Issue 34 October

John Thompson & Simon Day at The Battle of Mortimers Cross, Sept 17th & 18

th

John Thompson at Mortimers Cross battle

Re-enactment, Sept 17th & 18th

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

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!

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!

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

Nicaea2

, 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 The Mission of Friar William of Rubruck (The Mongol Mission) 2 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 co-

existed 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 Les empires normands d’Orient, by Pierre Aubé, page 168 4 Les Arabes dans l'histoire, by Bernard Lewis, page 148 5 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norman_Sicily#cite_note-22 6 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 Saracen Archers in Southern Italy, by Giovanni Amatuccio 8 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 GROUND IS BURNING Samuel Black, 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

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 story-weavers 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/

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

Archers Review

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.

Website: www.archers-review.com

Email: steve@archers-review.com

The

Mortimer History Society

Autumn Conference

Saturday October 8

th 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

www.mortimerhistorysociety.org.uk

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.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 research-

and 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-Richard-

Armitage/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 re-

enactment 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 & 9

th 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 & 6

th 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 6

th & 7

th, Fortress Wales, Margam Copuntry Park, Port Talbot, Wales

http://www.webster.uk.net/HistoryAndCulture/Re-enactmentWW2SWB/FortressWalesShowInformation.aspx

July 14

th & 15

th 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 15

th & 16

th 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