On the Tullian left, beneath her red banner, sat Lady Rosewitha, feeling rather bothered with the delay. The gambison under her maille itched, and sweat ran down the nape of her neck. She felt hot and sticky from the perspiration, the weight of her armour pushing down on her shoulders, whilst her hair beneath the arming cap was soaked with sweat. Her mare, as if sensing its mistresses agitation, whinnied softly, pawing at the ground with a hoof.

She could see the enemy at the top of the ridge ahead of them, a scant eight hundred yards away. There was a flag fluttering above the crossbowmen, a silhouetted by the sun, the material stretching, fluttering in the gentle wind.

A strand of pitch black hair managed to free itself from the arming cap, it’s tip curling up, poking at her eye. She brushed the hair away and wiped at the sweat that soaked her forehead.

“Milady?” She twisted in her saddle towards the voice. One of her Knights, a Sir Joen, held out a skin filled with water. Her throat suddenly felt dry, while her tongue seemed stuck to her pallet. Gratefully Rosewitha took the proffered skin and bit the stopper from its neck. Lifting it to her lips, she felt the cool water dribble across her dry lips, and unable to help herself, squeezed the skin, squirting the liquid greedily into her mouth. She drank until she had to stop for air, savouring the feeling of the cold water in her parched throat as she passed the skin across to Sir Joen, who twisted round in his saddle to throw the skin to the man behind him.

“How long do you think they’ll keep us roasting here? We waiting for them to die of old age up there?” The grumble, coming from Rosewitha’s right belonged to another of the knights, Sir Leone of Krallan. He always had something to complain about, never happy it seemed. “Something is a-happening though. S’one of those fancy boys givin’ old Calen his marching orders. Reckon we’ll be shoved right into the thick of. You know what Bally’s like, straight in with us and damn the infantry. Bloody right too.” The sing-song voice of the lazy Sir Denils settled itself on Rosewitha’s ears. If his voice was not so lovely to hear, she thought, he’d be really, -really- annoying. Still, he’s right, something is happening.

Count Calen, commander of Tullia’s cavalry this day, was beckoning his commanders to him, reluctantly including Rosewitha in his summons. Rosewitha and Calen had formed a mutual dislike of each other on sight. She knew his reason was understandable – women were supposed to stay in the home, raise the children, plan the social calender, discuss the weather. That would be so…dull, her mind moaned at her as she slowly walked her horse towards Calen, disdaining to hurry as the other commanders had. Imagine it, sat in a cold, windy keep, with little children screaming and crying. She visibly shuddered. There were those amongst Tullias Nobles who found the fact she was a fighting woman quite alluring, but most of them were either ugly, poor, had bad hygiene or were just too boring.

“Feeling a touch of fear, milady Rosewitha?” Calen’s sneer was soaked in venom. He’d seen her flinch, she realised. She hurried to compose a response but Calen was already speaking again, addressing the half dozen commanders. “Ballen’s orders are that we move in front of the infantry and charge the ridge. We ride over them, tear them apart and then encircle them so that they can’t escape. Should be easy enough, I know at least most of you are capable.” Unable to help themselves, the other commanders looked uneasily at Rosewitha, who ignored them. “To your men Gentlemen, let us get ourselves moving. Lady Rosewitha perhaps you and your men would prefer to act as our reserve, I’m sure they’ve no real belly for a fight.”

“If you have such little confidence in your men and their capabilities that you wish a reserve, then I’ll gladly take such a position. At least Ballen will be able to see who his competent commanders are then when you fail and I take the field in your stead.” The words blurted out of her mouth before she could stop them, and before the shocked Calen could respond she turned the horse and kicked her heels back.