Had they been false — eh bien, messieurs. It is as God wills it to be, eh?
Sam closed his hand over the money. ‘We serve the Prince?’ he asked. Even hard men, in those days, longed for the security and authority of direct service.
‘Yes,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘Deal.’
In my seventeen-year-old imagination, I expected a thorough examination of our horses and armour, a detailed evaluation, perhaps some criticism. We were polished and washed, and all four of Sam’s men — my men, now — had linen tapes in red woven in their horse’s manes by the girls.
I was proud as Lucifer. Probably prouder.
We made a fine show. Richard and I had good harness, if you ignored the fact that both of us wore a looted patchwork of armour where no two pieces went together. On mine, for example, I had fancy leather strapping with fine metalwork, but every strap was a different colour. Nothing to worry you in a fight, but any professional would look at my harness and know what a patchwork it was — I was an ill-made knight, and no mistake.
Richard was a little better, as his harness had been given him by the Prince, and all his leather was at least one colour — a boring brown, but it matched. None of it had been made for him, but the quality was good.
Our horses were excellent, though, and our men looked professional. Sir John Chandos came out on horseback, rode round them once, nodded to the clerk and grinned.
‘I know that bastard,’ he said, pointing at Sam.
Sam grinned. ‘I know you, too, sir.’
Sir John looked at me. ‘You’re lucky to have a man that experienced. Listen to him. He knows things. Understand me, sir?’
I nodded.
‘I am far easier in my mind knowing that you have him. Sam, this little mission matters, mind me? And see the boys make it back.’ He grinned.
Why did I find a good archer wandering lose as a criminal? Because God didn’t want me to spend my life in a brothel, friends. I have no other explanation.
The clerk drew up a letter of indenture, offering us all double pay — Richard and I were to be paid as knights, the rest as lesser men-at-arms, and Sam and John Hughes as archers. The rates were excellent. Of course, we all knew that it generally took the Prince’s household a little more than a year to clear accounts, so we wouldn’t be paid by Christmastide, but it was honorable pay, and all the moneylenders would give coin against it.
Chaucer followed us back to the inn on a rouncey. He had a sword, with rust on the hilt, and a pannier full of food and clothes. His horse wasn’t bad. Ahead of him, on a better horse, rode Master Hoo, in tall leather boots and wearing a woollen coat trimmed in fur and a hat worth as much as my sword. Master Hoo chose a girl, paid, smiled at me and paused on the stairs.
‘Early start, young sir?’ he asked.
I nodded.
He pursed his lips, then smiled at the girl and led her away.
Chaucer looked around the Three Foxes, examined the girls, then looked at me. Nervously.
‘I, er, want one,’ — he was not the pushy merchant’s son of earlier — ‘of the girls.’
I just looked at him.
‘What, er, do I do?’ he asked.
I let the silence lengthen. I’d taken a fair amount of shite from the boy, and I thought I should let him stew.
But Marie, damn her, liked the look of him — all sensitive and intelligent, I suppose. ‘Which lass do you fancy, my master?’
He bowed to her. ‘I. .’ he stammered.
She sent him upstairs with one of the older girls and strict orders to take her time and be polite.
Women.
Mind you, he paid cash.
When he was gone, I sat with Richard. He was sewing a small tear in the sleeve of his jupon, and his girl — Anne-Marie, I think, but they were all Anne or Marie — watched his minuscule sewing and laughed.
‘That was quite a tale,’ I said. As the only black man in Bordeaux, he was well known, and because he was black, some people thought he was a spawn of Satan, while others assumed he was a paynim. Some of the girls wouldn’t lie with him. That sort of treatment could make a right hard bastard, but he was far better bred than I in many ways; he was very well spoken and he wouldn’t cheat at any game. Not even to win money. He was a prankster when he was young, though, and he did like a tall tale.
Anyway, he grinned at me. Our eyes met.
‘You made it all up,’ I said.
He nodded.
‘Well, you had me going,’ I said. ‘Where are you really from?’
He frowned. ‘Not sure,’ he admitted. ‘My mother said she was from Aethiopia. And that she was born a Christian.’
I nodded. Richard was indisputably Christian. He went to Mass often, and went to church at least once a day, sometimes three times. I went to church less than once a week, and hated the way every word in the Gospels seemed carefully written to remind me of how far I was from grace.
‘Where did you grow up?’ I asked.
‘At the court of Granada, in Spain,’ Richard said. He shrugged. There was a long pause. ‘I was a slave.’
The words cost him something.
But they cemented something, too. I remember that I looked away a moment, because it was a horrible thing to admit. And then I looked back, into his deep-brown eyes. ‘Well, if we do this well enough, you’ll be a knight,’ I said.
Anne Marie heard my leman calling her, and got up and walked to the common room.
‘I was an apprentice in London,’ I said. ‘If we become knights-’
He laughed bitterly. ‘They’ll never make either one of us knights.’
In the morning, there were many kisses and farewells, but we were on the road north before the sun was high. We moved fast, made small camps and saw virtually no one. Brigands weren’t likely to pick on us as we wore too much armour, and carried a small banneret displaying the Prince’s colours. Once we cleared Gascony, the marches were empty. There was a French garrison at Marmande; and Nadaillac and the town of Gourdon were held by a brigand-lord who fought both sides. Such men were becoming more common, and we skirted his hold, camped well up his valley, then Richard and I stripped to our arming clothes and went back at night and climbed the hill above his castle to take a look. Chandos had told Richard that the Prince was considering storming Nadaillac, and we felt that a little scouting might get us included in the expedition.
It was a strong place, set on a hilltop like a woman’s breast. The sides were steep, and a single road wound to the summit. But we watched six men water some horses, and two women haul pails on yokes, and came to the conclusion that the water inside the place wasn’t good as they all used the water from a spring halfway down the hill. It seemed worth knowing.
After Nadaillac, we had no further adventures until we were almost to the Loire. We rode along familiar roads and paths, discussing the campaign of Poitiers, pointing out to each other the places we’d fought, the towns we’d stormed — acting like pompous young pricks, in other words. Sam smiled at us from time to time and chose the camp sites.
We had a safe conduct signed by the King of France. This puzzled me, and puzzled Richard, since we were, as far as we knew, going to arrange the transfer of French castles held by Sir John Hawkwood to English control. By Christ, we were virgins in the ways of Kings and Princes. Master Hoo rode almost entirely silent. Young Chaucer spoke to him more than to the rest of us, and I sussed out that Chaucer was the older man’s apprentice.
As we entered Tours, I was nervous as a maid on her wedding night, riding under the portcullis. A single capture would beggar me, and I couldn’t afford even a small ransom. I was wearing my fortune, in armour and clothes and horses, and it seemed insane to ride openly into France.
But we did, and after the castellan looked at our documents, he wrinkled his nose. ‘Signed by the King,’ he said, and kissed the parchment. ‘Only twenty days ago. Did you gentlemen see him?’