The Bow (24 page)

James snatched the letter and stared at it. ‘What does it say?’

Simon leant forward. ‘Here! I can read a little.’ He took the
letter. ‘Ah, it’s in Latin. I thought it might be in the English,
but it’s in Latin.’

‘Yes, but how reads it?’

‘Wait now, let me see.’ He peered at it. ‘Aye, your wife is
sick right enough. Took a fever a fortnight past at Saint Perpetua. A
sweating sickness. She is very low.’

James stood up. ‘I’m away home!’

Eric caught up with him on the other side of the market square. ‘Ho!
James, wait on now! Ye can’t go rushing off into the night. Ye’ve
nothing but your bow, and arrow bag.’

James kept striding along, snatching his cloak about him. ‘I’ve
enough,’ he said. ‘I’ll get down to the port, and take passage
with the first boat that’ll take me.’

‘You can’t, James! You have neither indenture nor pass. You’re
the Earl’s man, and bound to him until he signs your release.’

James didn’t reply. He skirted a vinter’s cart, bumped into a
couple of arguing sailors, and headed away down towards the port.
Unwilling to leave him, Eric kept up with him, but held his peace. It
was not until they had reached the quayside and were about to board a
cog that was loading grain, that Eric spoke again.

‘It won’t work James. You’re an archer, it’s as clear as day.
The captain will want to see your pass.’

James shrugged. ‘I’m a free man,’ he said. ‘I go where I
please.’ He strode up the gangplank, dropped down onto the deck and
hailed one of the crew. Moments later the captain came. He was
thickset, grey-bearded and balding with a hook nose and sharp eyes.
‘What’s this then?’ he said.

‘I’m bound for England. I need passage,’ replied James.

‘Oh, do ye, now! And where’s yer silver, and where’s yer pass?’

James frowned. ‘I’ve silver enough for twice the crossing, if
ye’ll take my word as my pass.’

The captain gave James a long hard look. ‘You’re in the service
of Sir Thomas Beaufort?’

‘I am, but he has promised me release this very week.’

‘Then ye must wait.’

'I cannot.’

‘Hah! Cannot, or will not?’

‘I cannot. My wife lies ill, and I am away home.’

Again the captain looked at James. ‘Well that’s as maybe, but ye
won’t be away home on this ship. I’ll nay lose my licence because
I gave passage to a man who has no pass.’ He put his fingers to his
lips and gave a high-pitched whistle. As if from nowhere, three
men-at-arms and a crossbowman appeared on the quayside. They were
wearing the livery of the Earl of Dorset.

'I told ye,’ muttered Eric, putting his hand on James’ shoulder.
‘I told ye!’

Moments later the soldiers were on the ship’s deck, and James was
under arrest.

The following day, early in the afternoon, James was brought before
Sir Thomas. The Earl was not in a good mood. He had returned to
Harfleur that morning from a fruitless patrol, and had only just got
off his horse when he heard the news.

‘I will not brook desertion!’ he roared, thumping the table in
front of him, so that the clerk jumped and scattered the papers and
ink. ‘It is the stuff of treason, and poison to any army.’ He
waited for the clerk to gather himself and the papers. ‘My lord
king hangs runaways, and so should I.’

He glared at James who stood on the other side of the table between
two guards. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’ James knew
the measure and reputation of this warlord. He knew he would have to
choose his words carefully.

‘My lord, I came to claim what you had granted me earlier. I came,
but you were not there.’

‘Then you should have waited.’

‘I did my lord, but you were late.’

‘What!’ roared the Earl again.

‘Delayed my lord, you were delayed.’

Sitting back, the Earl raised his eyes to the ceiling: ‘St George’s
Teeth!’ he sighed. ‘Where did we get this fellow?’

He looked over to where Captain William Bretoun was standing:

‘He’s one of yours is he not, captain?’

‘I count him a friend, my lord. He’s a good man. He fought at
Agincourt and . . .’

‘What now! Has this vagabond got an advocate, that you should speak
for him? Are you here to explain his crime? Come captain! Explain his
innocence. Play the part!’

‘I cannot my lord.’

‘Hmmph! Just so.’

‘Except to say . . .’

‘What? Eh?’

'Except to say his wife lies gravely ill in England, and he would see
her. As you would yours, my lord, if God forbid she . . .’

'Ye gods! What’s this you say? Am I now on trial here?’

The room fell silent.

Sir Thomas scowled down at the list of charges on the parchment
before him, and then stared around the room.

‘This man broke the law,’ he said. ‘To break the law is to
invite punishment. To be apprehended is to suffer it.’ Picking up
the parchment he stabbed at it with his finger. ‘Men swing for
this.’

‘And good men are excused.’

The Earl looked up.

It was Bartholomew Ralph. He was standing, cap in hand, just to one
side of James and his escort.

'Ah, Ralph!’ said the Earl. ‘What the devil do you want?’

‘Your good offices, Sir Thomas.’

The Earl raised a quizzical eyebrow, so the young merchant went on:

‘I have come to make two pleas, my lord.’

‘Say on, master Ralph, but make it brief. As you see, I have
business at this present.’

Bartholomew bowed. ‘Thank you sire. The first plea I have written
down and left with your clerk. It is that you give me leave to ship
wool to Harfleur from Southampton, and then onto the staple at
Calais, and to receive cloth from Bruges under the same licence.’

‘And the fee payable to . . .’ Sir Thomas looked interested.

‘To yourself, Sir Thomas, as agent of the king, and protector of
Harfleur.’

'Ah, . . .I see.’ The old knight scratched his beard. ‘And the
guilds approve?’

‘They encourage, my lord.’

‘Do they, indeed?’ He glanced at his clerk who nodded, and with a
slight smile lowered his head to his work once more.

‘Well, then! Let the licence be drawn up, and the fee set, approved
and sealed by the king’s writ. So be it. Now away with you, master
merchant, I am set to finish other matters.’

‘But Sir Thomas.’

‘Yes! Yes! What is it man?’

‘My second plea, Sir Thomas.’

‘What, ah yes, confound it! Second plea. Well say on, what is it? A
licence to sell Gloucester cheese in Rouen market?’ He laughed at
his own joke.

‘No, my lord. It is a plea for this man to enter my service on your
behalf.’ Bartholomew saw the look on the Earl’s face and went
quickly on: ‘I propose to pay for his release from your service
forthwith, and contract the same to myself, as your agent. That is to
say, he will carry your seal on my licence to Southampton to be
endorsed by the king’s commissioners and then returned.’ He
stood back and waited.

The Earl frowned, paused, got slowly to his feet and then broke into
a broad grin:

‘By the mass, master merchant! I see now why you have the finest
house in town. You snatch a man from the gallows, make him servant to
his judge, and walk away whistling “ profit me”!’ He burst out
laughing, and the room gratefully followed suit. ‘I have lost my
taste for hanging. And you here have whetted my appetite for
commerce. Away with this knave then, and set him to your purpose. But
I’ll want that licence returned within the quarter by himself or
his sworn proxy.’

‘It will be done, my lord.’ Bartholomew bowed, turned and swept
the stunned James from the room before the Earl could change his
mind.

When they got out into the street, James began to thank the merchant.
Bartholomew waved it away with a smile: ‘Think nothing of it, my
friend. It was an opportunity, nothing more. Besides, I was able to
pay back in some slight way the debt I owe you. ‘

‘There is no debt,’ replied James, ‘Save the one I owe you
now.’

With a laugh, Bartholomew rested his hands on James’ shoulders.
‘Let us agree now to thank each other no more! Greta and I are
happy to be wed, and you are doubtless happy to be away home. Your
good friend Eric told me all.’

‘Eric!’

‘Aye, he sought me out this morning. Simon the apothecary told him
where to find me, and he came early at the third hour, bold as brass
and knocking on my door.’

James nodded. ‘That sounds like Eric.’

They walked together to the Montvilliers guard house, picked up
James’ bow and arrow bag, then returned to the Earl’s chambers to
sign the release of indenture. The clerk, with a dismissive glance,
told them to return in the morning for the licence. At first James
was irritated by the delay, but the young merchant reassured him:

‘There’s no cog leaving Harfleur until the morrow,’ he said.
‘The noon tide is your best bet. I have booked you a passage on the
Princess Jane of Rye. She carries wool for me, and her master runs a
tight ship. . . No, don’t thank me, we have an agreement on that!’

‘Then,’ replied James, ‘You can sell my horse, give half of any
silver to Yevan ap Griffiths of Captain William’s company, and keep
the rest for yourself.’

‘That’s a ready commission!’ laughed Bartholomew, ‘but
there’s no profit in it for you.’

‘My friends are my profit,’ said James, and he clapped the
merchant on the shoulder.

Back at the apothecary’s, Simon pressed a wallet into his hand.
‘Here!’ he said. ‘It’s not much, but it’s what I always use
for the fever: fennel, moss and red onion seeds. Boil it up with
onion and lentils, and serve it hot. Forget the planets, and whose
moon you were born under. And don’t go buying thrice blessed charms
from pedlar or priest: useless!’

James thanked him.

The moon was out again that night, and clear, riding against a few
wisps of drifting clouds. James stood on the doorstep of the
apothecary’s house and looked up at it. Tomorrow, if that breeze
held, he would leave on the noon tide and make good passage to
Southampton. He heard a sound behind him, and turned. It was
Emma-Jeanne, come to bolt and bar the doors for the night.

He smiled and stepped back. ‘All yours,’ he said. As she
struggled for a moment to slip home the centre bolt, he reached out
and held her hand for a moment, then slid the bolt himself.

‘That’s no work for thee,’ he said. ‘Your master should be
doing that.’

‘It’s nothing,’ she said, ‘But thank you.’ She smoothed her
skirt, brushed her hair back and then ducked away. ‘I’ll miss
you, master James,’ she called out as she hurried back into the
kitchen.

In the morning, James was out of the house and away down to the port
before dawn. He had said all his farewells the night before, and was
keen to pick up his passport and be on board the Princess Jane with
his gear stowed before the second quarter of the day.

The Earl’s clerk, late to his desk after an evening of cheap Gascon
wine, scrabbled sleepily among some requisition forms, and at last
found the pass-port. It had been signed by Sir Thomas, and carried
Dorset’s seal. James took it from the clerk’s trembling hand.
‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘Hummph! Don’t thank me, thank your lucky stars.’ The clerk
belched and put his hand top his head. ‘And the Earl, thank him.
Now go. I have work to do.’

James stood his ground. ‘My pay,’ he said. ‘I am owed for the
remainder of a quarter at six pennies a day.’

‘Six pennies, be damned!’ replied the clerk, returning to his
work. ‘You were not marching with the army, nor in camp at its
service. Here!’ He held out a small bag of coins. ‘Two pennies a
day, in service like as to a Welsh spearman. You’ll take that, or
nothing at all.’

Knocking the bag from his hand, James hauled the clerk to his feet,
half dragging him across the table. ‘You’ll give me what I’m
due, master scribbler, or I’ll wring blood from that sack-blown
nose of yours.’

Before the clerk could reply, or wriggle free, the door opened and a
knight stepped in, his tall angular figure seeming to fill the room.
It was Robert Babthorpe. He was keeper of the King’s household,
across from England on a brief visit to inspect the Earl’s
chancellery. ‘Ho, sirrah! What’s this?’ he cried, pulling the
two men apart. ‘Say on, archer! What is happening here?’

James explained while the knight listened. The clerk stood to one
side, glowering, and rubbing his neck. When James had finished, Sir
Robert called for the accounts. The moment they came he opened them,
found a page, and ran his finger down the column. He stopped. ‘Hah!
Here it is see. James Fletcher of Chiswick, indentured this day of
January for a three month. It was given at Southampton where the
first payment was made by monies provided by the king’s
lieutenant.’ He closed the book slowly. ‘And not yet paid in
full, with more than the contracted sum still to come I’ll warrant.
From what I hear there’s further service and reward beyond his
indenture with my lord of Dorset. What say you master clerk?’

The clerk grunted, and gave a slight bow. ‘I will attend to it,’
he said.

‘Aye, you will,’ said the knight. ‘And if I were you I’d add
the six days journey time this man will need to get home.’ He
caught the clerk’s irritated frown and laughed. ‘Or would you
rather that I told my lord the king that his faithful archers were
now being cheated by two-penny priests?’

The clerk hurried away to find the records clerk, and bring back what
was due.

‘My lord . . .’ began James.

‘Pah!’ Sir Robert waved his hand with a cheerful grin. ‘Think
nothing of it man. Glad to help. These book keepers, they’re not
rogues, but they are too careful with their master’s money.’ He
picked up a document at random and scanned it. ‘The more especially
since that money comes straight from the king’s exchequer.’ He
put the paper down. ‘You are bound for England then?’