Ivanhoe, Walter Scott [the lemonade war series txt] 📗

pleasure---let new

cares come with to-morrow’s new day.”

The sound of the trumpets soon recalled those spectators who had

already begun to leave the field; and proclamation was made that

Prince John, suddenly called by high and peremptory public

duties, held himself obliged to discontinue the entertainments

of to-morrow’s festival: Nevertheless, that, unwilling so many

good yeoman should depart without a trial of skill, he was

pleased to appoint them, before leaving the ground, presently to

execute the competition of archery intended for the morrow. To

the best archer a prize was to be awarded, being a bugle-horn,

mounted with silver, and a silken baldric richly ornamented with

a medallion of St Hubert, the patron of silvan sport.

More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselves as

competitors, several of whom were rangers and under-keepers in

the royal forests of Needwood and Charnwood. When, however, the

archers understood with whom they were to be matched, upwards of

twenty withdrew themselves from the contest, unwilling to

encounter the dishonour of almost certain defeat. For in those

days the skill of each celebrated marksman was as well known for

many miles round him, as the qualities of a horse trained at

Newmarket are familiar to those who frequent that well-known

meeting.

The diminished list of competitors for silvan fame still amounted

to eight. Prince John stepped from his royal seat to view more

nearly the persons of these chosen yeomen, several of whom wore

the royal livery. Having satisfied his curiosity by this

investigation, he looked for the object of his resentment, whom

he observed standing on the same spot, and with the same composed

countenance which he had exhibited upon the preceding day.

“Fellow,” said Prince John, “I guessed by thy insolent babble

that thou wert no true lover of the longbow, and I see thou

darest not adventure thy skill among such merry-men as stand

yonder.”

“Under favour, sir,” replied the yeoman, “I have another reason

for refraining to shoot, besides the fearing discomfiture and

disgrace.”

“And what is thy other reason?” said Prince John, who, for some

cause which perhaps he could not himself have explained, felt a

painful curiosity respecting this individual.

“Because,” replied the woodsman, “I know not if these yeomen and

I are used to shoot at the same marks; and because, moreover, I

know not how your Grace might relish the winning of a third prize

by one who has unwittingly fallen under your displeasure.”

Prince John coloured as he put the question, “What is thy name,

yeoman?”

“Locksley,” answered the yeoman.

“Then, Locksley,” said Prince John, “thou shalt shoot in thy

turn, when these yeomen have displayed their skill. If thou

carriest the prize, I will add to it twenty nobles; but if thou

losest it, thou shalt be stript of thy Lincoln green, and

scourged out of the lists with bowstrings, for a wordy and

insolent braggart.”

“And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager?” said the yeoman.

---“Your Grace’s power, supported, as it is, by so many

men-at-arms, may indeed easily strip and scourge me, but cannot

compel me to bend or to draw my bow.”

“If thou refusest my fair proffer,” said the Prince, “the Provost

of the lists shall cut thy bowstring, break thy bow and arrows,

and expel thee from the presence as a faint-hearted craven.”

“This is no fair chance you put on me, proud Prince,” said the

yeoman, “to compel me to peril myself against the best archers of

Leicester And Staffordshire, under the penalty of infamy if they

should overshoot me. Nevertheless, I will obey your pleasure.”

“Look to him close, men-at-arms,” said Prince John, “his heart is

sinking; I am jealous lest he attempt to escape the trial.---And

do you, good fellows, shoot boldly round; a buck and a butt of

wine are ready for your refreshment in yonder tent, when the

prize is won.”

A target was placed at the upper end of the southern avenue which

led to the lists. The contending archers took their station in

turn, at the bottom of the southern access, the distance between

that station and the mark allowing full distance for what was

called a shot at rovers. The archers, having previously

determined by lot their order of precedence, were to shoot each

three shafts in succession. The sports were regulated by an

officer of inferior rank, termed the Provost of the Games; for

the high rank of the marshals of the lists would have been held

degraded, had they condescended to superintend the sports of the

yeomanry.

One by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered their shafts

yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-four arrows, shot in

succession, ten were fixed in the target, and the others ranged

so near it, that, considering the distance of the mark, it was

accounted good archery. Of the ten shafts which hit the target,

two within the inner ring were shot by Hubert, a forester in the

service of Malvoisin, who was accordingly pronounced victorious.

“Now, Locksley,” said Prince John to the bold yeoman, with a

bitter smile, “wilt thou try conclusions with Hubert, or wilt

thou yield up bow, baldric, and quiver, to the Provost of the

sports?”

“Sith it be no better,” said Locksley, “I am content to try my

fortune; on condition that when I have shot two shafts at yonder

mark of Hubert’s, he shall be bound to shoot one at that which I

shall propose.”

“That is but fair,” answered Prince John, “and it shall not be

refused thee.---If thou dost beat this braggart, Hubert, I will

fill the bugle with silver-pennies for thee.”

“A man can do but his best,” answered Hubert; “but my grandsire

drew a good long bow at Hastings, and I trust not to dishonour

his memory.”

The former target was now removed, and a fresh one of the same

size placed in its room. Hubert, who, as victor in the first

trial of skill, had the right to shoot first, took his aim with

great deliberation, long measuring the distance with his eye,

while he held in his hand his bended bow, with the arrow placed

on the string. At length he made a step forward, and raising the

bow at the full stretch of his left arm, till the centre or

grasping-place was nigh level with his face, he drew his

bowstring to his ear. The arrow whistled through the air, and

lighted within the inner ring of the target, but not exactly in

the centre.

“You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,” said his antagonist,

bending his bow, “or that had been a better shot.”

So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to pause upon

his aim, Locksley stept to the appointed station, and shot his

arrow as carelessly in appearance as if he had not even looked at

the mark. He was speaking almost at the instant that the shaft

left the bowstring, yet it alighted in the target two inches

nearer to the white spot which marked the centre than that of

Hubert.

“By the light of heaven!” said Prince John to Hubert, “an thou

suffer that runagate knave to overcome thee, thou art worthy of

the gallows!”

Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. “An your

highness were to hang me,” he said, “a man can but do his best.

Nevertheless, my grandsire drew a good bow---”

“The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his generation!”

interrupted John , “shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it shall

be the worse for thee!”

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not neglecting the

caution which he had received from his adversary, he made the

necessary allowance for a very light air of wind, which had just

arisen, and shot so successfully that his arrow alighted in the

very centre of the target.

“A Hubert! a Hubert!” shouted the populace, more interested in a

known person than in a stranger. “In the clout!---in the clout!

---a Hubert for ever!”

“Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,” said the Prince, with

an insulting smile.

“I will notch his shaft for him, however,” replied Locksley.

And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution than

before, it lighted right upon that of his competitor, which it

split to shivers. The people who stood around were so astonished

at his wonderful dexterity, that they could not even give vent to

their surprise in their usual clamour. “This must be the devil,

and no man of flesh and blood,” whispered the yeomen to each

other; “such archery was never seen since a bow was first bent in

Britain.”

“And now,” said Locksley, “I will crave your Grace’s permission

to plant such a mark as is used in the North Country; and welcome

every brave yeoman who shall try a shot at it to win a smile from

the bonny lass he loves best.”

He then turned to leave the lists. “Let your guards attend me,”

he said, “if you please---I go but to cut a rod from the next

willow-bush.”

Prince John made a signal that some attendants should follow him

in case of his escape: but the cry of “Shame! shame!” which

burst from the multitude, induced him to alter his ungenerous

purpose.

Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow wand about six

feet in length, perfectly straight, and rather thicker than a

man’s thumb. He began to peel this with great composure,

observing at the same time, that to ask a good woodsman to shoot

at a target so broad as had hitherto been used, was to put shame

upon his skill. “For his own part,” he said, “and in the land

where he was bred, men would as soon take for their mark King

Arthur’s round-table, which held sixty knights around it. A

child of seven years old,” he said, ” might hit yonder target

with a headless shaft; but,” added he, walking deliberately to

the other end of the lists, and sticking the willow wand upright

in the ground, “he that hits that rod at five-score yards, I call

him an archer fit to bear both bow and quiver before a king, an

it were the stout King Richard himself.”

“My grandsire,” said Hubert, “drew a good bow at the battle of

Hastings, and never shot at such a mark in his life---and neither

will I. If this yeoman can cleave that rod, I give him the

bucklers---or rather, I yield to the devil that is in his jerkin,

and not to any human skill; a man can but do his best, and I will

not shoot where I am sure to miss. I might as well shoot at the

edge of our parson’s whittle, or at a wheat straw, or at a

sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak which I can hardly see.”

“Cowardly dog!” said Prince John.---“Sirrah Locksley, do thou

shoot; but, if thou hittest such a mark, I will say thou art the

first man ever did so. However it be, thou shalt not crow over

us with a mere show of superior skill.”

“I will do my best, as Hubert says,” answered Locksley; “no man

can do more.”

So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the present occasion

looked with attention to his weapon, and changed the string,

which he thought was no longer truly round, having been a little

frayed by the two former shots. He then took his aim with some

deliberation, and the multitude awaited the event in breathless

silence. The archer vindicated their opinion of his skill: his

arrow split the willow rod against which it was aimed. A jubilee

of acclamations followed; and even Prince John, in admiration of

Locksley’s skill, lost for an instant his dislike to