Richford looked upon his enemy as they drew closer. He could just now make out the clop of horse's hooves on the hard packed road, as well as the creak of harness leather and the clank of metal on metal. Long pennants flew from spear and lance, while brightly colored plumes adorned helmets that glittered in the evening sunlight. It was a sight to stir both fear and admiration in the old warrior's hardened heart.

The Earl drew his sword--a fond companion of many battles--and raised his arm into the air. When he dropped that arm, the archers would let fly their arrows and the battle would be joined, for good or ill. He let the procession move just a bit closer to the castle, his fist clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword.

Richford was just about to let his arm drop, when he heard someone running up behind him. He turned quickly, just in time to receive a blow from a small but powerful fist, full against his armored breastplate. Though the blow did him no harm, he nevertheless staggered back a few steps from the furious creature before him.

"Egbath!" the short, thin woman screamed at the Earl. "Just what in the name of all that is holy do ye think to be doing?" She stood defiantly before him, her red hair streaming out behind her like a demented harpy, small fists planted firmly on thin hips and scowled up at her husband.

"Er, Cici, dear. Me darling, me pet," the Earl replied, weakly, backing up even farther, until he bumped into Reginald. Fortunately, he still held his sword aloft and quickly motioned the captain to have the bowmen stand down. The Earl dropped his arm as the archer's flag was lowered. "Why, we were but preparing a suitable well come for yonder visitors, me love," Richford explained.

"We!?" his new wife shrilled, turning her murderous glare on Reginald, who quickly found something else to occupy his gaze. She snorted, then turned back to her husband, who was quietly trying to sheath his sword. "That be me own mother out there, ye huge dolt, coming for a first visit to her newly married, only daughter, all the way from Birchshire!" she cried.

Richford cringed from her fury--it seemed that his young wife was always screaming at him about something. "Aye," he shouted back. "And it appears she brought the entire population of the shire along with her!" he snapped, waving an arm at the approaching group. The procession of men and wagons must have stretched a full furlong from the castle.

"Would ye deny me a visit from me own dear mum, then!?" she screeched, her voice going up yet another octave. "Ye bring me out here, all alone, to marry ye in this far flung, desolate wilderness, where I have no friends, no family ties, no social gatherings to attend and then, when me dear, aged mum risks her own life and limb to travel here with only a few hand maidens, servants, grooms, cooks and barely enough men at arms to protect her from who knows what might befall a poor woman on the road--"

"Cooks?" Richford cut in, having to raise his own voice to be heard above the continuous stream of verbiage Cici was spouting. "She brought her own cooks? What does she think we do for food out here in the wilderness? Eat everything raw?" he asked, sarcastically.