bowstring.
"Why do you keep the string in your hat?"
"So it won't get wet if there's rain. It's what the real archers do." He attached the twine to the notches at either end of the stave, bending the bow slightly so that the tension would hold the string in place.
"Are you going to shoot at the targets?"
"Yes."
Another boy said: "They won't let you."
Merthin looked at him. He was about twelve, tall and thin with big hands and feet. Merthin had seen him last night in the priory hospital with his family: his name was Philemon. He had been hanging around the monks, asking questions and helping to serve supper. "Of course they'll let me," Merthin told him. "Why shouldn't they?"
"Because you're too young."
"That's stupid." Even as he spoke, Merthin knew he should not be so sure: adults often were stupid. But Philemon's assumption of superior knowledge irritated him, especially after he had shown confidence in front of Caris.
He left the children and walked over to a group of men waiting to use a target. He recognized one of them: an exceptionally tall, broad-shouldered man called Mark Webber. Mark noticed the bow and spoke to Merthin in a slow, amiable voice. "Where did you get that?"
"I made it," Merthin said proudly.
"Look at this, Elfric," Mark said to his neighbour. "He's made a nice job of it."
Elfric was a brawny man with a sly look. He gave the bow a cursory glance. "It's too small," he said dismissively. "That'll never fire an arrow to penetrate a French knight's armour."
"Perhaps not," Mark said mildly. "But I expect the lad's got a year or two to go before he has to fight the French."
John Constable called out: "We're ready, let's get started. Mark Webber, you're first." The giant stepped up to the line. He picked up a stout bow and tested it, bending the thick wood effortlessly.
The constable noticed Merthin for the first time. "No boys," he said.
"Why not?" Merthin protested.
"Never mind why not, just get out of the way."
Merthin heard some of the other children snigger. "There's no reason for it!" he said indignantly.
"I don't have to give reasons to children," John said. "All right, Mark, take your shot."
Merthin was mortified. The oily Philemon had proved him wrong in front of everyone. He turned away from the targets.
"I told you so," said Philemon.
"Oh, shut up and go away."
"You can't make me go away," said Philemon, who was six inches taller than Merthin.
Ralph put in: "I could, though."
Merthin sighed. Ralph was unfailingly loyal, but he did not see that for him to fight Philemon would only make Merthin look like a weakling as well as a fool.
"I'm leaving anyway," said Philemon. "I'm going to help Brother Godwyn." He walked off.
The rest of the children began to drift away, seeking other curiosities. Caris said to Merthin: "You could go somewhere else to try the bow." She was obviously keen to see what would happen.
Merthin looked around. "But where?" If he was seen shooting unsupervised, the bow might be taken from him.
"We could go into the forest."
Merthin was surprised. Children were forbidden to go into the forest. Outlaws hid there, men and women who lived by stealing. Children might be stripped of their clothes, or made into slaves, and there were worse dangers that parents only hinted at. Even if they escaped such perils, the children were liable to be flogged by their fathers for breaking the rule.
But Caris did not seem to be afraid, and Merthin was reluctant to appear less bold than she. Besides, the constable's curt dismissal had made him feel defiant. "All right," he said. "But we'll have to make sure no one sees us."
She had the answer to that. "I know a way."
She walked towards the river. Merthin and Ralph followed. A small three-legged dog tagged along. "What's your dog's name?" Merthin asked Caris.
"He's not mine," she said. "But I gave him a piece of mouldy bacon, and now I can't shake him off."
They walked along the muddy bank of the river, past warehouses and wharves and barges. Merthin covertly studied this girl who had so effortlessly become the leader. She had a square, determined face, neither pretty nor ugly, and there was mischief in her eyes, which were a greenish colour with brown flecks. Her light-brown hair was done in two plaits, as was the fashion among affluent women. Her clothes were costly, but she wore practical leather boots rather than the embroidered fabric shoes preferred by noble ladies.
She turned away