The Seeing Stone by Kevin Crossley-Holland Page A

hundred and twenty paces,” I said.
    â€œThat’s it! So what would happen if you were shooting at a much closer target?”
    I have tried doing this. Gatty and I both tried, except she wasn’t strong enough to pull the string right back, and she was amazed when I shot one arrow right through the barn door.
    â€œYes,” continued my father. “I’ve heard some Welsh bowmen cornered twelve of King Henry’s horsemen inside a churchyard. They shot at them there, and some of their shafts stuck into the plaster of the church walls, and one shaft went right through an Englishman’s mail-shirt, right through his mail-shirt and through his thigh. Then the shaft pierced his saddle and wounded his horse.”
    â€œBlood of Sebastian!” I cried.
    â€œYes,” said my father. “That’s how fierce these longbows are.”
    â€œDid the English get away?”
    â€œNot that time. The shafts killed seven of them, and wounded the other five. Then the Welshmen closed in and finished off the wounded men with their knives. Now! Come on, Arthur!”
    I shot the first end quite well, and the second end as well as I am able.
    â€œYou,” said my father, as we pulled my three shafts out of thetarget, and picked up his from the grass, “you could shoot an apple off a king’s head.”
    â€œFather,” I began, “you know I asked if I could go into service with Sir William?”
    My father looked at me.
    â€œAnd you said he’s sixty-four and away from home half the time.”
    â€œWell?”
    â€œThat’s what I want to do.”
    â€œWhat someone wants and what is right are not always the same thing,” my father said.
    â€œCouldn’t I begin with Sir William?” I asked. “And if that doesn’t work, I could go to Lord Stephen. Serle did.”
    â€œI think one of my sons is quite enough for Lord Stephen.”
    â€œBut…”
    â€œArthur,” said my father. “We’ve already discussed this. I’ve said that in good time, and before long, I’ll tell you my plans for you.”
    At this moment, a misty rain began to fall—rain so fine I could scarcely see it—and then Hum came striding out into the Yard.
    â€œI’m sorry, Sir John,” he said. “A messenger’s come in.”
    â€œWhat does he want?”
    â€œYou, Sir John. Says no one else will do.”
    â€œWe’ll come in,” said my father. “You’re shooting well, Arthur. I’ll ask Will about a new bow.”
    â€œThank you, father,” I said.
    â€œAnd you did say…” added Hum.
    â€œYes, Hum,” said my father briskly.
    â€œGrey’s hobbling, Sir John.”
    â€œAs soon as I’ve heard this messenger, I’ll come over to the stables. Wait for me there!”
    If my father doesn’t want me to go away into service, why won’t he say so? Perhaps he doesn’t want me to be a knight.

22
LONG LIVE THE KING !
    T HE MESSENGER WAS WAITING IN THE HALL WITH my mother.
    â€œSir John de Caldicot?” he inquired.
    â€œI am.”
    The messenger raised his right hand, and I saw he was holding a red wax disk. It was stamped with a knight riding a trotting warhorse, and brandishing a sword.
    â€œThe king is dead! Long live the king!” proclaimed the messenger.
    My father got down on his left knee. “Long live the king!” he repeated in a loud voice.
    My mother bowed her head. “Long live the king!” she murmured.
    Then my father gestured to me, and nodded.
    â€œLong live the king!” I said.
    â€œWho sends you?” my father asked.
    â€œKing John sends me,” the messenger replied, and he raised the disk again. “The king has sent out seven messengers to the lords of the March, and this is his message: The king is dead! Long live the king! King John bids the earls, barons and knights of England pray for him; and the king’s