Amos smiled. ‘I meant the studying, really.’
‘Oh! Well, that’s all right. Nothing difficult yet. I’m not keen on theology and rhetoric. I like maths, but the maths professors are obsessed with astronomy. I should have gone to Cambridge – apparently the maths is better there.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind when it’s my son’s turn.’
‘Are you thinking of marrying?’
‘Thinking about it all the time, but there’s no chance of it happening soon. I haven’t a penny and my father won’t give me anything until my apprenticeship is over.’
‘Never mind, you’ve got time to play the field.’
Playing the field was not Amos’s way. He changed the subject. ‘I’ll impose on you for a bed tonight, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course. Father will be glad to see you. He gets bored with his sons and he likes you, despite what he sees as your radical views. He enjoys arguing with you.’
‘I’m not a radical.’
‘Indeed not. Father should meet some of the men I know at Oxford. Their opinions would scorch his ears.’
Amos laughed. ‘I can imagine.’ When he thought of Roger’s life, studying books and arguing about ideas with a group of bright young men, he felt envious.
The manor house was a fine red Jacobean building having windows with many small leaded panes of glass. They took Amos’s horses to the stable block to be watered, then went into the hall.
It was an all-male household and the place was none too clean. There was a whiff of the farmyard, and Amos glimpsed the tail of a rat as it wriggled under a door. They were the first to enter the dining room. Over the fireplace was a portrait of the squire’s late wife. It was darkened with age and dusty, as if no one cared much to look at it.
The squire came in, a big, red-faced man, overweight but still vigorous in his middle fifties. ‘There’s a prizefight meeting in Kingsbridge on Saturday,’ he said with enthusiasm. ‘The Bristol Beast is taking on all comers, offering a guinea to any opponent who can stay upright for fifteen minutes.’
Roger said: ‘You’ll have a wonderful time.’ His family loved sports, most of all prizefighting and horseracing, especially if they could beton the result. ‘I prefer to gamble with cards,’ he said. ‘I like to calculate the chances.’
George Riddick, the middle brother, came in. He was bigger than average, with black hair and dark eyes, and looked like his father, except that his hair was parted in the centre.
Finally Will arrived, closely followed by a butler with a steaming cauldron of soup. The fragrance made Amos’s mouth water.
On the sideboard were a ham, a cheese and a loaf of bread. They helped themselves, and the butler poured port wine into their glasses.
Amos always greeted servants, and now he said to the butler: ‘Hello, Platts, how are you?’
‘Well enough, Mr Barrowfield,’ Platts said grumpily. Not all servants reciprocated Amos’s friendliness.
Will took a thick slice of ham and said: ‘The lord lieutenant has called out the Shiring Militia.’
The militia was the home defence force. Conscripts were chosen by lottery, and so far Amos had escaped being selected. For as long as he could remember, the militia had been inactive except for six weeks a year of training, which involved camping in the hills north of Kingsbridge, marching and forming squares, and learning to load and fire a musket. Now, it seemed, that was to change.
The squire said: ‘I heard the same thing. But it’s not just Shiring. Ten counties have been mobilized.’
It was startling news. What kind of crisis was the government expecting?
Will said: ‘I’m a lieutenant, so I’ll be helping to organize the muster. I’ll probably have to live in Kingsbridge for a while.’
Although Amos had avoided conscription so far, he might be called up if there was a new levy. He was not sure how he felt about that. He had no wish to be a soldier, but it might be better than being his father’s slave.
The squire said: ‘Who’s the commanding officer? I forget.’
Will said: ‘Colonel Henry Northwood.’
Henry, Viscount Northwood, was the son of the earl of Shiring. Leading the militia was a traditional duty of the heir to the earldom.
The squire said: ‘Prime Minister Pitt clearly thinks the situation is serious.’
