Night March

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He stumbled into the man in front of him, it took a moment for him to realize where he was. On the road, in a cold rain, marching to some unknown destination. He trusted that the men above him knew where they were bound, he was content to follow the man in front of him. One foot after the other as his old sergeant used to say,

He looked about, it was nearly night, out on the far horizon, the skyline was lit up in red, but here the shadows were long and visibility was dropping to zero very quickly. It would be a dark night in the cold rain. He wondered when they would rest, if at all.

His stomach gurgled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since very early that morning. They had been up before the sun and on the march as the mist had begun to lift. A stale crust of bread had been their breakfast. The leaders were pressing them onwards. Something was in the air.

Normally a march this hurried meant one of two things, they were fleeing something, or they were chasing something. He'd been on both ends of that tale, hastily marching away from danger or hastily marching towards it, there never seemed to be a day where they were simply moving from one place to another.

"Clear a path! Make way there!"

The men in his unit all moved to the side of the road, at least the verge wasn't quite as muddy as the main path which had been rutted by the wagons and guns, then trampled by the infantry into a thick soup of mud.

The horsemen went past at the trot, heading to the front of the column. Officers no doubt, biding their time in some roadside inn then dashing up the road at the last minute. The plight of the infantry was to march about in the slop and the bad weather, then stand and fight for hours. Marching, fighting, and sometimes dying, that was the job of the infantry.

As they sorted themselves out and got back onto the road, he had to wonder, was it getting lighter out? He could see the ground nearby, which he couldn't have seen before. Then it struck him, it was starting to snow.

"Steady lads, keep to your ranks! We're guiding to the left just ahead and going uphill for a bit. Steady now, steady."

A collective groan went down the column, they'd been marching most of the night. The wind was picking up and the snow was getting heavier. Though the snow upon the ground helped him to see where he was going, it made his feet feel even worse than they normally did on the march.

The mud was starting to freeze, making walking difficult, a number of men had already fallen out with twisted ankles. They would rejoin the tail of the column once they'd massaged the blood back in to their extremities.

"Rufus," the man to his left hissed, "think we're marching into battle?"

"I do, otherwise we would have stopped already."

"Do they expect us to charge home on empty bellies and no sleep?"

"Course they do, Thomas. What did you expect?"

Thomas grumbled under his breath as their sergeant came near.

"Enough yapping lads, save yer strength for the coming day. The enemy's ahead, I can feel it in my bones."

"My Lord, the men are starting to straggle. If we keep up this pace, they'll not be fit for battle this day."

The Duke reined in his mount and turned to look back down the column. It was true, the ranks were thinner at the front. The strongest kept pace, but the weaker, less experienced men were starting to straggle. The column had probably doubled in length in the last few hours.

He shook his head and snorted, "Very well, have the men fall out to the side of the road. Two, at the most three hours, then we'll need to continue the march. I promised His Majesty that we would arrive on the field at dawn."

"Yes, Milord, but I gather the King would prefer you have a force fit for battle?"

"Indeed." Turning, he barked at his squire, "Set up a shelter under that tree, Percy. No need to pitch the tent, a tarpaulin over that low branch will be sufficient. A small fire would also be appreciated."

"Yes, Milord." Percy pulled the pack mules over, found what he needed then directed the other servants to start putting up the tarp.

Percy nudged the senior servant, "Henry, we need to find some wood dry enough to burn - if that's even bloody possible on such a night as this."

It was noticeably lighter on the hill. The commander realized this as visibility was better than it had been. He could actually see his men sitting their mounts roughly twenty paces to the rear, they had been nearly invisible a scant few moments ago.

He looked to the east, he had been expecting his ally's men to be approaching at this time. As they were not yet in sight, he had to wonder if the snow and rain had slowed them enough to keep them away from his chosen field of battle. He rather hoped not, his adversary outnumbered him, by quite a lot.

"Sir William."

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Send someone down the eastern track, I need to know if Norfolk's men will be here or not. If not, I fear we must withdraw."

"I shall go myself, Milord."

"Very well then, on your way."

As Sir William's mount picked its way down the hillside, it was becoming whiter with each passing minute, the snow seemed to be falling harder now. The wind was blowing stronger as well, out of the west. Right into the enemy's face he realized. He wondered if that might prove to be an advantage.

For now, he must wait.