by Jacky Gray
Archer remained impassive on the outside, although his insides were punching the air in victory. It would be so much easier on horseback, he would get the relative height he was used to for the target. He thought about offering to close his eyes, knowing it wouldn’t make much difference. That, however, would be humiliating, and he had already baited this man enough. The Renegate would be more likely to honour his word if he could come away with some semblance of dignity.
Archer mounted Apollo with swift grace and lined him up in the best position, extending his index finger to represent the arrow as he raised his right arm to gauge the distance. He could not explain this to his friends, no matter how much they asked. How he could automatically calculate distances and angles with barely a glance. It was as though he had been born with the ability to judge the range, see the path the arrow would take and work out the angle without thinking. His mind intuitively worked out all the variations such as wind speed with no conscious effort on his part. Although he would normally need a practice arrow for a task this precise, this time he would have to rely on his instincts to come through for him. They always did, especially under pressure.
Hereward sent one of his men over with the bow and arrow and the man’s reluctance was obvious as he handed them over and skipped away. Archer inspected and straightened the goose feathers, not his best shaft, but it should do the job. This would be the tricky bit. ‘I have a condition to make. You must take a slice out of the apple for me to aim into. Otherwise the force of the tip will make it explode before it can hit the tree.’
‘Now he makes conditions. Is there no end to this boy’s nerve? You expect me to give you a dagger you can use to cut my throat? Do you think I came down with yesterday’s rain?’
‘You make the cut, one fourth of an inch should do it. And turn it to face me.’
Hereward shook his head in amazement. ‘If you can hit that I will personally escort you to this Bowman and tell him he can learn from you.’ He cut the apple and placed it back on Fletch’s head. As he did this, Archer closed his eyes. Despite his apparently cool demeanour, he allowed himself a brief pause to acknowledge the enormity of the task to the Gods and enlist their support. He could not, and would not, let himself dwell on the fact that two inches below the target was the head of one of his dearest friends. That would merely distract him and increase the risk. He had every confidence in his skill; no need to doubt it now.
Digging deep to the place inside which governed his special talent; he brought it to the fore. Surfacing steadily, it enriched every bone, muscle and sinew on the way. It settled on his skin, causing all the tiny hairs to stand attention. In a smooth movement, he aimed and fired, barely even seeming to pause. Parts of the apple did explode, but the bulk of it flew the short distance to the thin trunk of the silver birch behind. The barbed arrowhead burrowed itself half an inch into the wood.
Silence prevailed in an instant of shocked disbelief. Then every last man gave an almighty cheer, filling the air with a cacophony of sound as they banged together anything which would make a noise. The tension showed in the slight stumble as Archer dismounted. He freed Fletch, who had turned a whiter shade of pale as he faced the possibility of death. Finn was on his feet and hugging the pair of them, grinning from ear to ear as the words burbled out of him. ‘You did it. I knew you could do it. You made him cut a slice. Archer you are incredible. How did you do it?’
Archer went over to the pile of their belongings and handed them back as Hereward and the others examined what was left of the apple. He came back with the arrow, holding it out as though it were a prize. Archer held his gaze for an instant. Underneath all the bravado, they really weren’t so different. ‘Keep it.’
‘No. The deal was, we would take nothing except the food we had already eaten. I am a man of honour, I keep my word.’
Archer was magnanimous in victory; he had seen the yearning in the man’s eyes. How much better a tale would it make if he had the actual arrow to show to his friends? ‘I insist. Take it as a gift. Or you could think of it as part of the toll.’
If challenged, Hereward would have denied the sudden moisture in his eyes as he pulled Archer into a great bear hug. ‘You are a boy any man would be proud to call son. May I have the name of your father, so we might tell the story of Archer, son of …’
Archer hesitated and a disappointed expression crossed the big man’s face. ‘No matter, I quite understand. You would not want to give us his name after the way we treated you.’
‘It’s not that, it’s simply … I do not know his name. I was brought up by a truly great man called Sedge.’
‘And he has done a wonderful job. Archer, son of Sedge. That will make a fine song.’ He glanced over to where Finn and Fletch were waiting on their mounts. ‘Do you have everything? You must check. If I find anyone has kept anything of yours I will tie him to the post with an apple on his head.’
He shot a warning glance at his men. ‘And my skill with a bow is a pale shadow of yours.’
The boys shook their heads and Archer grinned. ‘Nothing gone except the food, but we have eaten well today and will have more when we reach our lodgings. You are welcome to it.’
‘Archer, son of Sedge, you put us to shame with your generosity. Come on men, we need to give these fine young warriors an escort up to Oxford.’
‘It’s all right, I’m sure we’ll be safe. Sunset isn’t for a couple …’
‘But there are all sorts of ruffians on the road who would take advantage of smart-looking lads like yourselves.’ He turned to his men who joined in with the jest, with hoots and catcalls. He was serious as he turned back. ‘A deal’s a deal.’
They travelled in convoy: Hereward trotted beside Archer with the other two behind, each accompanied by one of Hereward’s deputies. The leader seemed in good spirits. ‘Besides, we ate all your food so you would have nothing to offer anyone else. Tell me son, how much did you pay at the toll bridge?’
Archer told him and he roared with laughter, turning round to tell his men how he’d been outsmarted by a master trickster. The last leg of the journey seemed to take no time at all in such hospitable company.
They galloped down a long, flat track, shouting abuse at each other’s horsemanship and exhilarating in the sheer joy of being alive. A narrow barge floated down the river and the fleeting glimpse Archer got of the people on it showed expressions of fear and disgust. Right then, he didn’t care if these people avoided eye-contact or looked down on the Renegates. The townspeople were judging these men without really understanding who they were.
As they reached the small hamlet of Hinksey, Hereward pulled his horse up, reaching for Archer’s hand which he clasped firmly. ‘God be with you Archer, son of Sedge and your two valiant companions Finn and Fletch. I hope we will meet again someday.’
Archer placed a fist on his chest and raised it in the air and they all echoed the salute. With another display of precision, the Renegates turned their horses as one. Sporting delighted grins, the three friends continued on.
16 Bowman
Fletch’s cousin Leathan wanted to hear all the details of their journey as they lounged on benches in the garden with a beaker of watered ale, gazing up at the stars. ‘So you’ve been away from home one day and already there are songs about you. Not bad for juniors.’
‘You think anyone cares about the songs of bairns and Renegates?’
‘Don’t knock it. A song is a song and soon you will be as famous as Robin Hood.’
‘You think so?’
‘It would have been better with some kind of Maid Marian. Romances usually spread further and last longer. Everyone likes a love story.’
‘No problem there, Chrisya’s always watching him.’ Fletch ducked as Archer went to hit him.
‘Kayleigh seems to want more than just his help during training.’ Finn’s sneaky comment earned him a cuff.
Despite Archer’s mock rage, the banter continued.
‘And we mustn’t
forget Patricia.’
‘How could we? She would do anything for him.’
‘Sounds like a proper hero.’ Leathan listened to the story of the yew tree while the other two embroidered the tale with increasingly unlikely details of Archer’s courage and valour until he could tolerate it no more.
‘That’s nonsense.’ He stood. ‘All I did …’
‘Archer, my friend, that’s the whole point of a romance.’ Leathan pulled him back down, and put his arm round him as he explained. ‘It takes a simple event and turns it into the stuff girls dream about. Full of knights in shining armour, damsels in distress and acts of great daring against despicable villains.’
Archer shrugged his arm off. ‘I don’t care what girls want. I don’t want them to start dreaming about me.’
‘Maybe not now, but it will all change soon.’
‘I wouldn’t mind that Bethia dreaming a few dreams about me.’ Finn gave a cheeky grin and drained his glass.
‘Hands off, I saw her first.’ Fletch raised his fists, but it was merely in jest and Archer shook his head at the pair of them. ‘You’re daft in the head if you think she’d look at either of you twice. She’s got to be the prettiest junior ever. Keep dreaming.’
Archer’s dreams that night took a strange turn, with the three girls running through the woods chased by Renegates while the three young boys ran round chanting songs about them. Then the girls were fighting each other with wooden swords which turned into large yew branches as Archer was tied to a post with a huge melon on his head. The three girls dropped the branches and equipped themselves with arrows tipped with red, heart-shaped bodkins. They did not, however, aim for the fruit on his head; they were all aiming for his heart.
They set off early the next day in Tanner’s cart as their horses needed a day to recover before their long trek home. Fletch’s aunt gave them a package of food each. She was impressed with their tale of how they’d given their food away to some hungry people they met in the forest. Although not too far from the truth, she made such a fuss that they began to regret the deception.
Tanner left them at the end of St Michael’s Street, giving them directions to his workshop just off Cornmarket Street – most of the craftsmen worked near the market. Stalls decked in bright attire drew their eyes to the wares, while a pungent, fishy smell invaded their nostrils, mingling with more subtle, spicy fragrances. The air filled with the clamour of voices as traders vied with each other to attract customers with the best deals and most outrageous banter. Underlying it all was the heavenly aroma of freshly-baked bread which accompanied them all the way to the Bowman’s workshop.
There was no mistaking it – a huge curved bow hung outside to proclaim his trade. Archer couldn’t help but explain. ‘That bow was invented by Ghengis Khan to use on horseback. They have the same power as the longbow, but they are much lighter and easier to manoeuvre. See how it’s made of more than one piece of wood glued together? That’s called laminating.’
‘You seem to know your stuff young man.’ The deep voice coming from inside made them jump as the Bowman appeared. ‘Archer, I presume?’ He held out his hand and gripped each one of boys’ hands in turn. ‘And you’ll be Finn. You have a warrior’s stance. Which means you are Fletch. I am privileged to have three of Aveburgh’s finest juniors in my humble workshop. Please come in.’
Archer reeled in awe. This legend was privileged to meet them? Bowman was shorter than they imagined, although his chest and arms were powerfully muscled from the time spent testing and perfecting his works of art. For nothing else could describe the array of gleaming, polished weapons of every shape and size decorating the walls of the front room.
A pretty young woman sat behind a desk. Bowman introduced her as his daughter, Genia and she blushed as he called her the brains behind the operation. ‘She’s in charge of all the accounts and she attracts a good many customers with her friendly face and charming manners.’
A woven basket containing a bundle of linen started to make a mewling noise which rapidly built up to a full scale cry. ‘That’s her son, young Bowyer, which means it’s our cue to get out of here. It usually gets a bit messy and smelly now.’
As they followed him out of the door, Archer glanced back to see her cradling the babe in her arms and adjusting the front of her tunic. Surely she wouldn’t feed him in the middle of the shop? He turned round quickly, trying to focus on Bowman’s speech about the different experiments he’d tried to get the perfect glue.
‘The trouble with most animal glues is that they weaken if it’s damp. Get ’em in a heavy downpour or drop ’em in the river and you might as well throw ’em away.’
‘So why don’t you waterproof them with wax or something?’
‘That’s exactly what we do young Archer. Unfortunately, it’s never quite enough. The strongest glue is from rabbit skin, but that swells up if there’s so much as a drop of moisture in the air. We mix it with sour milk, silica and resin. Makes a good glue which resists the water and stays flexible when the wood bends.’
‘How do you know how much of each ingredient to use?’
‘That is a trade secret. Get it wrong and it’s a disaster.’
Fletch sniffed the air. ‘It smells rank, like the tannery.’
‘That’ll be the horse’s piss. Helps to keep it liquid, lets us keep the temperature down a few degrees. It gets like an oven in here as it is, but you don’t get many complaints in the winter.’
Finn was examining a piece of wood he had picked up. ‘Is this one laminated? It looks like it, but I can’t tell.’
‘I reckon you’d do well not to touch anything in here unless I say so. That’s a fine yew stave, but it shouldn’t be in here. You’d better go and wash your hands straight away and use plenty of soap.’ Putting on a well-worn leather glove, he picked up the stave and took it through to a large courtyard in the centre of the building. He directed Finn to a tap on the wall over a trough and returned the stave to a room off the courtyard. Archer counted nine rooms in total. On the opposite wall to the door they’d just come through, were three targets. The ground in front was marked with lines every ten paces up to forty.
‘That’s for the first test, and there’s a full range out at Botley for the main testing. There are three full-time archers testing bows and arrows up to a hundred paces. I’m sure we could find you a bit of work in the summer if you were interested.’
‘Really? That would be fantastic. Could I spend some time in the workshops as well?’
‘Don’t see why not. You seem to be smart enough and if the tales are true, I might even put you to work on some of the new design trials.’
‘Tales?’
He grinned. ‘It was all over the taverns last night. Three young strangers who bested the Renegates in an archery challenge. The story is you pierced a plum off your friend’s head onto a twig.’
‘It was an apple. And a full tree trunk.’
‘I thought it must be you. In that case, the job starts as soon as you want. As long as your parents agree. And you’ll have to find lodgings in the town. Can’t have you wearing your horse out with all that travelling.’
Archer was excited by the prospect of learning the craft properly. He listened carefully as Bowman talked about some of the problems caused by working with yew. From his research the previous year, Archer already knew that most of the yew tree limbs were too twisted and full of knots to give good staves.
Knowing the wood was poisonous, he nodded wisely as Bowman explained that the craftsmen had to wear gloves and masks around their faces to prevent them breathing in the dust.
Finn’s scepticism was evident. ‘Why bother using it at all if it’s so dangerous?’
Bowman grinned and clapped him on the back. ‘Because, young Finn, the wood has some very special properties.’ He pointed to the orange wood on the inside of the bow and flexed it as he spoke. ‘The heartwood is strong enough to withstand the compression forces when the bow is stretched.’
<
br /> His affinity for the wood was obvious as he ran a practised hand over the bow. ‘The yellow sapwood on the outside couldn’t be more different. It is elastic and it flexes easily.’
‘So it’s like having a natural laminate, but without having to bother with all the gluing.’
‘Right again Archer. Also, it returns naturally to its original position when the arrow is released. You can even collect the resin to use in glues. And there’s plenty of poison for war-time. It’s as though nature designed the yew tree simply for making bows.’
‘I thought you said you didn’t need glue.’ Finn had picked up some facts, but he was getting restless.
‘Not for the laminate no, but there’s still the horns.’
‘The horns?’ Fletch was still interested, but Finn seemed more concerned with using bows than how they were made. His attention wandered out to the range where a lad loosed arrows at a target.
Caught up in his passion, Bowman didn’t notice as he continued his explanation. ‘Used to strengthen the ends where the bowstring is attached. You can cut the nocks straight into the wood, but most people prefer horns. They help to keep the string away from the wood so the bow lasts longer.’
‘Do they use cow’s horn?’ Archer examined the pearly horn.
‘There’s two opinions. Some people swear by ’em, reckon they’re softer and less springy for target practice. But they don’t last long before they fall to pieces. You want more flexibility for flight shooting, so you need something harder like goat or sheep.’
By the end of the day, Bowman had shown them what went on in each of the rooms in his workshop. The two craftsmen were all very friendly and it seemed to be a happy place to work. As they walked home, Archer’s head buzzed with the new stuff he’d learnt.
Fletch had found it interesting, but Finn’s attention waned completely after lunch and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it. He was far more concerned with the treats Leathan had promised – full strength ale, a Celtic drummer band and senior girls.
