The Bow Read Online Free PDF

that field. They’ll be upon
us in next to no time.’
    As he spoke, an English knight bearing the arms of
Gloucester on his shield came hurrying towards them.
    ‘ Up England, up!’ he shouted. ‘On your feet!
There’s more to be done yet.’ The men stood and went to the
stakes, bows at the ready, and fresh arrows in their belts. As they
formed rank the knight went up to William Bretoun.
    ‘ The king wants ten of your company at his banners
now’, he said. ‘We lost heavily in that last fight, and the next
Battle will hit the centre for sure.’
    ‘ Ten archers?’
    ‘ Aye, ten. There’s ten to be drawn from each company
now.’ He looked hard at William. ‘Now, master bowman. Now!’
    The Somerset archer shrugged. ‘So be it!’ he said.
His gaze fell on James, Lewis, Yevan and Jankyn. ‘Away you go then,
lads, and be quick about it. King Harry calls ye, and there’s work
to be done.’ He glanced at the knight. ‘And tell the lord marshal
I’ll send six more men directly.’
    As James and the others hurried away, they could already
hear the captains call, and the sound of archers urging one another
to draw the first shafts. They came to the banners. The king was
there, flanked by his chosen knights. He looked tired and anxious,
but his sword was in his hand, and when he spoke his voice was clear
and strong. He was giving orders to Davy Gamm who frowned, then
nodded, and with a half bow disappeared along the line to the west.
    Old Sir Thomas, Marshal of England, was there of course,
running his hand through his shock of snow white hair and gazing all
around him. He caught sight of the approaching archers and waved them
forward.
    ‘ Come on! Come on! They’ll be upon us any moment.
You’ll stand both sides of the banners here, and keep up a good hot
fire on the French. Show no mercy: no clout heads, no ransom. There’s
right here some of your brothers who tried to capture instead of
kill, and now look at ‘em.’
    He gestured at his feet where the bodies of several
archers lay.
    James swallowed hard. His head was clear now, but his
stomach still hurt, and he wondered if he could draw bow.
    ‘ Avaunt, lads!’
    He turned. It was the king. The king had spoken, and was
looking straight at them. They bowed instinctively.
    ‘ No time for that! Up now, and look to your front. The
trumpets sound, and France comes on apace!’
    They took their stand, and chose arrows. Yevan assured
Sir Thomas that more archers would join them soon. The old marshal
shrugged, then suddenly smiled. ‘You’re as good as your word,
bowman. I see them coming. Six men, just as you say. Well, we’ll be
needing them.’
    As he spoke the captains called and the bows sang.
    With a gasp, James leant to the rhythm of the task,
stretching against the pull of the yew, and drawing the fletchings
hard to his cheek. His stomach hurt, but the wound didn’t seem
deep. Perhaps Old Lewis was right. Perhaps it was just a scratch. He
loosed the first shaft, and bent to the second. Over by the royal
banner a master bowman was calling the shots:
    ‘ Knee . . . Stretch . . . now, strike!’ The old
familiar call. Again he loosed, and felt the greased string hum and
slap against his wrist guard. Again he nocked a war arrow, and in one
easy movement straightened, aimed and struck.
    Clouds of arrows gathered like a swift dark storm over
the second French Battle. They fell as lightning against a fleet at
sea, tossing the French lines into confusion. Banners dipped and
reeled. Shields held high were split and knocked aside. Men stumbled
to their knees, and stood upright once more, only to be hammered down
by a flurry of shafts.
    And yet still they came, drawing their ranks together to
close the gaps, and sounding trumpet.
    'Damn them for their courage!’ shouted Jankyn, as he
reached for another war arrow. ‘There’s more of them than the
first.’
    ‘ Aye!’ muttered Yevan, spitting on a barb for luck,
‘And they come at us like death.’
    The