Troubled Times: Book I of the Adventures of William Howard and Hugh Fitzalan in 15Th Century England

By Gene Baumgaertner

This is a tale of fifteenth-century Englandtroubled timestimes of medieval knights, mayhem, war, and of friendship, honor, and determination. England has a weak king who has ruled too long. Powerful magnates seek to rob the king of his wealth, of his authority, and of his majesty. It is a time of deceit and double-dealing, of theft and violence, of murder and war.

Into these times come William Wulfgar Howard, the bastard son of a wayward knight, and John Hugh Fitzalan, high-born aristocrat. In the halls and tilting yards of Arundel Castle, they quickly become friends. Together they strive to become young gentlemen, skilled warriors, and chivalrous esquires. Thrust into war when barely a dozen years old, they find high adventure, rich spoils, and much more. Stepping into the waning years of the Hundred Years War, they must quickly absorb the skills of professional warriors and fight battles on land and sea, struggling to save a lost cause. Along the way, they find that a quick blade is sometimes as valuable as a quick wit, and that friendship is worth more than wealth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: May 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466922747

Gene Baumgaertner

The author, Gene Baumgaertner, has written a number of books covering a variety of genre, all published by Trafford. His works include two history books, a biography, and six novels. His novels range from a fantasy about dinosaurs, historical novels about fifteenth century England (a series), stories about the life and times of American baby boomers (a series), and a science fiction novel about invaders of Earth in 4300 BC. His current work is a true-life story about the struggles of a woman who was diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer, who was given 4 months to live, and what it took to overcome that death sentence. He is also working on a continuation of his two series, and at the same time is nearing completion of a comprehensive three-volume work on fifteenth century England. Mr. Baumgaertner is a retired civil engineer. He lives with his wife, Kathy, in Raleigh, North Carolina.

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© Copyright 2012 Gene Baumgaertner.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4669-2275-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-2273-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-2274-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012906083

Trafford rev. 04/27/2012

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Contents

Foreword

Chapter 01 –   On the Feast of Saint Katherine

Chapter 02 –   From This the Acorn Springs

Chapter 03 –   Bending the Twig

Chapter 04 –   To Sussex Downs

Chapter 05 –   The Earl and Countess of Arundel

Chapter 06 –   The Castle & Tilting Yards of Arundel

Chapter 07 –   A Day in Late Summer

Chapter 08 –   A Morning in February

Chapter 09 –   News from Normandy

Chapter 10 –   Farewell to Arundel

Chapter 11 –   Mustering an Army

Chapter 12 –   And Then to Southampton

Chapter 13 –   The Channel Crossing

Chapter 14 –   Harfleur, Normandy

Chapter 15 –   Lillebonne, Normandy

Chapter 16 –   Rouen, Normandy

Chapter 17 –   York and the King of France

Chapter 18 –   To Feed the Hungry

Chapter 19 –   I Shall Cross When It Pleases Me

Chapter 20 –   The Duchess and the Sorcerer

Chapter 21 –   To Pluck a Fleur

Chapter 22 –   A Day of Surprises

Chapter 23 –   Aftermath

Chapter 24 –   Life in Normandy

Chapter 25 –   The Autumn Falls

Chapter 26 –   The Mission

Chapter 27 –   The Jail Break

Chapter 28 –   The Long Way Home

Chapter 29 –   The Lion and the Alfonso

Chapter 30 –   Epilogue

Appendix A –   Dramatis Personae

Appendix B –   Arms of Select Dramatis Personae

List of Figures

Cover Figure - View of Arundel Town and Castle

from the River

Title Page Figure - View of the Castle from

Arundel Town

Figure 1 - Thistle Thatch Cottage

Figure 2 - The Walls and Towers of Arundel Castle

Figure 3 - Arundel Castle Gatehouse Tower

Figure 4 - Arundel Castle Inner Ward with Keep and Motte

Figure 5 - Arundel Castle Alure Leading to the Keep

DEDICATION

This Book is Dedicated to

Lisa Anne Fitzpatrick Rednowers

OTHER BOOKS by the AUTHOR

Published by Trafford

Novels by Gene Baumgaertner

An Innocent Man

The Life and Times of an American Baby Boomer

Part 1: From the Beginnings through the 1960’s

Staying Alive

The Life and Times of an American Baby Boomer

Part 2: The Serendipitous ’70’s

Sun Warm You

The Ancient Chronicles of the Red Dawn Tribe

History Books by Wm. E. Baumgaertner

A Timeline of Fifteenth Century England

1398 to 1509

Squires, Knights, Barons, Kings:

War and Politics in Fifteenth Century England

Foreword

I tell a tale of troubled times. Of times when the land was torn far asunder. Not from foul foreign types and sneaking aliens, but from within. Torn by our very own people, by our very own Lords.

I tell a tale that begins with a King who ruled too long, and nears finishing with a King who was a King barely weeks. It is a tale where Kings usurped the throne, and then had the throne usurped from them in turn—four different times in the full telling of this tale. It is a tale when for a period of time the land had two Kings, one King too many. I tell of times where powerful magnates grew overweening, and sought to rob the King of his money, of his authority, and of his majesty. I tell a tale of deceit and double-dealing, of theft and of violence, of murder and of war.

I tell of times when fair England was nearly brought to her knees… when over barely two generations of man we faced over a dozen invasions. I tell of times when many of our Lords placed their own well-being and enrichment above the demands of Good Lordship, and when the Princes of the Church were more concerned with increasing the yields of their manors, than with enriching the souls of their flocks. Troubled times.

These were times that tried a man’s character, tested his courage, and challenged his honor. Times that either raised a man up in the eyes of his King and his Fellows, or dashed him down and crumpled him like a broken doll. Yet, these were also the times that helped turn good men into great ones, tempered in the fires of adversity like fine steel.

Into these troubled times were cast our family members. Men tested, and not found wanting. Women who cherished their honor and their duty, above all else. And as I am compelled to tell the story of these family members, so must I also speak of these troubled times. This then is a History of the sons and daughters of our humble family.

And thus the story begins with this first book, which bears witness to these troubled times.

Written at the Abbey of St. Edmund

Near Earlington, county Norfolk, by

Friar Christopher White Howard

In the Year of Our Lord, 1499

Chapter 01

On the Feast of Saint Katherine

November 24, 1428

For the twentieth time that chilly November afternoon, Elizabeth wandered to the one glazed window of her aunt’s shop. Again she searched the village’s main street. She didn’t see what she was looking for. Just the same familiar villagers sitting on front stoops, or walking the dirt street on errands. Many were shopping. Many others were engaged in stringing decorations across the fronts of shops and homes. The street was busier than usual, but to her it seemed forlorn.

Aunt Margaret suspected something was amiss. All afternoon her niece had seemed more intrigued with the preparations for the evening’s festivities, than with the care of customers or merchandise. What was so special about the Feast Day of St. Katherine?

Near closing time, as the bleak November sun lay near the horizon, Beth, again standing by the window, suddenly straightened. She turned to her aunt, eyes flashing.

May I leave now, Auntie Marge? she asked breathlessly. I’ve… I’ve got to get one last thing for the feast tonight.

Aunt Marge mused. What is this young woman up to, she wondered to herself. While Aunt Marge considered, Beth fidgeted.

Yes, child, she finally acquiesced.

Beth sprang for the door.

Tell your mother I’ll be there after vespers.

Beth bolted through the door and up the street.

Lizbet, where are you off to in such a hurry? Aunt Marge yelled at the girl’s back. But it was too late. Beth was practically running up the street.

Marge walked to the shop door, still ajar. She stepped out onto the narrow dirt lane that Chapel St. Mary’s called Market Street. She looked to her left, watching Beth sprint up the street, skirts flying. Beth turned left up the alley where the village’s smithy and stables were located. She can’t possibly be going to the stables, Marge reasoned. She must be heading to the next street over… maybe to the bakers.

Marge turned and looked to her right. She saw Sir Robert Howard, one of the Duke of Norfolk’s most respected affinity, slowly trotting up the street on his fine chestnut stallion. Sir Robert looked resplendent in a dark brown overcoat, and a rich suit of hunters green, topped by a peaked black felt hat. The heavy overcoat sat loosely upon his shoulders, like a cape. The hat had a long pheasant’s feather sticking out of the hatband. The tip of the feather dipped up and down as the chestnut clopped up the street.

Sir Robert often passed through the small village of Chapel St. Mary’s on his way between his fine manor house of Tendring Hall, at Stoke-by-Nayland, and the good town of Ipswich, where he was frequently called on business. Occasionally he and his retainers stopped at the village’s ale house to quench a thirst, or at one of the shops to make a purchase. Sir Robert was a wealthy man, and his business was good for the village. This day, however, he was not accompanied by retainers. He rode alone.

Out of respect, Marge waited until Sir Robert had passed by her. Good eve to you, Your Honor, Marge called as Sir Robert came abreast of her.

And good eve to you, Mrs. Nuthill, replied Sir Robert, doffing his hat, as he passed on by.

Marge blushed. What a fine gentleman, she thought to herself. She watched a moment as Sir Robert continued up the street, and then she turned to re-enter her shop. And he even remembers my name, she reflected. How astounding. She looked about the empty shop. Well, it’s time to close up, she reminded herself. She soon forgot about both Sir Robert and Elizabeth, as she busied herself putting things away, and bolting shutters and doors.

Unhurried, Sir Robert continued up the street, and then turned his chestnut up the alley towards the stables. He called for the smithy, who tended the stables. There was no answer. The smithy had already gone home, anxious to get ready for the village’s celebration of the Feast of St. Katherine.

Sir Robert looked up and down the alley. No one was in sight. He dismounted and led his horse into the stable himself, closing the stable doors behind him. As he led his mount towards one of the empty stalls, he glanced about the interior. His eyes were adjusting to the gloom, but he could still see no one. The place seemed empty.

He stalled his horse, but left him saddled. He wouldn’t be here overly long. Then he stood in the middle of the empty stable, hands on hips, and smiled to himself.

Is there anyone here? he asked softly. He thought he heard some rustling coming from above. His smile broadened. Ah. Mayhaps I hear a little mouse. Where are you little mouse? Up in the loft, I would wager.

He walked over to the ladder and started to climb. He heard a faint meow from above. Or perhaps it is a little pussy cat, he responded.

He clambered onto the loft, and looked about. In the far corner, standing by a heap of hay, he saw a feminine figure. It stood there stark and unmoving against the lessening light that filtered through a louvered window near the peak of the stable’s roof.

Meow, she said again.

Um, he reflected, It is a little pussy. He moved towards her. Come here little kitten and let me stroke you.

There was no response. I have a tasty treat for you, little puss, he added.

Oh, she finally responded, a playful banter in her voice. You are such a bad man.

Do you think so, my dear, he said as he reached her and pulled her into his arms. They stood, encased in each other’s embrace. He kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her left cheek, and then her lips. She responded hungrily, and then seemed to go limp in his arms. Their bodies pressed hard against each other. After a minute or two, she tried to pull away.

Her voice took on a more serious tone. You shouldn’t be here.

He chuckled. Nor should you, my reckless little kitten. But you’ve come to the lion’s den of your own accord. Or so it seems.

I’m not jesting. She pushed gently against his chest, looking directly into his eyes. My father and my brothers are growing suspicious, but they haven’t figured it out yet. If they catch you here, there will be trouble.

I can take care of trouble, he replied curtly. So saying, he released her, and removed his sword and scabbard, leaning them against the loft’s railing.

But his mood was not for trouble. And his mind was obviously elsewhere. He kissed her hard upon the lips. Hard, yet gentle. She feigned to struggle. Then he kissed her softly, yet passionately. She again melted in his arms. His passion for her was intoxicating. He paused, and drank deeply of the reciprocal passion in her eyes. She smelled of lavender, and of nutmeg.

She too was intoxicated, smelling the strong musky maleness of him. Her hands explored his body, feeling the strength in his back, the broadness of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his arms.

Next he took her by the hand, and led her to the pile of straw in the corner. He removed his heavy overcoat, and laid it carefully over the straw. They knelt on the overcoat. He began to slowly unbutton her bodice. She removed his feathered cap, and tossed it on the floor boards.

He pulled her broadcloth dress from her shoulders. She began unbuttoning his velvet jacket. Still partially clothed, they again embraced. Their lips were pressed firmly to each others. Blood coursed through their veins. They couldn’t feel the chill in the air. With their bodies on fire, they fell onto the overcoat.

If her father or her brothers had found them now, it is likely that blood would have been shed. But no one came to the stable that evening. No one knew or even suspected the depth of the passion that existed between this young woman of the lower classes, and this nobleman of impeccable birth. No one guessed at their love for one another. At least not for a few more months.

Chapter 02

From This the Acorn Springs

1428 to 1438

William Wulfgar Howard was conceived through a dalliance of his father, Sir Robert Howard, of Tendring Hall, Stoke-by-Nayland. Sir Robert had taken a fancy, in the Winter Years of his life, to a Child of the Spring—a young, comely, and headstrong woman of mean birth—Elizabeth Delylah, the first-born daughter of a local craftsman, John Wulfgar White. Elizabeth’s father was as fine a bowyer and fletcher as could be found in all of Suffolk shire. His bows and arrows were so finely made that they commanded a premium price, and were favored by the well-born.

Elizabeth’s family had long lived in and around the quiet village of Chapel St. Mary’s. They had fought in the wars of the Edwards, to conquer the Welsh, quell the Scots, and remonstrate the French. And they had fought again in the wars of the Henrys, to conquer the French, quell the Welsh, and repulse the Scots. And still further, they had loyally served their Lords, the Earls and Dukes of Norfolk, from the time that the first Earl of Norfolk was created.

Sir Robert Howard was a well-known and well-respected member of the gentry of county Suffolk. He was a trusted retainer and close friend of His Grace, Sir John de Mowbray, second Duke of Norfolk. Sir Robert Howard had married Lady Margaret, the elder daughter of Sir Thomas de Mowbray, first Duke of Norfolk, and thus his Lady Margaret was the sister of the second Duke. Sir Robert himself had descended from a long line of knights and esquires and landed gentry, who had long lived in Suffolk shire. By marriage, he was the brother of the second Duke of Norfolk. Sir Robert was therefore a man of dignity, of power, and of considerable influence.

Sir Robert was married, and twice or more Elizabeth’s age. Fair Beth saw a side of Sir Robert that few were permitted to see. He was still strong, vital, and handsome, even at the age of forty-five. He was a valiant warrior, as his tours in France and along the Scottish Marches could attest. Yet with the maid Beth, he was gentle, caring, and attentive.

The deed from which this story begins, William’s beginnings, was done on the Eve of the Feast Day of St. Katherine, the Patron Saint of Maidens, in the year of Our Lord, 1428. Sir Robert was returning from business in Ispwich, back to his wife and family, and to his manor house at Stoke-by-Nayland. Before reaching home, he decided to first call upon the lovely Beth. He knew the young maid Elizabeth quite well, and had developed a passion for her that he could not control. She had beauty of a sort, a considerable wit, and an inner strength that could not be quelled. She also had long flowing, flaxen hair, brilliant smiling sky blue eyes, full pouty lips, a voluptuous body made for sin, and a gentleness about her that few men could ignore.

The product of that particular joining was duly born exactly nine months later, on St. Bartholomew’s Day (August 24, 1429). William was a large, fat, happy baby. Sir Robert acknowledged him almost immediately, allowing him the surname of Howard. Sir Robert also doted upon Will, and visited him regularly during the early years of the boy’s life.

Upon first learning that she carried his child, Sir Robert had given Beth White a small stone house, called Thistle Thatch Cottage, on the edge of the village of Chapel St. Mary’s. He had also provided her with an annuity of eight marks. This was more than enough to provide for her and her son, assuming that she kept a small garden, which she did. She supplemented this income by working in the village three or four days each week at her Aunt Marge’s shop, the toddling Will busy around her knees.

Thistle Thatch Cottage

3%20Fig%201%20-%20Thistle%20Thatch%20Cottage.JPG

William’s existence was known to the family at Stoke-by-Nayland. It was even known at Framlingham Castle, the seat of the great Duke of Norfolk himself. Through his father, William was a nephew of the Duke of Norfolk, but by marriage only, not by blood. This wasn’t necessarily viewed as a good thing, considering the circumstances of his conception. Yet neither the Duke nor those at Tendring Hall caused problems for Beth White or young William, at least while Sir Robert was alive.

William did not come to know his father well. His father’s wife, the Lady Margaret de Mowbray, did not suffer her husband’s folly with quiet dignity. A storm erupted at Tendring Hall when she finally learned of Elizabeth White, and another erupted when she learned that young Beth was with child, for she knew whose child it was. And yet another eruption occurred when young Will was born, and the word "divorce’ was muttered every time Sir Robert thought to leave the manor and go see his newborn son.

Over time an uneasy peace settled upon Tendring Hall. So long as Sir Robert’s visits to Chapel St. Mary’s were few, and discreet, the Lady Margaret acted like she had forgotten that the young harlot and her whelp even existed. And to keep peace with his wife, and his brother-in-law (and later his nephew, the new Duke of Norfolk), Sir Robert Howard’s visits to see sweet Beth and her fair baby boy became increasingly infrequent over time.

By 1432, when the good Duke of Norfolk died, and his ascetic son, another John de Mowbray, became the third Duke of Norfolk, Sir Robert’s visits came to a reluctant end. It was with teary eyes that he made his last visit. He assured Beth White that Thistle Thatch Cottage would always be hers, guaranteed her an annuity, and told her of his undiminished love. But to keep peace with his unforgiving wife, and to keep faith with his liege lord, the third Duke of Norfolk, he could never return. He added that he would even avoid passing through Chapel St. Mary’s at all, if that were possible.

Beth accepted the inevitable with quiet dignity, knowing that this was the only way her affair with Sir Robert could end. She made a brave front before Sir Robert, offering that he could still come and visit his son whenever the mood struck him. But upon his departure, she wept long and bitter tears, and felt that her young heart had broken in two. It would be weeks before she would no longer cry at the merest whim. It would be months before she stopped looking up Market Street, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sir Robert on his chestnut stallion. And it would be long years before she would trust the love of another man.

But although Sir Robert Howard was constrained by the laws of matrimony and the demands of honor, not so his son and heir. And it is recorded that many times in William’s early life, Sir Robert’s heir, John Howard, Esquire, stopped by the small stone cottage in Chapel St. Mary’s to visit his half-brother. John Howard did not seem to bear the child any enmity, perhaps because he felt no threat from him. John was, after all, eight years the senior. If anything, John was curious. He had no other brothers. He had few friends to share his time and thoughts with. So it should not be surprising that John Howard at times showed affection for his younger half-brother, giving him gifts at Christmastide, on his birthdays, and at other times.

As William grew from baby to toddler, and from toddler to small boy, he lived a life not unlike any poor child living in a small, rural village in East Anglia. If shunned by most of his father’s family, he was readily accepted by his mother’s. He spent as much time before the warm hearth of Papa Wolf (John Wulfgar White) and Granny Bessie (Elizabeth Woodbridge White) as he did before his own, and almost as much time visiting Auntie Marge (Margaret White Nuthill) and Unka Toby (Tobias Nuthill). And he spent many hours each day exploring and adventuring with his cousins, the sons of his mother’s brother (Edward Wulfgar White).

When small boys, they played horses and knights, and dragons and castles, with small figurines made of wood and cloth, of string and straw. As they grew a little older, the same types of games were played with wooden swords, stick lances, and hidden castle-forts built deep in the nearby woods. Bear (Stephen Edward White), a year older than Will, was frequently the leader, mainly because of his tallish stature and imposing size. He was a large boy, and would grow into a sizable man, with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and strong arms. He was not fleet of foot, but he didn’t need to be.

There was also Little Wolf (John Wulfgar White II), who was born the same year that Will was. He was appropriately nicknamed, as he not only had a crafty look to his eyes, but he was good at hiding and stalking an opponent, springing out when least expected, to battle with swords or staves. And when little Rabbit (Reynold White) finally came along, three years younger than Will and Little Wolf, he too eventually joined in on the adventures and quests. He was a cute child, and always seemed small to the others (no doubt because he was younger), but eventually he could outrun the lot, and so earned his sobriquet.

Years passed for these young boys, with minimal schooling and frequent hard work, but with always enough time to live out their fantasies, as dueling champions, or jousting knights, or lonely riders on a quest to save the damsel and slay the dragon. That is, when they were not fighting the haughty French or the indomitable Scots. Or on some secret mission for the Duke or the King to some faraway land like mystical Ireland or magical Italy.

As Will Howard grew older, he saw less and less of his father, even from a distance, but he was not forgotten by his half-brother. By the time Will was six or seven, his half-brother John was visiting every month or two. John exposed Will to the world of the country gentry, if discreetly so. He took Will riding and hawking, he taught Will the feel of a real sword, and they practiced archery (using bows and arrows made by Will’s grandfather) and horsemanship together.

John even brought Will to Tendring Hall occasionally, when his parents were away, as they often were—there being many estates to manage. Will learned something of eating fine food at a fancy table, with servants to serve and wait and clean up after. Perhaps most importantly, John had his tutor teach Will to speak English like a gentleman, not like a country straw-hair. At John’s bequest, the tutor also taught Will to read and write English, and exposed him to a taste of French and Latin. John permitted Will to borrow the occasional book from their father’s library. And as time passed, the tutor visited Thistle Thatch Cottage once or twice each week, to continue Will’s instruction, and even allow Will’s cousins to plum the mysteries of reading and writing English.

Then, in 1436, the unimaginable occurred. As the reader may recall, this was the year that the Dauphinists took Paris away from the English, the year that the Burgundians, only a short time before stout English allies, put English Calais to siege, and the year that the wild Scots again invaded England from the north. But far worse, at least from Will and John’s perspective, their father, Sir Robert Howard, died. And Will’s world began to change forever.

Sir Robert provided generously for both Elizabeth Delylah White and William Wulfgar Howard in his Last Will and Testament. Elizabeth was given title to Thistle Thatch Cottage, plus a plot of land near the village, and a stipend of ten marks a year, to be provided for the remainder of her life. The Lady Margaret de Mowbray Howard wanted to contest this portion of the Last Will, but her son, John, eventually talked her out of it.

Sir Robert’s generosity was more than sufficient for Beth White to live comfortably, and ultimately she attracted the eye of a prosperous merchant from Sudbury, Arthur Elkridge, whom she later married. But more about that later.

Also by Sir Robert’s Will, William was made a ward of Sir William Fitzalan, the younger brother of Sir John Fitzalan, thirteenth Earl of Arundel. In time, by a series of misfortunes for the Fitzalan family, Sir William Fitzalan was himself to become the fifteenth Earl of Arundel.

Sir William Fitzalan had been Sir Robert’s best friend. (It has been speculated that Sir Robert made young William a ward of Sir William Fitzalan to perhaps remove Will from the near vicinity of Suffolk, and from any familial intrigues that might develop after Sir Robert’s death). William was to be removed from the care of his mother by the age of ten, and placed in the care of Sir William. Sir Robert also set aside enough funds to care for William until he was sixteen years of age (approximately five marks a year, raised to ten marks per year at age twelve).

The Last Will and Testament further provided that prior to his arrival at Arundel Castle, William was to be given a palfrey horse, a suit of chain mail, and a good sword. He was also to be given three books that his father treasured, each worth a small fortune. The first was a book of French Romances, Amour, le Seigneur, et le Chevalier Bon; the second, Plutarch’s Lives of the Noble Romans; and the third, one of the family Bibles.

Chapter 03

Bending the Twig

1436 to 1438

John Howard, Esquire, at fifteen years old was the man of the house if not yet the lord of the manor—he wouldn’t receive livery of his lands and estates until his twenty-first birthday—and he managed to keep Will Howard in Chapel St. Mary’s for another two years. John overcame the objections of his Lady mother by pure strength of will, and shielded Will and his mother Beth White from any vengeance that Lady Margaret might have wished to take. But things weren’t always that easy.

Two months after Sir Robert Howard’s death, Lady Margaret called her woodsman, Jedadiah the Forester, to her manor. They had a private conversation in her flower garden, unheard by anyone else in the household. Only, Joseph Cotsworth, Old Joe, the usher of Tendring Hall, noticed them from an upstairs window. What actually caught his attention was that he also noticed that Lady Margaret gave something to the Forester. It looked like a small, leather bag, the kind used to hold coins.

Shortly after that conversation, Jedadiah made a visit to Chapel St. Mary’s. He paid particular attention to Thistle Thatch Cottage, and hung around in the vicinity for several hours. He saw that the boy who lived in Thistle Thatch Cottage, and three or four other boys roughly his age, found time to play after their chores.

He followed them as they wandered into the woods. They were oblivious to his presence, as they meandered down to the stream, wooden swords in hand, battling the rebellious Welshmen. The woodsman, a hunter by profession, stalked them as if they were prey. He crept through the forest like a shadow, making no sound, attracting no attention.

As he watched two of the children climb into a tree, where a rough tree-fort had been constructed, he fondled the hilt of his dagger. He waited and watched for an hour, but the boy from Thistle Thatch Cottage never was left to himself. He and a comrade hurled taunts down from the tree-fort upon those besieging them from below.

Finally the Forester grew impatient. He pulled his bow from off his back and checked the string. It was sufficiently taut. He carefully selected an arrow from his quiver. It was well-made… ironically by the very grandfather of the young lad for which it was intended. He set the arrow and pulled the bowstring halfway back. He took careful aim, slowly pulling the bowstring further back.

The trouble was, a seven year old boy never stayed still. He and his comrade flittered around like birds, bouncing from railing to railing, hurling down branches and insults upon their besiegers. Half the time, the view of the boy was blocked by his friend, or he was mostly obscured by intervening branches and tree trunks.

Jedadiah considered moving closer. It he did so, he would become less hidden. Still, he couldn’t wait around all afternoon for the perfect opportunity. He decided to move about fifty feet closer and slightly to the right. This would give him a better shot.

As he was carefully working his way forward, avoiding snapping twigs, the two boys in the tree-fort climbed over their railing and began to descend the tree. They were yelling the name of Owain Glyn Dwr, and brandishing their swords in one hand as they used the other to climb down. Jedadiah wouldn’t get a better shot than this.

He hastily moved to the left three feet for a clearer shot. He pulled the bowstring back, the arrow still being slotted in it. The blond-haired boy from Thistle Thatch Cottage weaved through branches, sometimes partially hidden. Jedadiah waited until the boy moved into the clear. Then Jedadiah pulled the string far back, and let the arrow go. It was a quick shot, not well aimed. But he let his experience and reflexes guide him. The arrow flew towards its mark, slapping a few leaves along the way.

Will Howard released a branch with one hand and reached for the next. He almost slipped, and his last-second grab for the next branch jerked him to the left. Suddenly an arrow struck the trunk of the tree where Will’s chest should have been. It twanged to Will’s right, missing his shoulder by inches. Will reflexively jerked further away from the arrow. Wolf White, who was to Will’s right, and who the arrow almost struck instead, stared in wide-eyed amazement at it.

Will, said Wolf, I think the bloody French have landed.

Then both boys virtually fell through the branches to the ground. Both squatted low behind covering bushes. Bear and Jordan, the attacking Welshmen, cheered and charged the other two.

For pity’s sake, Bear, cried Will, Hit the dirt. We’re being fired upon.

You’re done for now, you flippin’ Englishmen, cried Jordan as he moved in to finish off Will and Wolf.

Will grabbed Jordan’s wooden sword and gave it a yank. Get down, damn your eyes, cried Will, Or you’ll end up with an arrow stuck in your ass.

Bear and Jordan were slow to react. They stared at Will and Wolf, who were hunkered down. Will grabbed Jordan’s shirt, as Wolf grabbed Bear’s. Both were yanked to the ground.

Don’t you get it yet? asked Wolf. Someone out there is shooting real arrows at us.

Bear and Jordan hunkered down beside Will and Wolf. All four of the lads looked this way and that, trying to assess where the danger was coming from.

Are you sure? asked Bear.

"There’s an arrow in the tree up there,