DIVERSIFYING
----
11th-13th century AD, North America
In many other branching universes, the invention of the New World native crossbow never got too far. It remained confined to the homeland of its original inventor. In some universes, the invention even faded into obscurity, an idea snuffed out due to tribes destroyed by mutual warfare, or due to the slowness of overland trade and the resulting slower exchange of ideas.
Who knows how many times in history the New World native crossbow saw invention, by the limping bowyer or by others, only to become a piece of lost technology. Briefly reinvented and forgotten again and again, numerous times, or not at all. It seemed as if, with the exception of the isolated Inuit cultures in the far north of the New World, no one would ever manage to spread the invention much further than the local area they called home, or to the surrounding wider region. Crossbows in the non-Inuit parts of the Americas seemed destined to become stillborn...
However, in one particular, very specific timeline, there was a lucky confluence of events. A very rare example indeed. From the 11th to the 13th century AD, the idea of the crossbow spread haphazardly across parts of North America. Still with plenty of false starts, but like the bow and arrow centuries or millennia before it, the idea had started to lay down roots in the cultures that were introduced to it.
----
13th century AD, eastern woodlands of North America
♫
Sitting on the ground or crouched above it, the small troop consisting of
mantlet-bearers, archers and tillerbowmen waited, hidden behind thick local foliage at the edge of the meadow.
"When I give you men the order, we go. No sooner. We are not armed that powerfully for close combat," whispered the officer of this troop.
Many of them nodded quietly. He was a seasoned fighter, he knew his stuff.
It was a sunny, summer day, though some clouds were crawling through the sky. The wind was blowing with a degree of power, but often mellowed out into a pleasant breeze.
In the forest thicket at the edge of the meadow, it was considerably cooler and darker.
Through small gaps in the foliage, they could see the enemy hill fort. It was not just some hastily fortified camp, but a proper big hill fort. It stood on a moderately tall hill protruding from the local terrain, encircled by a stockade of thick, tall wooden trunks, sharpened at the upper ends. The defenders were standing behind the top of this wooden wall, most of their bodies covered, save for enough space for their heads and upper torsos that they could shoot from bows... and tillerbows. Even from this distance, it was clear it's a very well-built and very well-manned fortification. Finally, it was also a town. There were people and houses inside those walls. And the locals, even non-warriors, wouldn't give up their town without a dogged, determined fight.
The enemy hill fort would be a tough nut to crack.
One of the younger tillerbowmen of the troop was sitting under a beech tree, his weapon propped against the bark of the beech. He was sitting quietly, trying to enjoy the calm before the inevitable storm of battle. As the chieftains said, with determination, they have to capture that hill fort. Much rests on it... Very much.
The young bowman sat under the beech, playing with a twig and leaf he found, bored.
Pity the tillerbows are a little noisier than regular bows, he thought.
You can still sneak up on an enemy and shoot at them, but they are a tiny bit more likely to hear you, even if they are also less likely to see you, he pondered
.
Nevertheless, he felt he was well-prepared for the battle ahead, at least in terms of equipment. He had plenty of bolts for his weapon, and the tillerbow itself was equipped with the more recent type of trigger. It had a bottom-mounted wooden lever. One end of the lever touched the lower end of a small but sturdy wooden peg. Whenever pressed upward, this lever would push the peg upward, through a hole burnt out and drilled through the tiller. The upper end of the hole was at the bottom of the string-catch groove, and as the upper end of the wooden peg rose, it lifted the bowstring. It was all very simple really, only a bit more involved than the more common approach with the top-mounted trigger, behind the string-catch.
Better yet, the peg-bows of his fellow tillerbowmen in this troop all shared an improvement. It was not yet widespread, but was becoming more common. Rather than needing to reset the peg after every single shot, by pushing it downward with your own finger, the warriors of one of the tribes had a simple but ingenious idea. They drilled smaller holes into the bottom half of the peg, pushed through robust pieces of thread through these holes and tied the thread to grooves they made in the sides of the lever that pushed the peg upward. Now, whenever they let go of the lever after a shot, the lever dragged the wooden peg downward, along with it. No need to reset the peg-lock anymore... Even those few moments shaved off of respanning and reloading the tillerbow could prove vital in a fight, especially a battle or siege.
♫
After what felt like an eternal wait, the order finally came.
Attack.
Suddenly, he felt like he almost didn't want to stand up from the ground and go to battle.
It always sounded so glorious, didn't it... Going to battle, fighting... Coming back home a hero, getting a hero's welcome and the admiration of pretty girls. Maybe it wasn't always so exhilirating as they said...
Nevertheless, he stood up, tied together his padded armour. He quickly checked if he had all his weaponry with him, and started to march along with his fellow warriors, following the officer and mantlet-bearers heading forward.
They were off to war. Maybe a small war to some. Just a larger siege, at most.
But even a smaller battle could leave behind big wounds and big consequences.
Other troops of the attacking force were emerging on the scene, the large meadow under the hill fort. Mantlets always forward, some of the troops consisted mostly of spearmen, others mostly from clubmen and axemen, some were mostly made up of archers and slingers. Troops with tillerbowmen were, by far, the least numerous.
Walking under the summer sun lighting the meadow, it felt rather strange they were heading towards such vicious violence. The pitter-patter of the arrows, bolts and stones against the mantlets was already beginning.
Oh yes, bolts as well. So far, there were more arrows than bolts, but if the attackers got close enough, the defenders wouldn't hesitate to welcome them with bolts shot from tillerbows, in addition to arrows shot from bows and stones launched from slings.
One of the men marching in his troop, an archer with a common handbow and only lighter clothing, suddenly fell to his back and yelled a scream of inhuman pain. Several members of the troop looked back at him, frightened, but tried to keep a brave face and marched patiently forward, hiding behind the advancing mantlets.
"Keep close to the mantlets, men ! Cover is key," intoned the officer of their troop, and waved his warclub to emphasize his words.
The young tillerbowman looked at the archer, his face bloody, and growling incoherently, his limbs twitching strangely... He saw no arrow sticking from the archer's head or neck or body, but something had hit him
very hard in the head. A stone, no doubt. A stupid,
simple little stone, launched by some skillful slinger. And that ordinary stone had now probably punctured the poor lad's skull. With a weapon that simple but nasty, who even needed something as complicated as tillerbows ?
He didn't want to keep looking at the unfortunate archer further, so he averted his eyes and looked forward... The hill fort ahead loomed ominously, even if partly obscured by the patiently advancing large mantlets. Several tillerbowmen at the flanks also carried their own, one-man mantlets, smaller in size and with a few different details, but functionally identical.
Around the middle of their advance through the meadow, several officers gave a loud order:
"Halt !"
The mantlet-bearers set down their large mantlets, while the individual tillerbowmen set down their smaller versions. Using wooden spikes and supports built into the lower end of the mantlets to keep them standing in a stable manner, at a bit of a backward-leaning angle. Individual tillerbowmen hid behind their portable shields, waiting for an order to start shooting.
Each mantlet, particularly the larger ones, consisted of a light but sturdy frame constructed of medium-thick flexible branches. At its inner side, a few thin planks of wood were attached to the frame. At its outer side, and the diameter, the mantlet was covered entirely by a wicker surface, similar to that of a thickly-woven basket. Many mantlets, especially the large types, also had an extra layer of strong rawhide attached to the wicker part of the shield. Apparently, it made it somewhat more powerful at resisting enemy projectiles.
As he didn't have his own portable mantlet, he was very glad that he wore the padded armour he had, and also wore the bowman's hat. A simple wicker hat reinforced with a carefully implemented layer of bark and rawhide on the outside, this hat was a rare sight on the head of any soldiers other than tillerbowmen. With their more methodical shooting, slower spanning and reloading and generally somewhat shorter range, they were not used for scouting attacks or hit-and-run tactics, unlike usual archers. Tellingly, most of their archers, as well as the enemy's, wore little to no armour. Some archers were even rather lightly clothed in general, presumably to make them swifter runners. Fat load of good that swiftness brought the poor archer... The young tillerbowman couldn't resist the bile temptation and looked back at the spot where the archer was hit. He wasn't entirely sure, but he had the impression he was still lying there on his back, in the grass. Motionless, without even the slightest movement.
Waiting for the order to shoot was unbearable. Finally, it came.
This is what he had trained for.
He stuck a few bolts into the ground, so their arrowheads would be somewhat dirty. Many other archers and tillerbowmen in his troop and other teams did the same. If the arrowheads ended up in the bodies of enemy warriors, they would bring in all manner of impurities into their wounds, potentially causing them more trouble in the long run. It was almost like a gentler poison. He pulled a bolt out of the ground, placed it in the flight groove of his tillerbow, aimed as best as he could at the nearest enemy warrior... It was so easier to aim these peg-bows than the more common thumb-bows ! You could peer down the length of the tiller and aim more easily, without the little trigger in the way... He held his breath for a moment or two, and with trained skill, pressed the lever upward. The peg rose...
Twang !, went his tillerbow, swiftly releasing the war bolt...
Twang, twang, twang...
The other tillerbows and handbows echoed his.
There would be a lot more of those twangs today than just that one, from his own bow. As well as a lot of swooshing sounds from the air...
We shoot as one, we fight as one, we attack and defend as one, we die as one. As brothers, he reminded himself of the warrior mantras he was taught throughout his younger years and during his military training.
In-between popping a few shots at the hill fort defenders, he paused and took a look at his fellow fighters. Some were using even more new-fangled ideas than merely tying the peg to the trigger lever below the tiller. They were also wearing strange hooks carved of hardwood, dangling from short pieces of thick and sturdy rope that hung from the hardy leather belts they wore around the waists of their padded armour. And some even had strange foot-loops tied or attached to the front parts of their tillerbows, in front of the bowstaves themselves.
Many of the men hand-spanned their tillerbows, pressing either of their moccasins against the back of the bowstaves, and pulling back the bowstring into the string-catch groove. But some of them, the ones equipped with the new-fangled additions, did things differently. Some put their feet in the foot-loops at the front and pulled back on the string, until it fell into the groove, ready to load and shoot. And some did the same, but rather than hold the bowstring with their bare hands, they hooked it into the strange wooden hook dangling from their belts, grabbed the butt of the tiller with their hands and pulled the bowstring upward with their bodies, literally putting their backs into it. Such spanning had always intrigued him, but honestly, he preferred the good old hand-spanning method. That said, maybe one day he could equip his war tillerbow with one of those interesting foot-loops...
♫
The enemy didn't want to leave anything to coincidence. When the attackers least expected it, the gatehouse suddenly opened wide and several crowds of men started running towards the attackers. Not merely running, no. Outright sprinting. Nasty-looking weapons in hand, fury in their eyes, much yelling and shouting. They were yelling and shouting in the most deafening and horrifying ways possible. Axes, spears, ballhead clubs with one or more spikes... Mostly melee weaponry. Not intended for a slow, methodical counter-offensive. This was an all-out, do-or-die sally to shatter the discipline and morale of the attacking enemy, to break apart formations, wound enemy soldiers, send them on the run... Then maybe sweep up the paniced, chaotically retreating attackers...
But even that was easier said than done.
The men taking part in the sally were brave men. They were also not dumb men. But they were highly angry, incredibly aggressive, and above all, determined to defend their hill fort at all costs.
Archers of the attacking forces did quick work of several men in the quickly approaching, incredibly vicious crowd. Still, they could not pick off every single warrior.
Though the spearmen and mantlet-bearers did their best, the sally force hit them like a tidal wave that cares nothing for what stands in its way. A tidal wave of hands and weapons began to strike at the huddled down infantry of the attackers.
Things were about to get bloody. And it didn't seem like the attackers were guaranteed to hold their position.
The sally didn't last forever. Its members, as valiantly as they fought, could only do two things: Fight viciously and mercilessly, or die.
Mostly... they died.
Now, the attackers had gotten as far as the gatehouse of the hill fort. Mantlets were turned upward and under various other angles. A crew of strong men, carrying a larger, long log, carefully entered the scene. Under the protection of the mantlets, they reached the gatehouse.
"Now, men !" cried the man in charge of the other rammers. "Heave ! Back ! And forth ! Heave !"
With a loud thud, the battering ram hit the wooden gate of the hill fort.
Time passed.
Though the mantlet-bearers did their best to protect the crew with the battering ram, both them and the rammers experienced a few nasty surprises. Chief among them was the hot water poured on them by the defenders of the gatehouse. Many men in the crew sieging the gatehouse suffered horrific, nauseating burns. Some were hurt so badly, their fellow fighters had to carry them out of there, other warriors soon taking their place. Luckily for them, for some reason, the defenders didn't repeat this move.
Perhaps they were low on supplies of water, surmised some of the officers leading the attacking force. With the hill fort besieged, and the water wells inside of it probably being of more average quality, they didn't want to waste precious water. Just in case the siege would last long. And that's exactly it. They'll besiege this town, for as long as it takes to force the locals to surrender. They might not even bother waiting that long, and might attempt to set the whole place on fire, sooner or later.
♫
After another sally, the attackers were forced into a minor retreat. They held most of the area around the besieged hill fort, but they weren't advancing much. The walls were still holding, for the most part. Two of the laddermen were slaughtered when they attempted to place a ladder onto the stockade near the gatehouse. The mantlet-bearers and rammers had to also retreate from the gate. Spearmen and sustained archery barrages eventually made quick work of the second sally. It seemed the enemy then decided to eschew any further attacks and fell back on an entirely defensive approach.
It was a sunny summer day. He still had his tillerbow, placed near his hiding place. He still had some bolts in his quiver, a knife, and his small axe. He wasn't sure how long he'd last on the battlefield. Hidden behind two corpses, and huddled between two more, even a hiding place like this one wouldn't last forever. He could jump to his feet and run, but that would earn him the enmity of his tribe… and enemy scouts could eventually find him and kill him… Take him prisoner, if he was very lucky, but then maybe torture him. He could stay here and try to fight, but the attack seemed to have already hit a stalemate. And who's to say they wouldn't torture him as their prisoner, and then kill him ?
Sweating in his padded armour under the happy summer sun, he was weighing his options.
Options that could decide about his and others' life and death…
For a brief, sweat-filled, somewhat delirious moment, his mind wandered back to that young woman from the neighbouring village. The one he had always liked, the one he befriended, the one that always meant so much to him, even though he didn't speak about it. He now wondered, like many young men in such predicaments do, whether he'll ever see her again.
And if he will, will she dismiss him as just another coward who fled from battle ? Or not ?
On the hill in front of him, the siege raged on...
Many centuries later, archaeologists and historians would often debate the loose parallels between archery, body armour and siege warfare developments among the native peoples of North America, and those of the Old World, particularly of European and Asian cultures.
Portable military mantlet technology and padded armour technology seemed to be known to the eastern woodlands cultures already during the presumed time of the tillerbow's invention. However, based on recurring archaeological evidence dated to between the 11th and 15th century, it seems as though the invention of the tillerbow further spurred the greater use of these defensive means in native warfare, particularly siege warfare between eastern woodlands cultures, as well as, later on, other regional cultures throughout North America.
Besides larger mantlets, carried usually by two, sometimes even three or more warriors, there were also smaller versions, capable of being carried by a single combatant. It is assumed that these one-man-portable mantlets fulfilled a role very similar to that of a medieval European pavise, carried and used by European crossbowmen on open battlefields (including in offensive siege scenarios). The Native American tillerbowman could hide behind a smaller mantlet (similarly to a European crossbowman hiding behind a pavise), spanning and reloading his bow, then peering from behind the mantlet, shooting quickly, and ducking back behind the mantlet.
A particular novelty among native armour that only emerged in the centuries after the appearance of the tillerbow, were lightly armoured hats. These seemed to be worn almost exclusively by native tillerbowmen, i.e. crossbowmen, and not even every single one. Though the helmet-like hats of these archers gradually became more widespread, at first, they seemed to be the domain of more wealthier warriors armed with tillerbows. Though the hats protected a native archer from enemy projectiles falling and impacting from above, they also served a protective function while a tillerbowman was shooting from behind his smaller, one-man-portable mantlet, or the bigger type of mantlet, carried by two or more mantlet-bearers.
Concerning sidearms, outside of some rare examples of wooden, edged, sword-like clubs, there is no known evidence that North American natives ever developed swords in any true sense. Nevertheless, in a role comparable to the melee sidearm of a European medieval crossbowman - armed with an arming sword, falchion, or at least a smaller axe, one-handed warhammer or pick - the Native American tillerbowman was equipped with various one-handed warclubs, native one-handed stone axes (sometimes even extra throwing axes), stone hammers, clubs with pick, mace or hammer implements made of stone, antler, bone and wood. Many eastern woodlands warriors, even those trained primarily as archers, knew how to use their clubs and axes just as well as any European swordsman would use his sword.
----
late 13th century AD, northwest Pacific coast of North America
♫
His father called on him, getting ready to leave the village on some errand.
"Come on, son, it's time we went fishing," he said, putting on his dependable travel cloak.
"Oh, and take your hunting bow and quiver."
The boy grabbed some woodsman equipment and bags, but hesitated about taking his archery kit.
"My bow and quiver ? Father, are you sure you haven't eaten too many huckleberries yesterday evening ?"
The older man laughed.
"No, son, I assure you, I haven't. I haven't lost my mind either. Take your archery kit and follow me. We're going fishing. And maybe even hunting, a bit..."
His father was leading him into the neighbouring valley, towards a moderately shallow stream. They weren't exactly going on some daring whaling trip, like the men from their coastal village occasionally did. Whaling canoes, bladder floats tied to hardy, long harpoon shafts… Many an orca, as beautiful as it was, found its death at the end of a harpoon, during one of the annual hunts.
They were going to do something much humbler than whaling. Fish.
Still, the boy didn't understand how they'd fish, without nets or fishing rods.
"Are we going to catch fish with our bare hands, father ?"
"No, son. We are going to fish by shooting arrows."
"What ?" the boy stopped immediately and gave his father a surprised look.
The man stopped as well and smiled back at his very confused son. He raised the hat he was wearing on his head, scratched his short but messy hair a bit, purely out of habit, then put the hat back on.
"No, son, I haven't gone mad. But I've also never tried bowfishing. It's not practiced much by our village or the people in the wider area, but I have heard rumours that some tribes further away have become rather good at it. Apparently, it's quite fun. Today, we'll attempt just that."
"Oh ! Interesting. Won't it be a bit difficult, though ?"
"Maybe. Hopefully not too difficult. Just in case, if the bow would prove too cumbersome, you might have noticed I've brought along this."
He unslung the trunkbow hanging over his shoulder.
"Ah... Do you think it could be even better at shooting fish than an ordinary bow ?"
"I would like to think it might surprise us... I like surprises."
They arrived at the stream and prepared their archery equipment. The stream was rather teeming with fish. It seemed quite plausible they could catch some by shooting them with arrows. The stream wasn't flowing too fast, so even if they killed a fish with an arrow or bolt, they would have enough time to run after it and pick it up from the water.
"I can imagine it would be much easier to sit with a spanned trunkbow and wait for a fish, than to wait for a fish with a bow, and aim and span it for a very short moment," noted the boy thoughtfully.
"Yes, son. That's the idea. I want to try how good the trunkbow will be at this task."
They got to work.
It was like shooting fish in a water trough. Walking through the forest with a supply of seven medium-sized fishes hanging from their bags, they both seemed satisfied.
"What do you think, son ? Was it good for a first try ?"
"Very good ! Two fishes with my bow, five with your trunkbow... We might try this again in the future !"
"Yes, it was surprisingly easy. A good way to catch some fish if you're a skilled archer and have no other equipment. That said, I want to try one more thing. You've probably noticed we're not going straight back to the village. I'm leading us back there on a somewhat longer route. First, we'll stop by a local pond."
The boy listened carefully and with interest.
"Father, and what will we do at the pond ? Continue fishing ?"
"No, no, son… I have something else in mind. You'll see, another surprise."
"I'm patient."
"Good."
♫
They arrived at the pond. Some ducks and geese were visible on the shores and on the water, but most of them at the more farther end. In the distance, approaching through the skies, the boy saw a flock of ducks in flight. He pointed at them.
"Look, father ! Pity we can't hunt them, right ? They don't seem like they want to land here."
"On the contrary ! That is exactly what we'll make them do ! " said his father, almost playfully, and pulled out an arrow and a bolt from the quivers. They had strange, large arrowheads… Wooden, elongated, bulbous arrowheads, with a hole or slit in the side.
"A whistling arrow and bolt ?"
"You know your arrows, son ! Now I'll show you they can be used for more than just sending signals. But we need to be quick... The ducks are almost here."
The ducks were passing not too high above the local tree line, and the trees were already quite tall here.
"Now ! Shoot in an arc, to the other side of the pond !" his father hissed a command.
Twang, the bow released the whistling arrow in an elegant arc. Twang, the trunkbow released the whistling bolt, in a slightly shallower arc.
As both of them flew through the air to the other side, both on similar but different trajectories, the son finally realised what his father was up to...
The whistling of the arrowheads sounded similar to the sounds of a hawk, eagle or other bird of prey ! He wanted to trick the ducks into landing !
And land they did ! Right after hearing the scary sound that reminded them of a raptor, the ducks instinctively... ducked... downward, hastily flying down towards the pond and landing on the water.
Here, on the surface of the pond, these cute waterfowl felt much safer from predators.
But they forgot about a species of two-legged predators, a species that had slowly colonized and perhaps even conquered the Earth. Less by physical prowess, far more by cunning and intelligence. Or, as the man's and boy's tribe used to say... through
sheer smartarsery.
The man gestured at the boy to ready his quiver and bow, crouch down and follow him.
He himself readied a bolt for his trunkbow, placing it in the flight groove. It was based on a skipping arrow, albeit shorter, in order to work as a bolt. A small sphere-like bulb was located near the front, not far behind the tip of the arrowhead. Instead of the more common single wooden spike, this arrowhead consisted of a two-pronged tip, made of bone. The two thin flights at the back were subtle and rudimentary, just enough to keep the bolt flying straight for a shorter distance. A skipping bolt like this should be ideal for duck hunting.
"Now let's move quietly. We need to sneak up on them and shoot a few."
The boy nodded, and they slowly snuck up on the unsuspecting ducks, hiding behind small trees, shrubs and the reeds on the shore as they approached…
♫
They were walking back home with two ducks dangling from the frames of their backpacks.
Seven fishes, two ducks… Not a bad hunting trip, considering they only used archery equipment !
As they entered the village and walked its pathways, between pithouses, huts, small log cabins and innumerable wooden racks filled with drying fish, the father noticed someone down by the shore. A visitor in a canoe, disembarking. The shape of the boat was different, and his clothing was quite different too, so he was from further away. Some local was greeting him.
The father unloaded some of his equipment from his back and gave it to his son.
"Sorry to encumber you so much, son. Please take this home, then come and meet me down at the shore. We have a guest in the village."
"Yes, I've noticed the boat. Where do you think he's from, father ?"
"That clothing and canoe shape... Hard to mistake. Definitely a Haida man."
A fellow villager was passing by.
"Greetings," said the father to get her attention. "Be well. Did that stranger down at the shore arrive just now ?"
"Yes, just now. Oh, my ! You two have been rather lucky today !"
"I'll tell you about our hunting trip soon enough. Thank you, I'll go talk to that man."
"What will you tell him, father ?"
"Maybe divulge some fishing and hunting tips, son," he winked at the offspring. "Now, please take this home and hurry back, meet me and the visitor down at the shore. There are few people down there and I know quite a bit of Haida, so we'll try to get a conversation going."
"Right."
"He might tell us the latest news from his homeland, some rumours on schools of fish and whales out at sea, and we'll offer him something in exchange as well. Our experiences with bowfishing and tricking ducks with whistling arrows. He might find it interesting."
The son smiled, then turned around and walked to their house at a brisk pace.
By the mid-to-late 13th century, northern trade routes had taken the idea of the simple crossbow from the eastern woodlands further west. Eventually, it reached the Pacific coastal regions, and was gradually adopted by the ancestors of nationalities that would in our world be recognised as the Salish, Nootka, Haida, and several others. Some of the more northernly people, speaking what we in our world would call Athabaskan languages, slowly adopted the weapon as well. They became the northernmost of its typical users.
Though the Native American crossbow never spread as far north as to overlap with Inuit territory, future archaeologists would be eventually confounded on the history of the weapon's origins and geographic distribution, given its great mechanical similarity to the Inuit crossbow. Both were developed independently, albeit broadly followed the same idea for the lock (i.e. string-catch and trigger mechanism). Research eventually settled in favour of the weapons being considered to be independently invented. The hypothesis of technological exchange between the Arctic and the rest of North America was never entirely ruled out, though, due to a relative lack of conclusive archaeological evidence.
----
first half of the 14th century AD, southwestern regions of North America
♫
"They're coming ! By the spirits, they're coming !" cried the young woman, dropping the pannier from her back to unburden herself, and ran even more headlessly towards their settlement.
"Who ? The raiders ? Them again ?!" he stood at the bottom of the ladder, bewildered about what's going on.
Terrified, she nodded tearfully.
"It's them again, yes. They're attacking again…"
He stepped closer to her, gave her a kind hug and fondled her head.
"Don't worry, we'll hold them off. We're braver than they think. Go inside, alert the others, prepare for defence."
She nodded and started quickly climbing the ladder.
"Sound the drums !" he heard her muffled cry from above.
And sound they did. He heard drumming from the sheltered side of the settlement's roofs. First, a single drum, then another, then the third drum... They were drumming the rhytm everyone was taught and knew by heart. The warning melody.
The settlement is under attack. Retreat inside, fight back, defend. Weather the siege.
An old geezer was running back to the settlement, already having trouble catching his breath. Strangely and somewhat amusingly, he was still clutching the antler-bladed hoe he was using to till their nearby fields. Maybe he kept it in his hands as a walking stick, to avoid tripping ? Or he was so scared that he forgot to throw it away as he ran away from the approaching band of raiders ? Hard to say.
The man sprinted towards the geezer, and grabbing him under the arm, helped him with running to the nearest access ladder. After a somewhat comical hesitation, the geezer shrugged and dropped the hoe to the ground. They ran to the ladder. Suddenly, one or two pebbles impacted the ground near them. Then came a sudden swoosh and an arrow hit the ground near them, kicking up dust.
They ran. The man felt some pebble had hit him somewhere around the shoulderblade. That was going to leave a sore... He was holding his hand to the back of the geezer's head. If they hit them, then he needed to ensure the old man would avoid an ugly head injury.
Finally, they reached the ladder, and the geezer, thanking him, started to climb upward. One more man ran to the ladder, then a woman. They quickly climbed up.
The man stood there, waved at a curious, nervous face that appeared in the opening.
"I'll be all right. Making sure everyone's inside. Raise the ladder and ready your weapons !"
Without a word, they raised the ladder.
The man walked over to the nearest ladder, roughly at the centre of the facade. All the other outside ladders were already being raised and retracted inside the building. Two or three exhausted-looking settlers came running, desperate to hide in safety. He greeted them and helped the most exhausted of them up the ladder.
Once the three of them were up, he looked around.
"Hey, come inside ! We can't wait longer !"
The raiders were approaching. Some sneaking up carefully, hiding behind more distant shrubs and small, hardy trees. Some were walking rather fearlessly straight towards the settlement.
He looked around one more time, then touched the ladder.
All right, everyone seems to have returned.
Time for me to...
His thought was stopped dead in its tracks, as he noticed someone running down the hillside that neighboured the settlement. A young man, no doubt on a stroll or some other errand, coming home a bit too late.
Dammit ! At least he heard the drumming...
"Wait a few more moments ! We have a straggler !" he yelled up the ladder, into the entrance room.
With a vibrating thud, an arrow shot by one of the raiders impacted the dry wood of the ladder.
Dammit, dammit, thought the man, genuinely startled by the arrow.
Spirits, help him ! he uttered a silent wish in his mind.
Running down the hill as fast as he could, trying to avoid tripping, the young man had a detailed view of the whole scene in front of him. From a distance and from a slight height, it felt as if he had the entire scenery on the palm of his hand.
The drums were echoing ceaselessly with their rhytmic, loud warning signal... The terrified settlers, men, women, children, were all running back to the access ladders and climbing them as swiftly as possible. Some bolts, arrows and stones were already flying from the settlement. With each new arrival of a fleeing local, the number of warning shots from the defensive windows and thin slits in the walls kept increasing... and increasing... After a short while, it was a regular, if still thinly-spread barrage of arrows, bolts and even stones.
You could even say the settlers were... garrisoning the town centre.
Though most of his fellow townsmen were shooting at the raiders from inside the settlement, some also stood on top of its flat roofs, behind low parapets, flinging pebble after pebble with simple slings. He could hear the snapping of the slings all the way up to the hillside, and that was still quite far.
He saw that one man was still standing near the final unraised ladder. Waiting for him ?
The young man didn't have time to contemplate it further. He knew he needs to run and run, until he reaches that ladder and climbs it. If he doesn't reach the ladder in time, the raiders will tear him limb from limb. He ran. Ran like wild.
Finally, he was down on level ground and running to the front facade of the settlement…
He noticed one of the raiders had shot an arrow at the waiting man. Thankfully, it only hit the ladder. The young man ran, he tripped, fell. It hurt, but he got up quickly, ignored his scrapes and minor wounds, and continued running. Finally…
"You're lucky I'm so noble-minded…" grumbled the waiting man.
...he had reached the ladder.
Without a word, he jumped on the ladder and started climbing inside. An arrow hit the adobe wall near the ladder, its arrowhead broke with a blunt thud. The young man was nearly at the top of the ladder, but he almost literally jumped upward and frantically climbed inside.
As the local man climbed the ladder, he heard the sound of pebbles hitting its wood. A few pebbles hit the adobe facade above his head. He climbed inside the room and yelled at the others to pull the ladder inside. One of the women was already cleaning the wounds the young man sustained when he fell. The others were preparing defensive measures. It was a real hive of activity. He looked outside through one of the defensive slits. The band of raiders numbered some thirty, maybe even forty men. Some were still harder to see, as they were sneaking through the underbrush. They would have to quit that tactic soon, though, as the vicinity of the settlement was free of such cover, making it easier to defend.
Thirty... Forty... We've dealt with worse… he thought, trying to encourage himself.
Feeling rested enough, he stood up from the bench and walked over to the wooden rack on the wall, with hanging weapons and shorter quivers. He armed himself with one of the remaining trunkbows, like the other men in the room and the adjacent rooms and hallways lining the front facade of the settlement. A front facade filled with defensive slits in the wall...
He spanned the bowstring, inserted it into the string-catch groove. He placed the bolt in the flight groove, pushed the wooden "lips" at the front of the trunkbow against the sides of the slit. They fit in nicely, and one could still rotate the bow left or right, depending on the direction needed. He aimed carefully and worked the trigger. His bolt flew rather well, hitting the ground near one of the raiders. Even gave him a jump scare !
The locals were already sending arrows and bolts flying in decent numbers. Often in salvos.
The raiders were trying to counteract this by spreading out, but as clever as they wanted to be, the projectile coverage only grew and grew. This siege was getting complicated...
After he had shot some ten bolts, he noticed a friend of his passing by the door to the hallway. He called on him to wait. He handed the trunkbow to a lady who was sitting there, weaponless, and wished her good luck. He walked over to the friend and silently pointed upwards. His friend nodded. They went further down the hallway and climbed a ladder in an alcove.
They were gonna need a bigger bow... A wall-bow.
Emerging on a flat roof, fenced on all its sides by a sturdy parapet wall of shorter height, they walked over to the wall-bow and manned it.
Wall-bows were essentially oversized trunkbows, purpose-built for defending forts and settlements. This one was generally similar to the usual specimens. About the most advanced thing about it was that it had a fully composite bow. Neither a wooden selfbow or a bow reinforced merely with sinew, this fairly large bow was constructed of both wood and horn material.
Originally, they used a large selfbow for this one, as big as a wooden longbow (a rarer sight in this region). However, it was quite cumbersome to move around and aim whenever they needed to bring it to the front parapet of this flat roof. Bartering for a large wood-and-horn composite bow, ultimately smaller than the selfbow they used previously, payed off. It wasn't exactly cheap. Bows like that, even smaller ones, were expensive to manufacture. The manufacturing process was time-consuming, so only few craftsmen built these regularly.
They had two wall-bows in their settlement, in addition to ordinary trunkbows, bows and slings. This particular wall-bow was the only one with a specially constructed pedestal, though.
The pedestal was a taller wooden stump, with its top cut off, and its bottom integrated into the roof itself. Between the top of the stump and the edge of the roof's front parapet, there was a smaller tree trunk placed horizontally, forming a sort of wooden railing, its upper side fashioned into a trough-like shape. The shape was carved in such a way that the bottom part of the wall-bow could easily slide in it, back and forth. Whenever they needed to span the wall-bow safely, they slid it to the middle of the roof, above the pedestal made from the stump. Whenever they were ready to shoot, they slid the wall-bow back to the parapet, aimed it quickly, and shot. It was a powerful and surprisingly accurate defensive weapon.
♫
The man grabbed a jointed wooden lever from one of the corners of the roof, propped it against protrusions in the front of the wall-bow, and propped the other end of the wooden lever against the bowstring. He then began to carefully push back on the string, until he pushed it all the way back into the string-catch groove. The two of them could span this large trunkbow by hand, and in theory, even one person could suffice, but it was safer using the lever.
His friend picked up one of the large wall-bow bolts... well, it was more of an arrow, given its length... and placed it in the flight groove. They slid the wall-bow carefully down the wooden trough-rail, to just behind the parapet. The shooter, who spanned it just a few moments ago, quickly aimed it over the parapet and worked the trigger.
Twang.
They released a warning shot at the assembling group of raiders. The arrow didn't hit anyone, but came very close to piercing through one of the raiders, had he not jumped to the side. The arrow wasn't meant for anyone specifically, it was more of an act of intimidation. Raiders would really think twice when realising a settlement was armed with something as powerful as a wall-bow.
A brief argument errupted between the raiders, some of them seemingly hesitating over something. The leaders managed to overshout them and whack them back into some semblance of discipline. Bolts and slings were still impacting the ground around them.
Then the duo of defenders noticed the raiders were picking up something hidden behind the desert shrubs. A wooden ladder ! They wanted to get inside the settlement, by hook or crook.
No matter... It was just a single ladder, hardly some potent instrument of siege.
The wall-bow shooter took the wooden lever again and started patiently spanning the bow.
"We need to slow them down. This time, we'll aim as best as we can. Aim at one of the laddermen," he told his friend, his voice patient, but with a hint of underlying tension.
Another arrow was placed onto the flight groove and they slid the wall-bow towards the parapet. They had to duck before shooting, some stones from the raider's slings flew past, then an arrow. And… a bolt !
They quickly peered over the parapet and noticed that one of the raiders… yes, just that one… was carrying a trunkbow.
"Change of plan," said the shooter to his friend and helper. "We aim for the raider with the trunkbow," he said and pointed in the enemy's rough direction. They aimed the wall-bow.
The raider with the trunkbow probably spotted their pointing, and was already aiming his trunkbow at them.
It was a strange situation. It felt like some sort of… duel… For a moment, both sides peered each other down. Everything felt like it fell completely silent, all the battle sounds and human voices in the background… save for maybe the wind blowing quietly through this dry land. The raider's gaze met with their's, both sides aiming at each other… The tension was unbearable… Who would shoot first ?
And yet, all of this only lasted for a few brief moments.
Thud !
The raider dropped his trunkbow spontaneously, he staggered in place. He looked down at the large arrow sticking through his side. Contrary to popular belief, getting hit with an arrow didn’t necessarily knock you off your feet and throw you down on your back. But it could still give you a good shake from the sheer power of the impact.
The raider, now after a few seconds of the initial shock wore off, screamed in pain. From a distance, his scream sounded vaguely like…
Aya-ya-ya-yaaaay !
The defenders with the wall-bow grinned and cheered. The shooter's friend guffawed at their lucky shot. To the shooter, his friend's resounding laugh sounded almost like…
Wah-wah-wah !
They couldn't rest for long, though. A few more arrows flew past their heads, so they slid the wall-bow back into a safe loading position and spanned it again with the lever.
The laddermen were still doggedly approaching.
Some of the defenders on the lower levels managed a lucky shot as the raider duo neared the front facade with the ladder... One of the laddermen let go and tumbled to the earth in pain.
His cry sounded like a guttural and shocked
Hyoooh !.
He was grabbing his own leg, a bolt sticking out of it. He got back up and started limping away. Some of his companions shouted at him angrily, but he dodged them and limped away, no doubt in rather great pain.
The wall-bow was slid towards the parapet again.
"Aim for the other ladderman, he's getting very close," said the wall-bow operator to his friend, his voice clearly betraying mounting worry. "We
need to take him out."
Twang.
The ladderman was struck in his thigh, and stumbling, he tripped over the ladder and fell to the ground along with the ladder in a strangely comical way. They heard his loud, painful cry of
Hh-yoooowwww ! echoing through the valley. He fell so unfortunately that the long arrow from the wall-bow penetrated even deeper into his thigh. Standing up with great difficulty, he covered his head with his hands, and stumbling, he ran back. Like his fellow ladderman before him, he also cared little for the disappointed and angry shouts of the other raiders.
After the ladder was lost, now too close to the front facade to safely retrieve, the raiders became unsure and slowed their approach. Some even started retreating.
The wall-bow crew felt this was their golden chance. Time to bring out some archery 'magic'.
"There," the wall-bow shooter pointed at a tuft of grass and a tiny dry shrub, growing near the band of attacking bandits. The space in front of the settlement was otherwise almost bare, cleared up for defensive and economic purposes, but some taller plants still popped up in a few places.
His friend nodded, understanding what the plan was.
Some of the arrows for the large wall-bow had detachable arrowheads. These arrowheads had their own shorter, internally hollow shafts that could be inserted into the main shaft of an arrow unequipped with an arrowhead. The friend picked up a specially made arrowhead from a small storage box and attached it tightly to a blunt arrow shaft. The arrowhead was just a small spike of hardened wood, but behind it, there was a small bulbous section woven from wicker, and filled with all manner of kindling.
While the shooter spun the wall-bow with the simple wooden lever, his friend placed the arrow into the flight groove. An enemy arrow flew past them, missing, and ricocheted from a nearby wall. He ran inside, towards the nearest hearth, grabbing a larger splinter and lighting it on fire. He carefully returned to the defensive position, with the wall-bow shooter waiting for him impatiently. Another enemy arrow ricocheted off of the stone-reinforced adobe walls.
"Light it. Hurry up ! We'll teach them a lesson."
The bulb of the special arrowhead was lit, catching fire.
The two defenders, careful to avoid getting hit by enemy stones or arrows, slowly slid the wall-bow forward and aimed it over the parapet.
Twang.
The composite bow catapulted the large arrow with great force. Part of the burning bulb was put out while whizzing through the air, but it was still on fire when it impacted the desert bush and tufts of dry grass around it. They immediately burst into flames, burning mightily and rather loudly.
The defenders could hear the commotion below, as the bandits yelled nervously with fear, one or two of their companions already wounded and the burning shrub being a very clear warning. The sound of burning wood and grass and the raider cries below were regularly punctuated with the occassional twanging sound of trunkbows. The defenders on the lower levels of the settlement, men and women alike, even children, were doing their best to ward off the invaders with the plentiful supply of ammunition they had in the settlement. The thin slits built into the adobe walls were once again proving their worth as defensive measures.
The wall-bow operator carefully looked over the parapet, to get an idea about the situation. It seemed the raiders were really frazzled now, their will to approach and attempt an attack completely broken. Two or three of them were already high-tailing it from the rest of the group, some of their fellow raiders yelling at them to come back. With some three or four wounded in the band, and several raiders trying to tend to their wounds, it was rather clear their fighting morale had run short. The exact thing the townsmen wanted to achieve. Though they were angry at the attackers, the goal of defending their town wasn't killing the raiders mercilessly. They instead wanted to send them a clear message that attacking their town is futile. The best thing they could do is give up and leave. The town was well-stocked, even with plentiful enough ammunition, and wouldn't give up easily. The wall-bow operator carefully stood up, held his hands to his mouth and began shouting decisively.
"Leave now !!! We'll let you leave in peace and tend to your wounded… if you leave and never come back ! Leave, before we change our minds ! Never-ever attack us again !"
To his surprise, he heard other people from the settlement beginning to shout in unison:
Yes, leave !
Leave, leave !
Leave us alone and don't dare coming back !
Haphazardly, some faster, some more clumsily, some weighed down by their wounded, the members of the raider band were turning around and heading away from the settlement.
The people of the town prided themselves in fighting fairly and only when they must. They weren't fond of dirty tricks, whether by attackers or by themselves. A final arrow flew out of a wall slit, ricocheting off of the rocky ground behind the raider still closest to the town. And that was it. As loud and ominous as the confrontation was, in a few moments, it completely ceased. The valley once again fell entirely silent, save for the sounds of nature. Then the drums were sounded again, sending out a brief "all clear" melody.
People started walking out of the rooms with the wall slits, walking atop the roofs of the settlement to get a better look at the situation after the battle, or already lowering the access ladders down to the ground. The local geezer even mumbled that he's off to collect his antler hoe and he's going straight back to the field, to pick up where he left off.
"Amateurs ! They didn't even think of torching our fields or stealing our crops ! Some raiders…" one of the townsmen noted, shaking his head with a degree of bemusement.
"Do you think they'll come back ?" asked one of the defenders.
He was holding a hand to his forehead, covering his eyes from the sharp desert sun, and watching the departing band of raiders. They were retreating through the valley, somewhere into the distance.
"I'd be glad if they listened to our advice and never came back. But honestly ? I'm not sure what to expect. One would hope we've given them a hard-earned lesson today and they'll realise they must leave us in peace." said the wall-bow operator.
They watched the group of raiders for a few more moments, until they started becoming indistinct dots in the distance.
"So, what do we do now ?" asked his fellow townsman.
"Same as usual. We gather everyone for some rest and belated lunch, and then… we go outside and gather all the arrows and bolts we've shot at the raiders. If most of them are still in one piece, we can't let them go to waste !"
"I'll say ! It does take a while to manufacture a single one… This is why some of us prefer slings and stones."
The other defender raised an eyebrow.
"Slings and pebbles. Quaint…" he scoffed.
"Laugh, but just you wait ! I think weapons shooting small pebbles will be big in the future !"
"Ha ! Next thing you'll tell me is that those wondrous weapons will be shooting pebbles accompanied by flames, smoke and a lot of ruckus !" laughed the wall-bow operator.
By the 14th century, the "tillerbow", as its long-forgotten inventor had named it, slowly spread southward. Among the many ethnicities in the west and south of the continent, the missile weapon was also referred to as a "trunkbow". Though the progression was somewhat faster than the long and arduous spread westward and slightly northward, some tribes in California never adopted the tillerbow in the pre-Columbian period.
The manufacturing of composite bows, from wooden, antler and horn materials, was far more common among certain cultures of the western half of North America,. These cultures eventually added their bowmaking expertise to the technological development of the native crossbow. Though archaeological evidence for this still remains more scarce, several existing finds from west of the Mississippi River show that, by the 14th century, native crossbows were starting to adopt composite bowstaves. This seems especially true of crossbows purpose-built for warfare. Most cultures throughout North America continued to use wooden selfbows and simpler composite bows, consisting of wooden bowstaves reinforced with sinew.
It was similar but different in the Southwest, where the varied local cultures, often semi-urban, took more of a shine to the concept of the tillerbow/trunkbow. Due to the more arid nature of their homelands and a lack of better quality wood in some areas, peoples like the "Ancestral Puebloans", the Hopi, Zuni, Keres/Queres, Ute, later the Navajo, and others, built more modest numbers of crossbows. They seem to have specialised their crossbows for defensive roles in their dwellings and settlements (later referred to as "pueblos" by Spanish-speaking colonists). Most of these tillerbows were similar to specimens found elsewhere in North America. However, there were also occassional specimens of much larger tillerbows. Functionally, they were very similar to European and Chinese oversized wall crossbows, used for siege defence (the predecessor of later wall guns used in the gunpowder era). These large defensive tillerbows were equipped with larger self-bows and sinew-bows (up to the size of a longbow), and more rarely with composite bows, possibly traded from more northern cultures of the west, or built thanks to acquired craftsmanship knowledge.
Most interesting of all was that these native wall crossbows were used not only propped against defensive parapets, but apparently also fixed in stationary positions, on wooden pedestals. This allowed them to be used as primitive mechanical artillery, useful for defending settlements of wealthier southwestern cultures. These finds remain some of the few material evidence of Native American built mechanical siege engines, roughly comparable to Roman ballistae (in their stationary mounting, but not their mechanical design) and even moreso to ancient Greek gastraphaete and medieval European and Chinese siege crossbows (in terms of overall design). Unlike these examples, particularly the latter, the native wall-bows were used for settlement defence only, rather than offensive sieges.
The tillerbow, or trunkbow, even reached further south. It saw some spread among the broadly interrelated Hohokam, O'odham and Sobaipuri cultures. This allowed it to spread further into what would be the northern Mexico of our world.
----
mid 14th century AD, North America, our world’s northern Georgia and South Carolina
♫
"Why do you bother with that silly thing ?" asked one of the two hunters.
"Silly thing ?! Oh, shush you ! Remember last time, when we were hunting near that grove ?"
"Yeah. I do."
"You kept laughing at me about carrying around an ungainly tree trunk."
"Do you dispute that ? Why bother lugging along such a needlessly hefty shooting weapon ?"
"Then I noticed that bird sitting on the lower branches of a tree," his companion ignored the jab and recalled the memory, "…and what did I do ? Haaa ?"
"I know what you did."
"Don't play the fool. Spill it !"
"What ?"
"Argh, I pity the fool who… well, makes a fool out of me. What did I do ? Go on…"
The other hunter sighed and rolled his eyes.
"You took that
amazing bow with a trunk you own, and you shot the bird."
"Aaand ?" asked the other hunter, with a somewhat mischievous smile.
Another, somewhat tired sigh.
"And you hit it nicely. It was dead in an instant, and we had a fine meal."
"There you go ! Are you still willing to claim this thing has no merit whatsoever ?"
"Well..."
"Well what ?"
The more traditional-minded bowman tittered slightly, then laughed.
"It's still a silly device, if you ask me."
"Is not ! It's rather amazing..."
"Have it your way. And allow me the same. I'll stick to my ordinary bows..."
"Pah, you don't know a thing about better weaponry, my friend."
"Let's leave it be, already ! Knowing you, you're capable of convincing me and others that we should hold a contest to compare whether the bow or that contraption of your's shoots faster, better, and whatnot..."
"Convince you to hold a contest and compare bow and tillerbow ? Ha, I might !" chuckled the tillerbow enthusiast.
In the meantime, while it spread into the west and southwest of North America, the tillerbow had also spread to the southeastern regions in previous centuries. Though like everywhere, it never supplanted the bow in terms of importance and preferred usage, it did gain some popularity among the ancestors of the Cherokee, some of the nationalities around the Appalachias, and various Algonquin people of the Mid-Atlantic eastern coast. The Seminole of the extreme southeast, including our world’s Florida, adopted the crossbow only occassionally, favouring their traditional bows even for ranged hunting.
----
late 14th century AD, southeastern regions of North America, east of the Mississippi River
Already from afar, the foreign trader was impressed by the large town.
Tall wooden palisades rising from earthen embankments, great green mounds rising from the interior of the city, at places that seemed sacred... Many, many houses, of all sizes and even various shapes and colours. And, unless his eyes deceived him, so many people ! People walking on the streets, people headed for the city and out of the city, on the many local roads and pathways. Many were accompanied by dog travois. He noticed there was a small fortified hamlet near the river, next to the city, with several wooden piers. Canoes and rafts of various sizes were transporting the daily catch, or smaller loads of resources, or finished goods from near and far.
Not just a town. A city, they called it. A word he was not too familiar with.
So, all those rumours were true after all. The great cities of the south truly are that big... and that populous ! he thought to himself, but he still felt a degree of disbelief.
Yet, there it was, right in front of his eyes, as he approached the city from a gently sloping hillock, down the well-trodden trade route.
His dog companion whined a bit and looked up from the travois he was dragging behind him.
The trader lowered his gaze and offered the dog a mild, tired smile.
"Don't worry, friend. We're already close. Soon, we'll seek rest after our long, long walk. Hopefully, the local people will be interested in our wares," he explained. "I hear the cities and towns in these lands are so wealthy and so well-off, the richest of them have even started setting aside special houses for travellers and traders like us. Where you can get meals, drinks, a place to sleep, rest with other people and exchange knowledge and gossip."
The dog let out a curious canine murmur.
"Yes, I'm sure they also have room for four-legged traders like you," chuckled the merchant.
As he walked the streets of the city, the first city he had ever visited in his entire life, many things fascinated him. There were so many people mulling around ! Some places were set aside for rather large marketplaces. Many of the houses had their timberframes covered entirely with daub, some of the fancier buildings even had masonry. Traders, local and foreign, cried offers in many languages. It was a lively place, all things considered.
And he had also noticed one more thing. The town guards, resting at various strategically chosen locations around the city's fortifications and interior, were armed with spears, clubs, axes, bows and… tillerbows. Tillerbows even seemed
more common than the average handbow. He wasn't quite sure why, but he surmised they were perhaps more practical weapons for shooting in the streets of a city this big.
As he walked past a wealthier part of the city, he noticed the guards, presumably ones of the local ruling elites, were also armed with tillerbows. Virtually all of them had bottom-mounted levers with attached pegs, richly decorated tillers, and expertly carved wooden self-bows or composite wooden bows reinforced with sinew strips. Even the bolts had finely flaked, carved and sharpened stone arrowheads, ones that looked almost like works of art. And behind the string-catch was a small wooden attachment, seemingly fitting just above the back end of a bolt. Did it hold the bolt in place, somehow ? Or was it a sight, of sorts ? Who knew... One thing was certain to the trader. These tillerbows were clearly meant to show off the wealth and power of the locals, and weren't mere hunting weapons. They were weapons of defence, weapons of war.
By the 15th century, the Mississipian cultural complex was reaching its apex. One of the most advanced cultures of North America and firmly in the Chalcolithic (Copper Age), it didn'
t take forever for the cultures of this region to take note about the existence of the tillerbow, or trunkbow. Though adoption was never wholesale, many city states, local tribal confederacies and local polities took a liking to the new-fangled missile weapon. In a few decades, town and city guards and members of the local warrior classes prided themselves with their ownership of well-crafted tillerbows.
Though archaeological finds of these Mississippian tillerbows have not been all that common, the existing ones often showed an intentionally high degree of accomplished craftsmanship, and even unusually frequent decoration that served purely esthetic purposes. Given the presence of some of these finds in locations suspected to be linked to Mississippian native aristocracy, it seems these combat-grade tillerbows were seen not only as weapons, but as status symbols, meant to show off local wealth and prosperity.
Known wall-bow finds from the medieval cities of the Mississippian cultures are currently limited to a single specimen. Currently, it isn't quite clear whether they were never that common for siege defence of Mississippian cities, compared to settlements of cultures from southwestern North America. It is possible that the different nature of Mississippian fortifications, technologically closer to a wooden stockade fort, was less suitable for easy wall-bow use.
----
early 15th century AD, the Great Plains of North America, west of the Mississippi
♫
Carrying the basket with
edible roots and bulbs gathered on the prairie, she was excited to be approaching home again. After a few hours of successful foraging, she was quite tired. A little rest in the comfort of home would do her good.
The sun was already setting when she reached their home camp, at the edge of the local grasslands. She was surprised by the sight she saw in front of their hut. Her husband stood there, holding some goods and minor supplies – nothing too valuable – and talking with a man wearing unfamiliar-looking garb. Not a local. No doubt a trader. Maybe one from far away. She didn’t understand the man’s language, though it sounded somewhat familiar to their own tongue. Luckily, her husband was quite knowledgeable about languages. He also had a knack for bartering, even with people whom he didn't entirely understand. Not every word, at least.
By the time she reached them, the trader was setting off elsewhere. Ready to walk the vast stretches of the lone prairie, far as the eyes could see, until he'd stumble upon another camp or village worth trading with. Before he left, he greeted her with a polite nod and said a few parting words she didn't understand.
She shrugged, but nodded back and said a few brief words of thanks.
"He wishes you all the best, and says he'll gladly trade with us again in the future, if he ever passes through these lands", explained her husband.
"We're quite lucky you were at home when that trader went by, otherwise we could have missed out on some interesting offers. I reckon you've bought some of the things I recently asked for."
"Indeed," smiled her husband. "Come, love, I'll show you what I bought."
She was pleased. Some useful tools and supplies that were harder to come by in this area. Her husband also explained what he had traded in return for these. It all sounded like a fair bargain, as usual.
However, the largest item he bought really caught her eye. All the more that she was unsure about its purpose, and moreover, whether it was worth spending precious supplies in exchange for it… whatever it was. What a strange, strange contraption of wood and rope.
"What on earth is that thing ?" she pointed at the thing bartered by her husband.
"Well, clearly a bow."
"A bow ?! It looks more like someone went a bit absent-minded or... wasn't of a clear mind… and tied a bow to a piece of wood !", she blurted out her impression, punctuating it with a slightly bewildered laugh.
"I know it's unusual, dear. But trust me, the man told me it's a bow like any other. In some ways, it seems to be even better, strangely enough ! I've tried shooting it myself and it's quite interesting…"
"Hmm. And what would this
very unusual bow be good for ? Hunting ?", she raised her eyebrows, still rather unconvinced.
"The trader told me it could be good for shooting hares and prairie dogs."
"Ah," she nodded, with some hesitance in her voice. "Next thing you’ll tell me is that you can even shoot bison with that. Would certainly broaden our supplies if that was possible…"
"Maybe. I can think of one other use, though: Many women often don’t practice archery."
"Well, how could we ?" she asked, sounding somewhat affronted. "The bow's seen as a man’s weapon."
"Yes, mostly. But with this, even an inexperienced person can shoot quickly and well enough."
"Oh."
"Yes, even you, women ! Like you, my dear." he said with a conciliatory undertone and smiled.
She was frowning at him for that remark, but slowly mellowed out into a smile.
"I'm not sure I'll have much use for this little wonder. Hares and prairie dogs, you say ?"
"And defending our camp from miscreants, yes. That is where it can be really useful to women. No need for lengthy learning and practice on how to shoot a bow. From what the man showed me, even an entirely inexperienced bowman could use it easily. Yes, for self-defence as well, including defending our home camp. Now, whenever some foul-minded folk appear in the vicinity and you'll be all alone, with me far away, you can use this to shoot at them. You don't need to kill them, but something tells me this could really frighten them. It's certainly more… mysterious… than just throwing stones at them and yelling at them…"
Propping one hand against her waist, she looked at the device with interest.
"Hmmm..."
Many of the nomadic or still sedentary ancestors of the later Plains cultures would hear about crossbows via trade. From time to time, the peoples living on the fringes of the Great Plains would buy crossbows via barter or even attempt to build their own specimens. One such people would be the ancestors of the Kitikiti'sh, also known to some as the Wichita. However, the spread of the invention to the Plains cultures proved ultimately unsuccessful. The contraption's fate was sealed with the (re)introduction of horses to the Americas and the birth of native forms of horse archery.
Though some modern day archaeologists have speculated that the lighter variations of native "tillerbows" could have been used on horseback - mounted crossbowmen having precedents in Asian and European history - only very little ethnographic or historical evidence that could support this hypothesis has survived to the present. Despite a few tantalizing finds, if the Plains Indians used crossbows, they did so very rarely and probably only on foot. Better evidence for mounted use of the native crossbow can be found among the Navajo, and historically, some of the Eastern Woodlands cultures.
"
