The Archer's War: Exciting good read - adventure fiction about fighting and combat during medieval times in feudal England with archers, longbows, knights, ... (The Company of English Archers Book 4)

by Martin Archer

  Helen is quite peculiar about our privacy and accommodations, yes she is. Even before we went to sleep last night she asked if a shite pot is available and if there are any carpets or skins she can put on the floor to hide its cold

  Helen gave the sweetest little snore as I rolled off the bed, rubbed my eyes, scratched my balls, and thought about putting on my chain mail. I think not; here I’m safe even if I don’t wear it. So I gather up my clothes from where I threw them last night when Helen got playful, hoist my balls and dingle into my codpiece, slip on my leather shoes and pants, and put my tunic back on without my chain mail under it.

  While I am getting dressed I can hear the boys whispering and giggling on the other side of the leather sail and can’t keep myself from smiling. It’s a wonderful morning and I’m so glad to be back with all the comforts and pleasures of home.

  Helen’s still asleep so I think I’ll piss and shite outside this morning so as not to wake her. And who would have ever thought I’d be the lord of such a fine place without even having to buy prayers and such to get it - all Thomas and I had to do was kill that thieving bishop and start using his coins. Then one thing led to another and here we are.

  So down the stairs and out the door I go, and then I walk through the bailey and climb the three steps up to the stone chute in the curtain wall. That where Thomas insists everyone inside the walls piss and shite. It’s a useless bother, of course, but it makes him happy. It’s probably why the moat is so slimy and the fish taste so bad.

  Harold is just coming down the stairs as I’m going up.

  “How do things look?” I stop to ask and then continue on up to piss and look over my shoulder at him while he answers. Some things wait for no man.

  “Well we’ve already got more than enough supplies and livestock off the manors to feed ourselves on the way back to Cyprus. The problem is that we’ve only five galleys that are useable and maybe a couple of more if we have a week or two to caulk them. But that’s about it. William Forester’s came in with a badly cracked rib just off the keel. He’s lucky it didn’t give way and sink him.”

  “What about the training galley. What shape is it in? Can you take it and leave one of the three being repaired for training?”

  Harold and Thomas and I talk about many such important matters as we walk down the muddy cart path to the boat camp. We’ve got more archers in camp than I expected - a surprising number of archers; almost three hundred and fifty who are good enough with long bows to be sent out to Cyprus for Yoram and Henry. That would still leave well over a hundred partially trained men here to guard the place while they finish their training and their arms get stronger.

  There are also a couple of archers from among the slaves we freed from the Cadiz galleys and thirty or forty more who will probably sign up to train as archers if the past is any guide; maybe more than that if we push them. Freed galley slaves make good archers if they’re still healthy. They got strong arms from all the rowing, don’t they?

  It seems word has gotten out that we’re a good company for archers and would-be archers to join; according to what Thomas told me last night, we’re getting more and more men who show up wanting to join us. Some are walking for days to get here.

  As I was told last night while we were supping, the weather was good a while back so one of the cogs, the little one with one mast, went off to London some days ago to pick up any archers our recruiting parties might have sent to the ports along the way. According to Thomas it should be back any day now.

  “Well,” I tell Harold, “plan on all the seaworthy galleys leaving as soon as possible. We’re not going to wait for the galleys that need repairs. They can come out on their own later.”

  It’s safe enough for war galleys like ours to travel on their own; everyone knows they’re looking for valuable cargos to seize, not carrying them.

  @@@@@

  Later that morning the sun came out and took the chill out off the air. That’s when I got to thinking about all the troubles and fighting that happened last year. I start to think about it as I walk back along the cart path for the first meal of the day at the castle.

  For some reason I am uneasy, almost worried, about the future. I suddenly have a feeling Thomas and I should change our plans – send some and maybe even all of our new recruits to Henry in Cyprus for their training and keep more of the experienced and partially trained archers here for protection, maybe all of them.

  By the time I cross the drawbridge and head for the cook shed a misting and chilly drizzle has started and I’ve reached a decision as to what to do – I’m going to keep all the archers and archer trainees here and intensify their training.

  And my head is so addled with thinking that I don’t watch where I’m stepping and almost take a fall; the stones in the courtyard are certainly slick.

  And that’s what I tell Thomas.

  “Thomas, I’ve been thinking and I think we need to change our plans. I’m concerned about that murderous lady, or whatever she is, Isabel, Baldwin’s wife. Think about it. She’s a countess living a good life right here in Restormel Castle with Baldwin - and she gets him to attack her widowed sister and nieces in Trematon Castle so he can evict them and add Trematon to their holdings. Then, after we kill Baldwin and take Restormel, she betroths herself to Baldwin’s cousin, FitzCount of Launceston - and she goes right back after her sister and her little nieces once again. And this time she’s able to get them killed before we can finish off FitzCount and add his keep at Launceston to our holdings.”

  Thomas nods his head in agreement and motions for me to continue. I’m pretty sure Thomas knows where I’m going with this but he wants to hear me say it.

  “Isabel’s totally mad, that’s what she is; so what worries me is what she’s going to do next? Will she be satisfied now that her sister and nieces are dead? I hope so but it’s starting to worry me. So I’m going to send our untrained men out to Cyprus and keep all of our archers and all the men Henry trained to use the new pikes here with us in Cornwall over the winter. We’ll replace the archers on the Cyprus-bound galleys with the new recruits. Henry can train them to be archers in Cyprus; and the archers who haven’t been through Henry’s pike training can learn how to walk together and use the new pikes here instead of from Henry on Cyprus.”

  We brought almost all of our newfangled pikes to England because we don’t need them on the galleys and it’s not likely we’ll need them in the Holy Land. If we have to fight out there we’ll be fighting on our ships or behind our walls rather than facing charging knights. It’s here in Cornwall, marching to relieve a besieged castle is where we’re likely to be caught in the open and need them.

  “I agree, William, I really do. You’re right that we need to stay strong here - what with that devil woman probably wanting Restormel and Launceston back and all the kings and would-be kings arguing and fighting about who should pay for their ransoms and wars.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, Thomas, I really am. Besides, the archers really aren’t needed on our galleys if all we’re going to do is carry refugees for a while – not even pirates want to chance a fight with one of our galleys, both because it is not likely to be carrying anything of value and for fear it will have some of our Marines and their longbows on board and take them instead of the other way around.”

  Then Thomas smiled and added something to which I could only smile back and nod my head to show my agreement.

  “And most of all I’m glad you’re going to keep the archers here because keeping George safe and educating him and the boys to scribe and sum is much more important than earning more coins in the Holy Land. It’s the only way our plan can succeed.”

  @@@@@

  Later in the afternoon Thomas and I stand on the bank of the river and wave farewell as the first of our galleys rows down the river heading for Cyprus with a skeleton crew of sailors and three dozen or so of our new recruits and former slaves doing the rowing - and then watch in amazement a few hours
later when it comes right back up the river towing the cargo cog coming in from London with almost a hundred new archers and archer recruits, and an important rumor.

  Towing the cog and its news and archer recruits up the river to us before heading across the channel to France and on to Cyprus is a right and proper decision by the cog’s sergeant captain, Alexander, the archer sergeant from Hassocks. That’s for sure; and I went back on board and told him so in front of his men. He was very pleased.

  Chapter Two

  “Richard has been ransomed and he might be coming to England!” Can the rumor be true?” That’s what I ask Thomas as I keep waving my hand in a useless effort to drive away the swarm of biting bugs that is buzzing around my face. The day is warm and sun is going down as we walk the cart path back up to Restormel. It’s still muddy from this morning’s rain and heavily rutted from all the supply wagons moving along it.

  I wonder why the bugs are only around the river and come out so much just as the sun goes down?

  “Of course it could be true. They’ve been raising money for his ransom all year and of course he’ll come to England if it’s paid - he’s the king isn’t he? And it’s been a long time since he’s last been here. Besides he needs to settle things with John.”

  “I know that, of course I do. And it worries me,” I say with a rather ill-humored tone to my voice as I kick a rock off the path. Then I ask the question that is really bothering me.

  “But what will it mean for John and for us if Richard comes to England? Do you think they’ll fight; they are brothers after all?”

  What I’m really asking Thomas is what he thinks will happen to the castles we took and the earldom that cost so many of our coins.

  “God only knows. But it probably won’t be good.

  @@@@@

  Days turn into weeks as we drill the men on walking together and using their longbows and the newfangled pikes with blades and hooks. Then word comes from the sailor sergeant of one of our cogs which comes in from London with a load of wheat and salt for our siege reserves - he saw a ship with Richard’s flag at the next dock while he was boarding some new recruits and taking on the amphorae of salt and the sacks of the wheat we are buying to build up our castles’ siege reserves.

  We know how important reserves of food and arrows are during a siege, don’t we ever.

  Within days other reports come in verifying the sailor sergeant’s story. There is no longer any doubt about it, Richard is back in England and he’s trying to raise money for yet another one of his wars - this time in France. It seems that during the years Richard was off crusading several of the great lords of the French king, the crazy man in Paris, began taking over some of Richard’s vast estates along the French border. Richard wants them back even if it means yet another war – which it obviously will.

  “I have an idea,” Thomas says; and then he explains it to me.

  “You know, brother, that might just work.”

  “Worth a try isn’t it?”

  Two days later one of the galleys being prepared for Cyprus suddenly has its destination changed and more rowers and archers are temporarily added to its crew.

  @@@@@

  William and the boys walk down the muddy cart path with me to see me off and wish me well. It’s a cold and murky day with drizzling rain and I’m off for London with a dozen of our best men as guards, a chest with a goodly amount of silver coins and gold bezants, and a couple of hastily drafted parchments carefully rolled up and stashed in one of the leather cylinders used by messengers. I’m sure you seen them; the ones with the carrying strap so the messenger can walk or ride with his hands free.

  What I hope to do is visit the Papal Nuncio and William Longchamps at Richard’s court, and preferably the Nuncio first. If I find either or both of them I’ll try to do what is inevitably necessary when dealing with such important representatives of the church and the King – bribe them to sign the orders and proclamations I’ve drafted on behalf of their masters.

  The channel is stormy and we have a difficult trip what with having to constantly row against unfavorable winds. But we’re well crewed with strong rowers and four days later, when the sun would be straight overhead if we could see it through the overcast sky, we finally reach the mouth of the Thames and begin threading our way through the fog and the crowded shipping.

  London is busy. It takes hours of rowing around the edge of the great harbor before Simon, our galley’s sergeant captain, finally spots some unused dock space.

  We’ve barely banged into the dock when a churlish little fellow wearing a funny hat immediately looks down at us from the dock, informs us he’s the dockmaster, and tells us to fuck off and leave, the space is taken.

  The dockmaster is a bit hard to understand because he talks in the singsong voice and dialect of a longtime Londoner. But he backs off quickly when Simon responds by telling him that we’re willing to pay a few coins for the right to stay for a while, but that if we have to leave the only thing certain is that he’ll be coming with us – chained to a rowing bench and helping us to row to Cyprus.

  Our dock must usually be used by cogs because I have to stand on the railing with Simon and one of his men steadying me to climb up on to it. I’m able to do so without falling and so are the men who are coming with me as my guards and helpers. We’re finally in London – me and ten men. Peter Sergeant is with me as my second.

  According to William, Peter was initially assigned to Antioch but at the last minute one of the two English archers we signed up in Latika, John, the son of John from Liverpool, took his place. The other archer from Latika, poor soul, died at Cadiz when Phillip’s galley was taken. At least for his sake I hope he died instead of being captured.

  The very first thing I do after I climb up on the dock is walk to the door of a nearby ships’ chandlery and begin inquiring about the whereabouts of Richard and his court. The portly chandler and his clerks don’t have a clue and neither do any of the cart drivers, ships’ chandlers, and the passersby I ask.

  I’m left to guess where Richard might be and my best guess is probably at Beaumont Palace where he was born or at his stronghold at Windsor Castle. What is really strange is that most of the people I ask don’t even know who the king is, let alone where he and his court might be located.

  Similar inquiries during brief visits to inform the men in the customs house that they’ll not be collecting any taxes from us because we are bringing in no cargo from abroad, and to talk to a fellow priest I find standing at the door of a nearby church, all seem to confirm that the King has returned - but no one is sure where he might be. All they’ve heard are rumors in their locals, the taverns and whorehouses they frequent.

  The most common rumor is that the King is at Windsor. Well, if the King’s at Windsor then that’s where his court and courtiers such as Longchamps and the Nuncio will almost certainly be. On the other hand, it’s a long way to Windsor and I don’t want to travel all that way just to find out that I’ve pissed away my time and coins on a wild duck chase.

  There is nothing to do but go to the one person who is almost sure to know the whereabouts of Richard and his court - the Keeper of Prince John’s Wardrobe, Wilfrid Blunt. I know where Blunt lives because that’s where I bribed him last year to buy William’s earldom from Prince John after we killed the old earl and took the treacherous bastard’s castle at Restormel. The problem, of course, is that going to visit Blunt could be dangerous. There’s no telling what John or Blunt will think or do if they find out I’m looking for Longchamps or know that William has taken so much of Cornwall.

  It seems I have no choice. But at least I know where Blunt is likely to be. I thought about hiring a sedan chair and have my guards walk behind it while I’m carried through London’s foul streets. But I decide against it when I see a stable near the dock.

  None of my guards can ride and I’m not very good at it myself, so I leave an outrageously large deposit of two gold bezant coins and hire two horse carts and
ostlers from the stable - and off we go to visit John’s wardrobe with the men sitting in the carts and me up next to the ostler on the driver’s bench. Peter is sitting next to the ostler on the other wagon.

  I’ve got to talk to William again about teaching some of our men to ride horses; and, of course, to do that we’ll have to get more horses - the dozen or so we have now are already overly busy carrying messages and pulling plows.

  @@@@@

  The horse carts carrying my ten guards and me clatter and slosh their way through the foul and smoke-filled streets to Prince John’s walled compound and offices next to the river. I can see my guards staring at the city and talking and gesturing as we bounce along. Most of them have never been to London. They are obviously amazed at its size and smell. As I am every time I visit.

  It hasn’t rained to clear the air since yesterday so we can’t see very far ahead and black soot is covering everything including the piles of fresh shite that the rains haven’t yet dissolved and washed away. It’s a good thing the ostlers know where we want to go. It’s easy to get lost in such a big city.

  I’d hate to be walking out of here when it’s dark. I’d probably slip on the street slime and get robbed while I’m trying to get back on my feet, or worse.

  When we reach the gate John’s great stone house it is instantly obvious that Richard is back - the crowd of petitioners in front of John’s gate is much smaller than it was when I was here last year.

  My shout brings an attendant over to the gate - who tersely tells me the price of entering to see Blunt, morosely accepts my coins, and gestures for me to enter through the gate and into the courtyard. At least this time it doesn’t take as many coins to get past the gate guard and in to see Blunt.