The Archer's War: Exciting good read - adventure fiction about fighting and combat during medieval times in feudal England with archers, longbows, knights, ... (The Company of English Archers Book 4) by Martin Archer Read Free Book Online Page B

George.       
           I myself will be temporarily based in London with my guards and Peter Sergeant as my second once again.  We’ll have to quickly find a stable or tavern so the recruiting sergeants will know where to send their recruits before they set out to find them.  Evan, of course, will have to do the same in Cardiff.
           Our very first stop will undoubtedly be at a stable since we intend to hire horses for our recruiters and Peter and I, and Evan in Cardiff, can always sleep in the horses’ stalls until we find something better.  Hopefully the stable where we hire the horses will be able to send an ostler with each of our recruiting parties, someone who can teach them how to ride and care for their horses.
           Finally there is the unanswered question about whether or not we should hire mercenaries or deal with the lords who are willing to sell the services of their knights and men at arms.  We have more than enough coins at Restormel to pay for their services; but do we really want to hire men who may well stab us in the back if someone else offers them more money?  And, if we do, how and where should we employ them? 
           What William and I finally ended up deciding is to use our cogs and galleys to bring only individual archers willing to join us to Cornwall - and use any mercenaries we can hire to attack Lord Cornell’s castle in Derbyshire.
           Cornell might think twice about taking all his men to Cornwall when he hears we are trying to hire mercenaries to attack him in Derbyshire, particularly since we are going to do so if we can find some to hire.  At least that’s our thinking.
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           It is a warm and somewhat sunny afternoon in July when our two lightly crewed galleys untie their lines and slowly row down the Fowey.  I’m wearing my bishop’s robes and William and George and my schoolboys are standing on the bank waving farewell as my galley slowly slides by with our recruiters doing the rowing. 
           I feel very sad about leaving the boys but try to keep a big smile on my face.
           “Don’t forget to do your sums,” is the only thing I can think to say.  Then I give a final wave and turn away to watch a couple of sailors begin to lay out the big leather sail so it can be raised quickly if the wind in the channel is favorable when we reach the mouth of the river and turn left towards London.  It wouldn’t do at all for them to see my eyes watering.
           The galleys will stay in Cardiff and London until Evan and I send them back to Cornwall.  Hopefully they’ll be loaded with archers and archer trainees to help with the rowing when they return.  Simon’s galley, I’m rather sure, will be coming back without me.
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           London’s port and the waters below it are as crowded as ever with every possible type of ship you can think of from dinghies and fishing boats to great ocean-going cargo ships.  Some of them are huge cogs with two or three masts and decks that are almost a hundred paces long with castles at each end. 
           Our little galley is using its oars carefully as Simon slowly threads his way through the pack of big sailing ships and fishing boats waiting for the wind and tide.  The big ships may be able to carry more cargo and passengers and are less vulnerable to storms but we can go up the Thames to London using our oars.
           An hour later we edge up against the same dock we used a couple of weeks ago when I visited Windsor.  And the same little man with the sing song voice and funny hat greets us.  But this time he is all smiles and welcome.
           “Allo Simon, welcomz back yer iz,” he shouts as grabs the mooring line Simon throws him.  “Enz you too yor reverence.”
            “Allo Alfie.  Ouz iz you and yer mizzus?”
           “Quite gud she iz, Simon, quite gud.  Iz youz be at em White Bull anight for zum