He shot without thinking. Without aiming. This was his life, his skill, and his pride. Take one bow, taller than a man, made from yew, and use it to send arrows of ash, tipped with goose feathers and armed with a bodkin point. Because the great bow was drawn to the ear it was no use trying to aim with the eye. It was years of practice that let a man know where his arrows would go and Thomas was shooting them at a frantic pace, one arrow every three or four heartbeats, and the white feathers slashed across the marsh and the long steel tips drove through mail and leather into French bellies, chests, and thighs.
p. 16, Heretic. Bernard Cornwell.
"Why would the people need a priest when God is everywhere?"
"To keep us from error," Thomas said.
"And who defines the error?" Genevieve persisted. "The priests!"
(184, the same.)