Streams of sweat burn my eyes, but I dare not raise my sleeve to wipe them. Our shield wall is tightly formed and any break might force the Saxons to charge. We’ve been here for hours waiting for the first attack. In all the tales, bards sing of how mighty armies clash upon first sight and major battles are over in moments. It wouldn’t be as interesting to sing of the hours of waiting, the nervous anticipation, the stench of never tested youths whose fear causes them to lose control of their bowels. Our priest has blessed our souls and prayed to the One God for our victory. Some of us who believe in the old religion still carry our talismans of fortune and from the corner of my eye, I see a few veterans kiss theirs for good luck. I carry no fortune but the silver clasp holding my cloak. My beloved Saryf commissioned it for me. Its shape is the sun and moon intertwined with a cross shining in their midst. I have converted to this new Christianity, but the old gods still have their place in my heart.