what-apart from looting-was happening there.

A group of three soldiers, burdened with their prizes, was heading straight for him.

His heart paused for a long second. Then he concentrated on making himself as nearly invisible as he could.

“Bunch of fools!” one of them said in a rough bass voice. “Taking cloth and clothing when everyone knows it was a blanket harboured the green plague in the Duke’s tent!”

“But only where a spot of blood had fallen,” corrected a second voice, rather wheezy as though the man was trying not to pant hard.

“That’s not why I kept my hands off such stuff,” the third said-a fruity baritone with a slight chuckle. “Too bulky! Why drag cloth around when there’s good coin?” Something jingled, and the man laughed.

“Coin weighs, though,” the bass voice grumbled. “Ah, to the barrenland with this sword! Why should I need two of ’em? Here’s enough money to buy a horse and pay my food and lodging back to Esberg!”

A thump announced the discarding of the sword.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” the wheezy voice inquired. “Where, for one thing, are you going to buy a horse? Not in Lagwich! By this time the plague-scared fools’ll have shut the town up oyster-tight-and do you fancy sitting here till they starve open the gates?”

Bass-voice snorted. “Let ’em play siege-engineer all they like. They’ll not have patience to succeed. After a few nights this close to the barrenland, when they think of their snug tents burned behind them, they’ll leak away and have to beg or fight back to Esberg. Whereas we, my friends, will be home and dry, with a little over for a celebration.” A heavy slap, as on a leather bag stretched tight by the weight of its contents. “Move along! We’re ahead of the game, but we have to stay ahead.”

Their irregular footsteps, accompanied by the jingling of their stolen coin, faded.

Mouth dry, Conrad finally ventured to lift his head again. The very first thing that met his eyes was the discarded sword, the sun glinting on its hilt.

Out-and back. Clutching the weapon as though to draw supernatural comfort from it, Conrad gazed anxiously around to make sure no one had noticed his brief emergence. But the only people in sight were the backwash of the looters coming smoke-grimed from the ruins of the camp. In knots of half a dozen they made their unsteady way towards Lagwich and their less greedy comrades.

A bitter taste rose in Conrad’s mouth. So this was the true nature of the men whose ranks he had hoped to join, thinking their life better than his own in Lagwich! Where was their pride? What had happened to their smart organisation? What in truth must Esberg be like, if its soldiers could turn in a few short hours into ignoble banditry?

For a long moment he turned his eyes downward to the bright blade of the sword, thinking: It’s keen-it would drive home cleanly to my heart. And then … blessed peace.

He choked off the thought. No: that seemed a cowardly solution. And it would leave far too many personal debts unpaid.

The last of the loot-laden soldiers passed out of sight in the direction of the town. A new idea struck him. It wasn’t a particularly honourable idea-but what did these men know of honour, if they were ready to besiege and rob Lagwich, where the townsfolk had welcomed them? The point was, they could not by any means have stripped this enormous camp in the short time they had been at work there; they must have left behind many valuable and useful things because they simply couldn’t carry them. Things which might enable Conrad, his other courses of action blocked, to make his way to some other town and there set up a little business.

It didn’t have the glamour of service with the Esberg army. But it didn’t have the continuing misery of return to Lagwich, either.

His mind was made up in an instant. The sword he had retrieved was complete with belt and frog. He rose and buckled it around him as he had seen soldiers do in the town when they got up to leave a drinking-shop. Setting his shoulders back, not caring any more whether anybody saw him, he strode down the hillside to the reeking remains of the camp.

Fires were still spreading, but sluggishly, for there was virtually no wind now. A hot puff of air made his eyes sting as he stared through the open gate and down the avenue-like axis of the camp. Why, there in plain sight was a vast bronze cauldron which made him jealous on sight; it was big enough to outdo two of his pottery vats.

By the same token, of course, it was no good to him-he might have attempted to get it away if he’d had a waggon, but what had become of the army’s vehicles he had no idea. And he was unskilled in the management of draft animals, anyway.