by Smith, Skye
"I have a horse,"
"You call that nag a horse?" one of the boys called out in jest and was hushed.
"I have a horse, so if I can get a few to chase me, and lead them here, then you can use the cover of these bushes and stone walls to ambush them."
"Sure, but the others will see the ambush, and then there won't be just a few charging us. It will be all of them. We will be slaughtered."
Raynar turned to the herd boys. "Have your fathers ever told you stories of shield wall warriors. How they walk towards the enemy banging their axes on their shields and the drumming sound it creates?"
One of the boys stopped picking his nose and said, "Yes, they bang and bang and bang as they walk, as if trying to scare the enemy."
"If you were to sneak around to the forest behind the village, is there anything there that you can bang on to make that same kind of noise?"
Another boy spoke up, "My father is the cooper. His shop is there. We often play with the barrel tops as if they were shields."
The tall man spoke. "I get it. You boys must go the long way around into the forest and to the cooper barn. Find some barrel tops and something heavy to bang them with. When you hear the sound of a fight, then start banging and banging, all together in time. If the Normans come for you, then run into the forest and get away to the island village. Do you all understand?” He explained it again, and then sent them on their way.
"Good," one of the other men said. "We may be slaughtered but at least the boys will get away. Now what?"
"I am going into the village on my nag and get a few to chase me to here. If I can get a handful to chase me between these walls, would you kill them, or would you run away and let them kill me?" asked Raynar.
"Us, we will not run. They are mounted, but we have some poleaxes and spears. The walls and the bushes are our friends. We will block their horses and pick them off with no problem." They all spoke to each other going over and over the plan.
"We will let the first horse through unhurt. Make sure you are on that first horse," gruffed another large man with a helmet and mail and a poleaxe. He had obviously been on battlefields before.
Raynar looked again at the Normans in the village. "I know the Normans. I have been fighting them for a year. One of their main tactics is to use the speed of their horses to retreat out of harms way. As soon as things change to become dangerous for them, they will run away until they can think about the danger. But they may not run far before they circle around and make a surprise attack. How safe is that other village of yours, the one in the marsh? If you make them angry, they may slaughter your other village."
The men took a vote. "They are slaughtering our folk in any case. If killing a few of them will make them run, and give us a few minutes to save those in the village, then that is better than what we have now. We only have to get our folk into the forest and we will be safe from the horses. It is a Fen forest. If you don't know the trails, you cannot pass through it."
Raynar strung his bow and loosened the cinch on his quiver. He picked out four heavy arrows and had them stick out for easy reach. The Frisians gathered around to look at his bow. Everyone was taller than him. He was not quite six feet and yet he felt like a child amongst adults.
Raynar explained his bow quickly, "It is a Byzantine bow from the east. It has the power of a Welsh long bow, but can be shot from horseback because it is shorter." But he knew they did not believe him. You can tell a Frisian, but you can't tell him much.
He pulled Abby towards him for mounting, but before he did he said to them all, "I do this thing, and I may survive. If I do survive I want one Norman to survive as well. I need to question him. You must promise to leave one alive." The big man nodded. They all nodded. "Stay hidden until you hear me screaming in terror as I race passed you.” Raynar swung himself into the saddle and started Abby walking towards the village.
The big man called after him, "What is your name friend? If we die today, I want to know your name so I can find you again in Woden's hall. I am Klaes of Westerbur."
"I am Raynar of the Peaks. I'll see you on the other side."
He left the cover of the bush and was halfway to the village before any of the Normans noticed him. Abby was plodding along at a slow and steady farm horse walk. His bow and first arrow were ready and both were held in position by his left hand, but hidden from the Normans below the back of the mare. The Normans said nothing, did nothing. They did not hail him, nor seemed worried at the single rider coming towards them on a farm nag.
Some watched him approach. Most continued watching the fun of pushing an old man in a circle whilst hitting at him with their short whips. None were mounted. The horses were tethered on the edge of the village with a guard. There was a man in the center of the circle with a white plume in his helmet. He seemed to be in charge.
Raynar did not stop the mare. Whiteplume was well within bow range now, even within range to pierce mail. Most of the Normans wore mail. There was some high-pitched screaming to the right, from the hut nearest the tethered horses. Two Normans had a young girl, perhaps ten, perhaps older, and were dragging her to the circle. At one point, one of the Normans stopped long enough to rip her clothing off her. He was not wearing mail. She was screaming continuously now and was wriggling trying to break free. The Normans holding her were laughing and getting ready for some sex sport.
Raynar changed directions slightly and headed more towards the tethered horses. There was only one guard now that the other two were dragging the girl. When he was equal distance from the horses, the struggling girl, and from Whiteplume, he stopped Abby with a tap of the bow. They had practiced this together many times. Abby would stand as still as she could for as long as she could.
Some of the Normans did not like that he had stopped and were calling to him. He pulled his bow up, swung around and put his first arrow into the chest of the Norman who had ripped the child's clothes. It seemed to lift him off the ground as it pushed the man backwards a full step.
There was still no cry of alert, so he nocked another arrow and swung around towards Whiteplume. He had to wait until Abby settled again. Whiteplume had turned towards him and was about to open his mouth to give an order when he was knocked to the ground by an arrow hitting his chest. Raynar could not see if it had punctured the armour, but he didn't have time for another shot.
Normans were running towards him with swords drawn. He pulled Abby around to face the tethered horses and then kicked her to a run. He knocked another arrow and loosed it at a run towards the guard of the horses. By sheer luck it hit him in the thigh, and he crumpled to a kneel. Abby ran through the tethered horses, with Raynar yelling and waving his bow. The closest Normans were now right on her tail, but had trouble getting through the panicking horses. Instead they grappled with reins and were trying to mount them to give chase.
Abby ran full speed for about three hundred paces with Raynar hanging on for his life. He pulled her to slow her down, so he could look behind him. At least six Normans were mounted and the closest two were less than a fifty paces behind him and coming fast. Raynar hurried Abby again and turned around a thicket and into the walled cartway. "It's me! It's me!" he was yelling at the top of his voice. "They are coming, get ready!” He continued riding along the cartway.
He heard a grinding and scraping noise behind him. He pulled Abby to a stop and looked behind. The road was no longer open behind him. It was choked with cut saplings and bushes. He slid off Abby with his bow and quiver and stood behind the choke of bushes. The first two Normans had just entered the walled cartway. Now there were four, now there were six.
The first two were pulling hard on their horses so they wouldn't try to jump the bushes. It was the last thing they ever did in this life. A man with a poleaxe jumped up on the wall and swung his axe in a circle. It cut the first Norman's head clear from his body. The second man fell with Raynar’s arrow in his chest.
Back along the wall there was a vicious and vengeful slaught
er beginning. All the horsemen that had been chasing Raynar were now trapped between the walls, and the Frisians were upon them slashing with axes and spearing the men. Raynar leaped the wall and ran down the field towards the slaughter. "Save me one! Save me one!" he yelled.
The man with the poleaxe was running beside him. They reached the last Norman still mounted, and the Frisian reached for him with the claw side of the poleaxe, hooked him around the neck and yanked him backwards off the horse. "There. He is yours. It is up to you to keep him alive".
The Norman was lying still, crumpled in two over the stone wall. Raynar kicked him to see if he would move. He did. Raynar spoke to him in French. "Stay still and surrender, else these men will kill you.” The man pushed himself down from the wall until his feet hit dirt, and then rolled along the wall and looked at Raynar. He held up a hand weakly in agreement. Raynar bound the Norman's wrists and ankles with the man's own belt and short whip.
The slaughter was over. Not a single horse had been injured badly. Not a single Frisian had been injured badly. The Normans were cut into pieces and were dead or dying in the road. The rich smell of blood, and the red paint of blood was everywhere. These Frisians were no strangers to battle. The mounted Normans had carried no shields. They were not expecting to meet battle veterans. They were killed efficiently and with extreme violence.
From the village there was a steady thumping of drums, many drums. There were more Normans now mounted in the village. Some of them were looking towards this cartway ready to join this fights. Some of them were looking towards the forest behind the village, listening to the sound of weapons against shields.
The Frisians along with Raynar began to run towards the village end of the cartway wall. They began to bang their weapons against anything else that would make the same thumping noise as was coming from the forest. They stood in a line visible to the Normans and taunted them to attack. All the time there was the thumping, clang, clang, clang.
Now all of the Normans were mounted. Instead of charging they swung around, at least twenty of them, and hurried their horses out of the other side of the village. As Raynar had foretold, they were running away to rethink and regroup. It was the tactic that kept so many of the bastards alive. Raynar was no longer interested in the retreating Normans. He was more interested in what was happening in the village.
He ran back to Abby. She was still behind the bushes that had been used to block the cartway and create the trap. He spent precious moments pulling stones down from the top of the wall to create a passage for his mare. Finally she could step over and through the passage and he mounted her and turned her across the field and back towards the village.
One of the Normans from the charge had somehow escaped but was no longer mounted. He was running for his life back towards the village and screaming for his friends to turn back and save him. Whatever that fleeing Norman was yelling, the situation was understood by the trailing three of the fleeing Normans.
One of them swung around and raced to save the screaming man. Then he saw the four giant Frisians running towards him, all covered in blood and guts and waving axes and pole axes. The Norman horseman stopped his horse and turned again, and left the screaming man to his grisly fate.
Two other Normans were still in the village. They had stopped long enough to pick up the body of Whiteplume and throw it over a horse. As they raced through the village, they made a half hearted effort to spear and hack at a few of the villagers, but the villagers knew horses and had the sense to fall flat onto the ground and let the horses step between them.
These Normans were riding normal English horses, who danced between the bodies trying not to step on any. The villagers were lucky these were not Norman battle horses which would have stomped on the heads of any folk laying in their way.
Raynar pulled up to where the Normans had formed their circle in the center of the village. There were five bodies. A Norman with Raynar's arrow through him, three old men, and the crumpled and bloody body of the young girl. He slid down from his still moving mare to check her for life, but there was none. The Normans had had their sex fun, and then slit her throat to stop her screams. He was still kneeling beside her, when the first of the Frisian warriors caught up to him.
"They fight like women," he said, "look at them run."
A second and third Frisian arrived, winded from their run. "Shit. They are on the cartway to the island village. The village where our women are."
"They cannot cross to the island. The women will be safe."
"They are moving fast. What if they surprise them. Shit. Curse the cowards."
Raynar looked at them. "You have the Norman's horses. Go after them." He looked from one to the other and saw no eagerness in the faces. "Why not?"
"We don't fight from horseback. We fight on the ground. The way to the next village is mostly horse pasture. Open ground. They will kill us."
"But they are your women!" Raynar yelled in exasperation.
"Our women can take care of themselves," Klaes told him. "There is no way onto the island village except by swimming, by boat, or by the swing bridge. The women will swing the bridge back to the island, and all the boats will be on the island side. The Normans won't swim in mail."
Klaes turned away from him and bellowed at his men. "The Normans must come back this way. Let's get these fires out before we lose every roof in the village. Then we will set some traps and wait for them."
Raynar looked at the Frisians. The men were covered in Norman blood, were huge, were well armed, and were frightening to look at. These men were not cowards, and they were warriors. They knew the lay of the land and they were thinking clearly. It was not his place to question their judgment. "Klaes, it would still be a good thing to warn the women. Is there a shortcut to this other village that you speak of?"
Two of the Frisians looked at each other and spoke in Daneglish. "By the old path it is less than two miles. Aye, it is dry season so the fords will be only half deep." One of them turned to Raynar and said "Yes."
The man pointed to a smouldering hut at the edge of the village. "Go to the right of that hut. There is a cow path. Stay on it across two fords. Don't slow for them. They will be shallow enough to keep your feet dry on horseback. After the second ford turn hard right. Follow that path until the next ford, but don't cross it. Instead turn away from the ford, and you will see the village. If you hurry you will beat the Normans. If they get there ahead of you, you will see their tracks at that last ford. If there are tracks you are too late, so turn and come back the same way."
Raynar mounted Abby and pointed her towards the smoking hut. "Keep my prisoner alive. I will be back."
"Good hunting and long life, Raynar of the Peaks!” Klaes yelled after him. "Tell the women that Klaes sent you."
Raynar was just passed the smoking hut when he saw two of the boys. They were still pounding on their barrel tops. He held his bow up high over his head and whooped out a battle cry to them. They held their barrel tops above their heads and returned his cry. "The village is won," he called out. "Get the other boys and go to the center and find Klaes."
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The Hoodsman - Frisians of the Fens by Skye Smith Copyright 2010-13
Chapter 3 - Finding the Island of Westerbur, The Fens in September 1067
Young Raynar reached for his bow, nocked an arrow, and had Abby stand absolutely still. He could see some thatch and fences ahead. He looked back over the last ford. There were no tracks to tell him that the Norman patrol had already crossed, and he could see no mounted men, nor any dust cloud marking a group of mounted men riding fast.
It didn't look like much of a village. He could see some women moving around. They still had not seen him. They had no lookout. There was a rustle in the bushes beside him and an older woman in homespun came into the light. "Good day, mother. Klaes has sent me to warn you that mounted Normans are on their way. They are minutes behind me. You should flee this place."
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br /> "Who are you calling mother, whelp. Here, help me with these baskets. They are caught by the brambles." The woman pointed to two small baskets snagged by the thorns. "Don't spill any, they are for our guests." Inside the baskets were mushrooms. He dismounted and picked up one of the baskets and used his dagger to cut at the bramble branches until the basket was free. He lifted a small handful of the mushrooms and tossed them lightly in his hand to have a look. "Don't taste them," he was told.
"Mothe..." Raynar began but had to quicken his step to catch up to the woman’s sure stride.
"Inka," the woman interrupted.
"Inka, these are bad mushrooms. See the blue dye? The blue is poison."
"Well then, some woman has taught you something useful then, whelp."
"Raynar."
She used a raven call as a warning signal to the women ahead, who stopped what they were doing and turned away from them and ran.
"So, Raynar, you know a little of mushrooms, but not much. The blue dye is a drug that allows you to talk to your gods. It will not poison you, just make you otherworldly for a half a day."
"Inka, the Normans behind me are angry because Klaes and your men just beheaded a few of them. You must flee this place."
"Come then, quickly, and bring your nag." She pointed behind the last hut. "There is a bridge there to the island. Get your nag across and tell the women they are to raise the alarm and swing back the bridge." She waved at two other women to join her. "Go lad, we will finish here and then come over with the last boat. Go."
The bridge looked perilous. A tangle of saplings and reeds lashed around some old oak planks. It stretched from one side of a deep stream to the other, with its mid point resting on a stump of a piling. It was strong enough for a horse however, which he proved by leading a very meek Abby across.
Two women with spears met him on the other side. "Inka sent me. She said to raise the alarm and swing back the bridge.” One woman ran across the bridge and cut some lashings. The other ran to a hanging iron and began hammering it. The clang of the iron made no echo in this flat land of trees, water, mud, and mists.
