The Archer's Apprentice

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It is cold but the air still this morning. The mist lies thick above the surrounding fields, the wind dropped to naught, unlike the freezing tumult of yestermorn. A slither of lighter sky hints along a line between the horizon and the cloud-lined sky, a signalling promise of daylight to come. The hanging seaweed heralds the late arrival of a dry spring day to chase away the clinging winter chills of the night.

Through the still, quiet air I can hear hooves hammering the dusty stone road. Someone was riding hard and must have ridden the highway part way through the dark, the next town being half a night's hard ride away. I watch for the rider through the mist, and a hazy form takes shape, the horse blowing hard, coming into focus first. I see him clearly now, the livery worn around his chest familiar, that of our very own Bartonshire. He is one of my father's men. I know him, Richard of Eastwall. Here, there must be news from home!

I cannot help the first thought through my head, being a mixture of joy and regret that cannot be readily reconciled without some guilt on my part. Perhaps I have been blessed early with a brother or sister, necessitating our swift return home to my sister and half-sibling. Whatever manner of sibling I might have, I care not, only that he or she be hale and hearty. However, I cannot help feel my disappointment to be leaving the archery circuit after winning a tournament only yesterday.

"Hail Dick," I cry, "you come hot foot from Bartown I suppose, 'tis my father that you seek?"

"Aye, Rob," Dick Eastwall replies, blowing almost as hard as his horse, the sweat pouring off both. "Stay thy hand though lad, we have plague at Bartown and I would scarce forgive my self if'n I pass it onto thee or Sir William."

"I'll fetch him directly," I say and run through the hall to find him. He is, however, already arisen, always a light sleeper, I dare say he has heard the rider come.

"Hail, Master Eastwall, how goes it?" Will Archer greets him from the doorway.

"It's bad, Sire, all the town is afeared, an' full of the odour of sickness and death. Two children an' five old folk have died in this first week an' most of the rest are too ill to walk or fend for 'emselves. The Mayor requests you come back now, my Lord, so Jack Moor sent me. He, he fears the worst, that all may be lost and the sickness spread beyond the environs to the rest of the shire an' then all of the Kingdom. I was told to deliver my message and return immediately an' not get near no mortal soul lest I spread the death to others."

"Very well, Dick. Hold fire by the wall over yonder." He turns to me, "Fetch fresh water for both Dick and the horse, Robin. Leave it by the other end of the wall, do not get too close. Perhaps a pail of oats for the horse too, and I will fetch a platter of bread and cheese from the kitchen for Dick. Then we must get packed up, ready to return home immediately."

I do his bidding of course. All who know my father feel his authority even if it had not been conferred on him by the King and the old Lord of the Manor. He has a calm way of taking charge that is effective and confident. Men will follow him to Hell if he asked them to. I watch him always and learn, an indentured apprentice in more ways than simply the art of making the finest bowcraft. Henry tells me that much of the respect the men have for William Archer is that he is never afraid to make a good decision, and that saves lives.

Of course, I am disappointed to return home so early, but pack my belongings I must. I would have liked to have continued with my round of tournaments over the next three weeks. The cancellation means I will miss two more in the next county. I was due back to Bartown for their tourney next week, and then home to Oaklea's own competition.

But my churlish disappointment at being prevented from firing a few darts at straw targets in a field, for naught but the pleasure and joy of competing, is a childish pursuit compared to the heartache of mothers who have lost a child, or children that've lost a parent or grandparent to pestilence.

Soon the whole hall is in uproar. Lord Gerald Wellock is wary of the cursed stranger at the end of the wall. He wants him gone.

Dick sits calmly eating his hunk of bread and cheese to fill his belly, washed down with ale that one of the serving girls takes to the young soldier, shyly setting it down by the wall where indicated. Then she sobs when she is told why she is not to go anywhere near the one who all the locals are calling "the doomed soldier".

My father calms the poor girl, patting her shoulder with his large hands, explaining that Dick is a fit young fellow and has every chance of fighting off the bad humours, "He wouldn't have been entrusted with the task of fetching me back to the Castle, unless there was a fair chance he would pull through," he told her, to still her tears.

"My Lord," asks my friend Hugh of my father, "I know you have to return to the Castle, but what of Rob and me? Rather than us face the dangers of catching this pestilence at home, may we not continue attending the tournies, with big strong Henry here alongside to look after us?"

I look hopefully at Father, willing that he will look upon the request with the fairness he considers all civil matters brought before him at the Castle, all of far more importance than Hugh and I. His eyes meet mine and I see in his soft brown eyes that we reach a wordless understanding.

"Go ahead to the tournies, Robin. Henry is clear on their whereabouts and holds the purse to pay for the better inns." He pulls me close to squeeze me farewell, dropping his voice, "Take care of Hugh, my son, he is wilder than you seem to think, and considers only himself before others. Take full counsel from Henry. I know he is wiser than you believe, and more loyal than any other man. He will not let anything befall you that could be avoided. I know that you have a wise head on your young shoulders, Robin, and I trust you to make the right decisions when they come to be made. Be wary and cautious on the road, though, things do not always bear out to be what they seem. Let Henry be your guide in all matters on the road. And enjoy the competitions, son. Win what you can and be generous with praise in equal measure, whether you are victorious or in defeat."

He mounts and rides off towards Bartown, with Dick following on at a reasonable distance behind.

Halfway through the morning ride on our journey, Henry, Hugh and I dismount and walk the horses quietly through the deep Boars Dell Wood that fills much of the distance between Wellock and our destination. The forest road here is rough. There is only soft sand and potholes filled with rotting leaves and criss-crossed with treacherous roots, plus areas where floodwater have washed the road away down to the bedrock, unlike the better made road stone surfaces before and, we are told, after. Henry has traversed this road many times and is familiar with its shortcomings and the streams running through the thick wood. We are able to slake our thirst, as well as water the horses, while causing as little disturbance to the peace, in case of attracting any hidden outlaws.

We hear a commotion ahead and Henry cautiously approaches whatever is happening, progressing off the road and through the lighter undergrowth. The Spring has barely started here among the trees and, where there are clearings, the bare ground is bright with bonny yellow flowers. Henry waves us to stay put where we are while he moves forward.

Hugh ignores him, as is his wont, and I cannot allow Hugh to go on alone. Squatting next to Henry, we can see what appears to be a maiden, whose honour is about to be compromised by a well dressed knight in bright chain mail, their struggles being watched by a couple of laughing men at arms and their coachman, standing by a covered wagon that I realise is familiar to me.

Four armed men, one of them a knight. Henry hisses that he doesn't want us to get involved, but I insist we must intervene. One glance from Henry, loyal to my Lord's command wasn't enough for me.

It is surely the very maiden I saw last night at the hall, I inform Henry in a whisper. The bright-eyed girl with the chestnut tresses, I'd know her anywhere. The covered wagon appears to be the same, the liveried soldiers and coachman, too, from what I remember. Is this unsavoury nobleman a father, shaping to impose himself upon a defenceless girl child? No, I think that he is not.

"What would my father do?" I hiss at Henry, not expecting a reply.

He knows the answer without answering, and he allows me to take control of our destiny.

All three of us have brought our bows and belt quivers at the ready and we fire three rapid volleys of arrows in their general direction, trying not to hit anyone but hoping to scare them off, hoping they they believe that we were the forest's outlaws out to murder and rob them.

However, I carefully aim my first arrow at the knight.

I am pointing the arrowhead at the only place I can wound and discourage his present intended course of action. I want to hit without killing him. I draw bead and release my arrow, sending it through to where the knight has the maiden pinned to the ground, his bright chain mail breeches pulled down to his knees. My arrow, a light target arrow with a slim, sharp but barbless iron point, passes right through the fleshy parts of both pale buttocks leaving, no doubt, four separate wounds as a painful reminder of his unseemly public act.

Howling with rage, the wounded knight summons his men, who are hiding from the unexpected feathered barrage behind the covered wagon. They reluctantly comply with his enraged orders. He is swiftly, if rather unceremoniously, dragged into his covered cart, tossed in face down, and they drive off in the cart like startled hinds.

Chuckling, Henry and Hugh emerge from their hiding places in the undergrowth and start to gather up their discarded arrows, while I hasten to check that the fair maiden is unharmed by her ordeal.

She rises from the ground, brushing leaves from her silk bliaut. The pale face she wore yesterday, that I thought was appealing to me for help, was now purple with rage, making her hair appear more red than chestnut. She rounds on me, the nearest of the band of cheerful rescuers.

"What do you think you are doing?" she screams.

Taken aback, I reply, "We rescued you from that attack ... that ... man ... I shot him."

She steps right up to me and slaps me hard against my cheek. Wow! That hurt, and hurts my heart more than physically.

"That man you chased off, is not just any man," she spits, her hands on her hips, "he is my husband!"

3.

Home Alone

(Lady Alwen Archer of Oaklea, pregnant wife of Will Archer, narrates)

I'm interviewing a Steward for the Oaklea Manor farm estate, when Beth, the undermaid, returns from the village, raising the hue and cry at the manor's front door and entrance hall. She announces that a messenger from the Castle is lately arrived at the inn, talking about the plague that besets the nearby Shire town of Bartown, next to the Castle, a good half a day's walk from Oaklea.

I overhear part of the girl's babbling, but I must continue with my interview. And I must still my beating heart, too, for I know my husband well and that he will do his duty, whatever the cost to him, and the subsequent cost that I may have to bear without him.

"Do you have any difficulty with taking instructions about the business of the Home Farm from a woman, and in dealing with the tenancies upon the manor estate?" I ask, though certain in my mind that this man is the Steward I would happily choose for the position we have, but I must have his admittance, so I might see the truth reflected in his face.

He colours slightly, but stiffens his back, sitting upright and, looking me back in the eye.

"My previous estate," he says, carefully, "involved me mostly dealing with my master's second eldest son, who was more interested in the deer park and hunting, than crops or unchecked encroachments into the commons by certain tenants. Usually, they were the New Normans, relatives of the Duke's Mistress. Only when they were sure they had my replacement coming, another New Norman, did the Mistress take command of my instructions, more to frustrate me into leaving of my own accord than remaining until the bitter end." He puts his hands on the table, palms down and relaxes the tenseness developing in his shoulders. "His Lordship, Sir William, is well respected in this county, despite his short tenure of a year in the post of Reeve. You too, have shown by the sharpness of your primary questions and their subordinates, and in turn the acceptance of my answers, that you have an acute awareness of your lands, your tenants and the requirements you have of a Steward who will manage the wellbeing of your manor as seamlessly as if you were still doing it yourself."

I nod in response. He continues, this time more certain in his speech and wearing a hint of smile.

"I see that the reason for contracting a Manor Estate Steward, my Lady, is your impending joyful confinement. I recall your conversation earlier that you had thus far failed to find someone suitable for a five-year appointment. It would be my intention, if appointed for that period, to make my position indispensable to you, so you would find it impossible to give me up when you no longer have babies to raise.

"I know I would be free to work on plans and schemes to improve your estate. My plans I know would be considered on their merits here and not ignored, because they have come from a Saxon rather than a Norman. I would love to work here with you and your Lordship, were you to find me and my experiences as you would expect."

I mull over his reply. I know that, with the baby coming within the next seven weeks, I can't manage to run both the Inn at Oaklea and our large estate, as they should be run. Over the next two years I will devote myself solely to nursing my coming infant, purely because I desire to do so.

Besides, I hope this baby will be but the first of several with my dear husband, Sir William Archer, he being returned to my bosom only as recently as last year. Though I fear he may soon be taken from me once again by this pestilence, which I will confront head on should it come to that.

As for the Inn, that is already in good hands. Two months ago, I appointed the very capable Stephen of Gloucester to run my Inn. He has turned out to be an efficient and honest manager of the large internal staff that run the hostelry; he is perfectly congenial with guests, yet demanding of provisioners.

My husband has increasingly had to attend to his Shire Reeve duties at the Castle in Bartown. This is because there has been so much recent uncertainty over the fate of the Crown. With the Crown Prince and the Queen's recent untimely deaths, there are moves afoot from uncoordinated bands of barons to challenge the King over the succession. Will has his work cut out collecting taxes. The people are reluctant to pay, thinking if another King reigns, they will have to pay their dues a second time, so why bother to pay them in the first place at all?

Will meanwhile thought it prudent to restore the Castle's neglected defences and introduce a more vigorous regimen of training for the Castle's men at arms. They were woefully neglected under Sir Giles, the old Reeve. He was able to make the refurbishments, and update their weaponry and armour, afforded without the extreme siphoning off of taxes that the previous Reeve felt compelled to steal from the King's Royal Exchequer at Winchester City.

In a short time he has turned what he first described as a rabble into a force he was proud to command. He has trusted them enough to leave them in the command of his second in command, Jack Moore, for three weeks, to travel the Spring archery tournaments with our son, Robin.

I complete my interview. If Geoffrey was surprised to face the Lady of the Manor, rather than the Lord, he did not betray that through his attitude. I had started hopeful but now I am sure. I stand, and he rises too.

"I hope you will agree to join us as the Steward of our estates, Geoffrey. I gladly offer you the position in the names of Sir William and myself, the conditions as outlined earlier." I hold out my right hand. "If you are minded to accept, when could you start?"

He stretches across the table and gentle presses his large rough hand against mine. "I have all my worldly possessions in a bundle left with your housekeeper, my wife and children also sit in the kitchen anxiously awaiting my return. I can start immediately."

"Very well then, a servant will show you to the cottage set aside for you. There are some furnishings in place, but most deficiencies you find may be met from spares in store. Anything else you need, let me know. My house carl will show you around the immediate environs, the dining hall, meal times, &c. If you have any dietary concerns, please address them to the day cook. We will meet tomorrow after breakfast and ride slowly around the manor."

Now I must go to the Inn to gather the news of my husband and what is happening at Bartown.

After the newly appointed Steward leaves, I reflect on the appointment for a moment. I do believe I have found the right agent to run the estate. By all accounts, Geoffrey of Monmouth was well thought of by the tenants in his previous position, but was forced out of his living on a whim. It was the attitude of his old Lord to a Saxon servant, and the awkward relationship which results from prejudices, and the emotions on both sides that result.

This sets me thinking about Will and the emotions I felt, all down the years we were apart. How I kept his precious memory alive as the perfect chivalrous knight! All through my youth and adult years, I thought of him at every turn: would he like these sleeves on my bliaut, the design of this accommodation, this flavour of ale, the spiciness of this meal? How I longed to share every meal with him, sharing with him every delightful thing that his son Robin did as a child. My life revolved around an imaginary world that had William Archer at the very centre it. He possessed my heart and still does util death.

Long I dreamed that one day I could find some unfathomable means to entice him back to my village of Oaklea. Of course, I heard word of him from time time from travellers marvelling at his skills, but never from him, and thereby was ever convinced that I had lost him forever, except living strongly within my dreams.

The impetus to return him to my bosom came only after Rebecca, the daughter of Will's late friend and Jewish banker, Jacob of York, had returned to the inn, to announce her dear father had died over the winter.

Rebecca told me that she had found amongst his papers, all the many instructions and evidences of the extent of Will's investments over many years in my family's affairs, all leading to build up our fortunes.

Until then I had only hoped in my dreams that he would return to me, by chance rather than any design on my part. I had no inkling that he had ever given me a second thought since he left. I was shocked to find that all the time I was thinking of him, he had been our constant, if distant, benefactor throughout his time away from us.

He must have been thinking of us, but was he thinking anything of me? Rebecca's information led me to believe that I only had to find a way to get him to return, so I could tell him how much I loved him, and had always loved him. I was sure in my imaginings that he would admit the same to me. What a happy day that was to be, I had thought, after we had overcome our little differences and misunderstandings!

Now I rejoice in my marriage constantly, with the bump I carry holding the promise of eternal bliss of family. Now Will was leagues away from me again, though it was only a short trip of three and a half weeks before he returns to me. I had urged him go, if only to satisfy our puppy Robin, straining at his imagined leash. Then I was certain he'd return in plenty of time for our own child to be born with him close by. There might still be time, I pray, if only the pestilence of Bartown allows.