The Arrayer

"One famous member of the Clan was John MacAndrew of Dalnahatnich, known in Gaelic as Iain Beg MacAindrea. He was a bowman of note, and the terror of all who fought against him. Many tales are told of his exploits and his vengeance upon the cattle lifters who raided Badenoch. In 1670 some Lochaber men raided Badenoch and drove away a large number of cattle. They were pursued by a body of men, including Iain Beg, under the command of William Mackintosh of Kyllachy. The cattle lifters were overtaken and in the fight which followed Iain Beg killed most of the raiders. Only one Lochaber man escaped and he carried with him the full story of his comrades' fate at the hands of Iain Beg MacAindrea. The men of Lochaber swore vengeance against little John and made many attempts on his life. As a consequence he led an unsettled existence for many years but was always able to defend himself."

After reading this I wondered if the past was repeating itself or perhaps if the present had somehow effected the past. The following story is an option.

I am an archer with the SCA, that is the Society for Creative Anachronism, a medieval recreation society. I like to think of the Society as an Applied History Society. We research historical life from the time period 600 - 1600 AD and then try to reproduce it. My own interests lie mostly in the area of archery. I shoot the longbow, recurve, and period crossbow as well as build arrows and the occasional bow. And, although I will shoot at anytime and at any target, even I found it unusual to be on the range early one January morning. But with Ursalmas coming up, and me wanting to put in a good showing, some cold weather practice was required.

So there I was, eight o'clock in the morning, January 7th, on the range. Although it was not the coldest condition in which I had ever shot, I found that the mists rising off the nearby creek and the winds coming in off the North Shore Mountains were making it very uncomfortable. As I stretched out the early morning kinks I faced south so I could see the wonderful salmon coloured sunrise highlighting Mount Baker. The mountains shiny white peak, highlighted by the sunrise, was a sight worth getting up for. The entire morning was one of such contrasts: warm muscles and cold air, a beautiful sunrise and monstrous black storm clouds over the North Shore Mountains. I would need to find some inner peace with all this worldly contrast if I was to shoot well.

With my stretching over, I approached the shooting line and mentally ran over the day's agenda. First I would shoot twenty-four warm up shots, with concentration on my point of aim, and then the remainder of the shoot I would focus on my draw. My main objective was to have my sight mark fall directly on my aiming point when I arrived at anchor. This problem has been one that has plagued me for two years. After casually shooting my first six arrows I walked towards the target to retrieve them. About half way there the dark clouds over North Vancouver carried out their threat. A massive lightning strike split the sky and moments later came the loudest boom I had ever heard. Completely dazed and momentary deafened I stood in the center of the field. My ears were ringing wildly and my eyes overloaded from the sudden flash. It was when my senses slowly began to return to normal that I first saw him. He was walking slowly towards me through the swirling mists. I could just barely see his mouth moving but the sounds were not quite reaching me through my abused ears. As he came closer his voice took on the likeness of a late night radio, slowly fading in and out until I could tune in the station. He stopped about five feet in front of me and stated very bluntly, "You are dropping your bow arm on the draw and it is throwing off your whole shot."

In that one sentence he summed up a large deal of the last two years of my self training. Without trying to sound upset I replied, "I know that. I have been trying to fix it for two years."

He looked me over completely and it was during this time that I first realized how different his clothes were from mine. This is not altogether strange when you consider that every day in Vancouver is a little like Halloween. Even so, his long leather cloak, slashed tunic, and leggings were a bit extreme. His strong voice now spoke very clearly. "I am the Arrayer for Prince ---------. I have come here to test your archery skills for the Prince. Move yourself to the shooting line and prepare for the first shot." His voice and stature commanded such power that I moved to the line without even thinking. Immediately I nocked one arrow and stood waiting for his next command.

"First, let's see how well you learn by correcting the problem with your bow arm. Consider that your string hand is quite well aware of its task. It correctly holds the string and moves back to its anchor point. Then, once your mind is comfortable with the shot, your sting hand relaxes and it is pushed out of the way. The job is done. Your bow hand, on the other hand," and he slightly smiled at his quip, "just hangs out the front not knowing what to do until your mind tells it. Your problem is that during the draw you should focus on the bow hand and not the string hand. For your first test I want you to draw and shoot as usual but instead of leaving the bow hand out of your mind, concentrate solely on it. As you begin your draw, focus completely on pushing the bow hand through the center of the target."

I considered his council and ran through the move several times in my head. Once I thought I had the grasp of what he wanted, I drew, focusing on the bow hand, anchored, sighted and released. I remained focused on my aiming point until I realized that the arrow had sailed over the target. Upset at myself for missing, and for following the advice of a complete stranger, I turned towards him.

"Well shot," he replied. "Your bow hand stopped dead on its mark and you released at least a second faster than on your previous arrows. You will find that the decreased anchor time will allow you to access more of the bow's potential. Well done."

"Your second test will be to see if you are able to judge when to shoot. Prepare your shot and wait for my command." Again I readied my shot, thinking very carefully about what I had learned from my first shot. I would have to aim lower to take advantage of the extra bow strength.

He spoke again. "Draw and anchor, then wait for my choice of targets." I did as he commanded and stood at full draw awaiting his word. I know that from weight training I can hold my bow steady for about 10 seconds before I feel uncertain about the shot, but I never like to hold that long. The longest I will hold is about five seconds. And yet here I was holding and waiting. He whispered, "It is almost ready, just a moment longer." And still I held the shot. Finally, I brought down the bow.

"I will be unable to hit any target holding that long. Please let me try again," I pleaded. Again I felt disappointment but as I looked at him he was smiling slightly. "Test two is complete. There was no target for you to shoot at, only a limit on how long you thought you could make a reasonable shot. Well done."

"For your last test you will have to move back about 20 paces. That should put your sight mark just about right, because on this last shot you will not want to miss." He spoke this last part with his voice low and very serious. Suddenly I could once again feel the cold of the morning.

"Prepare yourself and ready an arrow." I did as he commanded and stood with my bow arm lowered, ready for the next. A shot that I felt would be the hardest. With my eyes on the target I could see him move slightly behind me. Again, he spoke.

"About 40 yards behind me is one of my assistants. He holds a crossbow ready and aimed at you. If you miss the gold, he will shoot. If you try to switch to another target, he will shoot. You must believe that he will hit the target as he has already passed this test. Now, in your own time, make the shot."

I could not believe what was happening. This madman was going to have me killed if I did not make this shot. Worse than that, he had shown me a new method of shooting that changes all my sights. I needed to believe that I would hit the target, so I will return to my old method of shooting. At least then I would have the confidence. Then, after I hit the gold, I would have a surprise for him. Let him see how he handles a speed round aimed at him and his friend. I relaxed my breathing and focused on the target until it became a funnel to receive my arrow. Visualize, draw, aim, aim, aim, and follow through. As the arrow sped towards the target I thanked the Lords for all the tournament shooting. I knew the arrow would hits its mark so I slowly turned my head towards the Arrayer. Behind him I could no longer see the crossbowman.

Angrily I spoke, "Now what was the purpose of that?"

He replied slowly, "There will be times that your life is forfeit, but you must still make the shot. The men around you will have this training and will depend on you as you will depend on them. Now, we must go." He turned and began to walk back into the swirling mists from where he came.

I wasn't really planning on following him. My intentions were to ask him more questions, but as I walked forward two paces, the lightning and thunder struck yet again.

Newspaper clipping from the Vancouver Province:
"Police are unsure of the whereabouts of a local archer who disappeared earlier this week. The archer's equipment was found at the Burnaby Lake Archery Range and no information about his whereabouts is known. Police are checking into the possibility that the archer may have been a victim of one of the lightning strikes that hit the area that morning.

If anyone has information regarding . . . ."