Whispers by a Hedge

Sir George knelt down alongside the hedgerow. His hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword, pressing it down to raise the tip preventing it from digging into the morning dew covered ground. The first sliver of the sun started to emerge from the horizon. His companion, Apprentice Yorri, squatted next to him.

“Sir?” Yorri said softly.

“Yes Yorri?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Not in the slightest,” the knight said, looking at his squire with a grin. The look did not reassure Yorri, who’s brow started to dampen with perspiration.

George reached into the hedgerow and removed leaves and carefully broke branches, slowly making a small hole to look through. He did his best to create a cone shape to it, giving him the largest field of view, with the smallest possible opening on the other side.

The knight moved himself closer to the view hole and pressed his face against the foliage. Through the opening he had a clear view to the field beyond. A knot tied in his guts as he saw confirmation of the scout’s initial reports. About fifty yards away, as best George could estimate, stood a row of brown tents, embers lightly glowed in fire pits, horses and carts stood around the perimeter, and armed soldiers walked about.

George leaned back, Yorri’s furrowed brow confirmed to George that the color left his face. Then Yorri’s curiosity pulled him to look through the opening as well. He didn’t look for as long as the knight before leaning back with a similar reaction as his master.

“H-how many do you think?” Yorri asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“Hard to say,” George replied, he said the words as flatly as he could to mask his own trepidation.

“Guess,” Yorri said, “they’ll want that at least back at camp.”

George looked at Yorri, his brow raised, a flash of his usual more lighthearted self visiting for a moment.

“What? I’m right,” Yorri said, his voice getting a little louder before he realized it. He shrunk into his shoulders for a moment as they both held their breaths fearing the call of a sentry alerting the not far off war camp to their presence. None came.

“I know you are,” George said softly, “so, maybe eight thousand, if I’m being a pessimist.”

“And if you were being an optimist?” Yorri asked, hoping for some kind of comfort.

“Seven thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine if we manage to capture a sentry to bring back with us.”

Yorri contemplated knocking out the knight, dragging him to the enemy’s camp, and bartering for his own passage away from the coming battle. Though the impulse passed quickly.

“So I take it you have a plan for capturing this sentry?” Yorri asked.

“Why would I? We haven’t found one yet.”

The squire stiffened his features at the reply, though knew arguing wouldn’t change it. They knelt within shouting distance of an enemy army and until a few moments ago didn’t have any concrete information about it.

As if on cue from the other side of the hedgerow the pair heard the sound of armor articulating over itself that coincided with the movement of someone walking. The pair hiding looked at each other, George smirked, and Yorri rolled his eyes.

The approaching soul moved slowly, with mostly regular steps. George assumed that the nearing soldier kept his focus more on the uneven ground of the field as he walked. With a heavy and silent breath George leaned again toward the small opening he made in the hedgerow. He could just make out the patrolling sentry at the edge of his field of vision. The carefully moving and well equipped soldier slowly neared their position.

The knight started to do the mental calculations, both Yorri and him were lightly armed to ease their movement and make less sound. The sentry had the advantage there. They outnumbered him. Though Yorri knew the basics, up until this point had never fought outside of sparring. Without knowing more about how this soldier fought he couldn’t make an estimation of how a fight with him would fare. At the moment their best advantage remained in stealth and surprise to take their foe.

He leaned back on his heels from the viewing spot. Yorri’s expression remained mostly the same, though his eyes looked at George for some reassurance. George carefully shifted closer to the younger man. He wrapped an arm around his shoulder pulling him closer to barely whisper into his ear.

“It’s just one, he’s got some armor but that’s no worry. We want him alive so he’s helping us there.”

“The p-plan,” Yorri barely managed to press past his lips.

“When the-” he started, though cut himself off as he heard the sentry on the other side of the hedge cough loudly then spit.

Their prey approached quickly, and would be past them before too long. George needed to think faster.

“-sentry passes by the opening, reach out, grab him, belt’s good, ankle’s best.”

Yorri’s face lost what little color remained.

“Pull hard, let me do the rest.”

George released his arm from around Yorri’s shoulder and leaned back on his heels slightly.

“S-sir-” Yorri started before Geroge’s hand shot up and covered his mouth with his palm. The knight held them both still, listening.

The sound of the careful footsteps of the patrolling sentry were gone, a deadly silence hung in the air. Beads of sweat started to roll down the sides of George’s face, catching in the stubble on his cheek left unattended due to their early morning departure from their own camp. The knight never liked to start the day without shaving, though the surprise task this morning robbed him of his usual ritual.

Eventually they heard movement from beyond the hedgerow again, though not the careful steps of the sentry patrolling. The branches rustled seemingly under the inspection of a gloved hand. George’s free hand moved to his own lips, his index finger extending to carefully press against them signaling silence. The squire nodded, and George removed his hand from Yorri’s mouth.

They carefully moved, Yorri closer to the opening and George just to his side. The former remained low, and the latter stood up slowly. The knight’s hand again firmly placed on the pommel of his sword, making sure it didn’t knock anything and betray their location.

The sound of steps returned, though slower and more spaced. George correctly assumed the sentry’s focus now targeted the hedge and not the ground. With each step closer to them George felt his heart beat in his temples. He knew in a few steps their target would pass in front of their viewing space. Yorri would need to be quick, or their advantage would quickly be gone.

After a few more steps the sound stopped, George swallowed hard. His ears straining, he heard the soft sound of a gloved hand tightening over a hilt of a sword.

“Now!” George commanded as softly as he could.

Yorri shot his hand through the opening, it jammed into the sentry. He first contacted a plate of the soldier’s armor, the pain of the impact rang through him, but Yorri’s hand still searched frantically for something to grip a hold of. 

“What the-” the sentry started.

Yorris’ fingers quickly found something softer, “belt’s good,” he repeated in his head as he locked his fingers around the soldier’s belt and pulled hard.

Before the sentry could finish his reactive question he felt the pull on his belt, off guard he started to fall off balance. Just as the soldier started to understand the situation George pushed himself through the hedge enough to extend his arms out and around the sentry. He locked them around the man’s neck and likewise pulled him back through the hegde.

The three of them all tumbled backward, Yorri landing on his back, George on his side, and the sentry onto Yorri.

A frantic movement of arms and limbs danced next to him as George quickly moved to rip off the man’s helmet. Yorri whelped under the weight of the sentry pressing him into the damp morning ground. The sentry wheezed to recover his voice from the fall and as he felt the strap of his helmet digging into the underside of his chin.

With enough force the leather ripped from the rivet that attached it to the helmet. A large red imprint on the soldier’s skin showed the force required. George tossed the freed helmet aside with his left hand, and his right arm hooked around the sentry’s neck, holding it in his elbow. The knight squeezed his arm hard and brought his left hand back to grip his right wrist. With a heavy pull the sentry rolled off of Yorri, who took in a deep gasp of air, and landed on his back on top of George.

The sentry gripped and clawed at the knight’s arm around his throat but still in shock and now losing air didn’t find meaningful purchase. In maybe a minute the struggling stopped, and George could feel the sentry’s body relaxing. Once he felt all movement stop he released his hold around the man’s neck.

Quickly he pushed him off from on top of him.

“Yorri, Yorri you dead?”

The squire slowly started to pull himself up to sit, “not yet.” His voice said coarsely, his breathing more regular now.

“Good,” George said before immediately moving to check their prisoner for signs of life. He leaned his cheek right above the man’s mouth, George felt shallow breaths in regular intervals against his stubbled skin.

“Yorri grab the helmet, stick it back on our friend here, and help me carry him.” George commanded, his tone still quiet, but laced with the remaining adrenaline from the encounter.

The squire rolled himself slightly to the side to turn his legs to the side before leaning forward to get up on fours. He scrambled to grab the helmet George tore from the sentry and did as instructed.

They each hooked an arm under their prisoner’s armpits and pulled him up. Immediately they started moving back the way they originally came. The sun fully free from the horizon singled the advancing time of day, even though their whole morning to this point felt as if only a few minutes passed.

“Some plan Sir,” Yorri said, through heavy breaths carrying their heavy load. “I think I broke my hand.”

George gave spaced out chuckles in time with his own heavy breaths. “Where was that in my plan?”