Free The Bow by Bill Sharrock Page A

indenture of a Wiltshire man.’
    ‘ And more fool you, young James, but I’ll keep an
eye out for ye on the march and in the battle line.’
    For a while James said nothing, but stooped and picked
the stork of a barley grass, and chewed on it.
    ‘ There’s a lad over there,’ he said at last. ‘He’s
shooting everything and anything at the butts.’
    ‘ Oh, aye.’
    ‘ Name of Ralf. Lodges with me and two others. Knows
Tom Tattle about archery, but he’d like to know more.’
    Yevan grinned. ‘Go on, and maybe I’ll catch your
drift.’
    ‘ Well, I can train him up for brawn and puff, but I
can’t teach him the tricks, see. Not like you, leastways.’
    ‘ Ahah! The tricks o’ the trade! Ho, James, so this
is where ye are leading me.’ He wrinkled his brow. ‘How much does
this Ralf lad draw?’
    ‘ Eight at one fifteen.’
    Yevan threw back his head and roared: ‘What’s this
you say? Eight at one fifteen! Be damned to your silliness James
Fletcher! What am I meant to do with that?’
    James shrugged and smiled. ‘As much as ye can, Yevan.
There’s silver in his wallet, and fire in his belly. I’m sure you
can take the one to feed the other.’
    ‘ Oof! There’s a pretty speech. Still, ye’ve a
nerve to ask, and it’s nerve I like. Let’s see the lad.’
    Together they wandered across the field to where Ralf
was sweating at the butts. He did not notice as they approached, so
they stood to one side watching him for a time. He had a bundle of
about twenty practice arrows, and was using his new bow to shoot them
into the straw butts from about eighty paces.
    ‘ What do you think?’ asked James after a while.
    Yevan thought for a bit. ‘Well, he has some technique,
though I’d say he’s not sure whether to draw to the cheek or the
chest, and he hesitates a bit on the stretch. Feet a bit too square,
and a shade closed for my liking.’
    As they watched Ralf loosed a shaft which caught the
wind and skipped wide of the butt. He cursed and drove the tip of his
bow into the turf.
    'So there’s the fire,’ muttered Yevan, ‘Let’s
see the colour of his silver.’ He walked up to Ralf, and without
even greeting him took the bow from his hand. Ralf went to grab it
back and got a cuff on his jaw which sent him reeling.
    ‘ Shoot like that, and you don’t deserve to hold a
beauty like this’,’said Yevan, without even looking at him. ‘What
draw weight is she?’
    Ralf looked at James who nodded. ‘She’s one fifteen
pounds,’ he said, rubbing the side of his jaw. ‘What’s it to
you?’
    ‘ Well laddie, I’ll tell ye. If a bowyer sells ye a
bow that’ll take the strain at one fifteen, and it’s made of good
bole yew, with a three year season, then ye can whip it to one thirty
no bother at all. See here!’
    He snatched up an arrow from several at his feet, and in
a single flowing movement bent the bow and shot. The arrow drove
nearly to its fletchings in the centre of the butt.
    ‘ How did you do that?’ gasped Ralf.
    'I’m Welsh,’ laughed Yevan. ‘It’s in me.’
    'Teach me!’ said Ralf.
    ‘ What, to be Welsh?’
    ‘ To shoot!’
    ‘ Ye can shoot, ye lumpkin.’
    ‘ No, to shoot like that.’
    ‘ Ah, ye mean to shoot to stay alive. Is that what ye
mean?’
    Ralf hung his head. ‘I guess I do.’
    Yevan stared at him for a bit, them slapped him on his
back. ‘Cheer up, boyo ! James here tells me you’re worth the
teaching, and ye might be willing to pay for a few pointers.’
    ‘ How much?’
    ‘ How much do ye have?’
    Ten shillings.’
    ‘ It’s an honest answer, cos ye didn’t flinch. Give
me five and I’ll make a Welshman of ye.’
    Ralf beamed, touched his forelock and then turned to
James. ‘I’ll never forget this,’ he said.
    ‘ Make sure ye live long enough to make it a memory
worth having’, replied James, taking the bow from Yevan and tossing
it back to Ralf..
    Yevan proved to be as good as his word. Over the next
ten days he drilled Ralf as though