The Archer's War: Exciting good read - adventure fiction about fighting and combat during medieval times in feudal England with archers, longbows, knights, ... (The Company of English Archers Book 4) (6 page)

       I myself will be temporarily based in London with my guards and Peter Sergeant as my second once again.  We’ll have to quickly find a stable or tavern so the recruiting sergeants will know where to send their recruits before they set out to find them.  Evan, of course, will have to do the same in Cardiff.

       Our very first stop will undoubtedly be at a stable since we intend to hire horses for our recruiters and Peter and I, and Evan in Cardiff, can always sleep in the horses’ stalls until we find something better.  Hopefully the stable where we hire the horses will be able to send an ostler with each of our recruiting parties, someone who can teach them how to ride and care for their horses.

       Finally there is the unanswered question about whether or not we should hire mercenaries or deal with the lords who are willing to sell the services of their knights and men at arms.  We have more than enough coins at Restormel to pay for their services; but do we really want to hire men who may well stab us in the back if someone else offers them more money?  And, if we do, how and where should we employ them? 

       What William and I finally ended up deciding is to use our cogs and galleys to bring only individual archers willing to join us to Cornwall - and use any mercenaries we can hire to attack Lord Cornell’s castle in Derbyshire.

      
Cornell might think twice about taking all his men to Cornwall when he hears we are trying to hire mercenaries to attack him in Derbyshire, particularly since we are going to do so if we can find some to hire.  At least that’s our thinking.

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       It is a warm and somewhat sunny afternoon in July when our two lightly crewed galleys untie their lines and slowly row down the Fowey.  I’m wearing my bishop’s robes and William and George and my schoolboys are standing on the bank waving farewell as my galley slowly slides by with our recruiters doing the rowing. 

      
I feel very sad about leaving the boys but try to keep a big smile on my face.

      
“Don’t forget to do your sums,” is the only thing I can think to say.  Then I give a final wave and turn away to watch a couple of sailors begin to lay out the big leather sail so it can be raised quickly if the wind in the channel is favorable when we reach the mouth of the river and turn left towards London.  It wouldn’t do at all for them to see my eyes watering.

       The galleys will stay in Cardiff and London until Evan and I send them back to Cornwall.  Hopefully they’ll be loaded with archers and archer trainees to help with the rowing when they return.  Simon’s galley, I’m rather sure, will be coming back without me.

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       London’s port and the waters below it are as crowded as ever with every possible type of ship you can think of from dinghies and fishing boats to great ocean-going cargo ships.  Some of them are huge cogs with two or three masts and decks that are almost a hundred paces long with castles at each end. 

       Our little galley is using its oars carefully as Simon slowly threads his way through the pack of big sailing ships and fishing boats waiting for the wind and tide.  The big ships may be able to carry more cargo and passengers and are less vulnerable to storms but we can go up the Thames to London using our oars.

       An hour later we edge up against the same dock we used a couple of weeks ago when I visited Windsor.  And the same little man with the sing song voice and funny hat greets us.  But this time he is all smiles and welcome.

       “Allo Simon, welcomz back yer iz,” he shouts as grabs the mooring line Simon throws him.  “Enz you too yor reverence.”

        “Allo Alfie.  Ouz iz you and yer mizzus?”

       “Quite gud she iz, Simon, quite gud.  Iz youz be at em White Bull anight for zum spiritz?”

       The change in our reception by the dock master is so different from last time that I ask Simon about it as I climb up on the galley rail so he can help me get up on the dock. 

       “Alfie and I decided to be friends after I stood a couple of rounds of drinks for him and his missus at the White Bull over there.  It’s got something new the Bull’s ale wife makes from cooking malt and adding berry squeezings.  Burns your throat, it does, but its got a kick like a horse.  Knock you on your arse it will.”

       Then Simon smiles a big smile and adds, “it’s so strong that after two or three bowls I can understand everything Alfie and his missus are saying.”

       Peter and the rest of our men, almost fifty of them in all, are gathered behind me and ready to follow me up.  I’d spent much of the trip listening to those who’d been here with me a couple of weeks ago tell the others all about London and Windsor.

       Some of what I heard our “London veterans” told them were obviously tall tales but the men who’d never been here before hung on every word and seemed quite impressed.

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       As soon as Peter and I climb off the galley we head for the stables in the lane behind the dock.  That’s where I hired the horse carts and drivers the last time we were here.  And that’s where I run into a problem.  Bert, the craggy faced stable master, only has a couple of saddle horses left and I need almost fifty and a dozen ostlers.

       “Not to worry, youz worship; not to worry.  If youz got the coins I’ll have the horses for youz and youz lads here in the morning.  Amblers they’ll be with smooth gaits for men who’ve never ridden before.  Ostlers too.  And youz and youz men can sleep in the stalls, yes youz can.”   

       It takes a while but we finally agree on a price for the use of each horse and ostler for as long as I need them.  But one look at the horse manure piled high in the stalls is enough to convince me that Peter and I should sleep with Simon in the little captain’s castle at the front of the galley deck so long as it is here, and the men should sleep on the galley to guard the coin chest. 

       “Peter, there’s a couple of months of horse manure in every stall so we’re going to stay in the captain’s castle with Simon until either the galley leaves and we’re forced to find another place to sleep or the stalls get mucked out.” 

      
We took a room at the White Bull last time but once is enough; too loud and too many fleas and rats and no place to piss or shite except in the street.  On the other hand, according to Simon, the Bull’s a real good place for drinking even though the girls smell bad.  The ale wife’s got something new she cooks; Simon says it’ll knock you on your arse if you’re not careful.”

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       Freddy, the stable master, is as good as his word and, sure enough, the stable and its courtyard are full of horses and ostlers in the morning.  I’m still counting coins into the hands of the assembled stable masters when the fun begins. 

      
I wish I knew more about horses.  Some of these look like they’re ready for the stew pot.

       Most of our men have never been on a horse before and some of the toughest and bravest of them are downright scared.  Others are still severely drunk from being introduced to the White Bull’s new drink last night or hung over with terrible headaches. 

       “Whatever it is the Bull is selling, you cannot,” Peter announced loudly last night as he staggered into the little deck castle last and woke me up by falling down, “drink it like wine or ale.”

       Idlers in the lane and from a nearby smithy drift over to watch as our men try to climb aboard their horses.  The men’s total lack of experience certainly shows. 

       Some of the horses cooperate and stand still as the ostlers try to help our men climb aboard; other horses do not cooperate at all - they begin moving about as soon the men try to climb on.  They are having trouble even with the smiling and good natured ostlers trying to trying to hold the horses steady while other ostlers try to push them up and tell them what to do. 

        My men are not much help to the ostlers.  Some of them get mounted and then slide off while others climb on and don’t know what to do except hold on to the reins and their horse’s mane. And, wouldn’t you know it; one of the men gets seasick and throws up all over his horse and himself
. 

       I would have found it a jolly laugh if they weren’t my men and I wasn’t paying out good silver coins for the horses.  But I am goddamnit.

       I cope by doing what the abbot told me to do whenever I get over excited - I breathe through my nose, clutch my cross, and say ten Hail Marys. 

       It must have worked for soon thereafter my sergeants begin leaving for their appointed destinations via various city gates – with every ostler leading one or two horses and half the men hanging on to their horses’ manes and saddles for dear life. 

       Peter and I stand with the now-silent stable masters and watch as our men leave.  That’s when we first realize that the amblers with smooth gaits that we were promised are not at all what we’ve been given – most are hackneys with bone jarring trots. 

       We look at each other and shake our heads in despair after we finish waving farewell to our recruiters and shouting out meaningless last minute suggestions as they bounce out the of the stable gate and head off to the countryside. 

       Freddy and the men who brought the additional horses don’t say a word; they turn as one and head for a nearby tavern.
No doubt to laugh and count their coins; one thing is for sure, I’ve been gulled out of my coins by the horse traders; we need to recruit some men who know horses. But where and how?

       I shake my head in resignation because I’m not sure we’ll ever see our men again or recruit any archers; Peter shakes his, I would think, because it hurts.

                                 Chapter Four

       Thomas is gone to London to recruit archers and it’s time to get things ready here in Cornwall for the coming war.  I decide to abandon Trematon and concentrate our forces here at Restormel.  Abandoning Trematon sounds easy because we now only have about a dozen men there under Sir Percy.  But it isn’t easy as I learn when I ride over to Trematon to let Percy know about the changes and why I am making them.

       It isn’t easy because there are a tremendous amount of supplies that will have to be moved – bales of arrows, the weapons and armor we took off of Baldwin’s men, millstones, amphorae of olive oil, sacks of grain from the siege stores that will no longer be needed, and empty sacks and amphorae we can refill.  The list goes on and on.

      
When I get back to Restormel I’ll have to send more of our horse carts and wagons than I expected – and they’ll probably have to make several trips to get everything.

       There is also the question of what to do with Sir Percy and the men and women working the castle’s fields and livestock.

       Sir Percy is easy to deal with.  With his wife hovering anxiously nearby he asks permission to stay on as the castle’s governor and the overseer of all the castle’s lands.  He’s willing to do it, he says, even though he’ll have no men at arms and no serfs.  I instantly grant his request and assure him that his annual coins as a sergeant captain will continue – and tell him to immediately open the castle gate and pledge himself to Cornell if he or any of his men show up. 

       
Percy is speechless and his wife breaks into tears and hugs me when I tell him what I am going to do.

       “Percy, I’m going to pretend I’m you and send a parchment to Cornell welcoming him to Cornwall and saying I look forward to serving him.  There is no need for you and your wife to suffer if we are not successful in defending our holdings.  Now let’s go down to the village and talk to Old Bob”

        
Percy thanks me profusely as we walk to the village to visit the gnarled old man who seems to be the village leader.  The village’s slovenly old priest comes running when he sees us come down the castle path heading for the old man’s hovel.  They both listen intently and nod their heads when I tell them all the castle’s defenders except Sir Percy will be pulling out and what it means for the village.

       “You and Sir Percy and all the people on Trematon’s lands are now free and in all ways released from your past obligations to me and the land.  Each man will now either have to leave Trematon or stay and work their traditional fields as tenants under Sir Percy.  We’ll share everything halves and halves and the villagers who have been working in the castle can choose to stay with Sir Percy or take over a tenant farm or leave.  Sir Percy will assign farmland to those decide to stay on as tenants.”

       Actually, I’d told the villagers the same thing last year but they didn’t seem to believe it and they mostly didn’t change their ways.  The only exceptions, according to Sir Percy, were a couple of brothers who promptly signed up to train as archers. 

      
Percy thinks it is the old priest who kept them from changing by telling the villagers it’s their lot in life to be serfs and they’ll burn in hell if they leave the village.

       “Percy,” I say as we walk back to the castle, “when Thomas gets back please remind me to talk to him about finding a new priest for Trematon.”

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       From Trematon I head in the opposite direction to Launceston - with a brief two day stop at Restormel to see how our preparations are progressing and spend a couple of pleasant nights with Helen.