Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

‘You’re busy today.’

‘Soldiers on their way to Oxford. Same lot as was ’ere a few weeks ago.’

Thomas looked around. Sure enough, there was the fat dragoon who had sat on him, and there was Captain Brooke. He took his ale and found a seat in the corner, from where he could watch and listen. He was not in the mood for argument or banter. Or for being sat upon. He heard the dragoons recounting their experiences in Lord Goring’s army, which had consisted mostly of monumental bouts of drinking and whoring, his lordship setting an excellent example to his men in both pursuits, and he watched them spending a good many shillings on ale, shillings they had doubtless removed, without consent, from their owners. He was about to leave when the captain noticed him in the corner.

‘Well, well. If it isn’t our friend the bookseller. Hill, isn’t it? We met when we last visited Romsey.’

Thomas rose. ‘Thomas Hill, sir. Your memory does you credit. I gather you and your men have been serving with Lord Goring.’

‘That we have, the drunken old goat. Now we’re on our way to Oxford. The king has demanded reinforcements. Do you know Oxford?’

‘I was a student there many years ago. It’s a beautiful town.’

‘Then let’s hope we don’t have to defend it from rampaging Puritans. And what have you been doing since last we met, Master Hill?’

‘Oh, business as usual, captain.’

‘The quiet life, eh? I envy you. And what about that French fellow of yours? Mountain.’

‘Montaigne, captain. Michel de Montaigne.’

‘What was it he said? I couldn’t make head nor tail of it.’

‘ To learn that we have said or done a stupid thing is nothing; we must learn a more ample and important lesson: that we are all blockheads .’

‘That was it. Damned odd.’

Thomas grinned. ‘Not so odd, captain, when you think about it. Now I must escape before one of your men knocks me down and sits on me. Goodbye, captain.’

‘Goodbye, Master Hill.’