It was one of them and at the same time, it wasn't.
It had the same build, the chest, the shoulders, the grey hide. Same forward-and-down horns, except these had not been worn blunt; somebody had put bands of dark iron round both of them and the tips came to a point.
The plate on it was not strapped-on scrap. It was a harness, made for that body, covering the chest and the belly and both shoulders and going down over the hips in a skirt of overlapping plates, and it had been maintained — there was no rust on it anywhere that James could see from twelve metres up.
And it was not carrying a shaped bar with a head on it.
It had a poleaxe. Two and a half metres of it, with a proper head — axe blade one side, a spike the other, a point on top — and the whole thing had been made by somebody who knew exactly what they were doing.
