Agincourt - Bernard Cornwell [53]
Tom Perrill stared at Hook. For a moment it seemed his hatred might conquer his caution, but then he twisted away and helped his brother remount. Sir Martin, his face dreamy again, allowed William Snoball to lead him away. The other horsemen followed.
Sir John dropped from his saddle, took Hook’s ale, and drained it. “Remind me why you were outlawed, Hook?”
“Because I hit a priest, Sir John,” Hook admitted.
“That priest?” Sir John asked, jerking a thumb toward the retreating horsemen.
“Yes, Sir John.”
Sir John shook his head. “You did wrong, Hook, you did very wrong. You shouldn’t have hit him.”
“No, Sir John,” Hook said humbly.
“You should have slit the goddam bastard’s putrid bowels open and ripped his heart out through his stinking arse,” Sir John said, looking at Father Christopher as if hoping his words might offend the priest, but Father Christopher merely smiled. “Is the bastard mad?” Sir John demanded.
“Famously,” Father Christopher said, “but so were half the saints and most of the prophets. I can’t think you’d want to go hawking with Jeremiah, Sir John?”
“Damn Jeremiah,” Sir John said, “and damn London. I’m summoned there again, father. The king demands it.”
“May God bless your going forth, Sir John, and your returning hence.”
“And if King Harry doesn’t make peace,” Sir John said, “I’ll be back soon. Very soon.”
“There’ll be no peace,” Father Christopher said confidently. “The bow is drawn and the arrow yearns to fly.”
“Let’s hope it does. I need the money a good war will bring.”
“I shall pray for war, then,” Father Christopher said lightly.
“For months now,” Sir John said, “I’ve prayed for nothing else.”
And now, Hook thought, Sir John’s prayers were being answered. Because soon, very soon, they would be sailing to war. They would sail to play the devil’s game. They would sail to France. They were going to fight.
PART TWO
Normandy
Harfleur
FOUR
Nick Hook could scarce believe the world held so many ships. He first saw the fleet when Sir John’s men mustered on the shore of Southampton Water so that the king’s officers could count the company. Sir John had contracted to supply ninety archers and thirty men-at-arms and the king had agreed to pay Sir John the balance of the money owed for those men when the army embarked, but first the numbers and condition of Sir John’s company had to be approved. Hook, standing in line with his companions, gazed in awe at the fleet. There were anchored ships as far as he could see; so many ships that their hulls hid the water. Peter Goddington, the centenar, had claimed there were fifteen hundred vessels waiting to transport the army, and Hook had not believed so many ships could exist, yet there they were.
The king’s inspector, an elderly and round-faced monk with ink-stained hands, walked down the line of soldiers to make sure that Sir John had hired no cripples, boys, or old men. He was accompanied by a grim-faced knight wearing the royal coat of arms, whose task was to inspect the company’s weapons. He found nothing amiss, but nor did he expect to discover any shortcomings in Sir John Cornewaille’s preparations. “Sir John’s indenture specifies ninety archers,” the monk said reprovingly when he reached the line’s end.
“It does indeed,” Father Christopher agreed cheerfully. Sir John was in London with the king, and Father Christopher was in charge of the company’s administration during Sir John’s absence.
“Yet there are ninety-two archers!” the monk spoke with mock severity.
“Sir John will throw the two weakest overboard,” Father Christopher said.
“That will serve! That will serve!” the monk said. He glanced