The Archer's Lady

I remember well the messenger in the shade of London Wall, the monk with the red hand. He was there as a warning of danger, that I kenned aright at the time. But his appearance was also a message from Rebecca herself, reassuring me that she was still aware of what was going on and free of bonds enough to warn me to refrain from altering my countenance lest I warn whoever was watching me. Would that watcher be The Lady Devious by my side or one of her agents? So, Rebecca was still free and active but she wanted Lady Elinor to be in ignorance of this and at the same time for me to have the advantage of this knowledge. That is what I now believe the signs mean.

My mother Alwen is in constant parley with Rebecca and would know for sure if our dear friend and Jewish banker were taken by some party or still at liberty. They share and exchange homing pigeons with regular messages, be it business and personal. Alwen would know before I where Rebecca was and what state of freedom she enjoyed, or otherwise. I may not know where Rebecca be, but I know for sure where Lady Alwen be.

I shake my head. I am completely out of my depth in such intrigue. I am straightforward in all matters, it is the only way I can be.

I am but an honest tradesman in archery goods, a craftsman in the design and manufaction of the Welch longbow and all the arts involved in archery. I am even a fair competitor in the multivarious tourneys I participate in purely for the enjoyment of sport, but I have been generally untested in battle, except in extremis when, with my father, Lady Elinor and the King faced down a brief rebellion, nearly four years ago which eventually lead to my knighthood earlier this year. The money that I win at the tourneys is of the nature of surplus fruit after the joy of harvesting my good fortune tested upon the field of gentle village green competition. I neither need the income for my means nor seek it, except in the knowledge that should I fall ill or lose the use of my fingers or sight, I would want not in sustenance if my livelihood were to end suddenly.

Agreed, I deal in subtle secret exchanges of my purse to those I trust, which is an intrigue of a fashion, admittedly. And my trust is rewarded in investments for my future and payment of fares and tariffs on my part even in my wake, each payment particulated upon my regular calendared reports. But I am passive in my participation, I am no spy, no player of guile who can bluff his way through a double-dealing game, like some cam.

What tack can I use now, as the Lady expects a reaction to her revelations?

"So if we cannot rely upon Rebecca's monks or Henry's band of knights, who be these young boys that ride with us? I know they not be clergy by their general demeanor."

"I call them the Esquires of Breton. They come from the lands that I freehold there, where they were being trained to become knights in time. Their four knights were killed in defence of an attack on Naples last year and were left without their protected apprenticeships. My Steward brought the Squires of Breton to my attention and called upon my favour to help them in their time of need. They are young, and they may be inexperienced, but they look good in their new costumes, yes?

"No, my lady, they are too military in their attire and they make us look too conspicuous," I say. "Even though we be dressed as ordinary travellers, as a young man and a boy respectively, but for your present exposed mane, neither of us look too much out of place. However, they look sleek and stiff, exactly like they are guarding someone of importance and are thus nervous about their responsibility. They make us stand out. Better they ride together fifty paces ahead of us, or some way behind in disassociation from us. And all of them dressing alike, makes them look in uniform, like they are on a day out from a city monastery school."

"Yes, now that you mention it, they do look odd, I'll —"

"Don't worry yourself now, Lady Elinor, I have seen no-one on this road since we turned Southward away from the main road to Essex, nor are we pursued within sight that I can assert at any rate. Besides, we are almost at the wharf you promised."

"Indeed. So, from here we will sail to Flanders, to see if we can pick up the trail of the missing Rebecca. And we have been also granted an audience with the new Count of Flanders, Charles. sometimes known as 'The Good', to seek his aid in finding Rebecca's whereabouts, and I am beholden to pay court to my Lord for the lands that Gervaise and I hold within his County."

"I thought the Count once seized Gervaise's lands?"

"Aye, Baldwin, the previous Count, he confiscated our land after Gervaise changed sides at the start of a battle, under orders from my father, of course. Charles handed them back to us five years since and Gervaise has been forgiven all his transgressions from that time. Charles is a good Count and he knows Gervaise very well, although aware of nothing of our work since for the King. In the course of relationships, all the lords of lands surrounding France change their allegiances as often as breaking in new boots, so Gervaise is forgiven his brief transgression, the deed of betrayal conveniently forgotten. I think Charles will be fair and I believe we can put our trust into him and we can find out where Rebecca was taken or is held ... if he knows. Only through her help can we free Gervaise."

"You have it all planned out, I see. So why do you need me along for the ride?"

"Why indeed!"

But she smiles, to deflect any barb I might detect in her voice.

"Robin, you and your father are the most steadfast and honest people I have ever known. As you well know, I have been my father's spy for longer than I remember. My husband too, has long served my father, before and throughout our marriage, and this has personally cost him a heavy price in revenues from his lands. He took the loss of his lands to heart, left only with some poor pastures in Lancashire and Cambridgeshire that added little but tarnished brass to his purse. He had for several years to rely on my income from the lands I hold in Brittany, Picardy and Buckinghamshire. He is a proud man, and that hit him hard to be beholden to a woman, even though she be his wedded wife. My possessions, being of Royal origin cannot be possessed by him like the chattels of an ordinary gentlewoman who hath become spouse."

"Even though he is supported by a woman who is his devoted wife?"

"Even more, because in his case his wife has the ear of his master," she smiles, though it seems to be a sad one. "At least I once had."

"So did he follow his heart when he changed sides or was he only following your father's orders?"

"He was so upset by what happened in consequence, that we have never once spoken of it."

"We always talk about where we succeed or fail," I say idly, without thought of censure, full of my own thoughts about my family.

"That is your family, they are so ... remarkable, Robin."

"To me they are family, not that I take them lightly, they are all I know, and I am thankful for my happenstance, and they mean everything to me."

"That is what makes them so remarkable. I always think of your family, when I think of what troubled lives the rest of us lead, your family seems so grounded, so full of love and serenity."

"Sometimes, it seems as though they are so normal, but they do surprise even me, sometimes. They are presently in Canterbury town upon the act of pilgrimage."

"What?!" She exclaims. "Why are they there?"

"My mother, Alwen, wanted to take a break from her self-imposed task of providing me with more half-brothers and sisters than I could possibly remember all the names and birth dates of. She was always more devoted to the teachings of Father Andrew than either my father or I, so she wanted to take this pilgrimage while her brood was still small and could be left in the charge of the maids of Oaklea Inn and my father naturally indulged her wishes and accompanied her for her safe passage and return."

"So Sir William Archer is at Canterbury town, even now?"

"Aye, I had a message only yesterday at the Inn saying that they safely arrived two days since and are due to stay a week before riding back to Barton Castle first and from thence return home onto Oaklea." That message in itself reminded me that Rebecca was the source of all my messages, concerning my family, so even if she has been taken, as Lady Elinor assumes, her network was still working as it always is.

Just now we arrive at the long wooden wharf upon London's proud river. There are many small boats tied up, many having worked the fishing grounds of the river at first light, but there was only the one ship tethered there that was clearly meant for seagoing.

"We be here my lady," one of the young Esquires in front of us turns his head and announces in French.

"Merci, Alain," Lady Elinor smiles.

We dismount and two of the other Esquires escort the reluctant horses down a gangplank to a rough-looking boat, that appeared to be filled to the gunnels with rolled and bound sheepskins about the mid ships, whilst aft a couple of carters along the wharf were throwing more woollen bales to waiting sailors who were storing them in a hold near the stern. The Esquires manage to tie up the horses to cleates on the cramped main deck, and calm the mounts down by putting sacks over their heads, before the Lady and I walk side by side to the gangplank leading to the ship from the wharf. I step down first onto the moving deck, and I hand her down next to me.

I smile to myself, wondering if a sack will help my own trepidations of how I will fare once we put out to sea. Last two times I sailed, the only sailings I have experienced thus far in my life, I was violently ill. Then I was considered but a child and the Lady barely knew me ... and back then I did not feel for her what I have felt in my heart towards her ever since. It is important for both my own standing as a full growed man and to help maintain my aloof separation from any relationship other than offhand acquaintance with the Lady, that I perform as a seasoned sea-going passenger resolved to maintain my control over my body's reaction. The slight motion of the tidal river was not unpleasant to me I am pleased to note as soon as I was on board.

A stout man with a full dark beard generously streaked with grey, under an almost smooth hairless head, that had been stained as brown and shiny as an autumn cob-nut, by sun, wind and sea salt, approaches us, with a rolling gait that smoothly absorbs the ship's feint movements upon the fast running river.

"Ah, Robin, this is the ship's captain, Wulfstan."

She turns away from me and speaks unto the man.

"Hail, Captain, this is the young man I was telling ye about, Robin Archer of Oaklea in the County of Bartonshire."

"You managed to persuade him to join us on "The Good Tern", then, and sooner than we thought, assuming that you would reach the final round of the tourney in the late post noon. You're a couple of hours early, Ma'am, but the tide is aturning in our favour so we can cast off now, if it pleases thee, my Lady."

"Captain, I have just heard of a friend who would be quite useful to our cause if we can fetch him thither from Canterbury town. We sail nearby the cathedral city I believe?"

"And who might he be?" he asks. Though Wulfstan speaks to Lady Elinor, his eyes settle upon me for the answer.

So I answer for The Lady, "My father, Sir William Archer, Shire Reeve of Bartonshire, in the ancient kingdom of Mercia. He is on a pilgrimage with my mother unto the chapels of the Cathedral at Canterbury town. Can we find a nearby port that would serve to reach them in timely fashion?"

He nods to me, as though satisfied, turning back to the Lady, "Aye, Lady Elinor, I can find a port. I reckon we can best pull into Witenstaple, it is but a three league ride to Canterbury from there. 'Tis a fishing village in the main, My Lady, but deep enough port for our purpose. My first mate hails from Canterbury Town, so he'll go awith thee as pilot."

Soon we cast off, with everything stowed in its proper place and the sailors able to work around us and haul the single main sail up and cast off the wharf.

The sailors move the cumbersome craft into the middle and deepest channel of the wide river Thames, avoiding the shallows and mudbars of the marshy south bank. Wulfstan talks to us constantly, while also barking out orders to his sailors, all of whom move cheerfully with well-rehearsed steps as the main sail slaps and cracks in the rigging. Gently pitching and rolling, the vessel makes its way out to the middle of the river alike a stout old lady and wind be caught and gathered into the sail, which makes even more noise like a dozen loaded washing lines as we turn to follow the river round the bend with the wind now sideways on, giving the tiller man at the stern a hard task to keep the ship on course to Wulfstan's critical satisfaction.

I look over the side. The Thames is a muddy river, unlike the river Bar at home where you can see clear to the sandy gravel bottom. This river is tidal, so the Skipper tells us, and the habits of tide I remember from the good Father Andrew's lessons as being just above twice per diem. The Captain Wulfstan adds to my knowledge, that it takes four or five hours for the surge of tide to come in to its fullest extend, and more like eight to nine hours for the tide to fully empty to its lowest levels again because of the fresh water continually flowing downstream, checked and banked by incoming salt water. With the river in flux, changing direction so much, it is no wonder that the bed is churned up like butter and is so muddy.

"The warm summer has brought much bounty to the harvest this year, young master," Wulfstan intones, "but this has robbed the river of much of its thirst for rainwater and the shallows thereby be more parched and we must be more watchful of the ground below, upon which we could beach and be stranded, possibly even stove in our timbers or weaken us for the ravages of the open sea."

I can only nod. I have not been to this part of the river before, only having crossed it twice or thrice at the Ford of the Ox when I visited and paid my respects to The Lady's fair mother at Pitstone earlier in the summer. There the Thames was but a stream compared to this vast body of water, as wide as a lake yet the south shore was a myriad of foaming rills and tumbling water cascading over the river bed bare inches below the surface.

Wulfstan then regales me with the tale of a body falling in the river from the old Roman bridge, the tide could take it up and down the river for a week or more before it eventually reaches the sea. I dare say this is a tale regaled with much practice to all passengers who are locked into becoming his audience upon his vessel, judging from the delicious relish with which he delivers his grisly tale.

"Ah, Swein!" Wulfstan yells forward to one of his crew, "Come here, me lad!"

One of the men, a tall blond-bearded man with a blue woollen hat jammed tight over his head, looks up, grins and drops the rope he was acoiling on the foredeck and comes aft to meet his master's command.

"Swein, you be hailing from Cant'b'ry, ain't ee?"

"Aye, Captain, I still has a sister and three brothers there what I sees as reg'lar as I can." His voice is surprisingly squeaky for such a powerfully built man. He were no lad, his age was probably near-forty and perhaps thereby only a half to a full dozen years younger than his old sea captain.

"Aah, not as reg'lar as a couple of widders in Faversham, eh Swein?!—" One of the sailors nearby calls out before coughing as he realizes that the slim person aboard dressed as a boy is the very same Lady who has visited them a couple of times in the week afore and has lately hired them for passage across the English Channel.

Swein ignores the chastened sailor and continues addressing the Lady and I, looking at us comfortably eye to eye, with no sense of shame, "It is a fair city and the church be one of the wonders of the land, great and finer even than the mighty church at Westminster."

"Well, Master Swein," Lady Elinor smiles at him, "We need a guide to the church and its environs and local inns, to seek out the father of my friend here, Robin of Oaklea, His father is the well-known bowmaster Sir William Archer of Bartonshire."

"Aye, I've heard tell of this Archer and think I even seed him once at a tourney in Rochester-town. He were the best archer I've seen, on that last day of the tourney, but were quiet-like in his celebrations. It were as if he knew the measure of all and certain he'd win and just bided his time before knocking everybody sidewise with his final darts. I liked that he was slow to accept victory but quick to pass out his sorrow that other less deserving archers missed out the top prizes."

"Quite. I too, have heard of The Archer, if his son is half the archer and a quarter the man of his father, he would be welcome aboard any vessel." Wulstan turns from me and adds to Swein, " I thought we could pull into Witenstaple, Then our two passengers could ride into Cant'b'ry, taking a spare horse for this Sir William Archer on his way back."

"Aye, if'n we get to port by near the end of this tide, we'll have a fair few hours I reckon, to ride to Canterbury and fetch your father, and still have a handful of hours spare before we catches the next tide, that'll take us clear down into the Channel, wind or no wind."

As we clear the river shoreline of the fields and villages east of London and its rickety wooden wharves, the countryside opens up, with water meadows and marshes to the south and hardly any buildings to be seen from this close to the surface of the river.

"These be Erith Marshes," Wulfstan's explains, "they extends a mile down stream and a half mile inland, if'n ye can call it land underfoot." He chuckles as he surveys our watery surroundings. "The mud around here will suck you down to its dungeons and spit you out again a week later when your bloated stench is too much even for the stomach of the underworld!"

Then the Captain's keen eyes notices a couple of warships far astern, their forecastles bristling with men at arms, sailing downstream from the direction of London port, that appear to be following and gaining on us due to their superior area of sail. We could hear upon the wind the drumming aboard the ships, calling the men to arms. No other boat about us presents a more worthy target for their attentions. Wulfstan calls to his sailors to adjust their cordage to capture more wind perhaps less safely than they are presently.

Lady Elinor is concerned and fetches her longbow and belt quiver from where they rest on the side.

I ask why she is concerned, "Surely, Lady Elinor, no one but us knows which way we come or whence we go."

"My father," she says, biting her lip, "He knows that I go hither to seek out Rebecca, and my stories of our previous seaborne adventures to Brugge have often had his request for me to repeat the retelling of them for his untiring amusement. He must've found out that I planned to sail this day, immediately after the tourney. We argued over the terms of ransom demanded."

"Arresting you for an argument is one thing, but to send armed and battle ready ships beating to quarter after us is quite another. Does he want to take us alive or to sink and slay us?" I say.

"Take us alive, I hope," the Lady replies, sounding less certain than I dare hope, wondering what else lies deep within the familial resentment arisen from the kidnap of her Lord Gervaise of Flanders.

My spare bows and quivers, brought along with my light baggage from The Goat Inn by the Esquires, has been stowed below. I fetch my longest bow, the one I was using this morning at the Smooth Field Michaelmastide Fair, along with a couple of quivers of my hunting arrows, each holding a standard quire of twenty shafts. These have sharp iron points for bringing down deer, or men, whence in time of warfare, whilst two of the other four quivers have dulled barbless tips to less damage the straw stuffed targets in competition.