In the morning it was Thomas’ turn to feel abandoned. William moved body and stock to the garrison barracks and reported to Sir Rupert. Thomas quietly passed Hugh’s closed door and made his way to the kitchen.

“You wash up and help here until Sir Richard comes for you. Hugh is not feeling well today.” Cook instructed. Thomas could imagine he wasn’t feeling well. He figured one day he would get even for William’s smack to his groin. He fell to. Cook instructed him and he took to frying rashers of pork, nice thick slices with a heavy rind. He liked them crispy and left them a little longer than Cook appreciated.

“You Goose! Nobody wants cracklings! Slice some more and start AGAIN. Did your mother teach you anything?”

Thomas complied while he crunched the meat off the rind. It was just right for him. He put on some eggs to boil, but cook didn’t trust him to time them. Thomas said ,”Now.” And Cook began her little chant for perfectly soft boiled eggs. Over and over she recited her verse and at the last repetition off came the eggs. The two youngsters and the girls whisked the preparation away to feed the inhabitants. Thomas cracked three eggs in his bacon pan and fried them in the bacon grease. The edges all turned lacy as the albumen whitened in cooking. He slid them onto a plate and took his cracklings and feasted.

Cook pumped him for information: How was the trip? Where did they go? Where was William? What is the matter with Hugh? He answered pleasantly and deflected all delicate queries. After eating he began the clean- up process. Nothing remained dirty long in Cook’s kitchen.

In came Sir Richard looking refreshed and ravenous. He slapped Cook on the behind and called for food. “Out of my way, Boy. A man wants his breakfast.” she cried as she shoved Thomas aside.

Richard had found a chair and beckoned to Thomas. “I’ve made a preliminary report and now he wants the three of us to be there. Have some breakfast?”

“Yes Sir. I just finished. Will he expect a written report?”

“Likely. I don’t know. Oh! Thank you Cook.” as she set the plate before him.

“You’re welcome. You get back to work.”

“Yes, Cook.” Thomas returned to his pots and pans.

“I think you are going to lose him too, Cook.”

“They are good boys, Sir Richard. The younger one is a terrible tease; both are hard workers and intelligent.”

“Right.”

Marie returned from the breakfast service. “Sir Richard, Duke William will see you, Jean and Thomas within the hour. You may go up and wait even now.” To punctuate her statement Jean stepped through and slammed the door.

“I’ll just wash my hands Cook. We must be on our way. Thank you.”

“Mais oui, Sir Richard.” and the traders made their way to William’s suite. A childish page admitted them to the sitting room. They had not long to wait as the page returned preceding the Duke. “William of Normandy!” he announced in boy-soprano.

The traders rose as one and the Duke motioned them back to their seats. “Dismissed, Albert. Wait outside the door. We will not be disturbed.” The boy bowed his way out. Thomas was impressed with the boy while he saw how lacking he had been as a page.

“Now Richard, a complete report. I want to measure every item.”

Richard launched into the story. The recitation of day one led to some good-natured ragging of Thomas of the saddle sores. Thomas reddened under the Duke’s smile.

“Well, My Lord, thank goodness for the innkeeper’s heal-all.”

“Qui? What?”

“An innkeeper’s wife sold us some healing salve that was a mixture of goose grease and healing plants. We used it on Thomas’ sores and Jean’s wound.”

“You have the recipe?” Richard looked expectantly at Thomas.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“It worked?”

“My Lord it eased the pain and seemed to prevent infection.”

“Hmmm! How often would you say, Richard, that wounds putrefy?”

“Too often, My Lord. The wound is superficial and putrefaction kills the man.”

“I will talk to our healer. You will assist him in creating the salve. It might be wise for us to send an envoy about Normandy seeking home remedies. It might be the answer to septic wounds.”

“Good, My Lord.”

“Go on, Richard.”

Richard continued through the provinces or France with occasional questions from William and additions from Jean and Thomas. The story of the Basques intrigued William.

“If we became involved with a large group of Basques, how should we handle them?”

This question seemed out of their realm. The rovers looked one to the other. Richard responded, “It has been my observation, Sir, that you can win the battle, but not the war. You may conquer the land, but never the people. You kill the people.”

“Drastic. Maybe necessary. Jean?”

“My Lord, we might drive them away. Displace them and settle the land with our people.”

“Yes, what if they return? Thomas?”

‘Oh God! Why does he ask me?’

“My Lord, we might assimilate them. Teach them French language, manners and customs.”

“Hmmm! A difficult choice: kill them, drive them away, make them Normans. What if we became Basques?”

“My Lord??”

“Go ahead, Richard.”

Richard took William into the mountains. He was a story teller who made the picture three dimensional and led him pictorially into the highwaymen’s ambush. He made light of the four brigands he had dispatched and praised his two companions.

“Let me see your wound, Jean.”

Jean stripped his arm bare and revealed the scar across the tricep. “Why is the scar so narrow?”

“My Lord, we sewed it back together like a tailor and then slathered it with the heal-all.”

“Interesting. Where did you learn archery, Thomas?”

“My father, My Lord, was an archer for your father. He made bows for William and me as children. He was also a fletcher of note. His fletching always spun the arrow. He contends the spin stabilizes the flight.”

“And what did you shoot with these bows?”

“Rabbits, My Lord.”

“Not my deer?”

“Oh no! My Lord.”

“Thomas,” he chuckled, “I almost believe you. However, your attributes amaze me. Richard see that he is included in archery training. We can’t have him wounding an enemy when he should be killing him. He did a better job with the axe, Richard? Maybe he has some English blood. They seem to favor that murderous weapon.”

He nodded to Richard who outlined the cave hideaway and the avalanche. He rushed quickly across the Spanish plain and led William to Juan Castille’s furnace. William was disappointed that the

process had not been observed, purchased or stolen.

“Let me see this weapon of the world that has cost me half my fortune.”

Richard was carrying both his old sword and his Crusader. He unsheathed the Crusader and presented William the hilt. William tried the heft. He lunged; he parried; he balestrayed. “Yes, it feels good. What makes it better than Nimes’ swords?’

“Look at my regular weapon.” They exchanged blades. “Notice the edge of the blade, My Lord. That is as a result of two brief encounters with Squire Jean in the Castille office. Watch this.” He applied pressure to the point in contact with the floor. The carbon spring steel bowed, but sprung back to its original line. William tried the Norman sword and it had to be straightened. “Furthermore, It retains its edge, balances in your hand, is less likely to tire the arm.”

“One and a half gold pieces is a high price to pay. Couldn’t you have done better?”

“My Lord, you want the best. You have it. Father Francis got you the best price possible. We were at a disadvantage in a high demand low supply market. The Castille brothers were fair and yet good businessmen. I trust them. You can stop the product at every new moon if you wish, but I would not advise it.”

“I did not amass my fortune by being a spendthrift.”

“You did not amass your property with a slingshot either, My Lord.”

William frowned at the retort, but waved away further discussion. “One more question- If we wanted more, could we get them?”

“My Lord, we are on excellent terms with the Spaniards. They gave us all Crusaders on our departure. I'd like you to have mine.”

“No Richard. I can wait for the first shipment. Jean, congratulations on your promotion. I confirm it. You have done well.”

“Merci, My Lord.”

“Thomas, I’m relieving you of some of your castle duties. I want you to concentrate on training, weapons, equestrian and archery. Sir Richard and Sir Rupert will co-ordinate your work with William’s. I will call on you from time to time.”

“Merci, My Lord. A Boon Sir?” William raised his brows. “I bought a knife from Juan Castille with Father’s wine. May I send him payment on our first ship?”

“Yes. Thank you, My Men. I am pleased.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” William abruptly left the room.

“Did he think it a bad deal, Sir Richard?”

“No, he’s just close with the coin. Let’s go Men. Jean, take Thomas and outfit him with gear from the armory. Then, Thomas, report to Sir Rupert. He will handle your training today. Do not be disappointed if you are behind your brother. Remember he has had a month of intensive training while we were climbing mountains. This afternoon report to the butts. I’m not certain to whom you will report as yet. He’ll be looking for you.” Off the younger men went.

Because of his height some of Thomas’ armor would have to be adjusted. They went to the smithy for some tailoring alterations. The smith promised adjustments by ‘tomorrow’. It requested arm links and shirt body links. His old helmet was burnished anew.

At midmorning he found Will and Rupert in the arm’s yard. Rupert tested Thomas on his lessons taken nightly on the road. He decided a few more ‘single stick’ sessions would be preferable to an inadvertent wound. He was a tougher teacher, but gentler than Richard. He demanded perfection. All his duels should end in ties with perfect attack countered by perfect defense. Thomas quickly conceded that

Will had been a diligent student. Only by effort above his ability could he maintain any semblance of integrity. He assimilated the lessons quickly. He would practice in solitude at every opportunity. Sibling rivalry was a great goad.

All three went to lunch in the mess and discussed the fencing they had done. Rupert recognized apt pupils. After they had eaten a young soldier came to their table.

“Sir Rupert, I am Olan, an archer of the guard.”

“Good, Olan. You can take these two fledglings off my hands. Thomas the older and William the runt.”

Both boys smiled and shook hands with Olan. Sir Rupert shook his hand and waved to the brothers and was gone.

“Sir Richard told me you both have some experience with a bow. Do you have one here?”

“We didn’t bring our own bows from home. I have one from the armory, but Will doesn’t.”

“Some of the armory materials are brutal. We’ll have to use them today. You might want to pick up your own bow if you live close by. Let’s see what they have in storage.”

Olan was young, likely under twenty. He was slim and wiry. His arm muscles leapt about as he moved. He carried his equipment with him. He had an arm guard of hard leather attached to his left arm and actually wore his finger tab on his three bow string fingers. He must have been shooting just before he came to get the pages .He carried the recurve long bow in his left hand and a quiver of similarly marked arrow hung at his waist.

As they crossed the yard Olan asked,” What shooting have you done?”

Thomas answered, “Father was an archer for Duke William’s father. He doubled as a fletcher for the castle and made us a bow when we were five or six years old. We’ve shot at the butts and hunted rabbits and birds.”

Will interrupted, “Thomas also shot a highway man on their trip to Spain.”

“You fellows will make my job easier. I’ll likely have to teach more elements of warfare than actual shooting.”

They entered the armory and looked over the stores. Each picked a leather finger tab, although their father would have been appalled, and a leather arm guard. The leather goods were quite acceptable and each hung one on their belt. The arrows were another matter. Father would have said, “Not fit for kindling! I’ve burned better wood than this.” They visually checked their weapons, arrows and bows and waxed their bow strings to protect against the damp. The brothers selected a quiver full of the best they could find.

“I think we’ll get some of Father’s arrows too. These are not the best.”

“We are used to Father’s fletching. His arrows spin on their length and carry true to the target.

Will had selected a bow and Thomas took the one he had in Spain. Excitedly, they followed Olan to the butts.

“I’ll take the left target. Thomas you take the middle and Will you get the right. We will loose one end.”

“Pardonez Olan, what is our distance?”

“One hundred paces.”

The boys looked at one another in disbelief. They had never tried a shot like that. Who could see a rabbit at 100 paces?”

Olan fired first. Swish! Swish! Swish, and the end of arrows was gone. Thom tried. He fired his three arrows, but he took three times as long. Will, the youngest, and full of adrenaline shot last. He was so excited. They walked to the butts to collect their arrows. Olan -three bull’s eyes; Thom- one in the target, one in the butt and one over: William- one in the butt, one over ,one under. Back to the toe line they went- the Trivetts properly abashed by Olan.

“That’s pretty good, Men, for a first attempt. Don’t worry about speed and don’t try to match me. I practice this four hours a day.”

“Olan, this is no excuse, but we’ve never shot at this distance before.”

“You did well then, one of three and one of three in the butt is exceptional shooting for the first effort.” Olan took his stance and again loosed three arrows in rapid succession.

This time with Father’s whisper subconsciously in their ears , the boys prepared another end of missiles.

‘Take a comfortable stance feet shoulder width apart.’

‘Square your shoulders in a direct line to the target.’

‘Three fingers to the string, thumb clear.’

‘Kiss the tip of the forefinger with a grandmother kiss. Thumb to the eyebrow. Hand flat and

vertical.’

‘String in the middle of the bow limb, bow in the middle of the target.’

‘Loose.’

Thomas could see Will’s lips moving as he recited Father’s archery liturgy. Thomas loosed. Prepare. Loosed! Prepare. Loosed! Will followed with much the same speed. Thomas had one in the target two in the butt. William had three in the butt. They all walked up to collect their arrows and placed their bows against target to show they were retrieving. They noted Olan’s grouping. All three were just out of the eye, but tightly grouped.

Olan was full of praise. “Men, you’ve had a good teacher. Let’s cut your distance in half. We’ll try 50 paces. For two ends. This time watch your breathing. You are so intent on showing me your worth, you are forgetting to breath. Breath shallowly if it helps ,but breath. Breathing means relaxation.”

The retrieval made, they picked up their bows and retreated fifty paces. Zing! Zing! Zing! Olan had his end off before the brothers had their feet set. Olan shot instinctively at fifty paces. When bow and shaft and target were aligned the arrow was loosed. Bull! Bull! Bull! Thomas was not influenced. He reviewed Father’s admonitions; he levelled his breathing; he loosed. Bull! Target! Target! Will was saying his archery beads. He loosed. Target! Target! Butt! Olan’s three could have been covered by a small tea cup. Thomas had two an inch apart. William was wild but a lot closer.

Olan lauded the boys. ‘Remember this time to leave the arrow free nocked to the string. Remember your kissing point. Let’s retrieve and try again.” Olan watched their technique this time. This made both boys tense. They recited the litany of their father and loosed the arrow. Both shot high as trepidation coursed through their bodies. “Retrieve.” Was all Olan said. Back they came.

“Try this.” Olan took his bow in both hands and touched it to his toes. The two followed suit. “Do it twenty times.” They did. “Now squat down. Twenty times.” They did. “I’ll race you to the butt and back.” The boys looked dumbfounded. Will broke immediately for the fifty yard dash. The other two trailed the fleet Will, but closed the gap on the return run.

“Good. This is just a reminder. Take your bow in your left hand, extend it to shooting position, bend your elbow until your hand touches your shoulder, straighten, bend. Be certain that the crease of your elbow is vertical. I think we burned off the excitement . Loose another flight.”

The results were much better. Six arrows protruded from the targets so Olan moved them to twenty-five paces. “Remember the tendency is to shoot high-adjust”

Thomas released his three arrow end in rapid succession. He was shooting more instinctively. William took his time adhering to Thomas Sr.’s directions. The results were the same. Both trainees had an excellent grouping. “Retrieve.” They returned from the targets all smiles. “Six more arrows and we will stop for the day. I expected fine shooting from twenty-five. I didn’t want you to end the session in disappointment from a hundred yards. I didn’t want it to be too easy either. Swollen heads are difficult to sight along the arrow.” He pointed out light-heartedly. “Sir Richard wants you to report to the stable for a riding session. How far is your home?”

“It’s only half a league.”

“Tell either Richard or Rupert you need archery gear from home. Possibly they’d let you ride home to pick it up.”

“Good idea. Thanks Olan. We’ll finish our shots and see you tomorrow.”

Olan continued to practice and the boys laid away their equipment on their way to the stable. Rupert gave them permission for a home visit for a bottle of red. Will selected his favorite long-legged

steed and Thom got to ride something besides a pack horse. They saddled and bridled. Thomas mounted sedately. John sprang to the saddle despite his mount’s size. Thomas might have thought it was showing off if he didn’t know of his brother’s light-headed exuberance. Will kicked his mount into motion and was half way through the gate before Thomas was settled in the saddle. He held his mount in check and proudly departed the castle. As soon as they rounded the corner more or less out of sight of the castle wall William shouted “GO!” Simultaneously, they kicked their chargers and rocketed down the road. The horses at first raised their ears questioningly while the riders assumed a crouch behind the horses’ heads. The yelling and chirping ,or the humans, aroused the competitive spirit of their steeds. They laid their ears back and took control of the riders. It was a toss-up to decide master and mastered. After a half mile of breakneck speed the human element began to regain control and the blowing horses fell back to a trot and finally a walk. The vineyard was soon in sight. Mother was already in the yard awaiting their dismount. Father was not far behind. After a brief family encounter the boys explained the reason for their visit. Father set off for his workshop while the pages retrieved bows and arrows from their loft room.

“Will. I’ve got an idea. Take your small bow too.”

“What for? We outgrew them years ago.”

“I’ll show you on the way back.”

They reported to Father in the workshop.

“Father, we need some of your good arrows. The armory arrows are often splintered or slightly curved. Can you make us some?”

“Can grapes make wine!. Of course I can make them. They’ll be so true you won’t have to aim. They’ll seek out the target.”

“Our coach would likely appreciate a good Trivett arrow.”

“All right, some for him too. Boys, you can’t use those bows now. They haven’t the pull. I am finished as an archer. I want you to have some of my bows. I’ve selected two for each of you. You can start with the sixty pound pulls and as your shooting muscles improve you can switch to eighty pound pulls. Leave yours here.”

“Father, Will and I want to try something with the smaller bow.”

“Trick shooting eh? Well, leave your fifty pound bows here.”

“Yes, Father.” Will replied, “Thank you, Father. We know how much store you set by your bows. We will never disgrace you with these bows.”

‘Thank you, Father.”

“Are you staying for supper?”

“No, Sir. We must go back. We need wine for Sir Rupert, but we must go back to serve at the evening meal.”

“Say good-bye to your mother.”

“Yes, Father,” and they hugged the old man. They retreated to the kitchen, hugged and kissed their mother and departed three bows to the horse plus a sack of arrows with black and white fletching. They were early for evening mess so Thomas led William to the butts. “This is what I had in mind. You are the better horseman and would likely do a better job.”

“What?”

“Using the short bow you ride past the targets and sink a shaft into each one. I’ll bet you a horse rub down I’ll hit more targets than you from fifteen yards.”

“What speed?”

“A trot.”

“Big Brother, You’re on!”

They dismounted and stood their extra gear. Each picked five arrows for the five targets. They marked a line at fifteen paces. William tossed an arrow to Thom. “Top hand goes first.” They grasped the arrow alternately and Thomas shot first. He took his five arrows and mounted.

‘It should be an even match,’ he thought, ‘I’m the archer; Will is the rider. I should have said walk.’

He kicked his animal into a trot across the targets. Number one-a hit; number two- a hit; number three- a miss; number four- in the butt; number five- fumbled the arrow no shot. Two out of five! He certainly left Will a major chance. Will leapt astride. Two out to five - He could do that in his sleep! His charger picked up the pace. Will guided the gelding with his knees. Target one- a hit; target two- a miss; target three-a miss; target four- a hit; target five- the red fox of the Toledo trip darted in front of the horse as Will came set. The horse shied left. Will didn’t make the turn. He shied right and landed with a ‘THUMP’ on the turf. Thomas was at first afraid to find out if Will was injured. Before he could dismount a yell escaped his brother. “MERDE!” Will regained his feet. Thomas began to laugh.

“MERDE!” he yelled again. “I had you!”

“You bit the dust,” he said hysterically. “ You may ride well, but you’ll never make a flyer.”

Will had a thought, “Thomas, do you suppose armies have mounted archers?”

“Surely someone must. Next time you’ll not get the chance to beat me Will.” as they gathered their supplies. They returned to the castle stable, unloaded their gear and performed their equine duties. The horses were watered, fed, curried and brushed. The stalls were cleaned and straw was added to the bedding. It was an easy task and the boys carried the tangible horse smell to the pump to wash. It seemed a shame to remove the horsy odor, but they were expected to serve their knights, Rupert and Richard, now they were relieved of castle duties. They made for the mess. The knights ate in a room apart. The boys were undecided about the red for Rupert. Would he want it for supper or would he want it for himself? Wine wouldn’t last long in a group of knights. They’d better wait until later. They fulfilled their duties at the table. Before they were dismissed, Richard asked for their progress report after they had eaten. They ate, cleared the tables, and were assigned to wash-up. Later, they reported their mundane affairs excluding the target contest from horseback.

“Will, I thought you were a rider. How did you fall off your horse?”

“Who told you?” Sir.”

“You were observed from the wall.”

Thomas stepped into the void. “Sir, I suggested we use our short bows and have a shooting contest from horseback.”

“I see, and the result?”

“We both shot two targets at the trot. “Will wondered if armies used archers on horseback.”

“None that I’ve fought. I wonder?” he pause for a couple of minutes in deep thought. “Oh yes, dismissed.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Before they left the armory, they delivered the wine to Rupert and did their expected chores of cleaning and oiling the knight’s gear as well as their own. They gathered up their bows and arrows and carried them to their rooms in the garrison for Will, in the castle for Thom. By this time they were ready to retire.

Not long after Thom’s breathing had slowed and his body temperature had dropped, the rope bed sagged as another body shifted under the covers. She whispered. “ It’s me Thomas, Angelic. I’m lonely and I’m frightened.”

“Why?”

“Marie has gone with some soldier from the garrison. They intend to marry. I think she is pregnant.”

“Well, that is nice for her, but lonely for you.”

“Yes, and I am scared.”

“Of what?”

“Hugh.”

“Does her beat you or abuse you?”

“ He beats me. He hasn’t abused me, but I’m certain he did Marie.”

“You drop our name as your protector if he tries to beat you again. It may have some effect.”

“Oh thank you, Thomas.” And she began kissing him. It appeared he was about to be abused. Soon they were both aroused. Was Will’s bed construction capable of containing this much movement? Later, Thomas wondered how she had learned the ‘abuse’ she gave him. She was more experienced than Marie or had learned a great deal in his absence in Spain. He hoped he hadn’t committed himself to something he couldn’t handle for the sake of a little sex or a big sex. Within minutes he had dropped off to sleep so soundly he dreamed he was sleeping. Angelic slipped from the covers and returned to her quarters..

Morning and night they were responsible for their pagely chores for the two knights. During the day they were in training , sometimes in groups, sometimes as individuals. Grappling was not abandoned nor stave work. Sword play got major attention and Sir Rupert was responsible for their equine efforts. Olan continued their archery training. They always had target practice from varying distances and the second day he introduced clout training.

Clout archery is the ancient art of field artillery. Archers at a safe distance from hand-to-hand combat arched mass flights of arrows over their comrades to rain down on the enemy forces. Therefore, it was very important to the archer of the eleventh century. Olan laid out a large target nearly four hundred feet away and they practiced the proper trajectory to hit the target. Instinct again played a major role. A feel for the wind and the elevation of the arrow were all important. After target practice each would loose thirty-six arrows at the clout. The brothers were neophytes at clout. Thomas ,a natural with the bow, improved rapidly. The boys became appreciative of Father’s bows and even Olan was pleased to get Thomas Sr. arrows.

As the shooting muscles strengthened with daily use, the target and clout averages rose. Now Olan , chief of the garrison archers, included the boys in regular service training. One of Olan’s favorites was what is known today as the arcathlon. This was a grueling affair for the boys in the beginning. The archers ran a mile and then fired four arrows from a standing position, ran one mile and fired four from a kneeling position, ran one mile fired four from a standing position and so on. Breathing became all important. Weary muscles destroyed accuracy. William was a better runner than Thomas and therefore much better at this exercise. Exercise was using the term loosely; it was really difficult work. If Olan had anything to do with it, his archers were going to be prepared for battle. Put yourself in their shoes. Run with some snotty-nosed kid pushing you with smart-alec comments two full city blocks. Fire four arrows into a target. Run two more blocks and repeat the process. Run two more blocks. When did you sit down on the curb? The archers did it and target archery improved. The bow became an extension of arm. It seemed strange to be without it in your hand.

A favorite exercise of Thomas was a precursor to field archery. It started with twenty-four targets on a short walking course. Each archer fired seventy-two arrows, three at each target. It was more like

hunting rabbits: downhill, uphill, between trees, or over knolls. Thomas shone in those varied length events as a superb judge of distance.

One day after Sir Rupert had put them though a light-hearted riding lesson, William challenged his brother to another horseback shooting contest. The loser did the stable chores that evening. Truthfully, neither boy disliked stable chores. It was just a matter of one-up-man-ship. They gathered their gear and off to the range they went. They spun the arrow in the air between them. The arrow landed on the ground pointing toward Will. They picked five targets and their fifteen yard toe line. Down flew Will left to right. What he lacked in aim he made up for in fluidity. Five target-five hits. Thomas was on the line before Will had finished. He almost stood in the stirrups absorbing the trotting action of the horse with his knees. Five arrows loosed-five hits. “It’s too easy. Same bet from twenty-five paces.” Thomas shot first this time from a canter. Five targets- four hits. Will was almost at Thom’s horse’s tail. Five targets- four hits. “We are too good, Thom. Same bet right to the left.”

As right-handed archers that meant turning your torso a half turn to align your shoulders with the flight of the arrow. The better archer tended the horses that night. The slimmer agile brother could contort his body better than the dead-eye Thomas. Will had had three hits to Thom’s two.

The following morning after serving their knights, tending to armory chores and preparing for fencing practice, Angelic came with a summons from Duke “Willy”. They set aside their armor and swords and followed Angelic to the Duke’s suite. They bowed their way into the presence of the Duke, Steward William, and Sir Richard.

Without pleasantries the Duke began, “What were you two doing with horses on the target range?”

‘Oh oh, we are in for a hiding!’ thought Thomas.

Will jumped into the fray, “My Lord, I challenged my brother to a horseback shooting competition in a moment free from work.”

“And?”

“Well, My Lord, yesterday I won, but we are fairly evenly matched.”

“No, No. Why did you do this?”

“For fun, My Lord.”

“Could you do it for battle?”

“We wondered about its worth in just such a situation, My Lord.”

“Well, Steward William, what do you think?”

“My Lord, a mounted archery unit could certainly harass the infantry better than our cavalry does now. They could fire many missiles before they retreated.”

“Sir Richard?”

“It could change the duties of the archers, My Lord. The enemy would either have to let the infantry break ranks and pursue or they would bring up archers to counter the attack. They may release their own cavalry to ride down our mounted archers. But, a mounted unit would only be necessary in a field battle. Our fighting is mostly siege warfare butting our heads against the stone walls of castles.”

The Duke rubbed his shaven chin, “I wonder what happened in the crusades? Should we commit a few archers to this sort of training, or should we assign a few knights to archery? We would either have to train archers to the horse or knights to the bow. Boy?”

“My Lord, it is great fun for us. We were raised with bows in our hands. You likely remember my father as fletcher.”

“It is decision time. At the present for battles in greater ducal France such a unit is superfluous. However, our friends across the channel do not fight from piles of rock. Sir Richard, I leave this up to you. Perchance you could arrange a training tournament with a mounted archery challenge.” Richard nodded. “And archer/pages feel free to continue your archery game. Dismissed.”

Later that day, Thomas, who found himself with one of the better scores as an archer, talked to Olan about equine archery. Olan was excited. It made the archer active rather than passive in battle. The three conspirators decided to get Olan a mount. It would take a little deception or bribery to turn the trick.

Meanwhile, Sir Rupert was teaching the brothers horsemanship. William had spent a month in lessons while Thomas had been gallivanting across Europe. Unfortunately, Thom without instruction had picked up some bad habits that Rupert and William set about to correct. The saving feature was the understanding of horses the brothers brought from Trivett vineyards. They had been handling horses for a number of years.

Sir Rupert preached to them. “You have to be part of your horse!” It seemed everyone in the castle wanted them to be a part of something. The Duke- “You are my man.” Sir Richard-“Your sword is an extension of your arm.” Olan-“When you put down your bow, it should feel as if you lost your left arm.” Now Rupert expected them to ride like the Greek Centaurs- half horse, half man. Their body and

the horse’s body should seldom separate. Their mind and the horse’s mind should have a connecting neuron. In every day of training it seemed they had sword in right hand, bow in left and seat glued to saddle.

William had already gone through the ‘aids’ in his first week and Thom a month later had to learn them. Thomas had adopted a very slovenly seat with long days in the saddle. This had to be amended before he rode better than a pack horse. Thomas’ ‘seat’ early in the lessons was at best an uncontrolled slump. Rupert was appalled. “Did they teach you nothing on that trip? Mary, Mother of God! You are making it difficult for your horse and yourself. Saddle sores? It’s a wonder your queque didn’t fall off!”

“First- Get off your fat buttocks and up on your seat bones. You have to keep your weight over the horse’s center of gravity. Your body must be aligned with the damn horse. The horse doesn’t like one hundred and sixty pounds of dead weight. It wants some assistance with you just back of the withers in the strongest section of his back.”

“Secondly- I don’t give a damn how your father trained horses. All my chargers are trained on a reward system. When they do it right ,reward them with a few kind words or a pat on the neck. My father used to say to me, “A pat on the back is worth several kicks down below.” Remember that! It applies to horses as well. Now follow Will around the yard. Walk!” Rupert watched closely. “Halt!” The boys drew rein. “Get your crotch forward, Thomas. Weight on the seat bones. Let some weight transfer down the thighs. Straighten your back. I want your shoulder, hip and heel aligned.”

“I’m sorry Sir Rupert.”

“I’m sorry too, Thomas. It’s difficult to break bad habits. Ride tall!”

“Walk!” The horses began again. “Halt. Look at William’s reins Thomas. Change your grip to approximate his. Bring them between the fourth and fifth finger and up through the hands. Hands should be a bit length apart. C’est bien. Walk”

Thom’s horse just stood there. Will moved away. “Halt. Thom, use your legs as aids.” Thom looked quizzically. “Thom pressure on a horse is a mild form of discipline. When you apply pressure the horse moves naturally to relieve pressure. Then you may release the pressure. Apply pressure to the girth with your legs. When he moves, he has done what you wished.”

Thom spoke softly and slowly, “Walk.” and applied pressure. His steed moved out. “I get it.”

“Reverse!” William brought his horse in a tight half heart and started toward Thomas. Thomas was much slower pulling on the rein. Sir Rupert came alongside. “”Thom, if you are turning to the left apply pressure with your right leg behind the girth. This curls your mount around like a dog lying down. Accompany that with slight pressure on the bit to the left side.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now on reverse, turn right, pressure left, bit right. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Reverse!” it was a smooth turn for both riders.

“Don’t slouch. Neck to the back of the collar. Good! Trot!”

Thom spoke to the animal and applied girth pressure. It responded. It became a much rougher ride.

“Stay forward! Catch the rhythm of the gait. Dum! Dum! Dum! Dum! Adjust your weight to the beat. Good!”

Thomas was improving. “Straighten up Thomas.” He must have been slouching .Another fifteen minutes and Sir Rupert called the equinating for fencing training. “Thomas, we have to correct your bad riding habits. It would have been much easier if we had had a few lessons before you left for Toledo. Don’t be frustrated. Don’t let my frustration deter you. You are improving.”

The brothers stabled the horses, curried and brushed, cleaned the hooves and watered and fed them before they reported with their armor and swords.

The following day Rupert, the teacher, reviewed all of day one on horseback. Thomas certainly had improved his seat and his riding posture. After an initial circle or two Rupert stopped the riders.

“Thomas, your toes should always be higher than your heels with the ball of the foot on the stirrup. This keeps your leg muscles in close contact with the horse and that improves your seat.”

William led Thomas on a few diagonals to change the turn from left to right and vice versa.

“Halt.” The boys drew rein. “Boys, let your upper arm hang normally. Now grasp your rein so your elbow is in front of your hip. Elbows are never behind the hip. Your hands properly on the reins should form a roof over the withers. The rein is a horizontal line bit, hands to elbows. Try it. That’s it . Trot.” After one round he called a second halt. “Thomas, reaction of the horse to the bit is reaction to pressure. Remember to release the pressure after the horse reacts. But! Do not let the reins become sloppy or the animal will react the same way. So on each turn; apply bit pressure, apply leg pressure on the off side behind the girth and lastly lean toward the turn to maintain your center of gravity. Walk”

“Reverse.” The riders executed a half heart turn neatly and rode in the opposite direction. The execution of reverses was becoming second nature. Then Rupert stopped Thomas and had William demonstrate a ‘volte’. William made the circle at a walk with a twenty foot diameter. Thomas was sent to follow. It wasn’t smooth, but he did it. They made a volte on each side of the ring. Then they worked reverse and volte at a trot. “Thomas, don’t slouch. Maintain your seat!’ Thomas straightened and got off his buttocks. After three more rounds with a variety of actions the riders were dismissed to groom their mounts.

“William, I’m never going to make a rider.”

“You’re doing fine. You should have heard the shouts at me while you were gone. It sounded like Father.”

“I hope so.”

“If your stirrups were adjusted I think you would hold your seat better. Too short- drives you back: Too long- throws you ahead. When you adjust your stirrups, put your fingertips on the stirrup buckle and make your stirrup as long as your outstretched arm.

More information to store was Thomas’ thought. He tried to review all the equine lessons so far. Will caught him. “Thom, it’s going to come naturally in a day or two. It took me two weeks to be a unit, “Horseandrider”. Thomas was glad he had other lessons to compensate. Fencing was fulfilling and his bowmanship was one step behind Olan’s.

Back to the training ring they went the following day.

“Will, show your brother how to ‘post’. We can’t have him bumping up and down like that. It will hurt his seat----of reason.” Teacher and number one pupil had a snigger at Rupert’s joke. Will set off about the ring at a trot. As the horse went up, Will went up in the stirrups; as the horse went down, Will retired to the saddle. It was a smooth transition. It aided Will and it aided the horse. Thom was set to the task. Early in the exercise he found a mute count of one two brought his rise and fall to the horse’s gait. He began to feel like Will’s ‘Unit’.

“Head up, Thomas. Neck to the collar.” For nearly two weeks they went no further than that. Thomas gained proficiency ; Will gained boredom. Rupert recognized it and sometimes left Thom to practice in the ring and took William on a cross-country ramble. Thomas and the Greek Centaur was possibly attainable as his travails with seat and hands lessened. Rupert eventually broke him into the canter. The teacher laid out the aids: displace your weight to the inside, put pressure on the inside rein, give leg pressure a hand width behind the girth on the outside, give steady pressure with the inside leg at the girth, release the rein pressure and give the horse the impulse for canter. Thomas quickly established a like rhythm with his mount.

Rupert used the usual aids to bring Thomas to the jump. First, he became accustom to the movement over a number of poles laid on the ground. Then low jumps, now called cavelletti, were substituted. Thom got the feel of the jump from the little hop his horse had to make. He found he had to shorten his rein, but not impede the horse. As the front quarters raised, Thom shifted his weight over the withers or neck of the horse. This freed the hind legs in their continuation. He maintained the jumping

position after landing and then gently settled back into the saddle. Riding was a continuous process. Rupert never let the brothers forget seat, aids, and rein.

Norman cavalry, although equipped with chain mail, sword and shield, was also expected to be expert with the spear. Richard introduced the brothers to the missile. At first they made standing throws that limited leg action. Richard taught the action: plant the right foot, right arm fully extended to the rear, step forward left leg, uncoil body right to left, bend elbow, bring right hand and lance forward, pass the right ear, straighten right arm forward and upward. Release! The spear should arch in flight. Then as they gained expertise their teacher added the run-up. The body momentum was transposed to the spear. They made the cross-over step, planted the right foot planted the left foot and released the lance. Sir Richard, a small man could, exacting biomechanics, launch the spear seventy paces. The boys finally worked up to fifty. Finally Thomas of the longer arm and leg gained a mechanical advantage and levered a throw in the eighty pace range. After weeks of practice on the ground, they came to the range mounted. They must control horse and spear. Good riding technique paid off in a steady spear platform. The thrower lacked the lower leg uncoil. Now he uncurled from the waist. The horse’s speed was transported to the spear, however. They rode in close to the targets and unleashed their throw- the closer, the more accurate. They found their range from horseback. Thom and Will discussed their progress.

“Will, my riding is improving. My spear work is improving. But, I still have the idea we would be better with our short bows.”

“I agree. We’ll never convince anyone. The bow to them is for the ground; the spear is for horseback. Wait, Let’s talk to Olan.”