The Drawn Arrow

by Clemence Housman

Clemence Housman published little fiction but had a greater renown for her wood engravings, some of which adorned the books of fairy tales by her brother Laurence Housman. Her writings somewhat resemble those of George MacDonald, blending myth, fantasy, and allegory with a slow, contemplative prose style. “The Drawn Arrow” concerns extremes of heroism, and personal salvation. It was probably, like the rest of Housman’s fiction, written around the turn of the century, though it was first published years later in the anthology Thirty and One Stories by Thirty and One Authors (1923), edited by Ernest Rhys and C. A. Dawson Scott.

The king lay hid in a hollow of the red sandhills. He watched the poisonous grey asp flicking through the burnt crouch-thorn, and the little long-legged rat nimble at the fray, and the tawny flatwing that is never still; and no other life showed astir within the round horizon. Red sand was all the world, overhung by a yellow sky; the sun swung up the dome to his highest pitch.

“The half of my kingdom would I give for one draught of water.”

Not many days ago he had been on his throne, a great king, with peace at home and conquering armies abroad. Then rose the tribes ripened to revolt by a traitor half-brother; and treason had opened his gates, and fired his palace over his head; and treason had broken his ranks in the field, so that of his first army none outlived the day save himself and his armour-bearer. Now was he cut off from all relief, for his foes warded the river and held the desert wells, knowing that a few more hours must deliver him to death if not to them.

The king waited his armour-bearer and waited in vain. “He has found no water. He is dead by thirst. He is slain. He is taken.” The face of his armour-bearer rose to mind, such a face as grows over a true brave heart. “No,” thought the king, “he is not taken: he himself would take his knowledge of me out of reach of the tormentors: he is dead.”

He drew out a wavy dagger, and tested it again on his sleeve that gave way like mist, on his palm that gave way like water. The studs of emerald gave a good grip; though he were weak as a child he could yet baulk his half-brother’s hate of a promised satisfaction. “Me alive he shall not have to flay. No.”

The anguish of thirst was terrible. It ached through every exhausted vein like fever, and like fever waxed and waned, stinging the brain into acute recognition of its scope, blanking it till the whole surrounding universe was impregnated with thirst, and a symbol.

Scents strangely strong took possession of his brain: the scent of a melon, the gold-laced melon that overhung the water-tank where as a boy he bathed; the scent of a woman, one bronze-dark woman: from a cup tinkling with mountain ice they drank together, and she struck him, the king, in lovely intoxication when the wine spilled into her bosom; the scent of sodden corn in the floods; the scent of camels by the summer wells; the scent of date-buds in the cool of dusk, when as a youth he stood at the ford, and saw across the water great manes stooped to lap. One draught bit keen from memory, quaffed on a day’s chase, rank with bruised fennel; and another quaffed but late in the press of disastrous battle, tingeing red as he drank: it was the reek of his own blood he drew. And between all these and others came wafts of a far remembrance, a scent unrecognisable so long forgotten; it pervaded all others, it dominated all others, blossoming late from the remotest corner of the brain: it was the scent of his mother’s milk.

The signal call of the restless flatwings gave a warning, and down in the trough of the sandhills he spied a figure coming. The king lay close in his lair, and pulled forward his screen of crouch-thorn. No faithful armour-bearer came here: this, by his fillet of yellow, was a man of the river hills, from a tribe of doubtful fidelity with claims to independence against him. Tough and spare he was, hairy, red as the sand; a goatskin was all his clothing, and his only weapon a staff headed with stone; a wallet and a gourd swung at his back.

At sight of the gourd the king’s hand sought his dagger, and his thirst became a torment quite intolerable. Lo! the man halted not far off, sat him down on the red hillside, and loosed the thong of wallet and gourd. At that the king thrust away his screen; his sword he left, for his dagger was enough; he turned inwards the bezel of his signet-ring, as he stepped out on the crumbling, shelving sand.

Little rat and grey asp ceased fight and scudded, and the flatwing shrilled away. The hillman turned, looking up, and sprang to his feet; he held up his right hand in token of peace, but the king came on. Then he caught up his staff, poised and swung it, but dropped it again, and once more offered the sign of peace. And then the king stood and held up his right hand, for he was dizzy and weak, and he saw that the man was wary, hardy, agile, more than his match.

So the hillman said, “Come on in peace”; and as the king came close he read in him the extremes of drought, and took the gourd and offered it instantly. And the king drank, blessed him by all his gods, and gave it back to him half-drained. Also food the hillman offered; and there they sat down together and shared like brothers of dates and a morsel of bread, and passed the gourd to and fro; but from the hillman’s hand hardly did it pass any lighter, for he saw how great was the thirst of the other.

Naught knew the red man of the shaking of a kingdom. He shaded his eyes, and looked.

“Yonder ride horsemen.”

Not a sign of them could the eyes of the king descry. “Belike a troop of wild ass,” he said.

“Three days,” said the hillman, “did I follow the wild ass southward, seeking a lost pair of mine who shun the bit and disown the slayer of the night lion.”

“Even so would the hillmen by their king.”

“Lions are the hillmen and not asses; let the king know!” And he added the loyal formula: “As the sun’s be the king’s reign.”

Still he looked. “Northward go these. They are fighting men, and many. They head for the passage of the river.”

He caught up wallet and gourd. “Do they think to take the pass of our hills?” he muttered. “Not with arms in their hands, though they should be of the royal army!”

“Stay!” said the king; and the man turned and looked sharply at him who spoke with authority in the desert of the red sandhills.

“Water and food have you given for no asking; add thereto a third boon, the sound of your name.”

“I have not asked yours,” said the hillman sullenly.

“Harken! Go you to the hillmen, and warn them that till the king’s army come they keep the pass of the hills against his enemies. In the presence of the king only shall you know my name; and ask you him then whatsoever boon you will and for my sake will he grant it.”

“Give then a token.”

“No token to bear lest you fall in with the king’s enemies; for you the token of my hand and eye.”

The king held up his right hand, took the other’s held up likewise, and gripped it hard, and their eyes met and held till the hillman was satisfied. Released he said: “My name is Speed.”

He glanced down at his palm: a rayed disk was faintly indented from the signet. One more keen look he cast. “As the sun’s be the king’s reign!” he said, caught up his staff, and swung away along the trough of the red hills.

Soon he was out of sight, and the king could see no living thing but the asp and the rat and the flatwing. Northward hung a blur on the horizon, dust raised of the horse he could not discern.

Long hours trailed down the sky, and the king lay close, waiting for cover of night to amend his chances.

With the edge of dark came his faithful armour-bearer, burnt with thirst and despairing. Past speech, he gave to the king one poor plant of the water-cactus, his only gain. But the king bade him slake his own thirst with this, and live and listen. Then he told all that had passed between himself and the hillman.

The armour-bearer got his voice, and said, “O my lord, was this a hairy man, all red, hair and skin, small headed, long in the thigh?”

“Even so.”

The armour-bearer smote his hands together.

“Oh, my lord, rise, haste and flee! the enemy have that man. He passed me, I hiding, though quick were his eyes; a nimble man and light in build, but going heavy and hard like a dog that runs mad. A misgiving I had then. And later, edging above the plain, I saw far off a chase, and my man running and doubling to win the farther side, and in the end ridden down and taken. Oh, my lord, he was taken alive!”

The king, without a word, took his sword and set forward. He pointed. “Yonder is the star of my birth; be that our guide, since reason can prefer no road.”

On through the weary night they went as destiny led; slower and slower, for the armour-bearer flagged, then dropped, and the king sat and waited for light to show him his fate.

With one breath of dawn rose broad day.

“My star!” cried the king. “Look and live.”

But the armour-bearer said hoarsely, “My lord, I cannot see.”

“Yonder, in sight, is the river,” said the king, “and my horse hold the bank, and the foot cross thick as locusts, and the battle joins on this side. From all quarters the foe gathers, with pickets streaming in, keeping the wells no longer.”

“Water!” muttered the armour-bearer, and got on his feet, but reeled and could not see.

Yet, in the end, both he and the king got down from the hills to the next well, and laying their sleeves over the mud of it, drew in delicious moisture of life. Also the water-cactus grew there.

While battle raged on the river bank, and the fortune of the day hung, a cry rose up, “The king, the king!” and with it the thrill that foretells victory ran through the royal army. And the enemy broke and fled, smitten without swords by the cry.

Now when the fight was ended and the slaughter, the king, riding by the river through the camping ground of the vanquished, spied among the herd of prisoners fillets of yellow, and bethought him of Speed the hillman. At his bidding his armour-bearer went, and presently came again with a man under his hand.

“My lord, two women there bound wear the yellow. Too dazed are they for speech or for knowing friend from foe. But this man of the prisoners knows of a foul thing to tell.”

Then the prisoner told over how the hillman had been taken and brought before the traitor brother; when though he denied stoutly all knowledge of the fugitive king, his goings were held against him, and torture was ordained to make him speak. Yet still he denied stoutly, spite of all persuasion by steel and cord and fire. Then the traitor, knowing that an army drew near, and most eager for his brother’s person, sent swift horsemen to the river hills, who by guile got from the tribe the mother and the sister; and he purposed to torture them also before the eyes of the hillman. But the day coming, and the battle, they were left bound in the camp.

“Where now is the hillman?” said the king.

“Yonder he lies in the river caves.”

Awhile the king stood in thought; then he ordered that the mother and sister should be kept bound, and that none should speak with them, and he took his armour-bearer with him to the river caves.

“Go in,” he said, “and see.”

And the armour-bearer went, and came out the paler.

“It is the man. Go not in my lord. Yes, my lord, he lives: his eyes are shut, but he surely lives.”

The king stood saying nought.

“My lord,” said the armour-bearer, “the title of Most Faithful, ordained by you this day for my reward, I cannot hold. This poor hillman has the better claim.”

“It is truth,” said the king. “Great shall be his reward.”

Then he turned to his guards and bade fetch the women.

“I have a mind,” he said, “to try the man, and the greater shall be his reward.”

And while his tent was pitching hard by he told his armour-bearer all that was to be done, and when the women came, put them in his hand for the doing, while he turned himself to the gathering of the captains.

So soon as the armour-bearer came again in at the tent the king bade for silence that he might speak.

“My lord, at the voices of the women he opened his eyes and sat, strong-alive yet. Oh, my lord, I got another with a stiffer throat than I to speak further. They, no less than he, doubted not the dead earnest of all; and they used all the power of woman-speech beseeching him for pity on himself and on them, and still he shook his head and denied that he had any knowledge of the king to deliver. Then that young woman, his sister, caught me by the knees beseeching pity of me, protesting that he knew nothing, for he would withhold nothing for the life of his mother and her, his sister, his twin sister. And yet when the order was given for her to be led away as to death, the hillman muttered something at her ear: ‘As the sun’s be the king’s reign,’ I thought it to be. And the young woman looked him in the eyes, and kissed him, and with no word more, went out straight. Then was brought in a human heart fresh killed, and put into his hand as his sister’s heart, with the heat and the beat of it still there. And he holds the heart and looks at his mother, and still he shakes his head.”

“Great shall be his reward,” said the king. “And the mother?”

“Oh, my lord, pardon!” said the armour-bearer, kneeling. “I have carried your command no further. Had you witnessed you could desire no further trial. Oh, my lord, spare him more.”

“Go,” said the king in anger, “and obey.” And the armour-bearer went.

When he came again tears were running down to his beard.

“Oh, my lord, I was born of woman. She uncovered the breast to her son; she was taken out struggling and crying to him to save her. And a second heart was brought in and put hot into his hand. And he sits there, holding in his blistered hands those two hearts that he takes to be his sister’s and his mother’s, and now one and now the other he holds against his breast to keep it warm, and he mutters over them, and all he says is: ‘As the sun’s be the king’s reign.’ ”

“It is enough,” said the king. “Great shall be his reward.”

Then by order Speed the hillman was cleansed and dressed with wine and oil; and a costly ointment the king gave, fit for the healing of blood royal.

Then on the next day the king had the hillman brought and set down in the tent where he lay. And he entered alone and closed the entrance, having on him the royal boss and the purple, and all the gear of the throne.

On the red man had been put a linen tunic to cover most of him, but with the aroma of the royal balm the smell of the torture came off him yet, and the look of torture lay dead on his face; and though the king in his splendour stood before him, the eyes of Speed the hillman stayed wide and blank without speculation, and when the king spoke to him by name they never moved.

Then the king, for a token, took what was left of the right hand of Speed in his own, and lifted it up, and fixed his eyes straight upon his and held so. And in a while the flesh he grasped quivered as the man’s eyes wavered with sense; recognition swam into them; his hand answered feebly; a great straight grin came out; he drew a thirsty breath and laughed low in his throat. At the dreadful noise the king, loosing, stepped back, when Speed reached to the hem of his sleeve and touched it at his brow. “As the sun’s be the king’s reign,” he muttered; and his head sank on his breast and his eyes settled.

Outside sounded the ringing of silver bells and the king uncovered the door of the tent, took Speed and set him there, and bade him look out.

Before the hillman’s eyeballs came, at slow pace upon white asses housed with silver and blue, two women with fillets of yellow, and the gowns of the tribe under long veils of gold; and they held up their hands and called him by name, and brother and son. With a sound little and shrill like the voice of a bat Speed the hillman spun round twice, beat the air and fell flat.

Now the women were come and had bowed at the king’s feet, and had taken up Speed upon their knees, and the king was fain with his own mouth to discover the circuits of his grace. But when a glimmer of recognition came with a shape of their names, yet the wells of joy lay all untouched, viewless and dark, the heart of the king so swelled with compassion that he had no voice to speak. He went out hastily, and calling his armour-bearer bade him go in and do the telling. “And when all things are made clear to Speed the hillman, bring him out hither, in the midst of all to me hither.” And the armour-bearer was pale and shook as he went at the king’s bidding.

Under a wide tented canopy of gold sat the king to deal out justice without mercy, and honours and rewards without stint. And many and many came before him, but not the armour-bearer with the man Speed, whose reward was to exceed all others; till the king, impatient, sent for the armour-bearer and questioned.

“My lord, all has been told, and his mother and his sister have told it after me, and he says nothing at all but their names. His eyes never leave them, and now to one and now to the other he thrusts his hand, and beneath the closing of the gown feels at the warm beating of the heart.”

“Send home the women,” cried the king, “and make straight his understanding.”

So the armour-bearer went, and again the king waited in vain, and again sent.

“What of the man Speed? What says he?”

“My lord,” said the armour-bearer, “he says nothing at all.” The king stamped for anger.

“Is this your duty? Have you not made him to know yet?”

“He knows! he does know. Oh, my lord, my lord.”

“Bring him here then,” cried the king. And the armour-bearer lifted his arms and cried: “Oh, my lord, my lord!” and went.

Every eye turned for the coming of the man above all others proved loyal and true by transcendent trial. In the midst sat the king on a throne, his nobles and his captains standing thick on either hand, backed by the glittering line of his guard. Six chosen men stood by him, three and three on either side; two swordsmen with blade drawn and up; two bowmen with strung bow and the arrow notched ready on the string; two spearmen with stooped spear. Brought in by the armour-bearer before all these, the red man in the linen tunic, with the smell of torture and the face of dead torture, stood on his feet and lifted a patient inanimate gaze.

Then, smiling, the king rose up from his throne to honour the man. “Oh, faithful and true,” he said, “great shall be your reward. No service of these the greatest in all my land has equalled yours. Turn your eyes and behold.”

And Speed turned his head this way and that, and saw all heads bowed to the earth honouring him. Only the king and his six guards stood upright, and the armour-bearer who forgot to worship with his body.

“Hear first the recompense that a king gives unasked; then ask your boon, and by the word of one who drank with you in the desert, is it granted.

“Hear all ye the recompense that a king gives unasked.

“It is my will that henceforth and for ever the tribe of the hillmen be free of tribute and toll; and that they have beyond the river of the water-lands as far as their flocks can in a day travel.

“It is my will that the sister of Speed the hillman be taken to wife of what man he shall choose in all my land, barring only the blood royal.

“It is my will that the mother of Speed the hillman be entitled Honourable, and that he make choice of a city for her maintenance.

“Also I will that the yellow fillet be worn of the royal brides.

“And for you, oh, Speed, shall be herds of white asses, and lordship, and trumpets shall be blown for your entrance of a city, and no man, not of my house, shall have place before you. Also the fair virgins of my land shall be sought out for your choice. Also my half-brother who is taken shall be given alive into your hand, that you may strip off his skin to serve you with covering till yours be whole. And the title of Brother to the King shall be yours; and the name you shall bear shall be my name, so only you yield me the gift of your name in exchange.”

Then the king took off the boss of gold and set it on the head of Speed, and on his neck a collar of gold, and on his finger the signet-ring; and he took off his mantle stiff with gold and with it clothed Speed the hillman, whose eyes had sunk and whose head had bent while these honours were laid upon him. And the majesty of grace was all the adornment left to the king’s person, therefore the more did all heads worship towards him.

Then the hillman lifted his head and looked into the eyes of the gracious king a while: with full understanding he looked: with mild eyes and weary he looked: with eyes that never shifted he held the king as he took the boss from his head and laid it on the throne, and likewise the collar of gold from his neck, and the signet-ring from his finger, and loosed the mantle and let it fall. And he turned, and from the presence of the king and his great ones went out softly upon the hot sand, and turned his face towards the river hills.

All men there looking on the king held breath; his breathing only, in the silence, was heard rattling.

“Shoot!” said the king. Quick, quick the bow-strings rang; an arrow sang out across the sand, stopped mute at the heart of Speed.

Quick, quick and frantic high tore out recall: too late. The voice of the king’s agony never reached the heart of Speed. He clutched the sand once and died.

No man but the armour-bearer dared look in the king’s face when he stood by the dead man. The arrow stood upright in his back quite still. His hands had all they could hold.

But it was the voice of a king’s displeasure that said: “One arrow!”

The armour-bearer with his left hand held up another; held up his right hand: it was stricken through.

“Most Faithful,” said the King low, “bury you him—where he lies; you and none other.”

He turned away with the face of a king, and the day went down on the last of the army winding away, and the armour-bearer alone smoothing the vacant sand half-way between the caves and the river.

But the king beheld the face of his most faithful armour-bearer never again.

   

Now when the king died, being of very great age and honours, and entered his chamber of silence for the last time, the new king, his son’s son, according to custom entered also for the first time. And there for his reading on the walls with strong lines and fair colours was set out the record of the dead king’s life from the star of his birth. And very long and splendid was the tale of his deeds and his conquests; and the woes that fell when his foes flourished because of the sleep of the gods were also set there and not diminished.

To the high-priest the young king said: “What means this arrow that stands in the heart of the king: with his foot on the neck of his half-brother he stands, and an arrow is in his heart; and never after find I him without it sticking there.”

But the high-priest could not tell him, nor could any man; and the craftsmen who wrought the walls had not marked in those arrows.

In dull red were the arrows drawn, and in the last of them the line wavered. And the first arrow of all was lined beneath the feet of the king, and a red man giving him drink from a gourd in the desert.

   

Above the rest of the hillman and above the rest of the king the wind of centuries with equal wing has smoothed the vacant sand.