‘Ay. Better the King had never started this war.’
‘Maybe ’tis time for a final reckoning with the French. I just wish you hadn’t got me caught up in the middle of it all.’
I laughed suddenly. ‘Come, Brother Dyrick, there must be some topic we can agree on.’
He gave me a hostile stare. ‘I cannot think of one.’
I gave up. Although it was discourteous, I fell behind so I could converse with Barak. Feaveryear gave me a disapproving look.
WE MADE good progress; at a blast from the drummer’s trumpet several carts, and once a gang of road menders, moved to the side of the road to let us pass. After two hours we stopped by a bridge to water the horses at the stream running under it. As we led the animals down to the water, the soldiers fell out and sat breakfasting in the road or on the verge, taking bread and cheese from the large pouches at their waists. The men in the jacks and brigandynes looked utterly weary.
‘I don’t think I could have stood up to this march like them,’ Barak said. ‘Five years ago, maybe. That arsehole Goodryke, he didn’t care whether I’d make a good soldier or not. He just wanted to make an example of me.’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘That Snodin’s another one. You can see he has it in for the jug-eared fellow.’
‘He does.’ I looked behind us, up the road. ‘What’s that?’
A plume of dust had appeared in the distance, men riding fast. Snodin ordered the recruits slumped in the roadway to move. Half a dozen riders passed us, all in the King’s livery, heading south. At their head was a little man in a grey robe, his horse draped in a cloth of green and white, the royal colours. The party slowed to cross the bridge and I recognized the neat pale face of Sir Richard Rich.
Chapter Fourteen
AS THE MORNING wore on I found the journey increasingly wearying. For the marching men it was much harder, and I noticed those with old shoes were beginning to limp. In front of us dark sweat stains were visible on all the brigandynes now, outlining the metal squares sewn into the fabric. The soldiers slowed and the drum sounded to make them pick up the pace. Some were grousing by the time the trumpet sounded a halt just outside a village, beside a large pond fringed with willows. A couple of white-aproned old goodwives approached us and Leacon spoke to them, leaning down from his horse. Then he conferred briefly with the captain before calling back to the men.
‘We stop here for lunch! The villagers have ham and bacon to sell. Purser, get some money! And the jacks and brigandynes can come off now!’
‘Can we buy some women as well as food, sir?’ It was the young corporal from the rear section. The soldiers laughed, and Leacon smiled.
‘Ah, Stephen Carswell, never at a loss for a jest!’
‘Hillingdon men are more used to donkeys than women!’ the bully Sulyard shouted. He laughed loudly, showing a mouth half-empty of teeth.
The men fell out and sat at the roadside again, apart from a few who went to the carts and began unloading biscuit, cheese and a barrel of beer. I had to admire the smoothness of the company’s organization. Leacon and the captain led their horses to the water, and we lawyers followed.
While the animals drank, Dyrick went to sit under the shade of a willow, Feaveryear following. Barak and I went over to where Leacon stood alone, watching his men. Some were straggling towards the village.
‘Hard work, being in charge of a hundred men,’ I observed.
‘Ay. We have our grumblers, one or two rebellious spirits. Carswell there is our jester. A good man – I think he is one of those who will still joke as they march into battle.’
‘That straw-haired fellow seems a nasty piece of work. He started the trouble with the other man this morning, you know.’
He sighed. ‘Yes, Sulyard is a troublemaker. But Snodin dislikes poor Pygeon for his clumsy ways. Junior officers will sometimes take against a man for little reason.’
‘You are right there,’ Barak agreed feelingly.
‘I think it was unjust,’ I said.
Leacon gave me an impatient look. ‘This is the army, Master Shardlake, not a law court. Snodin’s job is to keep discipline and he may have to do that in battle, so I avoid gainsaying his decisions. Hard as he is, I need him. Sir Franklin is – well, you have met him.’
‘What was that business about buttons earlier?’
‘You may have noticed some soldiers have buttons on their shirts, while others tie them with aiglets. Sir Franklin believes only gentlemen should be allowed to wear buttons. It is, shall we say, something of an obsession.’
‘Buttons?’ Barak repeated disbelievingly.
‘Yes. Not that he is altogether wrong, the men like keeping as many as they can of the social distinctions they had before. That is part of the trouble between Sulyard and Pygeon. They come from the same village – Pygeon is a labourer’s son, Sulyard the son of a yeoman. Though only a second son.’