fought with staves, they did endless squats, they pulled themselves up ropes and rigging and climbed to the fighting top, the master’s sour objections being silenced with gold coin. They ate their grim rations like young wolves, and on the fifth day they asked to do more sword-arm raises. Each did twelve.
After a week, Smith showed them how to wear a helmet. First he settled his own rounded morion on Nicholas’s head without its wadding inside, and then struck him lightly on the crown. It rang, and hurt.
‘Quite so,’ he said. ‘A helmet without good wadding or bombast is useless. Stuff it well.’
He packed it tight, set it on the boy’s head again, and struck hard. Nicholas reeled instinctively, eyes tight shut – but barely felt discomfort.
‘And if you’ve helmet on, don’t forget you can butt the other fellow in the face hard enough to blind him. Two pieces of armour, and two only, protect you most. Helmet and breastplate. For the rest, ’tis better your arm or leg does not encounter a Turkish blade. For you know which will come off best.’
‘The blade will come off best,’ said Stanley, ‘but your arm will come off easily also.’
‘Spare us your labouring wit, brother knight.’
‘My wit is mostly ’ armless . Like a knight careless in battle.’
‘I beg you.’
‘Like a dissolved Parliament, his members have departed.’
‘ I beg you ,’ repeated Smith.
Stanley sighed. ‘Had I not been a knight, I would have made a royal court jester.’
There was silence.
12
Dawn, and the sun coming up to larboard.
‘Out of France,’ said Nicholas wonderingly.
‘Out of Spain,’ corrected Stanley. ‘We sail south and west now. Look hard and you’ll see the snow-capped mountains that stand sentinel behind the Spanish coast. The mountains of Cantabria.’
They were beautiful in the sun. And the very word, Cantabria …
‘From their oak forests are made the Spanish galleons at Bilbao, which sail all the way to the Indies and back. Noble mountains, are they not, Master Hodgkin? More wild and sublime than any of your Shropshire hills?’
Hodge grunted. ‘Fatter sheep on the green hills of home, I’ll wager.’
They were rounding Cape Finisterre. Stanley was indicating eastward where Santiago da Compostela lay, the great pilgrim city where St James was buried, when the master called out from the sterndeck, ‘Storm coming in from the west. Hoist in sails!’
Sure enough, on the western horizon there were growing towering clouds, a dark and ominous grey, swollen with rain. The first gusts flurried across the sea, flinging up spray and flattening out the little waves. But the waves would be growing soon.
‘Off the coast of Galicia too,’ muttered Smith, and a look of genuine anxiety crossed Stanley’s bearded face.
‘Is that bad?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Bad?’ growled Smith. ‘It’s worse than the coast of Cornwall.’
Only a few minutes later a wall of wind hit the little ship likea backhanded swipe from Neptune himself. Every timber creaked and the ship keeled hard to larboard in the blast. The sails cracked like musket shots and the blocks rattled in the rigging. Everything started to tremble, including Hodge and Nicholas.
‘Pull her to starboard, head her into the wind!’ roared the master to Pidhook at the whipstaff. ‘She’s a tilt to the north, bless the devil. We can bring her out from the coast, or at least keep her off it.’
In another instant the air was filled with icy rain driving into them almost horizontally, stinging their noses and cheeks and making them gasp. But it was fear, raw fear that overwhelmed them. Pain was nothing to that. The black, clawed coast looked horribly near through the murk. The boys hooded their faces with their cloaks, though not being able to see the heaving waters around them made them feel instantly sick.
‘Pages, to the pump!’ roared the master. ‘Vizard, check anchor! Legge, wad up the water jars and lock down the
After a week, Smith showed them how to wear a helmet. First he settled his own rounded morion on Nicholas’s head without its wadding inside, and then struck him lightly on the crown. It rang, and hurt.
‘Quite so,’ he said. ‘A helmet without good wadding or bombast is useless. Stuff it well.’
He packed it tight, set it on the boy’s head again, and struck hard. Nicholas reeled instinctively, eyes tight shut – but barely felt discomfort.
‘And if you’ve helmet on, don’t forget you can butt the other fellow in the face hard enough to blind him. Two pieces of armour, and two only, protect you most. Helmet and breastplate. For the rest, ’tis better your arm or leg does not encounter a Turkish blade. For you know which will come off best.’
‘The blade will come off best,’ said Stanley, ‘but your arm will come off easily also.’
‘Spare us your labouring wit, brother knight.’
‘My wit is mostly ’ armless . Like a knight careless in battle.’
‘I beg you.’
‘Like a dissolved Parliament, his members have departed.’
‘ I beg you ,’ repeated Smith.
Stanley sighed. ‘Had I not been a knight, I would have made a royal court jester.’
There was silence.
12
Dawn, and the sun coming up to larboard.
‘Out of France,’ said Nicholas wonderingly.
‘Out of Spain,’ corrected Stanley. ‘We sail south and west now. Look hard and you’ll see the snow-capped mountains that stand sentinel behind the Spanish coast. The mountains of Cantabria.’
They were beautiful in the sun. And the very word, Cantabria …
‘From their oak forests are made the Spanish galleons at Bilbao, which sail all the way to the Indies and back. Noble mountains, are they not, Master Hodgkin? More wild and sublime than any of your Shropshire hills?’
Hodge grunted. ‘Fatter sheep on the green hills of home, I’ll wager.’
They were rounding Cape Finisterre. Stanley was indicating eastward where Santiago da Compostela lay, the great pilgrim city where St James was buried, when the master called out from the sterndeck, ‘Storm coming in from the west. Hoist in sails!’
Sure enough, on the western horizon there were growing towering clouds, a dark and ominous grey, swollen with rain. The first gusts flurried across the sea, flinging up spray and flattening out the little waves. But the waves would be growing soon.
‘Off the coast of Galicia too,’ muttered Smith, and a look of genuine anxiety crossed Stanley’s bearded face.
‘Is that bad?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Bad?’ growled Smith. ‘It’s worse than the coast of Cornwall.’
Only a few minutes later a wall of wind hit the little ship likea backhanded swipe from Neptune himself. Every timber creaked and the ship keeled hard to larboard in the blast. The sails cracked like musket shots and the blocks rattled in the rigging. Everything started to tremble, including Hodge and Nicholas.
‘Pull her to starboard, head her into the wind!’ roared the master to Pidhook at the whipstaff. ‘She’s a tilt to the north, bless the devil. We can bring her out from the coast, or at least keep her off it.’
In another instant the air was filled with icy rain driving into them almost horizontally, stinging their noses and cheeks and making them gasp. But it was fear, raw fear that overwhelmed them. Pain was nothing to that. The black, clawed coast looked horribly near through the murk. The boys hooded their faces with their cloaks, though not being able to see the heaving waters around them made them feel instantly sick.
‘Pages, to the pump!’ roared the master. ‘Vizard, check anchor! Legge, wad up the water jars and lock down the
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