The Archer's Wife

inspired by Bernard Cornwell's Agnicourt

The Archer’s Wife

 

She viewed the sky as oft before

The dark clouds gathering, grey and dim

The scent of rain hung in the air

And she closed her eyes, and prayed for him.

 

The rain fell soft upon the field

Where enemies had come to fight

Man to man and sword to sword

Though the sword she knew, helped not their plight.

 

The dark ash shafts that she had watched

Her man so gently preserve

Drops from hells own thunder clouds

Steel points without mercy or reserve.

 

The great yew bow of sap and heart

It’s elegant curves he’d crowned with horn

The string he’d twined so skillfully

With his calloused hands, so rough and worn.

 

Her heart now leapt within her breast

As mail clad men shouted hurried orders

“Women to the baggage!” She heard them say

and she turned to join her frightened neighbors.

 

The men had no time to say goodbye

They took up their bows and off they went

Towards the muddy field below

She knew that most to their deaths were sent.

 

She took her place with other girls

Beside the carts and extra mounts

A buzzing whisper of nervous speech

Drowned the men’s descending shouts.

 

Now and again she closed her eyes

The cross was made and prayer began

She murmured to Mary, the Virgin Blessed

To guard the life of every man.

She listened hard and heard the sound

Of thousands of throats shout muddled cries

Their words were lost within the wind

And a twanging note seemed to break the skies.

 

She knew the archers all had loosed

Their fingers plucked at the harp strings of Death

Her man had sent his goose fledged shaft

On a journey to leave a widow bereft.

 

The clash of steel and screams of steeds

shattered the note of twanging bows

And she heard the battle rage all the more

As the melee rose in the field below.

 

The battle seemed to last for years

The noise of combat daunting and loud

Waned and waxed as the day wore on

But her prayers continued, her head remained bowed.

 

Salty tears fell from her eyes to

tight clasped hands, their knuckles white

Spare him, spare him, was her cry

And then the sun brought forth its light.

 

The army’s women raised their heads

And watched as their tired, muddied men,

Crested the top of the trampled hill

Warriors come from death’s dark den.

 

She searched the ranks with pleading eyes

For the well-known face of her lover true

But it seemed that countless men came

Streaming towards her, and none she knew.

 

Until at last the final rank

In mud and bloody mail encased

Came into the valley, worn and weary

And she saw at last the familiar face.

 

A cry of joy came from her lips

A prayer of greatest heartfelt thanks

Her feet grew wings and off she flew

Into her archer’s strong embrace.

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Sujash I. Purna]

can't say anything. Great work!

[...]

. i'm not aware of the inspiration ... but if this piece is anything to go by ... i'm sure it must be a true work of art ... i think the narration of this poetic tale was extremely captivating and emotional ... i could almost hear your poetic voice ... and ... of course ... your language skills are impressive and inspiring ...

[Becky]

Beautiful.

That is all.

[Balance]

"The clash of steel and screams of steeds
shattered the note of twanging bows
And she heard the battle rage all the more
As the melee rose in the field below."

I liked that part!

[The Jay]

Wonderfully put together.

[Tate Morgan]

This is one of the best works i have read here