Vagabond
The eagerly anticipated follow-up to the bestselling Harlequin, this is the second instalment in Bernard Cornwell's Grail Quest series.In Harlequin, Thomas of Hookton travelled to France as an archer and there discovered a shadowy destiny, which linked him to a family of heretical French lords who sought Christendom's greatest relic.Having survived the battle of Crécy, Thomas is sent back to England, charged with finding the Holy Grail. But Thomas is an archer and when a chance comes to fight against an army invading northern England he jumps at it. Plunged into the carnage of Neville's Cross, he is oblivious to other enemies who want to destroy him. He discovers too late that he is not the only person pursuing the grail, and that his rivals will do anything to thwart him.After hunting and wounding him, Thomas's enemies turn him into a fugitive. Fleeing England, he travels to Normandy, determined to rescue Will Skeat, his old commander from Harlequin. Finally Thomas leads his enemies back to Brittany, where he goes to discover an old love and where his pursuers at last trap their reluctant pilgrim.Vagabond is a vivid and realistic portrait of England at a time when the archer was king of Europe's battlefields.
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VAGABOND
BERNARD CORNWELL
Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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London SE1 9GF
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 authorâs 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
PART ONE
England, October 1346
Arrows on the Hill
It was October, the time of the yearâs 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 Gallusâs day and he told Eleanor how the blessed saint, coming home in a winterâs night, had found a bear stealing his dinner. âHe told the animal off!â Father Hobbe said. âHe gave it a right talking-to, he did, and then he made it fetch his firewood.â
âIâve seen a picture of that,â Eleanor said. âDidnât the bear become his servant?â
âThatâs because Gallus was a holy man,â Father Hobbe explained. âBears wouldnât fetch firewood for just anyone! Only for a holy man.â
âA holy man,â Thomas put in, âwho is the patron saint of hens.â Thomas knew all about the saints, more indeed than Father Hobbe. âWhy would a chicken want a saint?â he enquired sarcastically.
âGallus is the patron of hens?â Eleanor asked, confused by Thomasâs tone. âNot bears?â
âOf hens,â Father Hobbe confirmed. âIndeed of all poultry.â
âBut why?â Eleanor wanted to know.
âBecause he once expelled a wicked demon from a young girl.â Father Hobbe, broad-faced, hair like a sticklebackâs spines, peasant-born, stocky, young and eager, liked to tell stories of the blessed saints. âA whole bundle of bishops had tried to drive the demon out,â he went on, âand they had all failed, but the blessed Gallus came along and he cursed the demon. He cursed it! And it screeched in terrorâ â Father Hobbe waved his hands in the air to imitate the evil spiritâs panic â âand then it fled from her body, it did, and it looked just like a black hen â a pullet. A black pullet.â
âIâve never seen a picture of that,â Eleanor remarked in her accented English, then, gazing out through the byre door, âbut Iâd like to see a real bear carrying firewood,â she added wistfully.
Thomas sat beside her and stared into the wet dusk, which was hazed by a small mist. He was not sure it really was St Gallusâs day for he had lost his reckoning while they travelled. Perhaps it was already St Audreyâs day? It was October, he knew that, and he knew that one thousand, three hundred and forty-six years had passed since Christ had been born, but he was not sure which day it was. It was easy to lose count. His father had once recited all the Sunday services on a Saturday and he had had to do them again the next day. Thomas surreptitiously made the sign of the cross. He was a priestâs bastard and that was said to bring bad luck. He shivered. There was a heaviness in the air that owed nothing to the setting sun nor to the rain clouds nor to the mist. God help us, he thought, but there was an evil in this dusk and he made the sign of the cross again and said a silent prayer to St Gallus and his obedient bear. There had been a dancing bear in London, its teeth nothing but rotted yellow stumps and its brown flanks matted with blood from its ownerâs goad. The street dogs had snarled at it, slunk about it and shrank back when the bear swung on them.
