Heartstone полностью

I RODE THROUGH the city gate to the camp. The smell of urine and ordure seemed stronger than ever. A queue waited outside a barber's tent; the men who came out were close shaved, their hair cropped. Nearby a group had formed a ring around two soldiers, stripped to the waist, who were wrestling. I saw Barak among those watching, standing beside Carswell. Both had been shaved and Carswell's hair was cut to a short fuzz like Hugh and David's. I dismounted and led the horse over to them.

'What did this West have to say?' Barak asked curtly. I could tell he was still angry with me.

'Something that shook me. I'll tell you later.' I turned to Carswell. 'We should return to Hoyland now. I would like to say farewell to Captain Leacon. Do you know where he is?'

'Talking with Sir Franklin in his tent. I don't think they'll be long.'

I looked at the wrestlers. One was a big stocky fellow in his twenties, the other, I saw, was Tom Llewellyn. He had a powerful chest and shoulders for one so young. As I watched Llewellyn managed to throw his opponent on the ground, where he lay panting. Some cheered, others looked morose. Many had the big leather pouches in which they carried their belongings at their waists, and various small items were taken out and handed over. Carswell's neighbour gave him a double-sided nit comb, the thin side black with dead lice, and a tiny bone spoon.

'What's that?' I asked, pointing to the spoon.

'Ear-wax scoop,' Carswell answered cheerfully. 'Useful stuff for waxing your bows.' He threw a cloth to Llewellyn, who wiped his sweating chest. 'Well done, lad.'

'See who's next,' Barak murmured. 'This should be interesting.' I saw that Sulyard and Pygeon had stepped into the ring. They glared at each other as they removed jerkins and shirts. Sulyard was bigger, and his body looked to have a raw-boned strength; but Pygeon, though stringy, had not an ounce of fat on him. Sulyard put his hands on his hips and turned to the crowd. 'We won't be long—those who've put bets on lop-ears get ready to lose your stakes!'

Pygeon did not reply, only stared at Sulyard. He shook his arms to loosen them, then shifted his weight from foot to foot to get his balance. He was taking this seriously. Sulyard grinned at him. 'We should have our own bet, lop-ears,' he said loudly. 'Tell you what, if I win I'll have that rosary you use to say Hail Mary on the quiet. His family are our village recusants, lads!'

'And if I win,' Pygeon shouted, 'I'll have your brigandyne.'

Sulyard looked taken aback. Several in the crowd laughed. Someone shouted, 'Take the bet, Sulyard, as you're so sure of winning.'

Barak said to Carswell, 'Bet you a half groat Sulyard wins.'

'Done.'

The fight went on for ten minutes, Sulyard's thrusting power against Pygeon's unexpected strength. I realized Pygeon meant to tire Sulyard out. Slowly the camp bully weakened. In the end Pygeon put him down, not with a throw but with a steady, powerful movement that made his stringy muscles stand out. The taller man's legs buckled, and then Sulyard was on the ground, panting heavily. Pygeon smiled, savouring his triumph.

'Shake hands and share a loving cup!' Carswell called out.

Pygeon looked down at Sulyard. 'Fetch the brigandyne to me when you are recovered, Master.' He picked up his clothes and walked away. The gamblers who had lost—most of them—reached ruefully for their bags. Barak paid over the half groat. I saw that Leacon had come out of his tent, accompanied by Sir Franklin and Snodin. They stood talking.

'Come, Jack,' I said, 'the afternoon wears on. We must say farewell to Leacon and return to Hoyland.'

Barak raised a hand to the soldiers. 'Farewell, lads, I must return my master to our gracious hosts!'

'You're picking up Carswell's style of humour,' I told him as we walked away.

'No, 'tis my own.'

As we approached Leacon I saw he too had had a barbering. The whiffler Snodin was talking loudly and angrily, 'Milk bellies that can't do without beds. Simpering, mumping weaklings—'

'All right, Snodin,' Sir Franklin said testily. He stared at me as I approached. 'Sir Franklin, I am sorry to interrupt, but I would say goodbye to Master Leacon—'

Sir Franklin waved a hand impatiently. 'A moment. Snodin, send a message about the deserters to Sir William Paulet. He must alert the shires to look for them.'

'Yes, Sir Franklin. The fools,' Snodin burst out with sudden emotion. 'Why did they do it? I trained those men, I know them.' He looked at Sir Franklin. 'Will they hang if they're caught?'

'The King has ordered every deserter to be hanged.'

The whiffler shook his head, bowed and walked off. 'Deserters,' Leacon told me. 'Two went last night.'

'They'll be caught if they return home.'