and are prepared to follow my commands, I will be good to you.”
Sarra watched as the stranger walked away with the man who had tried to attack her. He was a handsome lad, she thought. It was a shame that he was going to be indoctrinated by an evil oaf like Henry.
“So what’s your name?” Henry was intrigued by his new charge, who hardly glanced at him as he answered: “Philip Cole.”
Some echo in the name made Henry give a fleeting frown, but they were at their table, and Cole was maneuvering himself into a gap at the bench so he missed the brief grimace. Henry barged in to sit at Cole’s left, while to the young man’s right sat a rough-looking rat-faced fellow with hair as black as a crow’s feathers. His amber eyes roved restlessly around the room as if looking for someone more interesting to talk to, and the candles and sconces reflected in them. To Cole they looked alive with devious, glittering intelligence. Together with the blackened teeth in a slack and dribbling mouth, he possessed an air which gave Cole a feeling of revulsion. His frame was whip-thin and wiry but there was strength and cruelty in the long fingers that tore at the chicken before him.
Henry introduced him. “This is John Smithson. He’s like me, one of the old men of the band.”
“That’s right. We were two of the first to join Sir Hector.”
“That was back in 1309. In Gascony.”
Cole accepted a pot from a passing waitress. “So you must have fought in many battles?” he asked, carefully keeping his tone level.
John smiled. “Yes, all over. For one master and then for another.”
“It’s a good life,” Henry sighed, taking a huge draft of ale and belching. “Others are told to join an army and fight, but we can go where we want and fight for whoever we want. We are more free than any burgess or farmer.”
“Yes-and we can make more money from it,” said John slyly.
His friend laughed. “Aye, and keep it!”
“What do you mean?” asked Cole.
“Just this,” Henry said, leaning toward him. “In a lord’s army, if you were called up to fight, you would be there because of your master and fighting for him. Any money you won would be his; any hostages you wanted to ransom would be his-you would have no rights. With us, we fight for ourselves. If we win a prize, we keep it. Any spoils go to the winner, and the devil with the losers.”
“They rarely live anyway,” said John casually as he bit into a haunch of chicken.
Henry noticed Cole’s expression. “Don’t worry, Sir Hector is a good master. He doesn’t lose, and has few men hurt under him. He’s more likely to change sides when the wind blows sour than stay and be hacked to death. There’s no profit in winning a coffin.”
Cole held his tongue, but nodded as if eased.
Turning to his food, Henry hid a smile. Philip Cole had the typical look of a peasant, one of unfocused goodwill, with bovine slowness of thought and general dullness. Laughing, Henry slapped the recruit on the back. “No need for the long face! You’ll soon find yourself rich enough to be happy.” Henry had open, friendly features which had deceived more experienced men than Cole, and the thick shock of sandy hair made him look much younger than the scars and wrinkles promised; his age was only given away by his strength. Though his arms were short, ending with stubby little fingers, they held enough power to make Cole think, when he was thumped genially over the shoulders, that he had been buffeted by a benign but clumsy giant. “Don’t worry-if Sir Hector isn’t there, John and me’ll look after you, won’t we, John?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Uhn…thanks,” said Cole, feeling that some response was required.
Glancing round cautiously, Henry leaned nearer. “So why did you want to get away?”
“Eh?”
“Why did you want to get away? Everyone has a reason. I had to run because I killed a man-in a fair fight, you understand, but the hue was raised after me.”
“And I had to get away because my master’s wife fancied me. I was apprenticed to a smith, and when I rejected her, she told him I’d put my hands up her skirt and tried to tempt her into my bed. I had to get away before he could catch me. He was going to kill me,” John added in an aggrieved tone. “With an axe.”
“So what made you want to run? We all tell each other everything here. There’s no need to be shy.” Henry smiled encouragingly.
“I…I was to become a father.”
“Ah.” Henry winked knowingly.
“And I did not wish to marry.”
“A girl from your own village, I expect. Where was that? Are you from round here?”
“No. I come from north and east of here, a short way from Exeter-a village called Thorverton.”
“Ah yes. Is it far from here?” asked Henry.
Cole shot him a glance, wondering if his story was being checked. Before he could respond, though, the rat- faced one nudged him, pointing with a chicken bone.
“Well, if you want to try some of the women here, just make sure you don’t touch her.”
He followed the line of the bone. Sarra was laughing at a remark made by the smiling knight. “She’s his, is she?”
Henry’s voice was somber. “There’s one thing you must learn quickly, Philip. Our master is a good warrior and leader, but he won’t have anyone messing with his belongings. It doesn’t matter if it’s his money, horses, or women. If he finds someone near any of them he’s likely to reach for his knife. No, I’d leave her alone until he tires of her. He always does, sooner or later.”
“You stay with us. We remember what it’s like to be new, that’s why Sir Hector usually asks us to look after the recruits. He knows we’ll show them all the ropes.”
“Yes. For instance, your purse looks quite full. There’re some would try to take it, just to see what’s inside.”
“There’s only money in it,” Cole said easily.
“God’s blood! Well, don’t tell any of the others!” Henry whispered urgently, and sat back, perplexed. “There are men here who’d cut your throat just for thinking you had something there. If you don’t go carefully, you’ll get yourself hurt.”
“He’s right, you know,” John muttered darkly, eyes flitting over the other figures in the hall. “Some of the men here, they can’t be trusted. They’d sell their wives-some of them probably have-for a purse like yours. I reckon you’d best stick with us, let us look after you for a bit.”
“Yes. I mean, where you came from, Thorverton way, I expect you never had to worry about thieves or murderers, did you? When you left your girl…what was her name?” Henry asked, but his mind was fixed on the purse. If Cole was a mere peasant from a small village, he could not have collected so much money.
“Who?”
“Your woman. The one you left home for.”
“Oh.” He wavered a moment. “Anne. Anne Fraunceys.”
Henry did not miss the slight hesitation, and his grin broadened. It pointed to invention, and if that part of the story was invented there was sure to be a better secret, a more valuable one, behind this young man’s decision to join the company. Henry intended to root it out, but he could already guess that there was a theft at the bottom of it. A runaway farmer would not legally be able to get his hands on enough money to make a wallet the size of his bulge so attractively.
“Well, when you left your Anne, you were just a free man with little fear of the world, weren’t you?” he said genially. “At your home you could walk around without a sword or axe and know you’d be safe, couldn’t you? Here, though, you’re with a troop of men-at-arms, and some of ”em are dangerous. You waving a purse under their noses is like showing a dog a bitch on heat. They’ll have to try to take it, see? You stay with us, though. We’ll look after you.“
“Yes. We’ll protect you like you were our own family.” John smiled, displaying his noisome teeth once more.
Cole looked from one to the other, and when they slapped him on the back in a show of good-natured friendship, he smiled back gratefully. A few minutes later he bent to eat, and Henry and John exchanged a look over
