VAGABOND
BERNARD CORNWELL
Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2002
Copyright © Bernard Cornwell 2002
Map © John Gilkes 2013
Bernard Cornwell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, while at times based on historical figures, are the work of the author’s imagination.
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Source ISBN: 9780007310319
Ebook Edition © JULY 2009 ISBN: 9780007338795
Version: 2018-08-16
VAGABOND
is for June and Eddie Bell
in friendship and gratitude
CONTENTS
Part Three: THE KING’S CUPBEARER
PART ONE
England, October 1346
Arrows on the Hill
It was October, the time of the year’s dying when cattle were being slaughtered before winter and when the northern winds brought a promise of ice. The chestnut leaves had turned golden, the beeches were trees of flame and the oaks were made from bronze. Thomas of Hookton, with his woman, Eleanor, and his friend, Father Hobbe, came to the upland farm at dusk and the farmer refused to open his door, but shouted through the wood that the travellers could sleep in the byre. Rain rattled on the mouldering thatch. Thomas led their one horse under the roof that they shared with a woodpile, six pigs in a stout timber pen and a scattering of feathers where a hen had been plucked. The feathers reminded Father Hobbe that it was St Gallus’s day and he told Eleanor how the blessed saint, coming home in a winter’s night, had found a bear stealing his dinner. ‘He told the animal off!’ Father Hobbe said. ‘He gave it a right talking-to, he did, and then he made it fetch his firewood.’
‘I’ve seen a picture of that,’ Eleanor said. ‘Didn’t the bear become his servant?’
‘That’s because Gallus was a holy man,’ Father Hobbe explained. ‘Bears wouldn’t fetch firewood for just anyone! Only for a holy man.’
‘A holy man,’ Thomas put in, ‘who is the patron saint of hens.’ Thomas knew all about the saints, more indeed than Father Hobbe. ‘Why would a chicken