I am a bard-type more than else, and since my involvement with SCA
have written more than a two-thousand poems and stories influenced by
what I have learned of medieval history, myths, culture, practice,
etc -- often focusing on our 'incorrect history' and myopic beliefs
offered by Western education, religious dogma and a shift
to 'beleiving' over 'knowing'. I have published 27 books on these
subjects which does not make me an expert on anything -- just
prolific, bnut I receive queries from arround the world on subjects
like ancient spirituality, performance magic, divination, period
appropriate garb and decision making practices. My interest in
Mongolian activities is but one a dozen passions in medieval history -
- leaving trail markings along my path not being one of them.
Here is one poem/story based on a faint mention (no citation) of a
village in Moravia that revered a Mongol Bow gathered after the
The recurve luk was famous through out Moravia,
captured from living hands of a Mongol nokud
who cried out, "eke^otukan" with fading breath.
Well known that the Golden Horde named their bows
and the claim was carved into the eel skin bend.
The villagers gathered to prepare for the hunt
with joy and fear and heartfelt need for skin and meat
and proof of courage and coming of age for some.
The test was not of age or height or family bond,
but of ability to bend the proud, imposing bow.
Full year the youth would practice with lesser test
to meet the challenge of such profound dread pull
that could support a young maiden on defiant string
and drive a strela shaft completely through a deer
at paces full more than one hundred running strides.
The bow was not used for hunting, but only to insure
that those on the hunt could sure endure the chase
and days in simple camp and march and fellowship.
More symbol than true test, hear the chant of "luk-luk"
as quick chasing hunters pursued their forest prey.
The time had come for those long prepared in hope.
One tip of sinew, isinglass and glue of river fish
was plan placed outside of left foot firmly set.
The right leg stepped through as if in spirit dance
while bow-string loop was held in trembling nether fist.
With right arm push and steady pressing bended knee
the bow is bent toward the string and destiny.
Sweat on furrowed brow and muscle shake tell of bond
with call of "eke^otukan" of warrior pride,
which none knew meant in death cry, simply "mother earth."