Archer

by Jacky Gray

  Standing straight, he resumed his kingly boom. ‘Well it’s been a great party Mother; I think I’m off to France now. I hear my nasty little brother has been plotting with Philip. Someone’s got to sort them out. Robin, you’ll take over for me won’t you?’

  Archer took the opportunity to join in the fun, dropping down to one knee with an arrow nocked in his bow, sweeping it over the crowd, saying, ‘Just point me at thine enemies my Liege and they will be no more.’

  Fletch took out his sword and touched it on Archer’s shoulders saying, ‘Arise, Sir Robin of Loxley.’ He bowed to the crowd and took Aife’s hand to guide her off, fitting in a couple of simple twirls to the delight of the crowd.

  The cheering went on long after Tybalt and Lexie had moved up to the centre. In an uncharacteristic display of confidence, Tybalt took her hand and marched her back, saying loudly, ‘They’re not ready for us yet my dear, let’s give them time to settle down.’

  It did the trick and they got full attention to continue. Archer had fleeting impressions of the rest of speeches, Lexie didn’t have the confidence to make her Welsh princess anything like as impressive as the other two warrior queens, so it fell a bit flat. Tybalt’s Geoffrey of Monmouth was witty and erudite as he outlined the deeds of Arthur in his massive book, complete with full colour drawings of dragons and wizards.

  Chrisya had very little to add for Marian’s story, it had all been said, so she took a leaf out of Archer’s book, challenging him to a sword fight.

  He replied in character. ‘I would love to honour your challenge my lady, but t’would be discourteous to spoil such a grand celebration with a common brawl.’

  ‘You mean you’re too chicken to fight? Are you afraid to be beaten by a woman?’

  ‘No one dares to sully the great house of Loxley.’ With a pretend roar, Archer pulled out his waster and they produced a fairly credible fight until Patricia intervened saying, ‘Stop this both of you, it is outrageous. Why was I not told of such fine talent? Marian. You must be my lady-in-waiting; I could do with your warrior skills on the next Crusade.’

  Chrisya seemed pleased her idea had worked out. It put Beorn’s effort to shame. He did little more than recite a list of all of the battles he had won and countries he had conquered, while striding up and down the stage brandishing his sword. Any of those who had gone before could have done more with the character of Alexander the Great and the audience were unimpressed.

  Bethia made a valiant attempt to portray Aethelflaed as a formidable military leader, cleverly done with a series of letters to her husband where she told him exactly what to do. Archer suspected she had received some help in the technical detail. He surreptitiously watched Fletch who blatantly willed her on – he seemed to know all the words as well as she did.

  Machin’s Robert the Bruce positively stole the show. An absolute master with mechanics, he’d rigged a device so the legendary spider would creep up a barely visible thread. Every time it got within an inch of the top, it would shoot back down again. Machin lay on the ground beneath, keeping up a running commentary, comparing each climb to one of his battles with the English which ended in defeat.

  After the third failure, he appealed to the crowd to pray with him and they all joined in as he shouted words of encouragement. Not surprisingly, the spider reached the top and he carried off his magical invention to a standing ovation.

  Edlyn stayed where he was, stopping Rhianna when she would have started walking on. He tried to copy Tybalt’s ploy, saying loudly, ‘We’ll wait.’

  Fletch shouted across, ‘Surely Caesar waits for no man,’ and the crowd cheered at his wit.

  Edlyn wasn’t quick enough with a response. He turned a nasty shade of red as he strode across the stage, shouting, ‘The next person to show disrespect will be thrown to the lions.’ After a few hoots of derision, the crowd generally settled down. He had spoilt the mood and poor Rhianna didn’t know what to do. She was supposed to be escorted into the centre, but Edlyn’s pride stopped him from going back. Pointing at her, he announced rather petulantly, ‘Ladies and gents, I present Isabella, the she-wolf of France.’

  Rhianna struggled to recover from this poor start, and rushed through her story of marriage to Edward the second, who turned out to prefer the company of young men. She barely managed to stumble out the tale of rescuing Mortimer, and how they forced her husband to abdicate. Edlyn spoilt her concentration with his overt signs of impatience, so she cut the last bit to introduce him as Julius Caesar, pompous dictator of Rome who tried to conquer the world and failed.

  Following after the creative approaches the others had taken, Edlyn was clever enough to realise a long speech of his conquests similar to Beorn’s would not win votes. Trying to emulate their interactive antics, he fawned over Alexander as the hero who had inspired him to drop his political career and go out and conquer the world. He tried to involve Cleopatra as his love interest, pulling her around in a few dance steps. Unlike Fletch’s spontaneous exit, this was over-complicated, unrehearsed and simply looked awkward. He pretended to challenge Boudicca, but Kayleigh pointed out sweetly that he died several decades before she was born. Ending with a long speech, he described his betrayal. Taking out a dagger, he shouted ‘Et tu Brute’ as he pretended to stab himself.

  The polite applause didn’t last long as Melvyn led Adelisa to the front. She dismissed Caesar as only one of the many powerful leaders who had fallen for Cleopatra’s charms. Bringing on a vase containing a harmless grass snake, she told how she had poked the asp with a stick until it was angry enough to bite her on the arm and she pretended to die. After a few moments’ awkward silence, she remembered about getting up to introduce Marco Polo. Melvyn’s attempt to breathe life into the young adventurer, who had brought the flavour of the east back to England, was a little one-dimensional compared to what had gone before.

  Dervla’s Lady Godiva costume created a great stir. She stood quietly in a rich cloak trimmed with fur while Melvyn introduced her. Glimpses of pink showed through, as she told the tale of her husband’s cruel tax on the folk of Coventry. Describing her journey through the town, she raised an arm and the cloak fell back. A huge gasp went up from the crowd, but she had practised it well, and the long golden hair covered everything up.

  Archer grinned. Chrisya had been complaining long and loud to anyone who would listen about how audacious Dervla was being simply to get the votes. In addition to the overall Worthy winner there were runner up prizes for the best characterisation and the most innovative representation. Under the cloak she wore a complete, tight-fitting costume dyed to the exact colour of skin. From a distance, most people would think she was naked.

  Logan had his thunder well and truly stolen. Archer doubted if anyone would remember anything about Godfrey of Boullion’s part in the fall of Jerusalem. Despite the obvious inattention from most of the juniors, Logan manfully continued his tale of his Worthy’s refusal to be crowned king in the city where Christ had died.

  As Malduc led the audience in a noisy appreciation of the ‘fine acting talents and ingenuity’ of these worthy juniors, Archer took his bows with the others knowing that, for him, this was where the real battle would commence.

  11 Road Trip

  Fifteen minutes were allowed for the crowds to reclaim their positions in the sporting arena. The Worthies were encouraged to shed any layers of armour or padded clothing which might impede their performance with a bow. Several targets were set up in the sword yards for anyone who wanted to warm-up their muscles and bow and get their eye in. Archer, Finn and Fletch, being committed bowmen who took the sport seriously, never missed the opportunity for extra practice. Archer was pleased when Patricia, Chrisya and Bethia came up to use the shorter range. Patricia beckoned him over so he told the other two to start without him.

  ‘It’s Dervla, she’s in a lot of pain from her shoulder. She’s worried about not being able pull the bowstring back far enough.’

  ‘Has she taken some pain potion?’


  ‘I think so, I’m not sure.’

  ‘There’s plenty of time. Go and make sure she takes some. If she’s had a dose already, tell her to take a small extra measure. If she doesn’t have any, you could try Ganieda.’ Patricia ran off straight away but Chrisya frowned. ‘I really wanted to warm up first; I’ve forgotten everything you taught me.’

  ‘You’ll be all right. Just remember Patricia’s little verse. Say it to me now.’ She ran through it quickly, matching her actions to the words.

  ‘There you go, you’ll be fine. If in doubt, don’t hesitate too long because then you’ll start thinking about it or, even worse, focussing on the arrow tip. Remember, the best archers think their arrows into the gold.’

  ‘Right.’ Her expression suggested she obviously didn’t fully agree with that.

  Archer shrugged. ‘You can always practise while the boys are on, you’ll have twenty minutes or so.’

  ‘I suppose so, thanks.’ As Chrisya ran off to find Ganieda, he watched Bethia for a while. She was obviously benefiting from the extra attention from Finn in lehren and Fletch in their free time. It gave her a big advantage over the rest of them; she appeared almost as able as the best Warrior girl, Kayleigh. Personally, he couldn’t see why his friends were panting after her. Bethia was undoubtedly pretty, but she obviously used it to get what she wanted. A little too self-obsessed for his liking, or she would have volunteered to go and help Dervla, a fellow Outil. Shaking his head, he went to join the others, stretching the bow to warm it up as he walked. The familiar action of brought back a host of happy memories.

  *

  Many years earlier when he recognised the pull of the longbow, Archer had studied every aspect of toxophily. In his research, he read every text in the librarie and talked to everyone in the village concerned with the craft. He studied in minute detail, from the materials involved in making bows and arrows to the regulations of the formal contests. There were plenty of people with expertise within the village; however they all deferred to the Oxford Bowman – the master craftsman in the whole land.

  At Sedge’s suggestion, Archer sent a note and was thrilled to get a reply, inviting him to the workshop. A few more messages passed between them before Ganieda and Sedge would agree.

  Firstly, he couldn’t go alone. No problem there, Finn and Fletch were more than happy to accompany him on such an adventure. Secondly, his foster parents had to approve every last detail of the journey, including a thorough travel plan and a decent place to stay. Fletch solved that one, his uncle Tanner lived in Hinksey, a little village just outside Oxford.

  Finally, on the Freyaday after midsummer, the three friends set off on their biggest adventure so far. It was a long day’s journey and they left an hour after sunrise to give them plenty of time to get there without pushing the horses too far. They kept the horses to a fast walk, allowing them to break into a gentle trot when conditions allowed. Picking up St Michael’s Way as it curved north, they soon came to the small hamlet of Ogbourne.

  A group of young boys spotted them and ran alongside as they walked past the houses. They were highly excited; it was obvious they didn’t get many journeyers, especially at such an early hour. A woman came to the doorway with a baby on her hip and called to one of the boys. He returned with a basket of freshly baked gingerbreads and the boys took one each, savouring the spicy warmth. Raising a hand in thanks, Archer took a honey-bread from his saddlebag and asked the boy to return it to his mother. She waved a greeting and they continued on, with their little band of followers trailing behind. When they reached the end of the houses, the younger boys had to stop and they tried to delay the travellers a little longer. Archer smiled at them, recognising their longing for adventure. He promised to stop by on the way back.

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘On Sunday eve.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To Oxford.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To see a famous Bowman.’

  ‘What’s your names?’

  ‘I’m Archer, this is Finn and Fletch. We must go now.’

  ‘God be with you.’ The boys ran off, fighting about which one of them would be which. They started chanting in turn, their voices carrying on the breeze.

  ‘My name’s Archer and I’m going to Oxford.’

  ‘My name’s Fletch and I’m going to see a Bowman.’

  ‘My name’s Finn and I’m riding on my horse.’

  Finn laughed as they moved on. ‘Still a junior and already they sing songs about me.’

  ‘Ah, but will they remember your name by Sunday?’ Archer couldn’t resist the tease.

  ‘Of course. Isn’t it great though, doing this on our own?’ Finn relished the freedom.

  ‘Yeah. We should stop there on the way home. That gingerbread is worth coming back for.’ Filling his stomach gained top priority in Fletch’s life.

  ‘Definitely. Might keep you going for at least ten minutes.’ Archer knew all about his perpetual hunger.

  ‘Race you to those trees.’ Finn had spurred his horse into a gallop before the other two had a chance to protest. It wasn’t too far and they had taken it steadily until then. The horses seemed glad of a chance to stretch their legs and galloped along at a fair old pace. With his unfair start, Finn reached the trees first and claimed his victory.

  They followed St Michael’s Way to the east, an easy route. With very little to keep them occupied during the ride, they played games to pass the time. It soon became obvious Fletch had an advantage in spotting landmarks because he planned the route and knew the major ones.

  ‘That’s not fair, you knew the river was coming up.’

  ‘Isn’t the Uffington horse round here somewhere?’

  ‘Yes. We won’t see it until we go on St Mary’s Way on the journey home. I think we’ll make a detour for the gingerbread stop.’

  ‘You’ve got it all planned haven’t you Fletch?’

  ‘I had some help. Father knows the routes well; he showed me the best way to avoid the Renegates.’

  ‘Hopefully, it shouldn’t be a problem. Apparently they all travel down to the coast at this time of year to get fat on the rich pickings. A lot of people visit the sea-side villages in the summer months.’ Finn seemed well informed.

  Archer was not convinced. ‘Even so, it’s a good idea to stay on well-known paths. They usually strike at people who stray from the main roads.’

  ‘There we are. Nothing except main roads. And tomorrow – if we start early enough, we can stop off at Marlburgh, and see Merlin’s mound.’

  ‘That’s like Silbury isn’t it?’

  ‘Isn’t Merlin supposed to be buried there?’ Archer tried to remember what he’d read.

  ‘I don’t think we’re going to know for sure without digging through a hundred feet of chalk.’ Fletch had studied it well.

  The next couple of miles were spent in a discussion of the relative merits of their favourite Arthurian heroes. Without realising it, they sounded exactly like the three lads they’d met in Ogbourne. The topic was dear to Finn; he’d already decided Arthur would be his Worthy next year.

  ‘You sound sure. Don’t you mean if you are picked as a Worthy?’ Archer was surprised by his confidence.

  ‘No, I mean when. Name three Warriors better than me.’

  ‘Archer always beats you.’ Fletch couldn’t resist the tease.

  ‘I’ll give you that. But I’ve got nearly a year to study him and find his weak points. Every warrior has an Achilles heel.’

  ‘Beorn looks promising. If only he could control his temper. It makes him too easy to read.’ Archer’s assessment was generous.

  ‘And pick himself some better friends. I hear he’s hanging out with Edlyn again.’

  ‘It’s not from choice. Tybalt says his mother decides who his friends are.’ Archer was determined to believe the best.

  Before Finn could reply, Fletch pointed at the river. ‘Anyone for a race?’ He spurred his horse to
ward the gleaming silver thread.

  12 Open Arms

  The other two anticipated the challenge and this time Finn’s superior horsemanship won the day and Fletch could not accuse him of cheating. They enjoyed a lazy rest under a huge oak, drinking juice, eating snacks and letting the horses graze to their hearts’ content and fill their bellies from the cool, clear water.

  Finn watched them drinking. ‘Imagine all that piss. We should take it back for Ganieda. I’m sure she’d find a use for it.’

  ‘I heard you could use it for couples who can’t have a baby.’ Fletch loved useless facts.

  ‘Actually, it wouldn’t be much use for that. Has to be mare’s piss.’ Living with the chief healer in the village, Archer couldn’t help but pick up on these details. ‘I’m sure your uncle would be pleased to have it, though.’

  ‘I thought they used horses’ dung to cure the leather.’ Finn did occasionally pay attention in craft class.

  ‘Yeah, but first they have to soak it, to soften it. And urine’s full of bleaching agents.’ Fletch’s nose wrinkled as he spoke.

  ‘I bet the house reeks. Remind me to gather a couple of posies for the room.’

  ‘Don’t be such a girl, Finn. Anyway, Tanner’s workshop is in a smelly street in the town, not in the house.’

  ‘You know a lot about it.’

  ‘It’s a family business. I spent a couple of weeks last summer learning about it.’

  ‘Summer in a smelly workshop? How pleasant.’

  ‘You get used to it. A bit.’ Fletch grinned. ‘It was good fun seeing my cousin again. He stopped with us the summer before to learn about making arrows.’