Ivanhoe: A Romance
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 his person. “These twenty nobles,” he said,
“which, with the bugle, thou hast fairly won, are thine own; we will
make them fifty, if thou wilt take livery and service with us as a
yeoman of our body guard, and be near to our person. For never did so
strong a hand bend a bow, or so true an eye direct a shaft.”
“Pardon me, noble Prince,” said Locksley; “but I have vowed, that if
ever I take service, it should be with your royal brother King Richard.
These twenty nobles I leave to Hubert, who has this day drawn as brave
a bow as his grandsire did at Hastings. Had his modesty not refused the
trial, he would have hit the wand as well I.”