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From the Forge to the Anvil |
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Friday, 20 January 2006 |
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Page 6 of 12
“How good?”
“Well, out to 136 paces I can hit the mark that were it living, ‘twould be dead.”
“How came you to this knack”
My family be hunters sir, my grandfather was a bowyer and made this fine bow.”
“Hunters?” asked Jacques and the young man answered readily, “yes, sir knight one arrow one antelope or deer. For the Carcassone Bull we were allowed three arrows.”
“You hunted the Carcassonne Bull with but three arrows?” The disbelief was in each word.
“Aye Sir, three arrows, You have to hit the great vein that runs in the throat of the beast. Once pierced it dies quickly. The spot is about as big as the palm of yer hand”. All of these words were spoken matter of fact, without pretense.”
“Sir Brian!” and a tall knight entered. “ I have found thee thy marksman.” The peasant left with the knight.
He stretched and went to the Strong house, so named as the floor was slate and a wall of stones had been laid around all sides. The roof was not thatched, but timbered. Large enough to hold all the peasants, it would be the last bastion of protection.
He took note of the Smithy. Stone walled to the tiled roof, but small by half when compared to the Strong House.
His strategy was simple enough, the upper entrenchments were filled with straw and the topmost held a huge barrel of oils. The lower entrenchments were filled with that noxious weed called Scottish Broom, with its greasy stalks and bright yellow flowers. The archers would fire one volley of flaming arrows into the lower entrenchments. Then they would fall back and fire into the upper entrenchments while the Marksman would try to kill enemy leaders. He and the Knights would ride out at dusk, taking a position along the banks of the river to the Southeast.
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Last Updated ( Sunday, 22 January 2006 )
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Literature 
