Chapter 7

James climbed down and close to the central arena, where he looked for the event master to get into the archery contest.

It was obvious who the master was, a fat, older man in rich clothing, with a golden ring on every one of his fingers. “Hello, young man! I get you want to get into the competition. I’ve got a place for ya! Put a mark here, if you would”

James read the parchment. It was asking for a name. He filled in his name.

The man blinked, “You can write? Are you of some noble house?”

“No,” he said and penned in his name.

“But you read and write?”

He shrugged, “I’m an archer for Dame Ella.”

“But you are not of a noble house, this is highly unusual, most commoners do not know how read, let alone write.”

He nodded, “My father was not poor, but we could not afford teachers, however there were monks around who taught me both, it is also where I learned about archery.”

“Oh, that makes perfect sense,” of course the man knew this was an out right lie, but it sated his curiosity for the moment.

However – “What sort of religion?”

“Something about some guy who got reborn,” James shrugged. “I don’t know, I was only in it for the girls.”

The man burst out laughing,

“Now that we can agree on!”

James wrote his name in the box as the man watched with curiosity at the strange lettering. To him it looked like print, not the usual cursive. He waited for James to finish writing his name, and told him “Right there, son, approach the blue tent. Good luck on the fray!”

James bowed his head and went into the only blue tent in the area. It was marked with archery iconography; shields painted with a bullseye and packed with arrows, and even some old bows hanging from the ultramarine-blue canvas. Once inside, a scantly dressed girl asked “Are you going to shoot?” and offered him a quiver. He took it hastily, and smirked a crooked smile.

He inspected the equipment. It was a newly made bow of boxwood, marked with an approval seal, and three light arrows with iron tips. ‘Tournament arrows’ thought James. “Thank you, m’lady”

“Good luck.”

James was shown to an area where there were two other men, one was clearly of noble blood, he was tall, his hair smooth and blonde like gold, blue eyes and incredibly white teeth, which surprised James. He had never thought of people in this era as having good teeth hygiene. “Oh, a fellow archer! Salutations, mister.” The handsome man extended him a hand, and James quickly took it. “Victory to the best sportsman!”

The other man was clearly not a noble. He was skinny and shorter, with rat-brown hair and a hook nose. He was dressed in leather, obviously work clothes. The commoner spoke to James with a marked accent, and smiled with yellowed teeth. “Ach, another noble, eh? Well, as he said. May the better archer win the prize!”

“I’m James,” James said.

“Nice to meet ya, friend” the man answered in a lukewarm tone, dismissing the courtesy.

The nobleman shook his head in amusement. “It’s a pleasure to meet you James, I am Eric. Why don’t you tell him your name, friend? Let us all be acquainted!”

“Call me Stanley. Nice to meet you two, I guess.”

“A pleasure to meet you too,”

The three men were called to the arena. James was amazed at the sound of half a hundred thousand people cheering. And this wasn’t even a main event! This world was certainly primitive, but damn if it wasn’t impressive at times.

When the applause died out, James looked to the actual targets he had to hit. It was a rather complex array, featuring pulleys that moved shields sideways, assistants throwing bottles to get in the way of the arrows. Quite a challenge, even for an experienced archer. James felt overwhelmed by the challenge for a moment, but quickly tossed away the thought and started analyzing the difficult task he had ahead.

It was actually quite clever, there were layers upon layers of distractions, each row had vases and other items, pieces of wood that one had to avoid. There would be a pattern and you had to have a practiced eye in order to see it, you got three shots, three chances to make the hit. James frowned and started watching as the signal was given.

The rough looking man frowned, shot of an arrow but hit a vase.

“Unlucky,” Eric quipped.

He didn’t do too badly.

“After you,” James said to Eric, who nodded, impressed.

“Thanks,” Eric hit his target second time, James noticed that each time the target was missed, the targets were moved back. When Eric scored a bull’s eye, the crowd went wild.

James chuckled.

“Good luck,” Eric shouted at James.

James sighed, closed his eyes and concentrated a few moments on lowering his breathing, as he relaxed himself he looked out at the target and the hazards in the way as the men on either side moved them from side to side.

James waited for that gap and fired off an arrow, but as it shot towards the target, a vase got in the way and smashed.

He frowned.

Two men ran out, picked the target up and moved it back 30 paces, James took his time, knocked the arrow, pulled the string back and waited until he saw the gap, he let go again and this time, the arrow hit a piece of wood, knocking it back.

The ground jeered, James smiled and ignored them as the target was then moved back to 60 paces.

Damn...

James mused.

One final shot, he saw Eric, watching him intently, James couldn’t show himself up, not now, no he needed to shoot, properly, true of aim. He breathed, opened up his pouch and pulled out some bees wax and rubbed it between his fingers as the vases continued to move as he rubbed it up and down the string of his bow. James notched the arrow in the bow’s rigid string, breathed deep, preparing his strong muscles to flex the mighty longbow. Right before putting his strength on the task, he rested the arrow on the resting step of the bow, thus assuring stability and aim.

Now was the moment of truth. With great effort, James pulled from the notched arrow, separating the string from the bow as much as his forearm and chest strength allowed. The old boxwood flexed defiantly, fighting James’ pull, but giving in to the spring action.

James breathed again.

He felt his blood carry the carbon residue from his muscles, and oxygen rushing to reinforce his grip. He breathed again.

Now his eyes adjusted focus and he saw it. He breathed again. Inhaled to decide the moment, and exhaled to prime it. In fact he waited so long he could feel all the people staring at him, he spotted one of the King’s about to say something, when he saw the most opportune moment and let go.

He released his firm grip, and the wooden arrow flew straight, just as James had predicted it.

James lowered the bow, feeling the burning in his arms, but instead of booing the crowd, the massive crowd cheered as one.

He looked up.

The arrow had hit the target.

He turned to Eric, who nodded his head, clearly impressed.

“Well done,” he mouthed and clapped, James bowed to him.

The announcer stepped up again, and signaled the archers down while he introduced the next event, some kind of exotic dance involving elves and fire. James climbed down the stairs and went to the barracks along with Eric and Stanley, the other man. They walked through what felt an eternity, going through endless stone corridors lit with nothing but torches. This place surely was built to last...

They arrived to a tight room where an old, white haired man with glasses sat by a table, weighing coin and little gold ingots. He spoke with a creaky voice: “Ah! The archers, right?”

James hadn’t noticed that a slave sent by the Master of the arena was following them, threading ever so silently, almost unnaturally so. The shirtless slave answered “Yes, my lord. Good Eric lost to this Jamies man, and this good lad here lost to both. The base-born hit a vase, Eric hit the target at bullseye at 40 paces, and James hit it at 70 paces”.

‘What a good memory he must have’ mused James. ‘Except that pronunciation. Jamies. Who says Jamies?’. The old man smiled a grandfatherly smile and pulled from a cabinet three pouches with the seal of the Council of Kings, and filled each of their bounties. “A golden crown for your merit, lad. You’ll do better next time, I’m sure! For my noble lord Eric, son of Erran, it will be forty coins for forty paces. I’m sorry, but you must admit James bested you. And for you, my child, the lion’s share: A hundred royal coins of pure gold, and a Seal of Championship signed by our beloved kings and queens!”

Each took their pouch, the humble lad happy to have enough to feed his family handsomely for this week, and Eric trying to look up after this lesson of humility. James took the heavy leather bag and a big smile spawned on his face. He had money! Good coin to spend, at last!

He paced to the door, and the slave guided the participants the lobby. Eric decided to stay in the arena and watch the rest of the games, the poor fellow went to his house, and James decided to return to the stages. The atmosphere was rough and wild, yes, but it had its charm.

James walked through the maze-like barracks, climbing ladders and walking down ramparts, until he found himself out of the shadows again. The stages were packed, but he managed to find a place on a row of marble seats. It was an advantaged point, with a good view of the arena.

Currently, there was a man fighting a lion with a spear and mail armor. The crowds were chanting “Samuel! Samuel! Samuel!” at the fighter, and the eyes of every person in the stadium followed either the steel point of the spear, or the deadly teeth of the beast. It was a wild fight, and James’ heart raced each time the man lurched forward to attack. The spectacle was growing wild, and soon there was blood in the arena.

Suddenly, James felt something on his back. Someone pushed him slightly. A thought passed through his brains, and James patted his coin pouch to gain some peace of mind. It wasn’t there.

James stood up abruptly, pushing aside a man and almost throwing him out of his seat, and saw someone rushing through the crowds. He saw the thief. James followed him as best as he could, but stadium was just too packed. He was lagging behind...

He hesitated, at first, but then decided that being a gentleman to all these people wasn’t really worth his big, fat bag of coin, and pushed his way straight ahead. He was getting closer and closer, he could almost grasp the man with his leather-bound hands!

Then the rascal yelled “Thief! A thief is chasing me!” and hell broke loose in the stages.

People ran away from the seeming threat, others stood and made a circle. To James this looked an awful lot like those fights in football stadiums. Except now here were guards dressed in iron armour and wielding cruel, sharp short swords. Men from the kings came to the aid of the thief, putting themselves between James and the smug filth of a man that was now getting away with loot.

“Halt right there, whoreson!” the sergeant yelled with a strong voice.

“You are getting it wrong! He is the thief!” replied an incredulous James.

The thief was tackled by a guard and the two were dragged before the guardsman, the man studied them and snorted, “Throw them in the jail and we’ll sort this out later.

“No, go get Lady Ella,” James said. “She will clarify who I am!”

The guard nodded, in the meantime, James and the man was dragged into the dungeons and thrown in, James sighed and looked at the thief, “Well this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”