He’d done what planning was possible. Once the strategy and tactics of a battle were decided, you put it out of your mind until you came to the field and saw what was what. Trying to fight a battle in your head was pointless and did nothing but fret the nerves and exhaust the energies.
He’d had a hearty breakfast of black pudding and buttered eggs with toasted soda bread, washed down with Mr. Beckett’s very good beer. Thus internally fortified, and dressed in a county gentleman’s good wool suit – complete with gaiters to save is lisle stocking from the mud – and with several documents carefully stowed in separate pockets, he was armed and ready.
Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum illuc, unde negant redire quemquam
Now he goes along the dark road, thither whence they say no man returns.
Diana Gabaldon, The Scottish Prisoner (Chapter 22 – Glastuig)