The officer continued. ‘We know from Agincourt that one Englishman is worth three Frenchmen, and we shall send our legendary archers to meet them! Those chosen today will get a coat, and thruppence a day!’ His tone hardened. ‘Now we shall see which of you lads have been practising weekly as the law requires, and which have not. Those who have not – ’ he paused for dramatic effect – ‘may find themselves levied instead to be pikemen, to face the French at close quarters! So don’t think a weak performance will save you from going to war.’ He ran his eye over the men, who shuffled and looked uneasy. There was something heavy and angry in the officer’s dark-bearded face.
‘Now,’ he called, ‘when the trumpet sounds again, each man will shoot six arrows at the target, as fast as you can, starting with the left of the front row. We’ve prepared a dummy specially for you, so you can pretend it’s a Frenchy come to ravish your mothers, if you have mothers!’
I glanced at the watching crowd. There were excited urchins and some older folk of the poorer sort, but also several anxious-looking young women, maybe wives or sweethearts of the men called here.
The soldier with the trumpet raised it to his lips and blew again. The first man, a thickset, handsome young fellow in a leather jerkin, stepped forward confidently with his warbow. He picked up an arrow and nocked it to the bow. Then in a quick, fluid movement he leaned back, straightened, and sent the arrow flying in a great arc across the wide space. It thudded into the fleur-de-lys on the scarecrow with a force that made it judder like a living thing. In no more than a minute he had strung and loosed five more arrows, all of which hit the dummy. There was a ragged cheer from the children. He smiled and flexed his broad shoulders.
‘Not bad!’ the officer called grudgingly. ‘Go and get your name registered!’ The new recruit walked over to the clerk, waving his warbow at the crowd.
A tall, loose-limbed young fellow in a white shirt, who looked barely twenty, was next. He had only an elm bow, and an anxious look. I noticed he wore neither bracer nor finger guard. The officer looked at him grimly as he pushed a hank of untidy blond hair from his eyes, then bent, took an arrow, and fitted it to the string. He pulled the bow back with obvious effort and loosed. The arrow fell well short, thudding into the grass. Pulling the bow had set him offbalance and he nearly fell, hopping on one leg for a moment and making the children laugh.
The second arrow went wide, embedding itself in the side of the butts, and the young man cried out, doubling over with pain and holding one hand with the other. Blood trickled between his fingers. The officer gave him a grim look. ‘Haven’t been practising, have you? Can’t even loose an arrow properly. You’re going to the pikemen, you are! A tall fellow like you will be useful in close combat.’ The lad looked frightened. ‘Come on,’ the officer shouted, ‘you’ve four more arrows still to loose. Never mind your hand. This crowd look like they could do with a laugh.’
I turned away. I had myself once been humiliated in front of a crowd and it was not something I relished seeing others endure.
BACK IN GATEHOUSE Court the flower seller was gone. I went into chambers, where my young clerk Skelly was copying out some orders in the outer office. He was bent closely over his desk, peering carefully at the document through his glasses.
‘There is a View of Arms over at Lincoln’s Inn Fields,’ I told him.
He looked up. ‘I’ve heard the Trained Bands have to find a thousand men for the south coast,’ he said in his quiet voice. ‘Do you think the French are really going to invade, sir?’
‘I don’t know, Skelly.’ I smiled reassuringly. ‘But you won’t be called. You’ve a wife and three children, and you need your glasses to see.’
‘So I hope and pray, sir.’
‘I am sure.’ But these days one never knew.
‘Is Barak not back from Westminster?’ I asked, glancing over at my assistant’s vacant desk. I had sent him to the Requests Office to lodge some depositions.
‘No, sir.’
I frowned. ‘I hope Tamasin is all right.’
Skelly smiled. ‘I’m sure it is only a delay getting a wherry on the river, sir. You know how busy it is with supply boats.’
‘Perhaps. Tell Barak to come and see me when he returns. I must go back to my papers.’ I went through to my office, little doubting Skelly thought me over-anxious. But Barak and his wife Tamasin were dear friends. Tamasin was expecting a baby in two months, and her first child had been born dead. I dropped into my chair with a sigh and picked up the particulars of a claim I had been reading earlier. My eyes wandered again to the letter on the corner of the desk. I made myself look away, but soon my thoughts returned to the View of Arms: I thought of invasion, of those young men ripped apart and slaughtered in battle.