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recommends we make it appear as though your
application is pending authorization. You will thus be required to appear
before a board of assessment. Your first interview will be scheduled to take
place one week after your arrival. Captain Ludd will be the officer in charge.
You will provide him with details of any progress you may have made."
    Hawkwood stared
at the dispatch pouch and then looked up. "In that case, I hope you all
remain in good health. I'd hate to find I'm stranded on the bloody ship because you've all been struck dead in your beds."

CHAPTER 3
     
     
    "Name?"
    The question was
emitted in a thin, reedy voice by a narrow- shouldered, sour-faced man seated
behind a large trestle table that had been set up in the forward section of the
weather-deck. The clerk did not look up but waited, lips compressed, pen
poised, for Hawkwood to reply. A large ledger lay open in front of him. The
seated man to his right, a supercilious-looking individual with reddish-blond
hair, slim sideburns and nails bitten down to the quick, wore a lieutenant's
uniform. The one standing by his left shoulder was younger, slightly built,
dark haired, and dressed in a yellow canvas jacket and matching trousers.
Stamped on the sleeves of the jacket and upon each trouser leg were a broad
black arrow and the letters T.O., the initials of the Transport Office. His
eyes roved back and forth along the line of waiting men.
    Hawkwood gazed
down at the clerk and said nothing. He was still feeling the chill from the
dousing he had received.
    The guards had
removed the shackles and made all the new arrivals strip naked on deck before
handing them a block of brown soap and ordering them into large water-filled
barrels. The water was freezing and by the time each man had rubbed himself
raw, clambered out, passed the soap on to the next man and dried himself with
the rag towel, the water surface in every tub was covered by a thin oily
residue.
    Orange jackets,
trousers and shirts had then been distributed. There seemed to be only one size,
small, which left the recipients struggling woefully to fasten the jacket
buttons. With most, the trousers reached only as far as mid calf. The only
person to emerge from the handout with any modicum of dignity was the boy from
the longboat. The jacket was too long at both hem and sleeve, but the trousers
were close to being a good fit, albeit only after they had been secured around
the boy's thin waist by a length of twine.
    Not everyone
received a uniform. A number of men, Hawkwood and Lasseur among them, were
allowed to keep their own clothes, supposedly because they were officers,
though Hawkwood suspected it had more to do with a scarcity of jackets and
trousers rather than an acknowledgement of their rank. Certainly, it appeared
that prison uniform had been passed, in the main, to those whose own apparel
was beyond salvage. All soiled articles were tossed on to a growing pile on the
deck. To be taken off the ship, Hawkwood assumed, and burned.
    Next, canvas
slippers were distributed. Neither Hawkwood nor Lasseur were deemed
impoverished enough to warrant the gift of the shoes. Hawkwood noticed that
both his and Lasseur's footwear were attracting surreptitious attention from
some of the less fortunate prisoners and he made a silent vow not to let his boots
out of his sight.
    A look of
irritation moved across the registration clerk's pinched face at Hawkwood's
lack of response. The lieutenant maintained his impression of boredom. The
clerk flicked his finger imperiously and the man standing at his shoulder in
the yellow uniform repeated the question in French.
    "Hooper,"
Hawkwood said. "Matthew."
    As Hawkwood gave
his name, the clerk stiffened and frowned, while next to him the lieutenant's
head snapped round. His eyes darkened.
    The clerk
recovered his composure and turned his eyes to the grainy sheet of paper at his
elbow. He ran the nib of his pen down the page and gave a small click of his
tongue as he found the