‘Perhaps the good Lord is keeping an eye on them, eh? Perhaps He has some special purpose in mind? Some higher calling?’ He is joking, and he turns back to Thomas. ‘You are a big lad, aren’t you?’ he says. ‘Not much muscle, but . . . You ever shoot an arrow?’

‘Not for a few years,’ Thomas calculates. ‘I lost the practice after my father went to France.’

‘Ah. France, eh? And he did not return?’

‘No, sir.’

The deck pitches under their feet and the old man is distracted by pain for a moment. His eyes water, but he recovers and takes another drink.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘I am indentured to provide my lord Fauconberg with fifteen archers. I had fifteen until one of them ran back to his fields the moment he saw the sea, and so I am short by one man.’

‘They say they are on their way to Canterbury,’ Richard puts in.

‘Well, that is another happy coincidence. So are we, just as soon as we are able.’

‘You will take us to Canterbury?’ Thomas asks.

He can hardly believe his luck.

Sir John laughs.

‘We are not hauliers or carters, man,’ he says, ‘but if you are prepared to join my company as an archer then I will see you to Canterbury, and beyond.’

He glances at his son as he says this. Richard smiles slightly.

‘But—’ Thomas begins. He is about to tell them of his vows. Katherine shakes her head slightly. The old man misinterprets.

‘You don’t fancy it?’ he asks. ‘Then we’ll have to see if the Lord really does have a special purpose in mind, won’t we, for you’ll have to swim ashore, here and now. I will not take you to Calais only to see you run off and join the Duke of Somerset in his stinking castle. You are altogether too able with that pollaxe of yours, and I should not like to find myself facing you across some sodden field in the future, regretting that I did not have you killed while I had the chance.’

Thomas turns to Katherine. What choice do they have anyway?

‘We will do our best,’ he says.

‘That’s more like it,’ Fakenham says. Then he turns to Katherine. ‘And how old are you, boy? Fourteen? Fifteen? Ever shoot a bow? Not by the look of you. Well, I dare say we can use you for something. Until you acquire a bit of muscle, that is. Perhaps you might act as a squire for my son? Richard? What do you think?’

Richard nods. He seems pleased at the thought. Katherine says nothing.

‘I cannot afford to pay you the same as one of my archers, but I can promise you four marks a year, better cloth than you are wearing now, food most days, and the chance of a share in whatever might come our way. What do you say?’