When she saw it with her own eyes, Catelyn reined up her horse and bowed her head in thanks. The gods were good. She was not too late.
They await our coming, my lady, Sir Wylis Manderly said, "as my lord father swore they would."
Let us not keep them waiting any longer, ser. Sir Brynden Tully put the spurs to his horse and trotted briskly toward the banners. Catelyn rode beside him.
Sir Wylis and his brother Sir Wendel followed, leading their levies, near fifteen hundred men: some twenty-odd knights and as many squires, two hundred mounted lances, swordsmen, and freeriders, and the rest foot, armed with spears, pikes and tridents. Lord Wyman had remained behind to see to the defenses of White Harbor. A man of near sixty years, he had grown too stout to sit a horse. "If I had thought to see war again in my lifetime, I should have eaten a few less eels," he'd told Catelyn when he met her ship, slapping his massive belly with both hands. His fingers were fat as sausages. "My boys will see you safe to your son, though, have no fear."