The Archer

"Father, your garments are already washed but aren't dry yet; I have some maids using hot irons on them, but it will be some time before they will be ready to wear. The cordwainer has also been despatched to his workshop with your boots and will return directly he is finished. Please, I beg of you father, stay at least until dawn and the fortification of an early breakfast tomorrow." Robin looks pained. "I must return to the hall, father, our new guests need -"

"Of course," I said, "Go, but pray return my clothes and boots as soon as you possibly can, I wish to leave at the earliest opportunity."

The boy runs from the room, leaving me with Father Andrew.

"Priest," I greet, and hold out a hand.

"Will Archer, my son," he says, his voice and eye steady, though his proffered hand shakes a little, his grip is firm, "I have looked forward to this day for many a year, but these are troubled times."

"They were even then, Father," I find myself saying, "They ever are."

"True, my son, very true," the priest nods sagely, a smile plays on his lips, "I had hoped you would stay and fight for her. I prayed for that."

"Hopes and prayers," I reply, "Don't always tot up to much, Father."

"It depends on the prize you pray for, my son."

"Some prizes are out of reach."

Just then the chamber door flies open and three armed men burst in through the doorway, a couple of other men at arms in the doorway close behind them. The man in the front is short of stature and quite stout, about my age or perhaps a little older. All are armed with swords and have their hands gripping the handles of their sheathed weapons.

"You, there!" shouts the stout man, "You must be Dame Alwen's husband and you, priest, the only man who can identify him as such. So you will both be departing this world tonight!"

This is clearly the Shire Reeve, who has designs on the lovely Alwen. The fulfilment of that wish would certainly ruin any chance she had with the Lord of the Manor. I don't care which of the two adherents she ends up but am certainly in no mood to be forced to disappear by fair means or foul by this fat dwarf.

The Reeve starts to draw his weapon. With my feet encased in the soft kid slippers, I lunge with my right foot and stamp hard on his hand that grips the sword handle, with the sole of my foot, winding him at the same time. I grab his hair with my left hand and tug him sharply towards me, while with my right hand I grasp the handle of his sword and draw the short blade forth from its sheath, twisting the Reeve's body round in front of me to provide a shield.

His men at arms are clearly shocked by the abrupt turnaround of events and react slowly to the new unforeseen circumstances. As I withdraw the sword from its scabbard, I check its balance. It's a sword on the short side, to match the stature of the owner, but light and beautifully balanced. My original thought was to hold the sword up against the Reeve's throat, but the two armed men in the room are slow in drawing their weapons, while the winded Reeve begins to recover, so I decide to attack while I still have a limited advantage of surprise.

I swing the sword at the man to the right, too quick for him to lift his guard or get out of the way and slash him deeply across the throat, while simultaneously pushing the Reeve into the man on the left. As the Reeve stumbles into him, the soldier lowers his guard and I hack down onto him into the gap between his head and shoulder. He goes down instantly, the Reeve tumbling down on top of him.

There are two men competing with each other, trying to get in through the doorway. I stab the leading one in the belly. He continues to come forward and is impaled almost to the hilt, being pushed from behind. I push on, forcing the mortally wounded man back to block the doorway, preventing the next swordsman coming through. I am momentarily disarmed, as my sword is stuck in the dead man's belly. I put up my left foot this time and kick at the corpse, while pulling on the sword with both hands. The sword comes free and the three soldiers behind the doorway see that I am rearmed, their leader and colleagues prone on the floor, and decide that retreat is better than attack, turn tail and run away down the corridor.

Father Andrew sits on the wooden chest at the foot of the bed, moping his brow with a spotted kerchief. He appears to be all right. I turn my attention to the Reeve and roll him onto his back. He lays there prone with the handle of his soldier's dagger sticking out of his ample stomach, not dead yet, but not too far from his inevitable demise.

I check out the other three: the one who inadvertently stabbed his master is already dead, the blade cut having cleaved through his neck and spine; his companion was very close to death, gargling his final breath through his sliced voice box; the broad one by the door wasn't moving either, clearly stabbed through to his backbone. By the time I turn around after completing my inspections, the priest is on his knees delivering the last rites to the dying Reeve.

A noise at the doorway makes me turn, assuming the worst, but it is only Robin, come to see what fairs. He calmly takes in the whole of the scene in a glance, noting the bloodied sword still comfortably clutched at the ready in my hand.

"Are you hurt, father?" he enquires, more calmly than I would normally give credit to someone so young. He really is an extraordinary youth, a son any father, even a half-father like me, would be justified in being rightly proud of.

"No, Robin," I reply, "Not a single scratch, Father Andrew also appears untouched."

"Well, the Reeve is of this earthly kingdom no more," says the Priest, speaking up for the first time since just prior to the debacle. "That neatly solves a problem," he adds quietly, almost to himself.

Having risen from his seat and across to the Reeve's body, he had completed the ritual of absolution. "Conveniently deceased I note by his own henchman, a fitting end for such a man as he. Very neat swordsmanship, sir," he addresses me, "You have clearly had some experience with the broad blade?"

"Aye," I reply, "A very little, though; I have commanded a band of archers on several campaigns and ... I acquired a blade more for encouragement than actual use in the field. When I could, though, I found time to practice, thinking it might be handy to do so. I was as surprised as you were that my muscles still remembered those exercises!"

"Sir, the three men you chased from your chamber are huddled with the rest in the hall." spoke up Robin. "They may be plotting revenge, if not for their former master, than for their friends that lay slain."

"How many are there?" I ask of him.

"A dozen, no more. They know that the Reeve, their paymaster, has fallen and they are therefore uncertain what manner of man they face."

"Then let me go talk to them," I say.

"I'll come with you, my son, testify that you were unarmed at the outset and that we both were threatened with the short-tailing of our lives," speaks up the old priest, "The Almighty Himself surely allows you to defend yourself when such as the Shire Reeve here declares openly that he is about to murder you!"

"I'll descend first and see if they have resolved to attack or retreat," says Robin.

"Good lad," I say, knowing full well that the soldiers would know nothing of our family connection. To them I am but a troublesome guest that the Reeve had some prior issue to resolve. Robin ran off down the passage towards the Hall.

My bow and quiver are by the bed, part of my light luggage that I brought to the inn with me. I bend down and undo the Shire Reeve's belt and unthread his sword scabbard; his belt was useless for my purpose, it would fit twice if not thrice about my middle. Once affixed onto my thin quiver belt, I fasten it and slip the blade back home, after cleaning it to my satisfaction upon the deceased's tunic. I gather up my bow, bend the shaft and loop over the string, finally drawing an arrow from the quiver, nocking it, fit to fire.

"Are you ready, Father?"

"As ready to meet my maker as I have ever been," he replies, a wry grin on his wise old face. It was as if a quarter of his years had fallen away and he was in his prime once more.

"Well, I'm reluctant to make that trip alone, Father, but you'd make fine company. Perhaps you could furnish a good word for me upon our arrival?"

"I would that, my son, so long as you make sure we are the last in line!" We both laugh. "Perhaps you might permit me use of the Reeve's sword rather than face any opposition with naught but an evening prayer?"

"Aye, why not? I would rather use the bow, even here within the walls I can fire off enough swift sharp iron to keep them from reaching us at close quarters."

The walk along that long corridor seems longer on the way down than had been the ascension, the Father shuffling along with heavy breaths behind me. When I reach the grand stairway down to the Hall, Robin approaches equally breathless.

"Sir, they have resolved among themselves not to fight!" he puffs, "They want a parley."

I look at Father Andrew in the flickering torchlight and we grin like pet monkeys promised unseasonal fruits. Robin turns and scoots off to the Hall again. We follow immediately after.

The band of a dozen soldiers stand in a semi-circle, unarmed hands loose by their sides. The smallest among them, bearing a sheathed dagger at his belt, stands in front and steps forward a half-step as we reach the Hall.

"Sire, I am Jack Moor, former clerk to Sir Giles," he says, "Your boy declares that our Master is dead, and so too are our three comrades. We have no score to settle here, my lord. We are leaderless and uncertain, Sire, and we beseech you to guide us. Henry here was with you once upon a time in Burgundy, when you commanded the archers there, Sire."

Henry, a big fellow, standing behind Jack Moor, holds up a hand, palm towards, in greeting. He does carry a look that is familiar, I think. I nod in acknowledgement.

"I am hardly in a position to do so, through me you have lost your leader."

"He was a fool, Sire, we followed him because he was appointed by the King. We still serve the King until another Reeve be appointed. We know it was an unlawful fight for Sir Giles backed by his men against you. We all heard the Reeve say he would cut down both you and the good priest here, for his own greed. We cannot blame you for killing him."

"Actually, Will Archer did not kill your leader," speaks up the priest, "He fell fatally on the dagger of one of his own men. He died almost immediately."

There is much whispering among the men, a couple even chuckle.

"I knew Tommie Two-blade would get himself into trouble one day!" cries one of them with a wide grin.

That sets them all off laughing. The atmosphere in the Hall changes instantly, all the men smile and relax.

"If you will guide us - what do you want of us, Sire?" asks their spokesman Jack.

"Well," I said, seizing the moment of action upon us, "For a start, the bodies need removing from my bedchamber ..."

"Aye," spake one of the bigger men-at-arms on the back of the row, standing next to the equally huge Henry. He seems to have more command than the others and he details half the men to set to the task and urges them be lively about it. Several men peel off and take to the stairs without a single grumble betwixt them.

"Where'll we put 'em, Sire?" asks the big guard briskly, effectively.

I look to the priest for guidance.

"Take them up to the church, they can lay in the Lady Chapel in the south transept until the morrow," spoke Father Andrew, "Set a guard on the door, though, relieve them every four hours through the night."

The tall man-at-arms nods and moves to the foot of the stairs to await the first of the bodies. His men call him Robert. The first body down is the Reeve, on a makeshift stretcher made from two pikestaffs and spare tunics removed from the dead men, as the bloodstains witness. They are chivvied through the door and disappear into the now-dark night.

I turn to Jack Moor.

"I have no money to pay you, were I to take interim command, Jack."

He grins back. "We have the taxes collected and the Reeve's own purse to use, Sire. I keeps the ledger, in fact I keeps a second register showing the true extent of Sir Giles' theft from the King's rightful portion of the tax."

"So, what kind of money do we have to play with, without touching the King's share at all?"

"Well, more than enough to pay the bills here a dozen times over, and still pay back what belongs to the King from this last collection. Sir Giles couldn't read or write, but to save my own skin I decided early on to maintain a second set of accounts. I believe you can read Sire, perhaps we can go over the figures before the King gets here?"

"The King? He's on his way here?" I ask.

"Aye, Sire," he replies, "The Reeve was aware that he could be here any day. He suspected that the King might know he had been creaming off more than double his allocation, although he was not aware I had kept a written record as proof. If the King does know he was being swindled, then these books will save our necks, all the blame lies where it belongs, with Sir Giles."

"Was he hoarding the money he creamed off or sending it somewhere?"

"A bit of both, Sire. There is a strongbox at the castle, I have a key. He was also sending money to his home manor in the West Ridings, and to Cornwall for the upkeep of his wife and children."

"He is already married?" I ask incredulously, knowing that he was seeking to marry my wife.

"Aye, he was arranging an annulment of his own marriage as well as yours and the Lady Alwen."

"Damnation!" I exclaim, shaking my head.

"I think he is the one in for damnation, Will," grins Father Andrew.

"Well, he has been taken care off now, Jack, is there enough in Giles' private kitty to buy us all a drink or two of ale to celebrate his passing?"

"Aye, Sire," Jack grins, nodding, "Plenty enough for that!"

I turn to Robin, who smiles back. "No more than three pints of your finest ale to each of the men, Robin, please keep a tally and Jack'll settle the account tonight. We'll all need clear heads if the King does arrive upon the morrow."

"Aye, father, I'll keep a check on it," he replies, grinning, "So I take it you are staying on here for the time being?"

"Aye, son, it looks like it. Just have my raiment and boots ready by the morning, though. Once the King arrives I may have to bolt for it."

"Are you ready to dine now?"

"Aye, lad, I could eat a horse."

Robin leads me over to a small trestle table at the top end of the hall. I am hardly seated before a flagon of ale and a bowl of very tasty hot meat stew, a large piece of warm crusty bread and dish of rich creamy butter turn up with a wooden spoon at the ready. I realise how hungry I am and tuck into it. After a few delicious spoonfuls, I look up and glance slowly around the hall. It is packed with people tucking into their own food and drink. Maids abound ferrying jugs and bowls and hunks of bread. The atmosphere is warm and full of the smells of hot fresh food and the sound of happy conversation. For the moment, for all that are present, all is well with the world.

Immediately after our repast, Moor brings his brace of ledgers to my table and we pore over them, with the clerk pointing out the differences betwixt the pair and identify how much has been creamed off.

No sign of Alwen throughout this evening, though, which is curious. I thought perhaps with the elimination of the Shire Reeve, she would be begging me to release her from our bonds so she could be with her precious Lord of the Manor without delay.

Then it comes to me, the Annulment! Of course! She clearly has her hands on it already. She must've run to Sir Giles as soon as he dismounted and secured the precious document. No wonder she doesn't need to wheedle anything out of me. Well, so be it, best thing that could happen all round, for the peace of mind of us both.

Now I am here anyway, I determine that I can prepare for the contest in the morning, win as many of the events as I can and escape this den of iniquity. Then back to Wales, my homeland, with a degree of security for my old age. No more then will I have to forage so far from home, fuelling my heartache each season.

Unused to so many jugs of the very finest of ale, and tired out after my journey and the unusual excitement of the evening, I am soon to my well-appointed bed and sleep undisturbed until dawn. Even my dreams leave me unmolested for once.

***

THE TOURNAMENT

A boy must've been waiting outside my room for me to rise, because I am no sooner awake than a string of maids arrive with my cleaned and pressed garments, repaired boots, hot water to wash with and hot fluffy linen towels to dry my stiff ancient body. I am impressed.

In the hall, Jack and Robert report that nothing untoward has happened overnight. Mounted guards have been posted at each end of the main road through the village, to warn of the approach of the King and his retinue. Still no sign of my lovely wife, it is as if she has disappeared from the inn, perhaps already residing in the comfort of her manor house.

The early rounds of the various contests are to begin at noon. There is the straightforward shoot at a standing target. Second is shooting at a moving target dropped from a tower about 8 feet tall, which carpenters are still putting the finishing touches unto. Third is five small targets in a tree, the task for all five targets to be hit. Fourth is a distance shot, to wring the very limit out of an arrow. The fifth competition will take place on the second day, consisting of the top three finishers in all the competitions competing in the four disciplines with the aiming at the distant straw target to finish off the event.

I walk around the event arena nodding at some of the contestants, many of whom were at the shire town just a day earlier. Is it me, or does yesterday seem so long ago?

Both Robin and I ease through the opening rounds for the standing target, the drop and the five in the tree, but Robin misses out on the distance shot, unable to get all three of his arrows over the rope lying at the far end of the field, with his lighter bow. I manage that easily enough. The next rounds follow in the afternoon.

Early in the afternoon, the King arrives. We did have about an hour's warning as he called into the shire town castle first and I had had one of the Reeve's men ride back there in the morning. The King then rode through the village up to the manor house but it was still shut up for the winter. My assumption of Alwen's place of haven has turned out to be misplaced. Not that I have been in search of her, but I believe in being aware of where my enemies are. I assume the lord of the manor spends his winter in his French vineyards. Finding no access to the manor house the King came back down to the village and joined the throng on the green enjoying the sport. I am informed of his arrival but am still competing.

By the time we finish the rounds, the King knows who I am. He has already spoken at length to Jack Moor and instructed the Royal Clerk to examined both of the ledgers with Moor. To my surprise the King slaps me heartily on the back and we walk back to the inn, the only place in the area able to accommodate his retinue. Robert and the rest of the former Reeve's men head back to the Castle, leaving Jack behind in case the King requires to question him about what financial chicanery the Reeve had been getting up to.

The fair Alwen and Robin are in the Hall when we arrive and welcome the King to eat at the head of the table.

Robin whispers to me that regrettably I have lost my bedchamber, the King will have that. However, Robin says with a cheerful grin, that I will be bunking in with him while the King resides at the Inn.