The Bow Read Online Free PDF Page A

be right as rain before long.’
    ‘ Thanks!’
    'Huh! Thanks, nothing! Gave me a chance to get out of
that madness. But see Eric over there – Morgaunt and Yevan got him
out – his shoulder’s a mess. No more fighting for him till
Springfest for sure.’
    It began to rain again, falling in light misted curtains
over the struggling lines of armoured men. James sat and stared at
what he saw before him, as though in a dream. He felt that he could
reach out and touch the battle, and yet he was no longer part of it.
He drank again, then shook his head. This was no good. It was time to
get back to the fighting.
    But as, turning, he looked for his bow and began to get
to his feet, old Lewis held him back. He crouched down beside him.
    'Nay lad! Don’t ye be rushing off now. You’re as
wobbly on your pins as a newborn lamb. They’d trim you soon as look
at ye. Wait here and rest.’
    ‘ Rest?’
    ‘ Aye, rest! I’m thinking the fight will be coming
this way pretty soon any way.’
    The rain grew heavier. James shivered and drew what was
left of his cloak about him. It was cold, very cold – like lambing
time in Chiswick. That was the time when his father would call him
and his brother out into the night as the storms broke in from the
West. They loved that time. Loved it and hated it: freezing cold in
bitter driving rain, but so good to come home in the morning with a
lamb or wrapped up safe in your cloak.
    There was a sudden shouting above the noise of battle.
More trumpets sounded, and the English line fell back a spear’s
length.
    Old Lewis stood up: ‘The trumpets call, laddie, the
trumpets call. Anyone who hangs back now will be spitted on the spot
by yon captains or swung from a tree by King Harry after this here
battle.’ He hauled James to his feet. ‘Up now! Bring that sword
of yours and we’ll find ye a place to hide in the rear ranks.’
    He pushed James forward towards the fighting. ‘Just
shout and shove lad. Shout and shove.’
    Ahead, James could see Yevan, William and the other
archers of the company. Using the men at arms like a hedge of steel,
they were darting forward to strike at the French, then leaping back
again.
    He stumbled into the rearmost rank, put his shoulder
against a buckler and drove with all his might. He pushed till his
joints cracked, and his head rang – but the line did not move,
except to surge backwards against him half a pace, so that he sank to
his shins in the mud. More men joined him from somewhere. There were
cries, shouts of alarm, then a sudden clash of steel just ahead of
him. He drove again, and this time the line seemed to go forward.
Someone cheered, a broken lance was thrown which fell harmlessly
behind him, another cheer, then everyone surged forward. Six, no
seven paces, then James looked down and saw the lifeless eyes of a
dead French knight staring up at him. He tripped over the body, and
nearly fell. On they went, fives paces more then shambled to a halt.
They stood about, some of them with hands on knees, heads down
gasping in the chill, damp air.
    The French had gone. Their Battle broken, and their
captains killed, what was left of them had retreated in good order
across the field.
    James watched them go, and nodded his thanks when Old
Lewis thrust his bow into his hand. He sat down, and all around him
others followed suit. A few were tending to the wounded. Others were
stripping the dead.
    Jankyn Fustor came and sat beside him. ‘Aye-o, lad!’
he said in his easy drawl. ‘That was a pretty fight.’
    James nodded.
    ‘ Cost us, though,’ Jankyn went on, picking his teeth
with a twig. ‘Five good archers, and more than a handful of
spearmen. I saw John Harford go down, and Eric the Pike too.’
    ‘ Eric’s still breathing,’ said James. ‘He’s
back there, shoulder all busted up.’
    Jankyn turned and looked; ‘Aye, I see him. Still, he
may as well be dead for all the use he’ll be to us today. There’s
more o’ the French forming up across