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By Root 1282 0

had checked their progress was a band of enemy horsemen who barred the road where it led through the gate of a walled town. The townsfolk watched from the walls. The enemy had a single banner, a great white flag on which a red and double-headed eagle spread its long talons. The French men-at-arms were dressed for battle, their polished armor gleaming beneath bright surcoats, but few wore helmets and those who did had their visors raised, a clear sign that they expected no fighting. Hook guessed there were a hundred enemy and they were here under an arranged truce to receive the refugees, who were to be taken to Rouen in a fleet of barges that was moored on the river’s northern bank. “Dear God,” Father Christopher said, staring at the eagle banner, which lifted and fell in the wind that drove ripples across the river. “That’s the marshal,” Father Christopher explained, making the sign of the cross.

“The marshal?”

“Jean de Maingre, Lord of Boucicault, Marshal of France,” Father Christopher said the name and titles slowly, his voice betraying admiration for the man who wore the badge of the double-headed eagle.

“Never heard of him, father,” Hook said cheerfully.

“France is ruled by a madman,” the priest said, “and the royal dukes are young and headstrong, but our enemies do have the marshal, and the marshal is a man to fear.”

Sir William Porter, Sir John Cornewaille’s brother-in-arms, led the English contingent and he now rode bareheaded to greet the marshal who, in turn, spurred his destrier toward Sir William. The Frenchman, who was a big man on a tall horse, towered over the Englishman as the two spoke, and Hook, watching from a distance, thought they laughed together. Then, invited by a gesture from the courtly Sir William, the Marshal of France kicked his horse toward the English troops. He ignored the French civilians and instead rode slowly down the ragged line of men-at-arms and archers.

The marshal wore no helmet. His hair was dark brown, cut bluntly short and graying at the temples, and it framed a face of such ferocity that Hook was taken aback. It was a square, blunt face, scarred and broken, beaten by battle and by life, but undefeated. A hard face, a man’s face, a warrior’s face, with keen dark eyes that searched men and horses for clues to their condition. His mouth was set in a grim line, but suddenly smiled when he saw Father Christopher, and in the smile Hook saw a man who might inspire other men to great loyalty and victory. “A priest on a destrier!” the marshal said, amused. “We mount our priests on knackered mares, not on war chargers!”

“We English have so many destriers, sire,” Father Christopher answered, “that we can spare them for men of God.”

The marshal looked appraisingly at Lucifer. “A good horse,” he said, “whose is it?”

“Sir John Cornewaille’s,” the priest answered.

“Ah!” the marshal was pleased. “You will give the good Sir John my compliments! Tell him I am glad he has visited France and that I hope he will carry fond memories of it back to England. And that he will carry them very soon.” The marshal smiled at Father Christopher, then looked at Hook with apparent interest, taking in the archer’s weapons and armor, before holding out a steel-gauntleted hand. “Do me the honor,” he said, “and lend me your bow.”

Father Christopher translated for Hook who had understood anyway, but had not responded because he was not certain quite what he should do. “Let him have the bow, Hook,” Father Christopher said, “and string it first.”

Hook uncased the great stave, placed its lower end in his left stirrup, and looped the noose about the upper nock. He could feel the raw power in the tensed yew stave. It sometimes seemed to him that the wood came alive when he strung the bow. It seemed to quiver in anticipation. The marshal was still holding out his hand and Hook stretched the bow toward him.

“It is a large bow,” Boucicault said in very careful English.

“One of the largest I’ve seen,” Father Christopher said, “and it’s carried by a very strong archer.”

A dozen French men-at-arms had followed