Page 171 of The Pillars of the Earth

“Ranulf and the knights of Chester form the middle, lord,” the scout began. “They are on foot.”

William wondered how the scout knew this. He must have gone right into the enemy camp and listened while marching orders were given. That took a cool nerve.

“Ranulf in the center?” said Stephen. “As if he were the leader, rather than Robert!”

“Robert of Gloucester is on his left flank, with an army of men who call themselves The Disinherited,” the scout went on. William knew why they used that name—they had all lost lands since the civil war began.

“Robert has given Ranulf command of the operation, then,” Stephen said thoughtfully. “A pity. I know Robert well—I practically grew up with him—and I could guess his tactics. But Ranulf is a stranger to me. No matter. Who’s on their right?”

“The Welsh, lord.”

“Archers, I suppose.” The men of South Wales had a reputation for bowmanship.

“Not these,” the scout said. “They are a raving mob, with their faces painted, singing barbaric songs, and armed with hammers and clubs. Very few have horses.”

“They must be from North Wales,” Stephen mused. “Ranulf has promised them pillage, I expect. God help Lincoln if they get inside the walls. But they won’t! What’s your name, scout?”

“Roger, called Lackland,” the man said.

“Lackland? You shall have ten acres for this work.”

The man was thrilled. “Thank you, lord!”

“Now.” Stephen turned and looked at his earls. He was about to make his dispositions. William tensed, wondering what role the king would assign to him. “Where is my lord Alan of Brittany?”

Alan edged his horse forward. He was the leader of a force of Breton mercenaries, rootless men who fought for pay and whose only loyalty was to themselves.

Stephen said to Alan: “I’ll have you and your brave Bretons in the front line on my left.”

William saw the wisdom of that: Breton mercenaries against Welsh adventurers, the untrustworthy versus the undisciplined.

“William of Ypres!” Stephen called.

“My lord king.” A dark man on a black war-horse raised his lance. This William was the leader of another force of mercenaries, Flemish men, a shade more reliable than the Bretons, it was said.

Stephen said: “You on my left also, but behind Alan’s Bretons.”

The two mercenary leaders wheeled about and rode back into the army to organize their men. William wondered where he would be placed. He had no wish to be in the front line. He had already done enough to distinguish himself, by bringing his army. A safe, uneventful rearguard position would suit him today.

King Stephen said: “My lords of Worcester, Surrey, Northampton, York and Hertford, with your knights, form my right flank.”

Once again William saw the sense of Stephen’s dispositions. The earls and their knights, mostly mounted, would face Robert of Gloucester and the “disinherited” nobles who supported him, most of whom would also be on horseback. But William was disappointed not to have been included with the earls. Surely the king could not have forgotten about him?

“I will hold the middle ground, dismounted, with foot soldiers,” Stephen said.

For the first time William disapproved of a decision. It was always better to stay on horseback as long as you could. But Ranulf, at the head of the opposing army, was said to be on foot, and Stephen’s overwrought sense of fair play compelled him to meet his enemy on equal terms.

“With me in the center I will have William of Shiring and his men,” the king said.

William did not know whether to be thrilled or terrified. It was a great honor to be chosen to stand with the king—Mother would be gratified—but it put him in the most dangerous position. Worse still, he would be on foot. It also meant the king would be able to see him and judge his performance. He would have to appear fearless and take the fight to the enemy, as opposed to keeping out of trouble and fighting only when forced to, which was the tactic he preferred.

“The loyal citizens of Lincoln will bring up the rear,” Stephen said. This was a mixture of compassion and military good sense. The citizens would not be much use anywhere, but in the rear they could do little damage and would suffer fewer casualties.

William raised the banner of the earl of Shiring. This was another idea of Mother’s. He was not entitled to the banner, strictly speaking, because he was not the earl; but the men with him were used to following the Shiring banner—or so he would argue if challenged. And by the end of the day, if the battle went well, he might be earl.

His men gathered around him. Walter was by his side, as always, a solid, reassuring presence. So were Ugly Gervase, Hugh Axe and Miles Dice. Gilbert, who had died at the quarry, had been replaced by Guillaume de St. Clair, a fresh-faced young man with a vicious streak.

Looking around, William was infuriated to see Richard of Kingsbridge, wearing bright new armor and riding a splendid war-horse. He was with the earl of Surrey. He had not brought an army for the king, as William had, but he looked impressive—fresh-faced, vigorous, and brave—and if he did great things today he might win royal favor. Battles were unpredictable, and so were kings.