get used to holding it straight in battle while guiding Troy this way and that.’
‘I guide him just as well by pressing my knees against him. Really, Jacques, we have done this so many times. I’m not a beginner anymore!’
Jacques grinned at him. ‘It is true you have made excellent progress, but I think this is thanks to your most excellent horse and most excellent teacher.’
Troy snorted his agreement.
As they trotted past the town, they could see their fellowsoldiers sweating in the sun, digging trenches and fortifying Drogheda’s walls. Gerald remarked, ‘Isn’t it peculiar that this is exactly what went on in Derry only we were on the outside of the walls, we were the threat?’
‘No, my friend, I do not find it strange at all. In life, everything is repeated, with the same things, and they happen again and again only to different people.’
Jacques was in a philosophical mood.
‘You mean like, the next time we’re here in Drogheda, I’ll be the one to fall in love?’
Jacques grunted. ‘Maybe so. If you’re lucky and only if we ever return to Drogheda again.’
Gerald smirked. ‘So, you still plan to leave then, after this is all over?’
Jacques answered with a shrug, ‘But of course. I am a soldier. I go where King Louis wants for me to go.’
‘Really?’ asked Gerald. ‘But what if you don’t want to go anywhere else? What if you want to make a home for yourself and have a family?’
The Frenchman reminded his friend, ‘Your father has a home and a family and he fights for Louis. He has everything, yes?’
Gerald thought about this. ‘I suppose so. I mean, for all I know he misses Ireland and Mother terribly, but they both believe in doing their duty. They told us that Fatherwould be better placed to help Ireland if he joined up with your king.’
Jacques waved his hand. ‘Well, there you go. We are all doing our duty. Isn’t that why you are here?’
Gerald said nothing to this. They brought the horses back to their pen, dismounted and removed the heavy saddles. Then they spent the next hour rubbing the animals down and making sure they had plenty of water.
When they were finished, Jacques slapped both horses on the flank. ‘See you later, my friends. Enjoy your evening!’
He had already decided how he and Gerald would spend the following hour. ‘Come, I need some of your horrible Irish beer to cool me down. Let’s go to the tavern and continue this interesting talk.’
Gerald knew that his mother would hardly approve of his entering such an unworthy establishment. The alehouse was nothing more than a dark basement, found at the bottom of a few rickety wooden steps that did their best to trip up the customer who had indulged himself with too much alcohol. It was far from clean, the atmosphere thick with the smell of sweat and urine. The battered furniture had certainly seen better years, better decades, but the customers did not make their way down those treacherous steps to take in the interior decoration. The dank basement was for drinking and conversation.
Besides, his father was no stranger to the tavern in Offaly and, according to Jacques, a variety of taverns in Paris. Jacques had known Gerald’s father in Paris. Indeed, it was Mr O’Connor who had asked that Jacques look out for Gerald, ensuring that the two met up as soon as possible by asking the Frenchman to deliver Troy to him. It had taken Mr O’Connor some time to be able to afford the horse because of the animal’s specialised training. Horses represented extra soldiers on the field but required months of tough conditioning to prepare them for the noise and chaos of battle. Finally, the day had arrived and Mr O’Connor was delighted to be able to send his son this tremendous gift that meant that Gerald was immediately promoted from the lowest echelon of any army, the infantry, to the highest, the cavalry. Although he and Jacques were rather low down in terms of the cavalry, where the wealthier
‘I guide him just as well by pressing my knees against him. Really, Jacques, we have done this so many times. I’m not a beginner anymore!’
Jacques grinned at him. ‘It is true you have made excellent progress, but I think this is thanks to your most excellent horse and most excellent teacher.’
Troy snorted his agreement.
As they trotted past the town, they could see their fellowsoldiers sweating in the sun, digging trenches and fortifying Drogheda’s walls. Gerald remarked, ‘Isn’t it peculiar that this is exactly what went on in Derry only we were on the outside of the walls, we were the threat?’
‘No, my friend, I do not find it strange at all. In life, everything is repeated, with the same things, and they happen again and again only to different people.’
Jacques was in a philosophical mood.
‘You mean like, the next time we’re here in Drogheda, I’ll be the one to fall in love?’
Jacques grunted. ‘Maybe so. If you’re lucky and only if we ever return to Drogheda again.’
Gerald smirked. ‘So, you still plan to leave then, after this is all over?’
Jacques answered with a shrug, ‘But of course. I am a soldier. I go where King Louis wants for me to go.’
‘Really?’ asked Gerald. ‘But what if you don’t want to go anywhere else? What if you want to make a home for yourself and have a family?’
The Frenchman reminded his friend, ‘Your father has a home and a family and he fights for Louis. He has everything, yes?’
Gerald thought about this. ‘I suppose so. I mean, for all I know he misses Ireland and Mother terribly, but they both believe in doing their duty. They told us that Fatherwould be better placed to help Ireland if he joined up with your king.’
Jacques waved his hand. ‘Well, there you go. We are all doing our duty. Isn’t that why you are here?’
Gerald said nothing to this. They brought the horses back to their pen, dismounted and removed the heavy saddles. Then they spent the next hour rubbing the animals down and making sure they had plenty of water.
When they were finished, Jacques slapped both horses on the flank. ‘See you later, my friends. Enjoy your evening!’
He had already decided how he and Gerald would spend the following hour. ‘Come, I need some of your horrible Irish beer to cool me down. Let’s go to the tavern and continue this interesting talk.’
Gerald knew that his mother would hardly approve of his entering such an unworthy establishment. The alehouse was nothing more than a dark basement, found at the bottom of a few rickety wooden steps that did their best to trip up the customer who had indulged himself with too much alcohol. It was far from clean, the atmosphere thick with the smell of sweat and urine. The battered furniture had certainly seen better years, better decades, but the customers did not make their way down those treacherous steps to take in the interior decoration. The dank basement was for drinking and conversation.
Besides, his father was no stranger to the tavern in Offaly and, according to Jacques, a variety of taverns in Paris. Jacques had known Gerald’s father in Paris. Indeed, it was Mr O’Connor who had asked that Jacques look out for Gerald, ensuring that the two met up as soon as possible by asking the Frenchman to deliver Troy to him. It had taken Mr O’Connor some time to be able to afford the horse because of the animal’s specialised training. Horses represented extra soldiers on the field but required months of tough conditioning to prepare them for the noise and chaos of battle. Finally, the day had arrived and Mr O’Connor was delighted to be able to send his son this tremendous gift that meant that Gerald was immediately promoted from the lowest echelon of any army, the infantry, to the highest, the cavalry. Although he and Jacques were rather low down in terms of the cavalry, where the wealthier
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