Matt Lewis

And hygiene was actually probably better than you think it is.

Two fearless historians.

Me, Matt Lewis.

And me, Dr Eleanor Janaga, dive headfirst into the mud, blood and very strange customs of the Middle Ages.

And hygiene was actually probably better than you think it is.

Two fearless historians.

Me, Matt Lewis.

And me, Dr Eleanor Janaga, dive headfirst into the mud, blood and very strange customs of the Middle Ages.

The peace of the dawn air is disturbed by the rasp of drums. Their inexorable rhythm is so alien to your rural surroundings that even the pink glow of twilight seems spoiled by the sound. Nearby, you hear the clatter of hooves from a solitary rider. The pace is furious and the heavy panting of the horse is almost as loud as the warning cries from its master.

The peace of the dawn air is disturbed by the rasp of drums. Their inexorable rhythm is so alien to your rural surroundings that even the pink glow of twilight seems spoiled by the sound. Nearby, you hear the clatter of hooves from a solitary rider. The pace is furious and the heavy panting of the horse is almost as loud as the warning cries from its master.

The peace of the dawn air is disturbed by the rasp of drums. Their inexorable rhythm is so alien to your rural surroundings that even the pink glow of twilight seems spoiled by the sound. Nearby, you hear the clatter of hooves from a solitary rider. The pace is furious and the heavy panting of the horse is almost as loud as the warning cries from its master.

You wonder for how long and how far the poor beast has galloped through the night. Nevertheless, you understand the rider's hurry. Punctuating the calm morning air, the drums get ever closer. Their snare is unmistakable, and underneath you hear the crunch of marching feet. There can be no doubt what's creating the martial rhythm. As the rider passes each farmhouse, he repeats his warning.

You wonder for how long and how far the poor beast has galloped through the night. Nevertheless, you understand the rider's hurry. Punctuating the calm morning air, the drums get ever closer. Their snare is unmistakable, and underneath you hear the crunch of marching feet. There can be no doubt what's creating the martial rhythm. As the rider passes each farmhouse, he repeats his warning.

You wonder for how long and how far the poor beast has galloped through the night. Nevertheless, you understand the rider's hurry. Punctuating the calm morning air, the drums get ever closer. Their snare is unmistakable, and underneath you hear the crunch of marching feet. There can be no doubt what's creating the martial rhythm. As the rider passes each farmhouse, he repeats his warning.

From within the wooden buildings, voices rise in response. A tone of panic dominates. Wives wake their husbands, fathers rouse their eldest sons, and the bustle of urgent activity soon joins the muffled cacophony. You recognise the metallic clack of wrought iron and the thud of walnut wood. The tapping of ramrods confirms your suspicions.

From within the wooden buildings, voices rise in response. A tone of panic dominates. Wives wake their husbands, fathers rouse their eldest sons, and the bustle of urgent activity soon joins the muffled cacophony. You recognise the metallic clack of wrought iron and the thud of walnut wood. The tapping of ramrods confirms your suspicions.

From within the wooden buildings, voices rise in response. A tone of panic dominates. Wives wake their husbands, fathers rouse their eldest sons, and the bustle of urgent activity soon joins the muffled cacophony. You recognise the metallic clack of wrought iron and the thud of walnut wood. The tapping of ramrods confirms your suspicions.

The residents of this normally quiet town are preparing their firearms. The sound of drums is as clear as the sun above the horizon now, as the warmth of the first light of day creeps across the dewy ground, elongating the shadows of the trees into infinite black chasms. You can almost feel the tremors of hundreds of stamping feet and the rumble of cannon wheels on the road outside town.

The residents of this normally quiet town are preparing their firearms. The sound of drums is as clear as the sun above the horizon now, as the warmth of the first light of day creeps across the dewy ground, elongating the shadows of the trees into infinite black chasms. You can almost feel the tremors of hundreds of stamping feet and the rumble of cannon wheels on the road outside town.

The residents of this normally quiet town are preparing their firearms. The sound of drums is as clear as the sun above the horizon now, as the warmth of the first light of day creeps across the dewy ground, elongating the shadows of the trees into infinite black chasms. You can almost feel the tremors of hundreds of stamping feet and the rumble of cannon wheels on the road outside town.