Once upon a time, Egil, the brother of Veland the smith, came to the court of king Nidung. Egil excelled in the art of handling the bow and the crossbow. His address excited admiration throughout the country. The king Nidung gave Egil a good reception, and put his skill more than once to the proof. After having exhausted all the resources of his imagination, he took it into his head to have an apple placed upon the head of the son of Egil. “From where thou standest,” said he to the archer, “thou must shoot down this apple.” Egil took an arrow from his quiver, tried its point, and laid it by his side. He then took a second arrow, rested it on the string of his bow, took aim, and struck the apple in such a manner that the arrow and the apple both fell to the ground. This trial of skill still lives in the memory of the people. King Nidung then asked Egil why he had taken two arrows, since he had been ordered to hit the apple at one trial. “Sire,” replied Egil, “I will tell you the truth, whatever may be the consequence. This arrow was destined for you, if I had wounded my son.” The king admired the frankness of this reply, and was not offended by it, acknowledging the cruelty of the order he had given.
All the spectators agreed that it was the speech of a worthy and brave man.
ADVENTURE OF WILLIAM OF
CLOUDESLY.
The large forests of England were for many years formidable to the Normans. They were inhabited by the last remnants of the Saxon armies, who still disputing the conquest, persisted in leading a life opposed to the laws of the invader. Every where driven out, pursued, hunted like wild beasts, they here, favoured by the shelter of the forests, had been able to maintain themselves in force, under a sort of military organisation.
Among the chief outlaws, Adam Bel, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly, were not the least celebrated. Bound together by the same destiny, they had taken an oath of fraternity, as was customary in the 12th century. Adam and Clym were not married, but William had a wife and three children, whom he had left at Carlisle. One day he resolved to visit them. He set off in spite of the counsels of his companions, and arrived at night in the city: but being recognised by an old woman, he was denounced to the magistrate, his house was surrounded, he was made prisoner, and a gallows was erected in the market-place on which to hang him. A young swine-herd informed Adam and Clym of the fate of their brother in arms. The sentence was about to be executed, when the two friends of the condemned man appeared in the market-place, and a sanguinary combat ensued, which terminated in the delivery of the prisoner. The three outlaws, however, worn out at length with their wandering life, decided upon making their submission. They arrived in London with the eldest son of William of Cloudesly, entered the king’s palace without uttering a word to any one, proceeded into the hall, and, kneeling on one knee, raised their hands and said. “Sire, deign to pardon us.” “What are your names?” demanded the king. “Adam Bel, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly.” “Ah, you are then those brigands of whom I have heard? I swear to God, you shall all three be hung!” They were immediately arrested by the king’s order; but the queen, moved by the unhappy fate of these three men who had voluntarily surrendered themselves, interceded for them and obtained their pardon, but on condition that they should be victorious in a shooting match with the king’s archers.
Two branches of a hazel tree were fixed in the ground in a field at a distance of twenty times twenty paces. None of the king’s men at arms could hit this mark. “I will try,” said William, and he bent his bow and took so true an aim that the arrow split the branch. “Thou art the best archer that I have seen in the whole course of my life,” said the astonished king. “To please my sovereign lord,” said William, “I would do something still more surprising. I have a son of the age of seven years: I love this son with an extreme tenderness: I will attach him to a post in the presence of every one, I will place an apple upon his head, and at the distance of a hundred and twenty paces I will pierce the apple without wounding the child.” “I take thee at thy word,” said the king; “but if thou failest, thou shalt be hung.” “What I have promised,” said William, “I will perform.” He fixed a stake in the ground, fastened his son to it, and, having made him turn away his head, placed the apple upon it. After taking these precautions, William went to a distance of a hundred and twenty paces, bent his bow, besought all present to keep strict silence, and let fly the arrow, which pierced the apple without touching the child. “God preserve me from ever serving as an aim to thee!” exclaimed the king. The skilful archer, his brethren in arms, and his wife and children, were conducted to the court, where the king and queen loaded them with favours.
This trial of skill of William of Cloudesly still dwells in the memory of the people. Several English poets make mention of the fact, and the old English ballad has furnished Sir Walter Scott with many particulars of the scene of the archery meeting in Ivanhoe.
Let us here conclude, only making the remark, that at the end of the Recherches critiques sur l’histoire de Guillaume Tell, by J. J. Hisely, this author has quoted the documents, so called authentic, which the supporters of this story have published; and he has also made mention of the chapel built on the Lake of Lucerne, to the memory it is said, of William Tell.
Hisely also shows that none of these alleged proofs stand the test of strict examination, and that some of the documents are even forgeries.