Issue 34 October
John Thompson & Simon Day at The Battle of Mortimers Cross, Sept 17 th & 18th
Greetings All Welcome to issue 34 of the Re-Enactor, The magazine is now sent to 35 different Countries around the world as this month we welcome both Hungary & Romania to its readership. I have also set up a new Facebook page to which you are all invited. This is the link: http://www.facebook.com/#!/groups/15913 4810835685/ Just ask to be added! John Thompson at Mortimers Cross battle Re-enactment, Sept 17th & 18th
I have just returned from The Battle of Mortimer’s Cross 550th anniversary event, where we had a fabulous time and as you’ll see from the front cover and subsequent photos we were joined by Simon Day & John Thompson who were being filmed for The History Channel and a program called “No County for old men” which will be aired in April 2012. Check out the FB group for lots more pictures courtesy of Pat Patrick. Congratulations to Ian, Stephen, Greg, Mante, Diarmuid & Bartosz, for being the lucky winners of last month’s competitions. Your prizes will be with you soon!
Simon Day at Mortimers Cross battle Re-enactment, Sept 17th & 18th
Features This Month 1: Making the Maciejowki (Part 2) 2: Competitions 3: Ruso & The River of Darkness (Ch.1) 4: Book Reviews-The Historical Novel Soc. 5: King Richard III – Project 6: William Kenyon Australasian Confederates Camp 2160 Sons of Confederate Veterans 7: Event Listings 8: A Texas Mid-Summer day Trek
As always, I am on the look-out for more groups, traders, event details, stories, articles and reports. Please contact me at the normal email address with details! Editor.
Jason.okeefe@btopenworld.com Competitions: All competitions are free to enter Winners will be selected at random on the 24th of each month for the relevant competition. Winners will be notified via email shortly after the draw takes place. No correspondence will be entered into. The editor’s decision is final. The views and opinions expressed in the articles in this ezine are those of the individual authors themselves and not those of the Editor
To receive a copy of this magazine just send your email address to: Jason.okeefe@btopenworld.com
MAKING THE MACIEJOWSKI (Part Two) By Nils Visser Part One of this story ended in the conclusion that the Maciejowski Bow devised by Amsterdam bowyer Magén Klomp based on the pictorial evidence in the Maciejowksi Bible had a feasible basis, though the question was raised as to what happened to those bows and that French archery tradition by the time the Hundred Years War started. We pick up the story: The Saracen mercenaries brought to Normandy by King Richard I of England were an unlikely source for the Maciejowski Bow. The 120 Saracens were too few in number to settle in serious numbers, so it’s unlikely that either their descendents or their bows could be found in France half a century after their first appearance. I had more luck in tracing the career of King Louis IX. One of the threats this monarch faced during his reign was the tide of the Mongolian horsemen, who managed to defeat Russia, Poland and Hungary in quick succession, but then suddenly withdrew when they were a mere week away from the French border. Unbeknown to the major Western leaders, the withdrawal was the result of internal political strife. Various delegations were sent eastwards, to make contact with the Mongolians. One of the friars sent by Louis, one William of Rubruck, describes an occasion on which the supreme Khan, Möngke Khan, presents another envoy, Theodolus, with a gift for the French king. Möngke Khan “had a very strong bow made, which two men could hardly draw, and two arrows with heads of silver, full of holes, which whistle like pipes when they are loosed. And he gave the following instructions to the Mongol he was sending with Theodolus: „You will go to that French King….and you will present him with these things on my behalf. If he wishes to be at peace with us…. we concede to him the rest of the world westwards; but if he does not wish peace then bring back the bow and arrows to us, telling him that with such bows we shoot far and strike hard.‟”1 Thus we find that the French King who had commissioned the Maciejowski Bible, with its seemingly odd pictures of composite bows, had been sent a gift of such a composite bow, a gift moreover which was an acknowledgement by an Eastern Emperor of the importance of the King of France. Was this the bow that was a model for the artists who drew the Maciejowski Bible? A bit of medieval PR as it were? What happened to the bow? According to Rubruck, the envoy, Theodolus made it as far as Nicaea 2 , where John III, the Byzantine emperor, exposed Theodolus as an imposter, confiscated all his goods, and had him thrown in prison. In the meantime the Mongol envoy became ill and died.
1 2
The Mission of Friar William of Rubruck (The Mongol Mission) The Mission of Friar William of Rubruck (The Mongol Mission)
One might think that would be as far as the bow travelled, but we may suppose that John III might have sent the bow on to Louis, for he was famed for his honesty. According to Rubruck, the Byzantine emperor sent the gold seal which the Mongol envoy carried back to Möngke Khan. Presumably, someone who is honest enough to part from gold that is not his, and who was aware of the diplomatic importance of missions to the East, would have ensured that the bow was sent on to France. If that was the case, it would have arrived there in 1255-56, close enough to the timeframe in which the Maciejowski bible was supposedly commissioned (1245-1255), especially considering the fact that it wasn’t sent on to Italy for the addition of text till the early 1300s. However, we simply don’t know, the bow disappears from the story at this point. The possibility that I might have discovered the original Maciejowski Bow, sent me scurrying back to Amsterdam, to report my findings to Klomp. I also opted my theory that the Maciejowski Bible might have been intended as a gift for the Mönke Khan, who judged the importance of rulers by the value of the gifts messengers brought, with the added benefit to Louis of educating the Khan about Christianity, he had sent similar religious gifts with a previous mission. Moreover, the battle scenes, would have also formed an implicit warning that France was armed and dangerous, an apt reply to a gift consisting of a very powerful bow with which to shoot far and strike hard. “I like the idea. And it would certainly place the Maciejowski Bible in context, considering all the detailed blood and gore in the battle scenes. None-the-less, I´m not convinced about the bow,” Klomp said. “The timing doesn´t bother me, the overlap is near enough. But we don´t know what happened to that bow, it’s too much supposition. I´d prefer to see the thing behind glass in a museum somewhere.” “What also bothers me is the fact that the Maciejowski Bible is so incredibly accurate in everything else,” Klomp continued. “That suggests that if you see more than one composite bow, they were there. And I just can´t imagine these bows being produced on a large scale and in such a short time, on the basis of Möngke Khan´s gift. Composite bows are notoriously difficult to make, especially if you´ve never done so before. This is one of the drawbacks of composite bows. They´re very expensive to make and highly time-consuming vis-à-vis a Longbow.” “If the Maciejowski was meant as a gift and warning, perhaps the composite bows are in there as a ruse of war, to exaggerate actual French military might.” Pancras opted. “Mongols who had already proven to be no fools,” Klomp shrugged. “Once again it would subtract from the accuracy of the Maciejowski Bible. If we take that accuracy as a given, then there must have been composite bows in widespread use in France, somewhere between 1255 and 1300.” “Maybe we´re barking up the wrong tree,” Verwijmeren suggested. “Maybe the answer is much closer to home. The Saracens used composite bows, and Louis certainly knew what it was like to be facing the wrong end of those bows.” King Louis certainly did, he had led the Seventh Crusade in 1248 and had encountered Saracens archery. But would the inclusion of such bows in the Maciejowski Bible not risk offense to the king? He had, after all, lost the Battle of Al Mansurah and the Battle of Fariskur. During the course of the latter the king’s army was annihilated and he himself was taken prisoner which cost France a large ransom. Louis IX was a public relations-savvy man,
it doesn’t stand to reason that he would want to be reminded –or remind others- of a total defeat. So, as alluring as the crusader’s link seemed, it didn’t appear to bring us closer to an answer. However, there turned out to be another link with Saracen archers, only these Saracens weren’t to be found in the Holy Land, but in Sicily, which was a Saracen domain from 965 to 1061. The latter year saw the advent of the Norman conquest of Sicily, completed by 1091. The manner in which the Norman Kingdom of Sicily was occupied forms a striking contrast to the manner in which the William the Conqueror was securing his hold on England at the same time. Robert Guiscard, the Norman who had conquered the island, became King Roger I of Sicily, but he wanted a Sicily in which all the diverse segments of the population coexisted peacefully, in other words, he respected the cultural heritage and religions of other ethnical groups, as the Muslim author Ibn al-Athir wrote: “They [the Muslims] were treated kindly, and they were protected, even against the Franks. Because of that, they had great love for king Roger”3 . This policy of tolerance and equality was continued by Roger’s successors, such as William II of Sicily, as the geographer Ibn Jubair discovered when he stopped at the island in 1184. Ibn Jubair was astounded by the manner in which the Norman rulers treated the Muslim population: “The attitude of the king is really extraordinary. His attitude towards the Muslims is perfect: he gives them employment, he choses his officers among them…..The king has full confidence in the Muslims and relies on them to handle many of his affairs, including the most important ones”4. In 1198 the Norman rule was formally replaced by the Swabian Hohenstaufen Dynasty, when Queen Constance of Sicily’s reign ended, and her son, Frederick, who was also the son of the Holy Roman Emperor, became Frederick II, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Sicily. However, in reaction to religious uprisings in Sicily, Frederick II expelled all the Muslim inhabitants of Sicily, sending many to live in the town of Lucera on the Italian mainland, so that he could exercise better control over them. By the 1240s they numbered some 20,000 to 60,000 souls and Lucera was often called Lucaera Saracenorum5 . What is of special interest to us is the military service that the Sicilian Saracens performed for their Norman masters, and later for Frederick II. This is because their specialty was archery, and it gave their masters access to mounted light cavalry armed with composite bows. According to David Nicolle “The Muslim archers of Sicily were among the most effective infantry in 12th-century Europe” armed with a “powerful composite bow”6. Pictorial evidence of these Sicilian Saracen archers shows the same type of bow which we have seen in the Maciejowski Bible. According to Giovanni Amatuccio, “It is clear that the bow used by the Italian Saracens were composite…. there is sufficient evidence in the Anjou Curia documents of the Thirteenth Century to confirm this. Document charts include arcu de corno (horn bows), which were 3 4 5 6
Les empires normands d’Orient , by Pierre Aubé, page 168 Les Arabes dans l'histoire , by Bernard Lewis, page 148
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norman_Sicily#cite_note-22 The Normans, by David Nicholle, page 59
certainly composite bows. There are some references to arcu de osso (bone bows), which likely means the same type of bow”7 Where were these bows made? Amatuccio says: “These bows were built by the same workers, the Saracens of the South: the most important example is the so-called „Chazen‟ or „Ghazena‟ Lucera, i.e. a workshop for the construction of missile throwing weapons...”8 Even though Frederick II had expelled the Saracens from Sicily, the Saracens served in his armed forces, and he learned to trust them. The Saracens fought for Frederick and his son Manfred at Capua in 1229, Montichiari castle in 1236, Corenuova in 1237, Parma in 1248, Guardia dei Lombardi in 1254, San Germano in 1254, and the Marche campaign in 1264. In 1266 the Battle of Benevento was lost by Manfred and power over Sicily and Southern Italy passed to the victor, Prince Charles of Anjou, who would become King Charles I of Sicily. Some of the spoils of war were found in the treasure room of Lucera Castle, including a very large quantity of bows. The contents of this treasure room now belonged to Charles of Anjou, as did control over the Lucera Chazena. Here comes the Eureka moment: Prince Charles of Anjou, was the son of Louis VIII of France, and the younger brother of none other than Louis IX, King of France. Charles I of Sicily, continued to use Saracen archers in his armies, they were employed in the Balkans, Tunisia, the War of Vespro and onboard Anjou war ships. However, the numbers of Saracens employed thus started to decrease. It’s possible that Charles I didn’t place full trust in them, moreover, the popularity of the crossbow was steadily increasing. The Saracens continued to use the composite bow, traditional archery was somewhat of a spiritual obligation, the prophet Mohammed had been an archer and had extolled the virtues of archery, which explains the popularity of the craft in a place like Lucera, where, somewhat similar to the situation in Wales and England, archery was something that every man taught his son. By the turn of the century, Charles II of Naples, decided that the presence of an Islamic community on the Italian mainland was not desirable. In 1300 his army sacked Lucera, killing the defenders, and exiling or selling the survivors into slavery. All mosques and other “alien” influences in Lucera were razed. The factory at Lucera and the expertise found there were lost. This time, when I showed up to report my new findings, I had Klomp’s full attention. The bow which he had made based on a combination of the pictures in the Maciejowski Bible and his gut feeling, suddenly had a pedigree. It stands to reason that Louis, seeking to arm himself to face a possible Mongolian assault on France, would have appealed to his brother, who controlled an armoury full of composite bows, a production site, the artisans required to make the bows and even the archers to fire them. In answer to the question where the composite bows in the Maciejowski Bible came from, we can now venture with considerable confidence that they were made by Saracen Magistri at the Lucera Chazena in Lucera, near Foggia, Southern Italy.
7 8
Saracen Archers in Southern Italy, by Giovanni Amatuccio Aspects of the interchange of military technology in the Norman-Swabian South, by Giovanni Amatuccio.
I decided to mention to Magén the existence of an archery museum in Northern France, the Musée de l’archerie & du Valois, in the small town of Crépy-en-Valois. I didn’t know if anything could be found there, but the Valois was the region of France closely associated with French royalty, traditionally supplying the royal bodyguard with archers, so it seemed worth a visit. Klomp agreed, and that was how I found myself speeding southwards towards the general direction of Paris, in a car with Klomp and two photographers. The museum is immediately visible on the approach from the direction of Compiegne. The road dips into a small valley and there is a spectacular view of very tall citadel walls, above which a medieval palace (which contains the museum) towers even further up. The palace is a gorgeous building, sturdy, huge and ancient. The museum displays bows throughout human history, from ancient replicas to modern recurves and compounds. The Hundred Years War display was disappointingly small, but compensated by the large collection of Flemish Flatbows and modern bows in the hall devoted to archery as a sport, and the display room with bows from all over the globe. One of the display cabinets in this latter room contains two bows which captured our immediate attention, unstrung, their shape is remarkably similar to Klomp’s Maciejowski bow. The argument that this bow “didn’t exist” becomes somewhat hollow, when you see it hanging in a display cabinet in a museum. At this stage the experience of being a regular museum visitor is supplanted by something altogether different. We’re warmly received by the museum’s curator, Mademoiselle Sandra Camino, and suddenly everyone is hard at work. One of us takes technical pictures, another takes detail and mood shots, Magén receives the bows and proceeds to take measurements, Sandra retrieves museum data, and I’ve been allocated the job of jotting down notes. Magén is handed bows which he receives reverently, after which he scrutinizes them minutely, takes every conceivable measurement, stroking and poking the bows, and even sniffing them. When we’re done, Sandra leads us through a half concealed doorway into a maze of narrow staircases, corridors and rooms, until we arrive in a storage room which we quickly dub Chambre de Trésor: The Treasure Chamber. Scores upon scores of bows are kept on shelves, as are untold well-filled quivers, piles of boxes with arrow-heads, numerous accessories of the archer militias so common in the south of the Netherlands, Belgium and the North of France, and much more besides. Sandra hands Magén bow after bow for examination. The hours fly by, filled with bamboo, tendons, horn, bone, bridges, siyahs, stingray skin, the aforementioned bark and lacquer, traces of red, black and gold decorations, signs of construction and repair, remnants of glue, hints of the use of files and planes, untold millimeters, centimeters and inches. It’s almost as if we can hear the bowyers of yore speaking to Magén, who is in a world of his own, enthralled by the bows he’s handling, but still providing comment about his observations, sometimes based on the most minute detail which escapes the rest of us. Everything is measured, described and noted. Every now and then I end up with a bow in my hands. They feel heavy or light, strong and sturdy, or delicate and brittle. What they have in common is that you truly sense you’re holding something very special. How many hands have held these bows? The bowyer, who turned a stave into a bow hundreds of years ago; the trader, who displayed the bow; the archer, who strung the bow to fire it for purposes of war, hunting or sport; the collector who
decided the bow was worthy of a place in his collection; the descendent who discovered the bow in the attic; the bargain hunter who brushed the dust off at a flea market; the owner who gave or sold the bow to the museum; the curator who decided where and when to display the bow; the bowyers and historians conducting research; and finally my humble self, who’s lucky enough to share the feeling of the bow with all those many others who held it over the centuries. When Klomp took the Maciejowski from the bow rack in his workshop not all that long ago, I could have never fathomed the paths that I would subsequently travel, shadowing King Louis IX on crusade, following William of Rubruck to Mongolia, discovering an exemplary model of multi-cultural integration in Sicily, being impressed by the hive of industry at Lucera, then staring in amazement at a familiar shape in a display cabinet and finally holding veritable treasures from the past in a genuine treasure chamber in the depths of a medieval castle. Klomp is digesting the details and construction of all those bows he handled, and one can almost hear the gears turning in his head. The quest for the Maciejowski is far from over, there are new bows to design and build, more secrets to uncover and more knots to unravel. Until then, may your arrows fly straight and true. Further Reading: The Weapons of Warre: The Armaments of the Mary Rose, Alexzandra Hildred (ed). Published by the Mary Rose Trust, 2010. The Mongol Mission, Christopher Dawson, published by Sheedd and Ward, 1955 Les empires normands d’Orient, by Pierre Aubé, Published 1985 by Perrin in Paris Les Arabes dans l'histoire, by Bernard Lewis, Flammarion (1997) The Normans, by David Nicholle, Osprey Publishing (January 22, 1987) Saracen Archers in Southern Italy, by Giovanni Amatuccio, De Re Militari (June 2001) Aspects of the interchange of military technology in the Norman-Swabian South, John Amatucci, Budriesi, Bologna 2009
Competition One Medicine and Murder Dissection, once a popular spectator event, is frowned upon. X-rays lie centuries into the future. Nobody understands how the blood moves around the body, nor how disease spreads from one person to another. Poisonous white lead is used as makeup and it’s said that an earache can be cured by popping in a boiled cockroach. As Medicus to the men of the Twentieth Legion in Britannia, Gaius Petreius Ruso is forced to rely on experience, observation, common sense and a few textbooks laboriously copied out by hand. When all that fails, there’s the help of the gods. Life holds enough challenges for Ruso without the addition of an unwanted slave girl and a series of murder investigations. But if he doesn’t get involved, who will? There are four Ruso novels so far, beginning with Ruso and the Disappearing Dancing Girls (Medicus in the USA). To win a signed and dedicated copy of the book of your choice, visit www.ruthdownie.com and: Name one of the towns in which Book Four is set.
Competition Two 1286 A.D. Scotland is in the grip of the worst winter in living memory. Some say the Day of Judgement has come. The King of Scotland rides out from Edinburgh into the stormy dark. On the road he is murdered by one of his own men, leaving the succession to the throne wide open. The king’s death is as a stone thrown into a pool, the ripples spreading far and wide. Civil war threatens as powerful Scottish families jostle for power, not knowing that Edward, King of England, has set his own plans in motion. For almost two decades, Edward has nurtured a fierce vision of conquest – a vision sprung from the words of an ancient prophecy – that will change the face of Britain forever. But all is not destined to go Edward’s way. Through the ashes of war, through blood feuds and divided loyalties, a young squire will rise to defy England’s greatest king. His name is Robert the Bruce. And his story begins in Insurrection.
To win a signed copy of Insurrection, visit: http://www.robynyoung.com/index.htm and answer this question: When was Insurrection published in the UK?
Send your answer for either one or both of this month’s competitions along with your full postal address to: jason.okeefe@btopenworld.com before September 24th 2011 to be in with a chance of winning!
Caveat Emptor/Ruso and the River of Darkness By Ruth Downie Chapter One This close, even Firmus could see that she was the sort of woman his mother had warned him about. Six feet tall, red hair in a mass of rats’ tails, and a pregnant belly that bulged at him like an accusation. The only thing that separated them was a folding desk, and even that wobbled when he placed both hands on it. He sensed a movement behind him. Pyramus’s breath was warm on his ear. “Shall I call the guards, master?” Firmus opened his mouth to say yes, then realised what a fool he would look if she proved to be harmless. He gestured the slave back to his place. Perhaps, beyond the boundaries of Londinium, this was what all the Britons looked like. He squinted at the sweat-stained folds of her tunic and hoped the guards had at least checked her for weapons. “Are you the Procurator?” she repeated. Of course not, he wanted to say. Do you really think Rome would send a short-sighted seventeen-year-old to look after all the money in Britannia? Instead he straightened his back, pushed aside the wax tablet on which he had been compiling a list of Things To Ask Uncle, and said, “I’m his assistant.” “I must talk to him.” Firmus swallowed. “The Procurator’s not available.” She took another step forward so that her belly protruded over the desk. He forced himself not to flinch. She smelled hot and stale. “I have travelled twenty miles to ask for his help,” she announced. “Where is he?” Outside, the relentless clink of chisel on stone rang around the courtyard. Someone was whistling. The world was carrying on as normal, but the woman was between him and the door that led to it. Pyramus, crippled with rheumatism, would be no help at all. Should he have called the guards? How fast could a woman in that condition move? “The Procurator won’t be here all day,” he said. This was not strictly true, since his uncle was only two rooms away, but the thought of interrupting him while he was with the doctor was even more terrifying than facing the woman. She said, “All day?” “All day,” he said, wondering how he was supposed to manage if the Britons were all like this, and why no one except his mother had warned him. “If you put your request in writing,” he tried, “I’ll pass it on to the-” “Writing is a waste of time. I must talk to him.” “But he isn’t here,” Firmus insisted, ignoring a roar of pain from the direction of the Procurator’s private rooms. “I will go to find him.” “He’s ill.” It sounded better than admitting the great man had fallen off his horse. “You can talk to me.” He could see her eyes narrow as if she were assessing him. She glanced around the chilly little room, taking in the one cupboard and the triangular blur on the back of the door that was his cloak, hung on a rusty nail. “You are very young to be Assistant Procurator.” It was what they all said. Usually he explained about his eyesight and the Army and how grateful he was to his uncle for finding him a post where he could get some overseas experience, but after a taste of that experience Firmus was not feeling grateful at all. His uncle gave the impression of being perpetually annoyed with him and the staff seemed to
think he was a joke. That one with the front teeth missing had practically laughed out loud when Firmus had explained that, as part of the Emperor’s tightening up on the Imperial transport service, he had personally been put in charge of the Survey of British Milestones. They were probably listening in the corridor now, and sniggering. Firmus decided he might as well tell the truth. “I’m only here because the Procurator is my uncle.” To his surprise, this seemed to reassure her. “So, you really are his Assistant?” “Yes.” “And you will help me?” “I don’t know,” he said. “Who are you?” Her breasts lifted in a distracting fashion as she took a deep breath to launch into her speech. “I am Camma of the Iceni,” she announced, “I am wife of…” Firmus had no idea who she was the wife of, because although he tried to pay attention, all he could see was the swell of the magnificent breasts, and all he heard was one word. Iceni. Several of the things he had read about Britannia before leaving Rome had turned out to be misleading – where were the woad-painted wife-swappers? - but he was fairly certain that the last time a tax official had annoyed an Iceni woman, it had been a very big mistake indeed. Especially since his own grandfather had been one of the officers killed in the ill-starred attempt to rescue the settlers of Camulodunum. The books said that the Iceni had been crushed years ago, but this one did not look crushed. This one looked tall and fierce and none too clean: exactly how he imagined the raging Queen Boudica at the head of her savage hordes. When future histories were written about Britannia, Firmus did not want to appear in them as the man who had been fool enough to upset the Iceni again. He cleared his throat. She stopped talking. “Sorry,” he explained, making an effort to look her in the eye. “I’m having trouble following your accent.” He reached for the stylus and picked up the tablet. “Could you say all that again, a bit slower?” “I said,” she repeated, louder rather than slower, “Something has happened to my husband.” “We don’t deal with husbands and wives here. This is the finance office.” “I know it is the finance office! I am not stupid!” Firmus gulped. “No! No, of course not.” He recalled the advice of a distant cousin who had served here as a Tribune: half the challenge of dealing with the natives was working out what the problem was, and the other half was deciding what poor bugger you could pass it on to. “This is why I have come to you,” the woman was explaining. “My husband is a tax man.” “Your husband works in the tax section?” he asked, wondering how that had been allowed to slip through security. “His name is Julius Asper.” “Julius Asper,” he repeated, scraping the name into the wax. “What’s happened to him?” “He is missing.” “Missing,” he repeated, then looked up. “I see. Thank you for coming to tell us. We’ll look into it. If you could leave your details with the clerk - “ She folded her arms and rested them on top of her belly. “How can a boy like you assist the Procurator when you do not know anything?” “I’ve only been here a week,” he said. “You’ll have to explain a bit more.” “My husband collects the taxes in Verulamium.” “Ah!” Firmus felt a sudden wave of relief. He was on safer ground now. According to his research, Verulamium was a relatively civilised town just a few miles up the North road. For reasons he could not begin to guess, this Camma had married a tax collector in one of the
places her tribal ancestors had burned down. “If he works for the council at Verulamium,” he said, seeing a way out, “You should go to them.” “I spit on the Council!” To his relief, she did not demonstrate. “They will lie to you,” she said. “That is why I am here. Whatever they tell you about stealing the money is lies.” “Stealing the money?” “The tax money.” “Your husband has gone missing with the tax money?” “No, that is a lie.” Firmus put down the stylus and got to his feet. “Wait here,” he ordered. “I’ll be back in a -” He stopped, because the woman was no longer paying him any attention. Instead, she had pressed both hands into the small of her back and was staring at the floor with an air of intense concentration. As he watched, her mouth formed a soft “Oh!” She stepped to one side and slid a hand down to lift her skirt. He followed her gaze, peering round the desk in an attempt to make out what she was looking at. Pyramus was at his side, whispering, “There is liquid trickling down the inside of her leg onto the floor, master.” For a moment Firmus had no idea what his slave was talking about. Then he said, “You can’t start that in here, madam! This is an Imperial Office!”
Graphics by: Hasan Niyasi
Note: The top four are the English versions, the bottom four are the American versions!
THE Samuel
GROUND IS BURNING Faber & Faber, 2011, £12.99, pb, 406pp, 9780571269402 In the autumn of 1502, Cesare Borgia is at the height of his power and notoriety. Leonardo da Vinci works for him as a military engineer. Florence’s ambassador to his court is Niccolo Machiavelli. His favoured mistress is the enigmatic Dorotea Caracciolo, who is not all that she pretends to be. His army commanders, led by Vitelozzo Vitelli, are nervous of his military successes and are plotting his downfall. Time is running out for Cesare, who knows that, like Achilles, if he chooses the path of glory he is destined to die young. This is a vivacious and accomplished debut. Told in the voices of the five protagonists, it is meticulously researched yet moves at a cracking pace. The voices of Leonardo and Machiavelli are, inevitably, sometimes predictable. Both men left extensive written records of their lives and thoughts, which results in the reader having a sort of tickbox in her head. Ah yes, here is the mechanical bow and the flying cannon, and here Messer Niccolo tells us the end always justifies the means. Cesare Borgia, by contrast, left virtually no written records behind him, and it is his narrative voice which really brings the novel to life. Brutal, witty, paranoid and pathological, he speaks to us in short, explosive sentences, bursting with a life that is continually under threat. When he is on the page, the ground is most certainly burning. The novel examines big questions about the nature of love and war, art and ambition. It is also a terrific read. Having read most of the fiction inspired by the Borgias, I feel I can say with some assurance that this is the best in years. Highly recommended. -Sarah Bower Black,
THE
WORDSMITH’S TALE Stephen Edden, Beautiful Books, 2011, £8.99, pb, 371pp, 9781907616969 In 1087, Thomas the Piper recounts the heartwarming, spellbinding hundred-year history of his family. He comes from a long line of storyweavers and wants to capture their personal stories for posterity. They were serfs but somehow got by against the odds. His young scribe – lovesick and distracted – writes it all down. The history covers several generations of this West Country family, from the reign of King Edgar to the Battle of Hastings. They are linked by one recurring theme: the gift of storytelling. The original Tom, the bard of King Edgar’s court, takes twelve years to find the woman he loves, Fleda. He saves Fleda’s life, and despite her age, she bears him a son, Bas, who becomes a legend by gaining a ferocious reputation as a warrior fighting the armies of King Cnut. Bas’ son Harry, a storyteller like his aunt, passes the gift on to his own son Thomas, who is forced to make use of the first of the three wishes endowed upon the wishing penny given to his grandfather by King Edgar. This is Stephen Edden’s debut novel, and it is an outstanding book. The historical detail is exceptional; I could smell, taste and feel the grinding poverty. I was gripped from the opening page, transported back to a time when life was hard and death ever present. The grimness was lightened by wit and brilliant dialogue. It is a remarkable, powerful and hugely enjoyable novel. I cannot recommend it highly enough. -- Fenella Miller
For other reviews on other books why not visit:
http://www.historicalnovelsociety.org/
Archers Review STUDY DAY Fire and Steel…Arms and Armour of the English Civil Wars Saturday 29 October, The Wallace Collection 10.30am – 5.00pm A must for all those interested in the English Civil Wars and seventeenth-century arms and armour in general. Meet like-minded enthusiasts and scholars, enjoy a series of fascinating lectures, and handle original arms and armour of the period. Lectures will be given by a number of specialists in the field, sharing some of their latest research into seventeenth-century military history. Cost: £25 To Book call 020 7563 9527 or email booking@wallacecollection.org
The Mortimer History Society Autumn Conference Saturday October 8th 2011 10am – 3.30pm Ewyas Harold Memorial Hall Morning Talk by Dr Paul Dryburgh Mortimer Ladies – a new study Talk by Steven Blake The Herefordshire School of Sculptures Buffet Lunch Afternoon A guided tour of Kilpeck Church by Steven Blake Tickets: £15 (inc. Buffet lunch) Check out the website for more details
This is a website, run for and by archers with a thirst for knowledge. Our extensive collection of reviews is split in to a number of sections to make it easy for you to find what you are interested in Steve Nicholson and Andy Gilfrin, are real archers interested in the best archery suppliers have to offer. In our search for the very best bow, arrows and equipment we have shot, used and worn pretty much everything on offer. We value feedback from users and suppliers and are keen to hear from you if you wish to contact us about anything on the website.
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The Hussar Christmas Masquerade Ball The 15th Kings Light Dragoons (Hussars) are proud to host and to be able to invite you to the Hussar Christmas Masquerade Ball. The Ball is to be held at Baronia Hall, 134 Boronia Rd, Boronia Victoria 3155, on the 26th November 2011. The evening will include Welcome Drinks, a Dance workshop, followed by Dinner and The Masquerade Ball. The festivities will commence at 5pm with welcome drinks and a dance workshop; the bar will be open for those who require some Dutch courage in order to approach the dance floor and dance workshop! The dances taught here will be very simple and will be used throughout the evening’s Ball. Dance cards will be handed to the ladies on arrival, so gentlemen, there are no excuses! Guests will require a mask. This year’s event will take the form of a Masquerade Ball. The essential of the Masquerade is a disguise mask! After the meal each guest is to don the masquerade disguise and to return to the Ball Room. The Masquerade is by nature a flirtatious event with the chance to dance with strangers! Etiquette is that no names should be used, the masks should remain on at all times and that couples should not dance together until after the Great Revealing! Several sets will be danced before the Great Revealing at which time masks will be removed. For more information:
www.mortimerhistorysociety.org.uk
www.15thhussars.com
King Richard III – Petition / Project Richard III, King of England and the last regent from the Plantagenet family, is ill used in historical memory. Due to the propaganda in Shakespeare’s play “Richard III”, which was created as contract work for the successors, the Tudor family, the bad image of the murdering hunchback Richard III remains and dominates historical perception. The British actor Richard Armitage (currently appearing in “Captain America” and filming Thorin Oakenshield in Peter Jacksons’s production “The Hobbit”) is working on a historically more accurate version about King Richard III’s life and times, a film / television series, comparable to the highly successful series for the succeeding ruling family, “The Tudors”. Initiated by fans of Richard Armitage, the website www.KingRichardArmitage.rgcwp.com supports this project through diverse presentations, activities and a petition, to show the worldwide support and interest in King Richard III’s life. The site has already collected signatures from 39 countries around the world. In a special King Richard III-Week (from 22nd of August to 28th of August, 2011) the website will commemorate the Battle of Bosworth (22nd of August), where King Richard III died, and the birthday of the actor Richard Armitage (same day). Support and help is welcome in any form. The website in return offers to feature your group and activities! The KingRichardArmitage-website will publish presentations about researchand re-enactor groups on a regular basis. Submissions of articles, papers and information about your group and activities are very welcome. Presentation on the website is free of charge! Please contact us here: kra@rgcwp.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Richard-III-for-RichardArmitage/235543563129891 Website: http://kingrichardarmitage.rgcwp.com Direct link to the Richard III-petition: http://kingrichardarmitage.rgcwp.com/petition-for-richard-iii/ Thank you for your support!
The William Kenyon Australasian Confederates Camp 2160 of the Sons of Confederate Veterans, Inc for Australia and New Zealand. We are the Australian camp of the oldest international hereditary organization in the world, the “Sons of Confederate Veterans”. Our camp was chartered in 2010 as one of hundreds of such camps across the United States, Europe and Asia. Its members are all descendants of Confederate soldiers, either by direct descent or by collateral descent; through uncles, aunts, cousins, marriage or other family members. Camp 2160 was organized so that Confederate descendants living in Australia, New Zealand or other related areas would have a Sons of Confederate Veterans Camp of their own to participate in; rather than becoming a member of an American camp; and new members are always welcome. Membership in the William Kenyon Australasian Confederates Camp 2160 is open to all male descendants of any Confederate veteran who served honourably in the Confederate States Army or Naval Forces. Membership can be obtained through either direct or collateral family lines, but a descendant relationship to a Confederate veteran must be documented genealogically. We presently have members in states throughout Australia and any individual regardless of race is welcomed, as there were many nationalities and races who served in the Confederate States armies and navy. Non-Confederate descendants who are interested are also eligible to join others of our camp, under the banner of FSCV or “Friends of Sons of Confederate Veterans, Inc”; and receive all the benefits of regular membership, excluding voting rights. Each member receives The Confederate Veteran, a bi-monthly national magazine that contains in-depth articles on the War Between the States along with news affecting Southern heritage. Assistance provided to members include research assistance, scholarships to those qualifying, National historical symposiums, the reprinting of rare books, the erection of historical monuments and the marking of unmarked veterans graves are just a few of the projects endorsed by the Sons of Confederate Veterans. Many members are also period gun collectors, authors and participate in period dress re-enactments. The William Kenyon Australasian Confederates Camp 2160 website can be found at www.scvau.com and it’s Australian Veterans Memorial Website at www.acwv.info. It a free use website and visitors are encouraged to copy information so desired. Sometime next month the "Unusual Gifts Shop" will be added to the camp website where reenactment items, collectors items, rare documents, books, original old maps, antiques and more will be listed for sale on a first come basis; all revenues generated being used to conduct further research and Australian veterans grave restorations. We have to date acquired over 30 headstones and bronze memorial plaques for unmarked veteran’s graves. In Melbourne we are fortunate to have the world’s oldest living actual "Real Son" of a Confederate veterans still living; he is 105 years old and is also a decorated Australian officer of WWII. James M. Gray, Cmdr. William Kenyon Australasian Confederates Camp 2160 Sons of Confederate Veterans, Inc. Australia and New Zealand
Event Information October 1st – 2nd Tempus Belli 2011 ITALY www.tempusbelli.com 7th National Vietnam War Tactical, 8th Harwood, Texas Event Sign up at: http://www.eventbrite.com/event/2102479573 8th The Mortimer History Society Autumn Conference at Ewyas Harold, Herefordshire. www.mortimerhistorysociety.org.uk 8th King Harold Day, Waltham Abbey, EN9 1XQ http://kingharoldday.co.uk 8th & 9th Marché de l'Histoire de Minden, GERMANY www.historievivante.com 8th ACWS Helendale Re-Enactment, California, USA http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=129725463752666 15th & 16th Norfolk Living History Fayre, Mannington Hall www.blackknighthistorical.co.uk 15th & 16th Pickering WW2 weekend, at the Pickering show ground www.freewebs.com/foxcommando 15th & 16th Festival et Marché de l'Histoire de Nantes, FRANCE www.historievivante.com 28th-30th The International Living History Fair, Bruntingthorpe, Lutterworth, UK http://www.paste.org.uk/index-ilhf.html 29th ACWS/SNLHA Spring Mountain Ranch Reenactment, Las Vegas, Nevada, USA http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=108090669259640 29th Battle of Concepción/San Antonio SAHLA-qualifier, San Antonio, TX http://www.sonofthesouth.net/texas/battle-concepcion.htm
November 5th & 6th Timeline Fair, Old Cheese Factory, Homestead Rd, Berwick, Victoria, Australia. www.timelinefair.org.au 11th Las Vegas Veteran’s Day Parade 2011, Downtown Las Vegas, Nevada, USA http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=102684859803236
11th-13th The Original Reenactors Market, The sports connexion, ryton on dunsmore, cv8 3fl http://www.reenactorsmarket.co.uk/ 19th & 20th Marché de l'Histoire de Pontoise, Novembre, FRANCE www.historievivante.com 26th & 27th Ludlow Castle Medieval Christmas fair, Ludlow, Shropshire, UK Craft fair, medieval traders, combat, have a go archery http://www.ludlowcastle.com/
December 4th Bromsgrove Militaria, Medal & Arms Collectors Fair, at the Spadesbourne Suite, Council House, Burcot Lane, Bromsgrove, B60 1AA. 9.30am - 2.00pm. Admission £2.50 www.rzmilitaria.com/events.php e-mail fairs@rzmilitaria.com
2012 May 6th & 7th, Fortress Wales, Margam Copuntry Park, Port Talbot, Wales http://www.webster.uk.net/HistoryAndCulture/Re-enactmentWW2SWB/FortressWalesShowInformation.aspx
July 14th & 15th The Battle of Tewkesbury, Tewkesbury, UK http://www.tewkesburymedievalfestival.org/ 22nd The Battle of Salamanca, 200th anniversary http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=183242878392002&notif_t=event_invite
September 15th & 16th The Battle of Mortimer’s Cross, Leominster, Herefordshire, UK www.mortimerscross.co.uk
A Texas Mid Summer Day Trek If it is possible to contract cabin fever during the long cold winters of the north, can not the same be said for the long hot summers of the south? Here on the Texas Gulf Coast summer comes quickly and stays for a long time. During those hot and humid days I become a mole person. Hiding from the ever present bright light of the scorching sun, one tries to stay busy doing things to occupy the time. The cabin fever finally sets in and the brain and the body both agree that maybe it’s not so hot out there after all. Are we not nice a cool here in our man cave? I bet if I were to venture out on a trek it would not be so bad and I may just have a great time. Well with all common sense set aside I started planning a trek to co-inside with the full moon. So here it is mid-August with the temperatures hovering in the high nineties and humidity levels high enough to take a bath outside without the aid of pumped water. Undaunted I started gathering what gear I figured I would need for two days in the woods on my own hook. The plan was to arrive early enough of a Friday in the late afternoon and head out to one of my favorite spots on the private property I was to use for my adventure. I planned to spend the evening making a very simple camp of just two very light weight blankets and my trappings for the weekend. Saturday’s plan was to wake early and walk the fence line of the entire property making mental notes of places they might prove good to hunt deer from come the winter. I wanted to test my new pack made by Chuck Cassada to get a better understanding of what would work and what would not and to see how my shoulders would react to the weight on them. Well all the best laid plans of mice and men, you know the rest. With your kind consideration I would like to tell you just how plans can be changed by Mother Nature and the elements. It all started the Thursday before I was to head to the woods. I had finished carefully packed all my necessities and turned to roll up the one wrap shirt I like to use but it was not to be found. It usually hangs in my bedroom on a coat rack with some of my other gear. Not locating the shirt and assuming the wife had washed it, I asked her where it might be found. Mind you she knows not to do such a ruthless thing to this shirt but sometimes she is able to get a hold of it and give it a cleaning thus undoing all the character I had put into it. A bit frustrated that she had not touched it and had not a clue where it could have gotten off to, I decided on another shirt to wear. Looking at the small pile of gear I had laid out on the bed I decided that enough was enough and that I was getting a bit carried away with my packing. Friday came and the day seemed to drag on forever but the time to leave finally arrived and off I was in a flash. About halfway to my destination I noticed the clouds were starting to roll in from the south. I could see pockets of rain in the distance and one really dark storm in my rearview mirror. The storms were coming on fast and heading the same direction I was going. Happily I was able to make it to my stepping off point which is a cabin used in the fall for deer hunting. I was pleased to have out run the storm but not happy to find the cabin doors locked. I thought to myself this is but a small set back and set about changing my clothes using the screen porch as my changing station. I wasn’t in my long hunter outfit for too long of a time when a major storm appeared from the north and was heading in my direction. Common sense step in and told me that I better wait to see just what was to happen as a storm from the opposite direction was about to converge with the one from the north. I was glad I did as the sky grew very dark, the wind picked up and lighting was beginning to strike all around the cabin. At times I could feel the electrical charge in the air before a bolt would hit very close by. Well, there went setting up camp that evening. Disappointed but dry I made
the best of it by refreshing the edge on my knife and hawk while enjoying nature’s light show. After about two hours the storm subsided and the clouds parted to reveal the bright light of a beautiful moon rise coming through the trees. The moon seemed close enough to reach out and touch as it cleared the top of the trees. I swear it was so quiet that at one moment I thought I could hear an unearthly vibration emitting from the moon as it quietly started its path across the night sky. As I sat there watching this repeat of a heavenly dance that has happen since time first began I could not help but think of those before us who have looked up at this most wonderful display and pondered their own mortality. Many thoughts raced in my mind as I enjoyed the peace around me and felt a sense of calm I had not had in a long time. With the arrival of Joe, the ranch foreman, I sadly left my perfect repose and helped him open the cabin and bring in some of his gear. After a few pleasantries and a couple jiggers of rum it was time to fort up for the evening. The next morning my biological clock had gone off at my usual time to rise and I was up quietly gathering my gear. I open the cabin door to be greeted by a cool but extremely foggy morning. Now what, I thought to myself. Do I wait until the fog burns off which very well could be mid-morning or bite the bullet and head into the soup? It did not take much time to ponder the situation as I figured better fog than the heat that would be arriving before much longer. With my smooth rifle loaded and primed I set out for my weekend adventure. I had not walked a hundred yards when I approached one of the many stock ponds. It was there at the pond that my first taste of an interesting weekend was to occur. Somewhere in the fog the sound of a deer giving a warning whistle stopped me in my tracks. I peered as hard as I could into the fog straining my eyes to see where the sound had originated. Not moving anything but my eyes I could see to my right three ghostly forms coming from the pond no less than thirty yards from where I was standing. At about the same time I spotted the deer, the lead deer spotted me and all three froze in their path. It was now a test of wits as I could see them but not see more than just an outline of their forms in the fog and I am sure that was what they were seeing of me. As my heart raced as I stood there watching and hoping they would continue to come closer but this was not to happen. The lead deer finally had enough of this strange form in the fog so after a couple of whistles and a stomp of a hoof they melted away into the mist. This was the first of many thrills I would have this weekend and will remember for a long time. Continuing on I made it up a steep ridge and crossed over to the main pasture. Here the fog was gently being mixed as a small breeze was passing across the pasture making visibility less than at the stock pond so I had to tread carefully being sure not to step in any meadow muffins or standing water. In this pasture stands a mock-up of one of the walls of the Alamo. This wall was built for a History Channel presentation on the history of the Alamo and the attack on it by the Mexican Army in March of 1836. I was part of the Mexican Artillery crew that fired six pound iron balls at this wall to demonstrate the effect of a siege. This was a sizable representation of the Alamo wall but at two hundred yards it looked more like a postage stamp. I will not go into detail on this subject and just say I had to stop and pay homage to “The Wall� as my friends and I call it. Crossing the pasture and heading for the tree line I was greeted by the mooing of some of the land owners steers. Not knowing exactly their location ahead of me I kept my course in hope of not disturbing them as they grazed. Well my luck ran out as I came upon a large herd of them and you would have thought they had seen a ghost. The ones that I could see stopped their chewing and let out a load warning of my approach. It was then the bull of the woods stepped out of the fog and put himself between me and the rest of the herd. I cannot say for certain I was truly in any danger but I figure it is too late now to change direction so gathering up all the courage I had and stood as tall a figure as I could make and walked on past if I was the boss and not him. It was later that
I was to learn this bull is a gentle creature and was just most likely curious as to why I did not stop and feed him.
After making a rest stop to take care of nature’s calling I made it to the edge of the woods and to a point that I could see there were three trails I could take. Knowing where two lead I decided to take the one I hope less traveled by the cattle and was new to me. I had just stepped off onto the trail when out of the corner of my left eye I caught movement in the fog. Freezing in my tracks, I turned at the waist to try and capture a glance at what was out there. It turned out to be a sizable pack of wild hogs making a hasty retreat to the fence line and the safety of the neighboring property. I had the opportunity to take aim at the last little hog but that meant I would have to stop my trek and take care of the meat. Luck this time was in the favor of the hogs. Continuing on the new trail I soon found myself stepping on a field of clover with pink flowers abundantly growing in every direction. As pretty as it was it also had a sinister side as all the blooms were covered in honey bees gathering pollen. The sound of their buzzing was loud enough to make me feel as if I was in the middle of the hive. Caring less about me and more about the work at hand, the honey bees buzzed around my feet as I moved on making my way from a pleasant trail to one full of mud and hoof prints. The ground became harder and harder to walk on as my moccasin bottoms begin to become bogged down with mud and I found myself slipping from one hoof print to another as I struggled to keep my balance.
Travel became increasingly slow and tiring as I found myself having to pick and choose where my next step was to be. Luckily I was able to find a small spot of high ground under a large tree to take a break while having a quick morsel to eat and rearrange my pack. There I stood pondering if I was to continue on or turn back to the trailhead and start on a different path. The right side of my brain was arguing with the left side as to my situation and what to do when I made an executive decision to keep going on what I now dubbed “The Warrior’s Path”. So with my stomach happier, my thirst satisfied and my pack feeling better on my shoulders I stepped off into the mud to continue my trek into unknown territory. I found myself picking landmarks to use as my next goal to make. There I would stop and remove as much mud as I could from the soles of my mocs and head for the next goal. After what seemed like hours I made it to a point where the property line ended and I had to head north on the trail. At this point I thought of turning back but the prospect of a better trail ahead and knowing that the area I wanted to camp was about a mile ahead I pushed on. Well, the trail did get better and I was making good time until I noticed the path getting narrower ahead. The path finally just stopped as the woods had closed in at this point and there was just no way to go around because of the low ground just off the path and standing water. It would appear that Mother Nature had made the decision for me to backtrack and start over. By this time the stubborn fog had lifted considerably and the warm glow of the sun was making its appearance. While backtracking I made an observation that explained to me why I was tired in such a short time. Besides the mud and hoof prints in the trail, I could see where the dew on the clover had been removed by my steps and where I had weaved back and forth in the trail. I can safely estimate that I had doubled my distance by all the weaving I had done. I had just about made my way back to the head of the trail when I walked up on a doe and a yearling fawn feeding about 20 yards ahead of me. The doe casually walked off but the fawn froze while all the time keeping an eye on me. Not wanting to scare the fawn, I gently eased to my left putting a low branch full of leaves between myself and the young deer. Using this
natural blockage to my advantage I was able to get close enough to get a good look at the spots that remained on the fawn and thought to myself that these spots would soon be gone as winter approached. Feeling as if I had been given a huge dose of energy by the sight of this juvenile deer, I stepped from my blind spot and with a flick of the tail the yearling bounce off to catch up with its mother which was patient waiting and the edge of a thicket. I could feel my grin as it stretch from ear to ear and I reminded myself that this is why I love this hobby so much. Back at the intersection of the trails I once again stopped to remove my gear and take a much needed rest in the shade of a large oak tree. Taking a sip of water from my canteen to refresh my dry throat it dawned on me just how quite the woods had become. The birds had stopped their singing and there was a strange stillness to the trees. I looked about the woods to be sure I was the only creature in sight and not in danger of being attacked by a wild hog. Satisfied I was not in any immediate danger I scanned the sky and noticed dark clouds were starting to roll in from the north. It was then I felt a cold breeze and a chill ran down my back. With the sound of thunder in the distance I knew what was headed my way so once again mother nature was to keep me from my the area I had hoped to camp for the evening. With my gear once again on my back or about me I headed back to the cabin to fort up again and avoid being soaked by the approaching storm. I had almost made it across the pasture when the rain caught up with me. It was not a driving rain but more along the line of a gentle spring shower. Although I was getting wet the cool rain felt wonderful on my face. As fast as it had come it was over. All that was between me and the cabin was a small ridge that I had crossed earlier that morning. Determined to cross it again I begin the assent to the top. As tired as I was, this hill could have well been Mount Everest as I struggled to get to the top. With the help of my smooth rifle as a walking staff I made it to the summit and within sight of the cabin. It was there I decided to take one last rest. Not wanting to remove any of my possibles and my pack I just feel to my knees and turned over so the pack and bedroll made a support for my lower back. I am not sure when I fell asleep but I figure it wasn’t too long after I had reclined on my pack and my feet felt the load taken off of them. I probably would have been there in my quite repose for some time but the sharp pain in my right arm woke me up. Ants were covering the arm from the wrist to the elbow and all were stinging me with a vengeance. I may have been tired but I found the strength to jump to my feet and start to rid myself of the pain the little critters were inflicting on me. Once satisfied I had removed the little devils I begin the walk back to the cabin and a much earned rest. It would seem the ants had done me a favor because the rain returned and much harder this time. After I had seen to the care of my smooth rifle and my gear hung out to dry I sat down on the steps of the cabin, took a deep breath and decided I was not done yet. There was still the back twenty two acres to explore. So soon as the rain was to let up and I had rested my tired back I was to be off once again before the day’s end.
The rain stopped somewhere in the early afternoon and the sun returned to its job of scorching the earth. The one good thing about the back twenty two acres is the earth is mostly sand compared to the muddy river bottom soil of the pasture land and no cattle were allowed on it. With a renewed strength in my back and legs I once again gather my gear, check the prime in my smooth rifle and prepared to head out. The trail I took is rock covered and very hilly at first with a lot of turns in it making a challenge to the feet but adding a chance at each turn to sneak up on any animals that might be ahead. I was rewarded very quickly as I eased around the forth turn in the trail and came upon two doe feeding on grass growing along the side of the path. I tried to retrieve my camera from my haversack as quietly as I could but the sound of my rummage around in it caught their ear and off they went without even a glance back to see what had made the sound that spooked them. I knew my time was growing short before the sun would set so I made my way to a nearby stock pond to try and catch some pan fish or maybe even a catfish or two for supper. Using bacon as the bait I soon had my line cast and a nibble at the hook. It looked as if my luck was going to change and fish was going to be on the campfire soon. Not so as all I was able to catch was three very small perch for my efforts. Still it was fun to get a line wet and do some cork watching. With the line dried off and put back into its tin, I headed off to follow the creek that feed off of the pond as best I could. I did find some nice deep pools here and there and always under the shade of a large cedar tree. Perhaps this is where the larger fish were hiding but they would have to wait until my next trip.
Coming out of the thicket and back on the same trail I had headed in on, my thoughts returned to making camp for my last evening. I located a sandy clearing under a cedar tree but unfortunately the sound of vehicles on the nearby major highway made it clear that this spot would not allow for a peaceful night of rest. With that I turned to watch the sun set in a beautiful orange ball in the western horizon and with the shadows growing longer by the minute I unloaded my gun by taking aim in a large knot in a nearby a tree and headed back to the cabin. That evening while setting in front of the cabin and raised my eyes to view another beautiful moon rise and the canopy of stars above me. I ran the day’s events through my mind and although the past couple of days had not turned out as I had originally planned them to be, I found myself planning another trip back come the fall and cooler weather. Yes, I did get hot and covered in a greasy sweat and my arm itched from the ant bites but I still had the time of my life. I had come close to what I wished to accomplish and felt a deep satisfaction in myself as I had taken on the heat of a Texas summer day and won.
The Author