He arrived in Lewiston as beat up as ever — breaks in his left leg and foot and right ankle — and he drew an old bull named Arctic Assassin.

He lowered into the chute for his first go-around.

Arctic Assassin spun and kicked out of the gate, and Mauney “sat down on my ass.” That mistake, as subtle as it was, knocked his timing out of sync. He started to fall, and then one last kick launched him into a backflip.

“I just round-assed off the thing,” Mauney says now, describing a predicament that makes more sense seen than heard.

He landed on the side of his head and rolled onto his knees. When he pushed down to stand up, he felt it: His neck had broken.

“Felt like somebody stuck a hot knife right in the back of my neck,” Mauney says. “I’d broke my back before, so I knew. I was like, ‘Son of a b—-, I just broke my neck.”

Mauney continues explaining the rest of it: the trip to the hospital, the surgery, the doctor’s orders — no more bull riding, at the risk of paralysis or death — and, finally, his decision a week later to retire from bull riding for good.

Then he walks across the front pasture at the XV Ranch, and calls out to an old black bull.

“C’mon, biggun!” Mauney shouts as he kicks over a bucket of feed.

After one more call, Arctic Assassin lumbers over.

Critical to the outcome of the Battle of Agincourt were the English archers, some 7,000 forming the bulk of Henry’s army, pouring a torrent of arrows into the ranks of the French, who were jammed together and bogged down on a muddy field between two woods. Archers were the artillery of the age, the word coming from Middle French, meaning the provision of weapons, including projectiles. Chaucer mentioned the term in The Canterbury Tales of 1405. The bow and the arrow were artillery before cannon, powder and shot. Royal Artillery gunners with the surname Archer, Bowman, Bowyer or Fletcher may inherit closer links with history than they might suppose.