Of Duty and a Service to My Lord

“Come now, you lazy good for nothin’s!” A sleepy grumble rises from the barracks, a few men swearing and others just mutely following orders. I’m one of the mutes. It’s not like I talk much to begin with. I ran a hand through my choppy brown hair, cropped close to my skull, trying to dispel sleep from me body. “Is ‘at any way t’ boost morale, capn?” A small uproar from his posse as the tall angry captain smacks him on the back of the neck. “Aye. Now shut your trap before I shut it for you.” I say a silent prayer as the man and I are not the same company. He is a knight, a fine horseman at that, but I, I have the fine duty of protecting my Lord and Lady with my bow. I am a bowman. I stayed out far later than most last nigh. I was practicing my aim. I reckon I could pro’lly snap a man between his eyes if I so wanted. After morning meal, with another prayer to our lord of course, we were ready to train.
“Draw! Notch! Loose!” And in the blink of an eye, over 50 arrows block out the sun’s brilliant rays, and the sky goes dark as each man’s sense is filled with the whistling of wood and metal. Thock. Smack into the target with a muffled thump. “A’right! Retrieve!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” A unison wave shouts, as millions of stamps echo across the field, retrieving their arrows, either from the hill, a few lucky to have hit their targets. “Bromdan!” I perk. “Sir, yes, sir!” Everyone else has stilled as I stand in the cold November air, my breath leaving my body in puffs of holy white. Captain strolls over to the target I stand near. “Every one of your shots hit?” “Sir, yes, sir!” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You all should aspire to be like Bromdan here! Now get your sorry selves back up to perch! Bromdan!” I wince as he yells my name again. “Sir, yes, sir!” He regards me with a critical arm. It’s freezing, but I sweat under my tunic all the same. The droplets freeze to my skin, but I dare not shiver lest I receive lashes. “Bromdan,” he repeats. “Good work. You may take an hour. But no more, no less, you hear me?!” “Sir, yes, sir!” And before he says another word, I scamper away. And in the back rows, a fist clenches, and a promise is made.

I huddle beneath the arch in the courtyard. I’m allowed here, but I always feel insignificant as a higher rank passes. My breath is slower, yet still escapes as white steam. For this late in November, I can nay believe it hasn’t snowed yet. I bite my chapped lips. I’m glad I have no wife, she should surely complain. “Bromdan!” I jump, before I recognize the voice. “Ah, Sampson, don’ scare me like tha’!” I retort playfully. The man with shaggy black hair grins and his eyes crinkle. “I thought I’d find you here,” he smiles. I grin in return. “Well don’t you just know me so well then?” “Aye. I do!” We chuckle. But then his face drops. “But that wasn’t what I came to tell you.” I cock my head as he continues. “Watch out for Athens. I have a bad feeling. He looked pretty mad when you got break today.” I roll my eyes. “He gets mad over everything though.” He regards this. “Still, I’d say watch.” I nod, and we turn to return to the fields.
Training ends, and so does supper. We’re sent back to the barracks. I sit on the bed, massaging my head in my hands. The cold got to me today. “Out of the way! I got business! Move it!” Ah, Athens. Wonder what it is now? “You!” Me? Oh, just perfect. “Since you got ‘ere, you been nothin’ but a pain in my rear. That ends now.” I look up at him, eye brow up in question, before I duck. Oh, very nice, a sword. Where’d he get that? Before I can question, I make a run for it. Athens is following, chopping down any and all who get in his way. Out of the barracks, I can’t decide where to go before I follow my gut. High ground. When Athens finally gets out of the barracks, I’m on one of the castle’s ledges. Bow in hand. But luck would have it, he has his too. He was always quick, I remember, as sting comes from my belly. An iron flavor fills my mouth and senses. “Bromdan!” I see a black haired figure running towards Athens. “Sampson! NO!” Too late. A sword is through his stomach before he has even scratched his assailant. How many are dead or wounded trying to stop him? This can’t go on. On shaking legs, I stand, knees knocking together every few seconds. I remember captain in my mind. I wonder if that’s where Athens got the sword from? I hope captain is still alive.
Draw.
Athens is a hot head, a dangerous trait to have. Now we have to pay for his shortcomings.
Notch.
The arrow is heavy in my hand. It never felt that way before, and I can barely pull the draw string back.
Loose.
My shot flies, straight and true. If I can do nothing but give my soul to God, may this arrow serve me well. Fly. For country, for my truth, for honor.
Not a sound is heard other than the clanking of metal as a traitor falls. I whisper a prayer. May Sampson lay in peace as the newly falling snow.

Written by Delegate Michelle Sandler