The biting wind of the English Channel slowly faded as the first faint rays of dawn cracked over the eastern horizon.
Bjorn hadn't slept a single wink, his eyes burned from staring out into the misty southern fields for hours on end, waiting for the Frankish banners to appear.
All along the eastern and southern walls, the dockworkers and castle militia were finally resting.
Three hundred steel cannons were mounted on their carriages, their barrels pointing out toward the empty plains.
"My back is broken..." Hakon groaned loudly, climbing up the final stone step to the top of the wall.
"Are the powder vaults secured?" Bjorn asked, not taking his eyes off the horizon.
