Free Army of the Wolf by Peter Darman Page B

more confused. ‘Then you want a full-face helm.’
    Conrad shook his head. ‘No, I need a kettle helmet.’
    ‘It’s against regulations.’
    ‘What?’
    The armourer wagged a finger in Conrad’s face. ‘Master Rudolf is very strict when it comes to such things.’
    Conrad’s patience was fast disappearing. He smashed his fist down on the counter. ‘Just get me a kettle helmet, and the other things.’
    The armourer frowned. ‘You meant a lance, surely?’
    ‘No,’ said Conrad slowly and purposefully, ‘I need a spear.’
    Confusion returned to the armourer’s face. ‘You are not a spearman.’
    ‘Your powers of observation do you credit,’ remarked Conrad dryly. ‘I need a spear because they are useful to round up panicking civilians. I don’t need a lance because I will not be on horseback. And now, having explained myself to you, will you please provide me with my weapons. Or do you wish me to provide written authorisation?’
    The armourer looked annoyed. ‘There will be no need for that.’
    He turned and disappeared into the armoury’s interior of cages holding a wide variety of weapons and ammunition, muttering to himself as he did so.
    ‘They think they own the weapons in here,’ Conrad complained to Hans beside him.
    ‘They watch over the armoury like an eagle guards its nest,’ agreed his slim friend.
    The armourer returned with the items requested.
    ‘Bring them all back,’ he snapped at Conrad before turning to Hans. ‘And I suppose you want a kettle helmet and spear as well, Brother Hans?’
    Hans grinned. ‘You must be a mind reader.’
    The armourer scowled, shook his head and went to retrieve Hans’ weapons.
    ‘I will see you outside,’ said Conrad, tucking his axe into his belt.
    The sunlight dazzled his eyes as he stepped outside into the bustle of the courtyard, Brother Walter and the quarry relief party were trotting from the cobbles over the drawbridge. Anton and Johann came from the armoury as Conrad slung his shield of wood covered in leather on his back using the leather guige, the strap that had a buckle that allowed its length to be adjusted. He ensured the strap wasn’t too tight so the shield could be removed from his back quickly and then placed his helmet on his head. Brother knights of the order may have been required to wear full-face helms but Conrad found the kettle helmet much more comfortable, especially when not in the saddle. Its wide brim gave adequate protection against blows from above and as the face was not covered it afforded much greater visibility.
    ‘Where’s Hans?’ said Anton.
    ‘Probably stuffing his face before he ventures far from the kitchens,’ remarked Johann.
    They all laughed. One of the lasting legacies of Hans’ wretched childhood was his insatiable hunger.
    ‘This is no the time for mirth.’ The voice of Otto boomed across the courtyard.
    Conrad rolled his eyes at the other two as Wenden’s resident priest came striding towards them. Dressed in a simple greyish-white habit of undyed wool, Otto was six inches taller than Conrad and infinitely uglier. All the brother knights had neatly trimmed beards and hair but Otto was bald and clean-shaven, his head covered in battle scars, the deepest of which was on his forehead above his right eye. With his disfigured head, severe countenance and black eyes Otto resembled a gargoyle and a thing of children’s nightmares rather than a priest.
    They fell silent as he marched up to them. ‘I am coming with you.’
    Conrad saw the sword belt strapped round Otto’s waist. ‘Expecting trouble, Father Otto?’
    ‘I thought priests were not allowed to shed blood,’ said Johann.
    Otto glared at him. ‘Do not presume to lecture me on church law. The villagers are my flock and I shall protect them as I see fit.’
    Hans came from the armoury adjusting his helmet straps.
    ‘Best we get to the village as quickly as possible,’ said Conrad, smiling at Otto. ‘Stay close, father.’
    ‘Stay