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back the coming tide, but he appreciated their loyalty. They had decided to stay, for better or worse, to follow their new officer who had never seen a battle and who could not even grow a beard, and he could not tell them how much it meant to him.
    Stryker found Ensign Forrester by the riverbank. Together they stood for several quiet minutes, staring out into the black abyss, training their eyes on the spectral figures that moved amongst another range of small fires, wondering which man would be the one to deliver the killing blow come dawn.
    Footsteps sounded behind them and both men spun round.
    ‘My apologies for startling you,’ the features of the lawyer, Buchwald, resolved before Stryker.
    Stryker waved him away. ‘No matter, sir.’
    Buchwald seemed awkward, wringing his hands. ‘I would speak with you, Lieutenant.’ He glanced at Forrester. ‘Alone.’
    ‘You may say whatever is to be said,’ Stryker replied. ‘Ensign Forrester is my second here.’
    Buchwald’s eyes darted from one to the other, and he swallowed. ‘As you wish.’ He seemed embarrassed. ‘I would ask you to surrender.’
    ‘Oh?’
    Buchwald wrung his hands again. ‘The Husaria are not forgiving. They have too many men. You might make things,’ he looked up at the smoke-misted moon as he searched for the word, ‘ difficult for them in crossing the ford, but you know you cannot keep them at bay for ever. They are too many. We too few.’
    Stryker sighed heavily. ‘I am afraid the die is cast, Herr Buchwald. I have offended their leader. If we surrender now, he will kill us all, like as not.’ A thought occurred to him then, and he brightened. ‘But you have nothing for which to remain, sir. You were to guide us here, and you have. Leave now, while you still can.’
    ‘No,’ Buchwald shook his head rapidly, jowls shaking, and turned to move back into the deeper dark.
    Forrester whistled a soft ditty. ‘If I were him,’ he said when the last lingering note had faded, ‘I’d be long gone.’
    Stryker shrugged. ‘Perhaps he does not wish to risk the forest at night. It is dangerous.’
    Forrester gave a snort of amusement, pointing out towards the Polish camp. ‘Not as dangerous as that lot, I’d wager.’ He fell silent for a few seconds, gnawing the inside of his mouth. ‘How will we stop them, sir? He is right. If they charge across the ford, our pike and shot can only delay them. We have not the numbers. Not any longer.’
    ‘Truth told, Ensign, I am not certain. We will move the wagon up on to the causeway. It is not wide enough to block the whole ford, but it will break up their charge.’
    Forrester nodded. ‘That is something, I suppose.’ He straightened then, rolling his shoulders and taking a deep breath. ‘I would take a squad over the river, sir.’
    Stryker stared at his subordinate in surprise. ‘No.’
    ‘Under cover of night, sir,’ the ensign pressed. ‘Give me a dozen men, and I’ll slit as many throats as I may.’
    ‘Do not be a fool, Forrester. I cannot spare the men.’
    For a moment the two officers stared at one another, before Forrester turned back to the river in dismay. ‘I know what you think of me. A foppish stripling. Some lordly buffoon playing at soldier. Perhaps you are right in part.’ He looked up defiantly. ‘But not the whole, sir. Not the whole. I would prove that to you.’
    Stryker considered the challenge, and could not help but see an image of Forrester on the far bank, barking orders at men old enough to be his father in the face of a charging column of lancers. He remembered his own bowel-loosening horror at joining the fight, and could not bring himself to look Forrester in the eye. ‘It is proven,’ he muttered.
    Forrester sighed heavily. ‘What a strange grave this place will make. I did not expect to die here.’
    ‘I confess I imagined you in a more scholarly life,’ Stryker answered.
    ‘That was indeed my lot not so very long ago, sir,’ Forrester said. ‘I