Agincourt: A Novel by Bernard Cornwell

Author:Bernard Cornwell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780061984068
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-10-06T05:00:00+00:00

“Come and take her!” Sir John shouted. “She’s yours! You can take turns like dogs rutting a bitch! Come on! She’s a pretty thing! You want to hump her? She’s yours!” He waited, but not one of Lord Slayton’s men moved. Then Sir John had pointed at Hook. “You can all have her! But first you have to kill my ventenar!”

Still no one moved. No one even met Sir John’s eyes.

“Which man is being paid to kill you?” Sir John had asked Hook.

“That one,” Hook said, pointing at Tom Perrill.

“Then come here,” Sir John had invited Perrill, “come and kill him. I’ll give you his woman if you do.” Perrill had not moved. He was half hiding behind William Snoball who, as Lord Slayton’s steward, had some small authority, but Snoball dared not confront Sir John Cornewaille. “There is just one thing,” Sir John had added, “which is that you have to kill both Hook and me before you get the woman. So come on! Fight me first!” He had drawn his sword and waited.

No one had moved, no one had spoken. Sir Martin had been watching from behind some men-at-arms. “Is that the priest?” Sir John had demanded of Hook.

“That’s him.”

“My name is John Cornewaille,” Sir John had shouted, “and some of you know who I am. And Hook is my man. He is my man! He is under my protection, as is this girl!” He had put his free arm around Melisande’s shoulders, then pointed his sword blade at Sir Martin. “You, priest, come here.”

Sir Martin had not moved.

“You can come here,” Sir John said, “or I can come and fetch you.”

Sir Martin, long face twitching, had sidled away from the protective men-at-arms. He looked around as if seeking a place to run, but Sir John had snarled at him to come closer and he had obeyed. “He’s a priest!” Sir John had called, “so he’s a witness to this oath. I swear by this sword and by the bones of Saint Credan, that if a hair of Hook’s head is touched, if he is attacked, if he is wounded, if he is killed, then I shall find you and I shall kill you.”

Sir Martin had been peering at Sir John as though he were a curious specimen in a fairground display; a five-legged cow, perhaps, or a woman with a beard. Now, still with a puzzled expression, the priest raised both hands to heaven. “Forgive him, Lord, forgive him!” he called.

“Priest,” Sir John began.

“Knight!” Sir Martin had retorted with surprising force. “The devil rides one horse and Christ the other. You know what that means?”

“I know what this means,” Sir John had held his sword blade toward the priest’s throat, “it means that if one of you cabbage-shitting rat-humping turds touches Hook or his woman then he will have to reckon with me. And I will tear your farting bowels out of your putrid arses with my bare hands, I will make you die screaming, I will send your shit-ridden souls to hell, I will kill you!”

Silence.

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