My slave had veered off towards a rack of bows and was tugging something out from behind the display. It was another bow but not like all the others. Their staves were as tall as a man and either straight or slightly curved. He had spotted a bow at least a third shorter in length and its stave had a peculiar double curve. He held it up to show me.
Osric’s interruption annoyed Hroudland.
‘A bow is a foot soldier’s weapon. Your master rides into battle on horseback,’ he snapped.
Osric ignored him, and before Hroudland could say anything more, I said quickly to the storekeeper, ‘Would it be possible to take that bow as well?’
The storekeeper looked between us, obviously enjoying the apparent disagreement between his visitors.
‘Of course. Bows are cheap, and that one is worthless.’
‘And a quiver with a raincover and couple of dozen arrows,’ Osric insisted.
The clerk treated him to a sour glance and nodded. Osric began to search through bundles of arrows, picking out the ones he thought suitable.
The clerk added these final items to his list on the wax tablet, snapped the cover shut, and escorted us from the building, clearly eager to see us on our way.
As Hroudland and I left the armoury, Osric was arranging with the two attendants that my new equipment should be delivered to him for cleaning and safe keeping. Hroudland insisted that I keep the sword with me.
‘Your slave and the bow are too misshapen to be of much use,’ he observed unkindly as we headed back to our quarters.
I resented the malice in his remark.
‘Osric may be a cripple, but I trust him to know what he is doing. He’s saved my life once already.’
Hroudland gave an apologetic smile.
‘Sorry, Patch. I didn’t mean to offend you. If that bow keeps you safe from danger, then your slave is welcome to it.’
His remark left me wondering, once again, what danger he had in mind.
Chapter Seven
The summer passed, the great storm and flood forgotten as I settled into the daily routine of my companions. I discovered that the bay gelding knew more about cavalry manoeuvres than I did, and I scarcely had to touch the reins in the mock charges and retreats. Instead I could concentrate on handling lance, javelin and shield. But I still felt clumsy compared to my companions, though I did better in the single-handed contests with blunted weapons, improving until I could hold my own with the likes of Oton and Berenger, the weaker members of our company. However, I never matched experts like Gerin or Hroudland, even though the latter showed me how to favour my left-hand side where my eye patch always left me exposed.
During those sham fights it was never far from my mind that King Offa might decide one day that it was better if I was dead. It was not unknown for there to be a fatal accident on the practice field, and I found it strange to be swinging a blunt sword blade or feinting a jab with a lance at someone who might possibly become an agent for the Mercian king. Afterwards, relaxing in the royal guesthouse, I developed a habit of watching my companions and trying to gauge just how much I could rely on them, because I was very conscious that I was a latecomer to their fellowship.
Berenger, always cheerful and open, was very easy to get on with. His sense of humour appealed to me. I was often the first person to laugh at his jokes so that he would fling an arm around my shoulders and proclaim that I must be his long-lost brother. The older man Gerard of Roussillon was more difficult to get to know, yet behind his reserve lay a kind heart and a tolerance born of long experience. I spent many evenings talking quietly with him, learning more about the Frankish world, and he appreciated the deference I showed him. But it was with Hroudland that I soon fell into an easy friendship despite the difference in our backgrounds. The count was open-handed and impulsive. One day, at his own expense, he sent his tailor to measure and make me a new and fashionable wardrobe. On another occasion he suddenly insisted that I accompany him to a meeting with a high-ranking official, telling me that it was the best way for me to see how the court worked. During those evenings when the paladins stayed in their quarters, discussing or arguing among themselves, he would often turn to me and for my opinion as if I was his advisor and confidant. Eventually I found a quiet moment, away from the others, to ask him why he was so considerate to me.
‘Patch, one day my uncle will give me a province to govern in his name,’ he answered. ‘When that day comes, I will need to be accompanied by men on whom I can depend for good council.’
‘But you have other comrades who can give good advice. Berenger, for example; you’ve known him far longer than you’ve known me.’
Hroudland treated me to one of his aristocratic stares, part amused, part condescending.
‘I recall the first evening when you arrived among the paladins and they were exchanging riddles. I remember noting that you were both quick-witted and level-headed. I value that combination.’
‘I hope I won’t disappoint you,’ I replied, for the truth was that I was flattered that the count had singled me out to be his particular friend after such brief acquaintance, and I already knew that there was one way in which I could be of use to him. Hroudland was headstrong and outspoken. From time to time he offended men like Engeler. They resented his royal connections and were jealous that he was so handsome and gifted. In future I would take it upon myself to smooth over the quarrels that the count left in his wake.
Some days after Hroudland had taken me to the royal armoury to select weaponry, Osric arranged to meet me at a wooded area close to the king’s animal park. It was a quiet place, away from prying eyes, and he arrived carrying a long, thin object concealed in sacking. I guessed it contained the curiously shaped bow he had found.
‘I’ve managed to restore it to working condition,’ he said, extracting it from its wrapping. The bow was a little over four feet long and, to my eye, its design seemed to be back to front. The hand grip in the centre of the bow was where it should be held, but the stave curved in the wrong direction, away from the archer.
Osric saw that I was bemused. He reached into the neck of his tunic and pulled out a length of cord. ‘Count Hroudland wouldn’t be happy if he knew that one of his better shirts provided this thread. I’ve made a bowstring from silk.’
He dropped one of the bowstring’s end loops over the tip of the bow stave and settled it into a notch. Then he placed the end of the bow stave on his instep and pressed down strongly. The bow bent, reversing its curve so he was able to slip the other end of the bow string in place.
‘A long soaking in warm oil has brought the limbs back to life,’ he murmured, running a finger lovingly along the gleaming length of the weapon.
He handed it to me.
‘Try it.’
I gripped the weapon firmly with my left hand and pulled back on the cord. I was able to bend the weapon into a gentle curve, no more. Osric gave me the single, iron tipped arrow that he had brought with him.
‘See how far this goes.’
I prided myself on being a good archer. At home I had often used an ordinary long bow for hunting and I was more accurate with it than anyone else in our household. Now I nocked the arrow, drew the strange bow as far as I could, took aim at a nearby tree trunk, and released.
The arrow whipped away and thumped into the target, driving the tip solidly through the bark and into the wood.
‘Why didn’t you make one like this for me when I was a boy?’ I asked Osric wonderingly. I had not expected the arrow to fly so true and with such force.
‘Because I don’t have the bowyer’s skill,’ he replied. ‘Look more closely; it is made of five different parts: the belly, the two arms and those two end sections called the siyahs.’
I examined the weapon in my hand. I could see the complex construction and also how several different materials were tightly glued together.
