Where Arrows Fly by Paul Telegdi

Author:Paul Telegdi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, love, relationship, history, medieval, combat, archery, crusades, holy land, archer, siege, fletcher, bowmaker
Publisher: Paul Telegdi

Chapter 13

In the morning Macord awoke into a brand new world with the knowledge that he was the champion. The realization came with aches that reminded him of the costs. He wondered what had happened to those thugs.

Made awkward by his swollen hands, he put on fresh clothes and had breakfast. Corina regarded him with undisguised awe.

He laughed. “I’m the same person I was yesterday.”

“No, Sir, you’ve got the medallion around your neck to remind you that you’re not.”

Macord walked to the Curries, finding almost no one on the street. He’d slept, but the rest of the town hadn’t and was only now going to bed. At the Currie house, Silas let him in. The old man was in good humor. “I won a bundle on you. Good shooting, Son. God bless your parents for bringing you into the world.” He led Macord into the day room. Master and Mistress were still getting up. There had been a party here last night, as indicated by plates and cups all over the room.

“I came too early...” Macord rose to go, but Silas motioned him back.

“No, no. Master Currie would be most upset to have missed you.” Macord wasn’t used to this new, congenial Silas.

“Last night, Gunnar and his boat people hunted down four fellows, tied them up and hung them from the temporary wooden span of the West Bridge, let’em dangle right in the water. Under gentle persuasion they admitted that Thorkelson paid them to attack you to improve Gomes’ chances. They caught him six leagues from town, trying to slip away.” Silas hit his thigh in high good humor. “They hung him beside his henchmen, chest deep in water. They hung there like ham bones in the smoker, yelling all night.” He cackled with glee and Macord wondered if the old man was still drunk. “Then, in the night, a big old tree came drifting down the river, and caught one of them in the branches and drug him under till he drowned. God has spoken and let his will be known.”

“God wills it,” Macord muttered under his breath. How many times had he uttered the Crusaders’ cry yesterday, and how many times in the days of battle when a whole army roared it in the face of an attack? Just then the master and the mistress of the house came in, their faces lit up with joy on seeing him.

“Son, you must have breakfast with us,” Verna Currie said and motioned for the maid to clear the table and bring food.

They settled into the chairs, all aware of the new balance of things. Macord was now a celebrated champion, not just a fletcher and a bowyer.

“I couldn’t believe the shots I saw yesterday, hitting a target a yard wide and a yard high, from 250 yards away.” Matte Currie shook his head in wonder.

“A good bow will shoot 400 even 450 yards, though it would likely miss. But in the army marksmanship isn’t required, the range is. No, you might miss a soldier but not an army lined up in battle array.

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