The sun was high and hot. The shade of the oaks was welcome as Thomas finally found an overgrown stream to replenish his leather flask.He drank one flask immediately then soaked his kerchief and wiped the back of his neck and face. A cuckoo announced it was was nearby. He had not heard one since the war began. Now he remembered those days when his brother and the other children in his hamlet had gone into the woods to see who could spy the first cuckoo or collect some pigeon eggs..
He soaked the cloth once more and laying back on his bundle, placed Angel his longbow upright against the tree trunk behind his head. He laid the wet cloth over his face and fell into a deep delicious sleep.
Thomas woke up some hours later in a most unusual manner. He dreamed his hands were melted together-indeed when he opened his eyes, his hands were firmly stuck as one-but it was rope that held them fast. As he rolled to one side and sprang to his feet, he fell over like a baby lamb. His feet were tied too.Then his head was shot with a pain that rallied his senses-and what had happened. He felt the dried blood covering an egg sized bump on his temple.
Nobody was around.His bundle had been opened and pilfered of the fine French ivory comb. To his horror, his longbow and best friend, Angel was gone.
He felt for his meat knife on his belt-but that was gone too. Even his flask was taken. Thomas cursed his stupidity-then thanked God his throat had not been cut by the thief.Wriggling his hands in the stream loosened his bond and he made short work of the knots aboout his feet. The rope used was his own! The thief was either extremely brave or desperate he thought-either way, he was now unarmed and in the wildwood. The sun was getting low. Thomas gathered what he could and taking on handfuls of water, set off along the stream downhill to find his sister.
It was dusk as he spied the inn through the edge of the treeline. The Bull was a squat ugly building wreathed in chimney smoke with two pack horses tied to a post- there was a drover's herd of sheep grazing nearby. This looked like a bad place he thought. Not a place to announce you have no money and come unarmed. A thought came to him, that perhaps those inside might even be his robbers? None the less, he had to start somewhere and seek charity-after all , was he not a returning hero who had served the King and country? Bolstered with this, Thomas marched boldly across the field determined to have beer and meat courtesy of someone's goodwill.
Inside the Bull, the innkeeper spied Thomas approach through the grazing flock.He could sense a thirsty traveller without words- and he was not wrong this time either. Thomas drank his fill and signalled another. A drover sat with a companion by the hearth. Thomas could smell their trade at ten paces. They too sensed his gaze. The men were short and powerful in the shoulders. Thomas could read a man's strength after five years of combat. These were not men to trifle with but he was confident they presented no outward malice he could not counter. Thomas moved to them and pulled up a small stool.
The smaller, older drover asked what Thomas wanted.His companion never flinched or looked up from his plate of meat and bread, but continued to shovel chunks of pork skewered on his meat knife.He paused only to guzzle more beer which ran in rivulets down his beard.Both had drunk many beers it was clear.Thomas studied the knife the drover was using.It was familiar in one way-the handle was one he himself had fashioned when he was a lad. There was no mistaking that these men were his robbers.
Thomas calmly asked the innkeeper for bread and cheese-and made a point of asking for a sharp knife to cut his bread.Thomas never let his gaze wander from the two drovers as he waited for his food. He saw the drovers were obviously near to London's famous market and so here they were at the end of their long trek. They looked like the Pikemen he had fought alongside-men from the Welsh borders probably. As both drovers drank and shared meat, Thomas received his own plate of bread and cheese-and specifically that sharp knife he had requested.
But it was not to slice bread or cheese that Thomas needed the knife for. As the larger of the two drovers skewered more meat, the smaller drover drained his flagon-this was Thomas' call to action.
The taller man who held Thomas' own knife fell slowly in a gurgle of his own blood and beer and half-chewed pork. The smaller drover suddenly recognised Thomas as if awokened from a spell. Thomas held him by his ear and had the knife to his eye.
"Where is my bow?"
The drover begged for forgiveness and said the longbow was outside in their packs.The innkeeper had armed himself with an axe and was charged to retrieve Thomas' longbow.
Thomas pledged he would let the drover go free-on pain of giving him one of the horses and all that was his plus the meal and drink. The other fellow was dead that was obvious-and to the innkeeper Thomas was clearly the victim of their crime. This much he could have guessed- for he had overheard their conversation at " God's fortune of finding a man asleep at the stream".
Thomas' meat knife was still in the dead man's hand. Thomas let it burn clean in the flames of the fire.
With his bundle and longbow again at his shoulders, Thomas sheathed his knife and paid his bill. The air had thickened with that moisture of dusk -the first star showed the way.Thomas took a deep breath and mounting his newly acquired horse, rode down the track towards the dimming horizon which promised much. Ahead across the darkening meadow and endless copsed countryside, London awaited.
