The ferryman hummed and whistled a sad lament as he rowed Thomas upriver.Thomas had never seen such a city as London -it was as if he was inside the gut of this huge sleeping creature-surrounded by steams and smokes from inumerable unseen workshops and hearths and pot fires.The far off cries of children and dogs and pigs mingled as one in the gloom. Only the White Tower rose above the muddle of timbers and tiles and thatch that stretched in every which- way from the water's edges. Then he felt the rocking of the boat as a larger barge slid past- bringing a curse from a fellow upon its high bow.
The ferryman carried on whistling as he deftly steered them within a bow's length of the dark hulk as it slid past.
Then Thomas heard raised voices.Rough, angry voices that took his thoughts back to bad times of war.The shore was coming up swiftly now as the ferryman doubled his efforts against the current.
"That's the bear pit yonder" said the ferryman as the boat grated up the stony shore.Thomas could see a large fire tumbling from a sturdy iron brazier-and about it many drunken figures shouting foul language.An argument over money..
Thomas gave the ferryman a coin.The ferryman bit it and spat- then with asked Thomas what he was running from.Thomas felt this an intrusion and shot the man a glance. The ferryman had that insight that comes from reading thousands of strangers' faces and mannerisms. Thomas' lack of response was also telling- and in a blink the ferryman became more polite to Thomas. Rightly so, for Thomas threw off his cloak and made quick actions as only professional craftsmen do when preparing to go about their business-or as the ferryman soon witnessed, the polished preparation of a warrior.
Instinct told Thomas he should have his dagger to hand and put it into a special leather sheath that he slung across his shoulder. He quickly unwrapped his bow- it was the first time since returning from France,except when he checked that the robbers had not damaged it.
Satisfied with his preparations he leapt from the boat and without a word exchanged, the ferryman shoved his boat back into the river.Thomas stood on the dark shoulder of the shore,the noise and commotion from the bear -pit kept any eyes fixed elsewhere. Thomas found three arrows. He preened their white goosefeather tails between thumb and forefinger. He hid his bundle by some fish baskets and covered it with his cloak. As he surveyed the fire and the silhouetted figures, he moved forward like a predator.
Two huge Welshmen hit each other with their fists wrapped in bloodied cloths. Each blow caused money to change hands between the onlookers. The faces, all of peasant stock were contorted in delight of seeing pain being inflicted and received.
Then one man broke into the throng and raised the stakes by vouching to fight both men at once. Thomas could hear that this boast came from an educated man. As he closed in, Thomas saw the challenger had a rich robe with a fur collar. Wagers were set. Thomas witnessed more people run to see the spectacle.
Thomas relaxed his bow grip and wrapped Angel.He swung his dagger belt to his right side. He was now swept along toward the fire by dozens of children and dogs and others who seemed to bleed from the dark cracks and alleyways all about.
Even if he had need for his bow, he knew he could not get a clean, full draw that made Angel such a deadly friend. With a few more strides, Thomas found himself looking at a ring of drunken faces with all eyes set upon a noble looking man who now disrobed ,then handed his wrapped garments to a chuckling young girl of no more than sixteen. Her dress and manner told Thomas she was no innocent child.
Without warning and before the two Welshmen could confer, the challenger hit one in the groin and followed up with a downward blow to the temple. The second was despatched with a blow to the chin and a following blow that split his nose as he was sent backwards into the throng.
There was a second of silence perhaps, then those that had wagered on the victor cheered til they were hoarse.The victor gathered his winnings and the arm of the teenage girl and made his way towards the lights of an inn.
Thomas was left alone as the crowd evaporated. Thomas was about to turn away when he was interrupted,
"Come on young feller, ain't you cooming to the Bear Pit to celebrate?" Thomas was having his hem pulled by a four foot man with a comically high voice.
"I have to find my sister hereabouts" Thomas replied and tried to walk away.
"I'm your man then!" came the little man's reply,
"I have lived here since I was little" he stated with pride and no irony at his physical size
Thomas started to laugh.The man got angry.Thomas laughed even more. The short man kicked him and ran off towards the Inn.
Thomas had collected his belongings and was in the very act of throwing his cloak over his shoulders when an arrow flashed by his cheek and pinned his cloak to a barrel behind. He struggled free of the cloak as a fly trapped in a spider's web. With a flash he had pulled up Angel and drew an arrow ready to respond like for like.
From beihnd him he heard a laugh of a familiar voice.The short man clapped and was accompanied by the victor from the fight he had just witnessed.
Thomas was asked politely by the victor to lower his bow. The short man ran forwards and retrieved Thomas' cloak and the arrow that pinned it to the barrel.The victor of the fist fight and bowman responsible for firing the arrow were the same man. He introduced himself to Thomas, slightly arrogantly Thomas thought-but this was a man who could fight and fire a bow well. Thomas also knew he had the respect and loyalty of the locals. Thomas greeted him in kind and bowed his head for good measure. He had learned in France that those who presumed they were of noble birth took great pleasure in this humbling act. Moreover, it would buy Thomas favour to suit his own needs. Revenge as he knew, was best served cold.
Thomas was now invited to the bear pit, or rather as he was corrected, the Bear Pit Inn, the infamous house of pleasure that was the hub of all illicit and outlaw business south of the river. The short man was called Bogman-for he took away the human waste buckets from wealthy houses of the merchants and boat owners. On the side, Bogman had an oft lucrative job of sifting through the shoreline mud and crap for lost precious items and odd Roman trinkets. The victor and nobleman who now led Thomas towards the inn was introduced as Geraint of Swindon. Thomas knew Geraint was a Welsh name yet when he asked why this man spoke rounded English nobody seemed to raise issue.
Geraint asked for a new cask of ale for his guests. Thomas was seated to the right of Geraint with Bogman adjacent. The seat to the left of Geraint was left empty. Thomas accepted Geraint's toast to a fellow bowman "returned from France and the wars".
A suckling pig and a platter of eels followed. Thomas was soon drunker than he could remember. He was introduced to a range fo colourful characters all of whom had a special skill or talent that Bogman or Geraint held in high regard.
As the cask was removed and replaced with wine, Thomas finally asked about the fletches that Geraint used,
"I wonder at you arrows..are red and black the colours of your coat of arms sir? slurred Thomas
Geraint laughed allowed but gave no answer, for at that instant, he sprang over the table and half falling into the flagons and food plates under foot, fell into the arms of a tall beautiful lady.They kissed long until a cheer erupted.
As Geraint swept her round to stand before Thomas, both the lady and Thomas were struck silent in amazement,
"Thomas! What are you doing here?" she said
"Sister!?" choked Thomas
Geraint looked lost for words, which was unusual.This was to be a long night..
