Category: Hwæt bið betst and wyrst? Ic ðe secge, mannes word.
Entrant: Geffrey de Wulf
Title: I Might be Daft, But I’m Not Stupid.
Geoffrey ðe Wulf watched as the French knight, Sir François la Grenouille, walked towards him.
The Frenchman shouted out a challenge in a gust of garlic tainted breath. Wulf turned to his
nephew, Gareth, for a translation.
‘He says fight him if you want your hostage back,’ the youth whispered in his uncle’s ear.
Wulf, whose hearing was not that good, looked puzzled, so the youth repeated it, only louder.
‘Ah.’ Wulf looked and saw the French Knight had a sword, but no shield. He smiled and dropped
his own buckler to the ground and inclined his head. The Frenchman, seeing the unarmoured archer
now only carrying a short sword grunted in satisfaction, mentally assured of an easy victory and
raised his own hand and a half bastard sword in salute. Wulf returned the salute with his own
weapon.
With a hiss three arrows hit the Frenchman in the chest whilst other arrows took down the two
French men-at-arms holding the hostage.
Wulf walked over, stopping a safe distance from the French who were coughing frothy blood in
wheezing gasps as they slowly died and watched as they expired.
John, “not Sir John”, Chandos, a man whose name constantly led to confusion and who had recently
joined Wulf’s men as an archer, stood at Wulf’s side with a puzzled look on his face.
Wulf turned and smiled at John. ‘I might be daft, but I’m not stupid,’ he said. ‘He was bigger than
me, better armed and better trained as a swordsman: I’m an archer because I prefer to see my
enemies die a decent distance away – there is no point in taking risks when you can avoid them.’
Gareth went and gave the French a kick then came and stood by his uncle’s other side. ‘They are
dead alright.’ He glanced back to where the band had secured their ponies. ‘I think we have room
on the palfreys for their armour: shame about the arrow holes mind.’
‘Yes,’ Wulf rubbed his left hand over the leatheren patch that covered his missing left eye. ‘Lowers
the value do arrow holes.” He glanced at the child the French had been holding as a hostage: the
boy was sitting between the dead men who had been hanging onto him. The child was staring at the
rag-tag English archers emerging from the woods laughing. ‘Better go and look after the child
Gareth: get him cleaned up before we get him back to his parents. All being as it should, we will be
well rewarded.’
‘But the reward before they get the boy back?’ Gareth called over his shoulder as he walked
towards the now sobbing child.
‘I might be daft, but I’m not stupid,’ Wulf called back.
Author’s note:
So many Mediaeval Historical Fiction novels end up with the hero having a duel with the chief
villain, usually where the hero is the under dog, yet, somehow, the hero wins. Personally I think
they are stupid – why put yourself at risk when you can kill them without said risk?