......The chain mail smells of machine oil. The weight is comforting rather than heavy. My long bow is taller than me, but the quiver is empty. With grim resolution I draw the broad sword from the baldrick on my back ( Kings Lynn 2007, forged from carbon steel and sharp as hell) and move into the high guard once more. I'm no longer on the battlements looking down, but in front of the heavy oak door which is slowly giving way to the battering ram. Soon it will splinter and give way, and I will see my enemy. I am sure I will recognise them. Blood will be spilled and if the black dog is at their side, I swear it goes first.
4 in the morning. Last nights buffet on th ship, and free wine got to me.
Note to self: Wear plate armour and chain mail less.
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