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scouts who cleaned up the few men wandering out of the camp for one reason or another. |
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Just beyond the perimeter of the fields several hundred chosen men waited, watching the activity die down and the fires burn low. There were guards, but not very many. Soon shadows began to flit across the fields and there were fewer guards, then fewer still. Then the whole open area seemed to darken and crawl and heave. Prince Llewelyn's army was on the move. They were not aimed toward the rows of tents where the men-at-arms slept, but toward the area closet to the keep, where the draught animals were tethered and the baggage wains lay. It was not completely silent; it was impossible that so many men should not make some noise, but the camp was not completely silent either, and the invaders did not raise any alarms. |
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Simon and his troop were in the second wave, although the best of his men had worked with the scouts. When it came to actual battle, Simon preferred to be in mail and on horseback. There were already a few cries in the distance as Simon rode across the fields toward the camp. Here and there a groom or a guard of the supply train could not be silenced quickly enough. It would not be long before the whole camp was stirring. |
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Even as he thought it, a voice cried a sleepy challenge. Simon could see well enough to make out a face peering from a tent. He answered with an autocratic snap. The mail-clad form, shield on shoulder and sword sheathed, together with the tone and the cultured voice and accent, were enough. The sentries had not called any alarm; it was not the business of a common man to question a knight riding through the camp with a few men on his tail. No one would bother to inform a common soldier about any duty but his own. |
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Simon went on, laughing silently. He was nearly to the center of the camp. Pembroke's forces must |
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