The Archer

I quietly resolve to leave the vicinity the very moment the contest finishes.

***

The dawn brings on the spectacle of the conclusion to the contest. Most of those eliminated the previous day remain to watch the event. Two- and four-wheeled trucks bring more folk from the shire town and the villages in between, quite a draw. The ale flows free and plenty, the inn seems to have an inexhaustible supply.

The King also remains to see out the contest's conclusion.

The competition runs in the same order as previously, with Robin winning the straight target, using the light bow I have now given him as his own to keep, I finished second in that contest.

I won the drop final round with Robin finishing third. Another archer won the five targets in the tree, I came second and Robin was down in around sixth. Robin wasn't in the final of the distance, but I won that by a significant margin, with a light arrow shaft and heavy arrow point fired at a lower trajectory than most were able to manage.

Robin and I are both in the grand final, which is a straight shoot at a half-sized target, which is a long way down the village common field. There are eight archers in that final round. Alwen, I notice, comes down to watch the final, sitting to the right-hand side of his majesty the King.

I remember now that the King's only son died by drowning two months ago and he lost his wife the year before. The news of the Crown Prince's demise had not yet reached this corner of England. The thought occurs to me that he might be looking for female company, not necessarily a wife, she would have to be a princess or at least the widow of a duke.

Let the absent Lord worry about Alwen's virtue, I decide, I am long past such concerns.

The final is close, with myself, Robin and the archer from Wakefield too close to separate. The three of us shoot off again, with the target moved back another 30 paces. This is too much for Wakefield, he hits the bull only once. Robin fires off next and gets two in the bull and one in the ring next to it. I manage to get all three in the bull. We troop back to the inn for the celebration.

The King has me sit at the top table at his right hand for the evening meal, with Father Andrew on his left. I have never seen a man drink so much during that meal as he does and remain upright. I moderate my own consumption, but it is difficult to remain out of the contest. Father Andrew also seems to have a prodigious capacity for Alwen's finest ales, but then he has had much time to become accustomed.

"Well, Will," his Majesty says, slapping me heartily on my back as all around bar us three worthies fall asleep where they sit, "How would you like to be appointed my Shire Reeve for this fine county?" He slaps me on the back again, laughing.

"Surely, Sire, you jest," I protest, "I only took charge of the old Reeve's men at their request, there was no-one else at hand they felt confidence in. I need to return to my own country."

"Have you not heard Will, that to refuse the King such a request would be very much to a subject's detriment?"

"I have heard such, Sire," I grin ruefully, not knowing how far the playfulness of a King almost in his cups will go, "I am but a humble archer and not even a subject of England."

"You have done well, Will, and it will save me much time and worry trying to appoint another, one who would be extremely unlikely to be as honest as yourself. Your good clerk Moor has shown that much of what was stolen from the Treasury this year is still locked up safe in the castle, so I will go with my retinue to collect that coin upon the morrow.

"Don't worry about Sir Giles' widow and children, I will ensure they are not left prided short. I'm due in Devon late in the summer and I will call upon them to assure them of my continued protection."

The King bent his great head down to mine, "As for you Will, you are not just an archer as you so fervently attest. A little bird tells me that you are lately appointed the Lord of this Manor and have invested a fortune into improving its facilities. I am most impressed with the roads and this fine inn, the ale of which is the finest I have tasted, even better than the wine from my own Angevin vineyards."

"I can assure you, Sire, that is an extreme misrepresentation," I protest, "I have no stake at all in this inn nor any of its environs, and as for the Lord of the Manor, I believe he is the one which hath designs on my former wife."

Trouble with drinking ale in quantity is that it makes mouths run away with thoughts best kept within the barrel-head, my mouth had runneth full pelt.

"Ha!" yells the venerable Father, who I had thought near passed out, "The cat is out of the bag at last, Will! I wondered how long it would be. Ha Ha! Will, my son, you are indeed Lord of this Manor and have been since the end of March."

"What?"

"Indeed, Will, it is true," a voice, one that I hear in my head every night for as long as I can remember, Alwen, tormentor of my dreams.

I turn and face her, wondering how long she has been stood there. I haven't seen her except from afar since she bathed me not two days since.

"Jacob visited the inn ten years ago when our well collapsed, offering to loan my father the money to drill a new well and line it well with stone, you remember?"

"He may have mentioned it," I concede.

Alwen smiles, the knowing smile of a woman confident in the certainty of her knowledge.

"Of course he would have mentioned it, as the loan was offered free of the usual interest. A strange offer from such a successful banker and merchant, do you not think, Will?"

"I own that that would be unusual, I daresay there were extenuating circumstances?"

"There were indeed, the offer was said to emanate from a distant family relative aware of our plight, but wishing to remain anonymous. A very generous offer, do you not think, my husband?"

She uses the 'husband' word with reckless abandon, which I ignore. She knows, the loan was mine, she knows.

"Aye," confirm I, "T'was perhaps an act of mercy, offered from sympathy rather than charity. I believe at the time Jacob mentioned, in idle conversation of course, that the offer of the free loan was rejected and a counter offer to borrow the required sum at an agreeable return was foresworn and paid off with alacrity upon completion of the build and the subsequent income derived?"

"You are correct in that assumption, Will, but that is not all."

"I would be surprised Madam, if that were the total of your summation." I cannot help but soften my own countenance, faced with such serene beauty before me.

She laughed, full and hearty, the King and Father Andrew also enjoying the shared joke at my expense, I was beginning to realise.

"So, husband," she smiled, "What do you know of Jacob's other investments on behalf of this unknown, somewhat distant relative of this family, this William the Archer, or Bowman, who travels to fairs the length and breadth of the King's domain, earning coin ripe for investment? One whose winter home and paths travelled are unknown from season to season?"

"I wouldn't begin to know, but for my own part I did indeed bank with my good and trusted friend Jacob and left him in control of my investments. For every year, until the King here banished him from the kingdom, I received summary accounts showing a favourable and healthy balance, sadly all now lost."

"Yet, husband, when he came here six years past, bearing only the clothes on his back, you helped him escape, in fact paid for the passage to the Continent for him and his daughter Rebecca? You admitted as much just two nights ago."

"Aye, I did, he was a dear friend."

"So what of your investments?"

"Lost, Jacob's treasure house and contents was confiscated by the Royal Treasury, I have no recourse to recover them."

"Regrettable action, my dear William," the King owns, "I used the bankers, Jews to a man, myself, for my campaigns and to build castles and palaces, but High Church is a powerful ally and far more dangerous foe. My hands, my friend, were, are, tied."

"I have no complaint," I say, "The plans of mankind are only intentions, who can tell what hand of fate will send them up in smoke?"

"Well, Will Archer, some plans are turned into wood, stone, slate and thatch," spake Alwen. "Jacob found the village moribund upon his first visit. The old Lord of the Manor was absent, on his estates in France. He had lost his only son in the same wars that destroyed my father. Through Jacob's negotiations, your savings were invested in leasing the ruined mill at a peppercorn rent and rebuilding it, widening the leet, digging more wells for clean water and increasing the supply of ale, buying up fields and employing local labour to work and grow barley, building barns to store grain and make malt in the lofts. Your investments repaved our road all the way to the shire town, providing easy passage for our trade in ale, in return we imported building materials, improving the inn and great hall of the manor."

"What?" I exclaim, "The Inn and the Manor Hall were invested in using my savings?"

"Why not?" my wife replied, smiling at my unwitting admittance, "What is mine is yours and this manor was considered worth investing in by Jacob on your behalf, the favourable returns being yours."

"How can they be mine?" I ask, stunned.

"My father bequeathed the Inn to you upon his death, or more exactly, to become my husband's upon the blessing of my marriage in the parish church. As for the rights to the entire Manor, they are yours through your adoption as son and heir to the previous Lord, now deceased."

"How can that be, Alwen?" I sigh resignedly, all too much for my weak mind to absorb, "I do not even know the man."

"Maybe not, but the Lord knew of you, that you were a man of honour, prepared to marry a maid who had been compromised by a scoundrel," Alwen says, gripping my hand, "And he was aware of the aid to my family when, as the feudal Lord, he had failed to maintain his estates. You saved his family's reputation just as determinedly as you had mine."

"Yours?" I ask, my heart in my mouth.

"We are still married, Will, and I want to remain your wife. I love you and always have since that day we first met and married."

I stand, a little unsteadily, and not just from the effects of the ale. She stands there, in her simple smock with serving apron, looking as ephemeral as she had in all my sleeping moments.

"I too, Alwen, have loved you since that day we sat with Father Andrew, moments before our wedding vows, I dream of no other face than yours, ever since that day."

"So, at the very moment we were joined in holy matrimony, we were both in love with the other?"

"Aye, Alwen," I assure her, "And every moment, asleep or awake, I have loved you since. I, I love you still."

Alwen falls into my arms, her hands around me, sobbing unchecked into my chest. I kiss the top of her head.

"Well, children," the King, stands, admittedly unsteadily, addressing only me, my wife, and the good Father, everyone else aslumber, "What the Lady Alwen has said of our Lord Will Archer here has given me much to ponder. John! John! Where's my aide? I need my sword!"

"Will this do, Sire?" Father Andrew draws a sword from one of the King's guard slumped on the bench next to him.

"Aye, that'll do," the King takes the sword in his hand and turns to me.

"Kneel, Will, your gallantry is as worthy of any saintly knight of my realm, the rescue of a lady in distress and the saving of this manor from ruination. Thou shalt be a Knight of my Realm, now kneel, damn you!"

I kneel, surely the knighting of a commoner, a Welsh commoner at that, by a King of England in his cups from a surfeit of ale, doesn't count? Holding the sword none too steadily, he dubs me on each shoulder, amazingly without cutting off either of my ears.

"I dub thee, Sir William Archer, Lord of the Manor of Oaklea and Appointed High Sheriff of this Fair County in my Kingdom of England. Arise, Sir William, Knight."

I rise in a daze, dry of throat. The King slaps me on the shoulder, laughing heartily. I am not sure if I enjoy the same joke. Father Andrew shakes me by the hand.

"Both of you come to the church at noon on the morrow for the blessing of your marriage, my children," the priest says, "To keep to the terms of your father's last will and testament and the ex-Lord's wishes, before witnesses."

"Aye, we will," my bride Alwen insists, linking her arm into mine, "Come, my husband, time for you to refresh yourself with sleep as the morrow for us will be a momentous day."

"God be with you children," Andrew beams.

"Aye, and a blessing of many children to you both," roars the King with another guffaw, slapping the priest on his back, before bellowing to anyone still awake for more ale.

THE CHAMBER

We leave the hall arm in arm, Alwen directing me down corridors strange to me, eventually reaching a set of steps leading up to a chamber door. She removes a key from a pocket in her apron and opens the door. We enter a small bedchamber with a high double bed half-filling the cosy room. A roaring fire burns at one end of the room, filling it with a warm glow. The room looks vaguely familiar, which reminds me that I owe my wife, my newly restored wife, knowledge of my previous sojourn in this room.

"Alwen, is this your mother's chamber?"

"Aye, my love, it was once, I have been using this room since ... she died."

"Alwen, your mother and I...."

"I know of you and my mother," Alwen smiles, "I knew the night before we wed."

"I am ashamed of that, my dearest Alwen."

"Don't be. My mother was pleased she was your first."

"Was I that obvious?"

"I don't know," she laughs, "She confided that she thought so but you were a gentle but determined lover!"

"In my ignorance, I suppose that is complimentary. I was sorry to hear she died so young."

"My father was devastated by the result of his actions, he went too far, it turned his mind and he became quite mad, until close to his end."

"Alwen, I will do anything you wish, to bring you happiness."

"Anything, my Lord?" she asked, a sweet smile returns to adorn her face.

"I am your servant, Ma'am, no real lord except in name, a knight in jest, too. I am really just a humble archer and bowman, with naught to my name but a rented rude stone cottage in the wilds of my native land and have nothing saved for my old age."

"Old age, tosh!" Alwen laughs, "you are only about six or seven years older than I, and I am but two years past my thirtieth birthday! Have you had that hard a life, Will?"

"Hard enough, Alwen, aye, hard enough." I shake my head, trying to think. "What about Robin? What happens now to his rightful inheritance?"

"He will have to wait," Alwen smiles, "Hopefully that wait will be for a long time. Besides, he wants to learn a trade from the finest Master, making longbows. The cobbler has only a short tenure in his workshop, next to the yew trees on the hill and the coppiced wood behind, with handy blacksmith next door. It is an ideal spot for a bowyer to work. Your devoted wife could fetch lunch for you and your earnest apprentice in the middle point of your day."

"Perhaps I can adopt Robin, like your Lord adopted me, then he will legally inherit in time, although what there is to the Manor I know not."

"Husband, let me explain the wherewithal of your substance. Rebecca tells me you helped her father and she to a port, paying for their passage to Holland, when they had been driven from their home in nothing but the clothing they stood up in."

"I did, that is when I came here last, six summers since and saw you while I was here."

"You saw me then six years ago and did not approach me?" she cries, "After we had been so long apart?"

"Aye, you looked, so ... beautiful," I say, "But I needed to escort Jacob and Rebecca to a safe port on the north-west coast of Wales, where his enemies would not look for him. I did not then have any inkling that you felt about me as I do about you."

"Of course you had to go, of course. It is just that I was not aware that you were in the same room as me so recently," Alwen said brightly, "And Rebecca tells me you dressed her as a boy, for her escape."

"Aye, she was!" I laugh at the memory, the young girl's look of disgust as she was handed the bundle of boy's garb, "And complained mightily for it. Have you seen my friends recently?"

"Alas, Rebecca only, she was here just two months past. She sailed back to the low countries on the first spring boat," Alwen's face grave, "This winter gone was our friend Jacob's last."

I am sorry to hear that. I remember I traded my bows, horse and cart, to hire three cobs in the next town and we rode quickly to a small port in North Wales, where I was cousin to a fisherman captain I trusted and chartered passage to the low countries, where Jacob had friends and contacts. We had no time to even discuss my investments, they were only able to get away from the city with the clothes they stood up in. Even then, I realised that I had lost all my life savings. Having once got the pair of them away, I even lost contact with my old friend.

"I'm sorry to hear that Jacob has died, Alwen, Jacob was a good friend."

"He thought you a good friend too, the best of his friends, though he saw you but seldom. Rebecca and he didn't know how to get hold of you. I assured her two months ago, when we secured the Lord's manor hall and estate, that I would try."

"Looks like you succeeded," I smile. "What happens now, Alwen?" I ask, as I turn and face her, "Wife?"

"Husband!" she laughs pulls me towards her. I wrap my arms around her slim body and kiss her on the top of her head. She raises her pretty face to mine and I press my lips to hers. She entwines her arms around my neck and we kiss deep and passionate kisses, my body betraying its desire for the woman of my dreams.

"I am sorry I did not stay, to fight for you, when we married, I thought myself beneath you. I am sorry, too, I did not come back until you sought me out."

"My dearest, answer me this. Between you and I, our bond is strong?"

"Unbreakable," I promise.

"Then I forgive you, my love," she locks my eyes on hers, "Any ... transgressions. If our love is strong than I will accept them as a worthy price for our present happy reunion."

I smile and kiss her deeply, such feelings surge through my body. "There are none to forgive, Alwen, I have slept with no woman since our wedding day. The only woman I see is you, whenever I close my eyes. I want to see you always when I open them again."

"I too," she giggled, melting her warm body into mine, "Have remained pure since conceiving and losing my child."

"Losing your child?" I am confused.

"Alice, I had a girl. Alice lived for only a day, poor thing. My father beat me and forced her to be born a little too soon. The sweet child was both conceived and died in violence, but thanks to you, my love, she was carried in my womb without shame and was loved to her end, loved in my heart still."

"But ... Robin?"

"Robin was also carried with pride and love, conceived by my mother in affection and gratitude. Robin was born in pain, but was built as strong as his father and he survived. My mother died, bleeding inside from the wounds inflicted by my own father. My milk was in and unused because of Alice's born and death and I suckled my half-brother. I love him like a mother would, because the son of my husband's seed is also my son."

My head is reeling, "Your mother was barren, she said," I protest wanly.

"No, my father's seed was poor. I was born by chance early in their marriage. Thereafter they failed to add to their brood. Your seed, though my husband, is strong and I hope that more sons and daughters spring forth from our bed."