by Smith, Skye
"They fear looking foolish in front of their peers," offered Raynar.
"Hmm, maybe, what else?"
"They are Christian. They fear Christian hell and the devil and demons and witches. They pay fortunes to the church, promise to build churches, anything to gain the church's forgiveness before they die," said Raynar.
"Anything else?"
"They fear not having erections. They fear having their bloodlines wiped out by leaving no heir. They fear falling from their horses. They fear not being able to ride." There was no response, so Raynar continued, "The normal things. They fear drowning, torture, maiming."
"Shhh. Sit still. We are combining our thoughts." A low humming started in the hut. The women all had their eyes closed. The humming became louder and then became more of a deep throbbing sound. It went on and on, and then it stopped. Inka spoke.
"Good, it is decided then. We will make them afraid of their own shadows, their own nightmares. But we must leave them with enough of their minds that they warn the other Normans not to come here. Freyja has given us the mushrooms. We choose to use them for learning and for seeking and for seeing. Like all gifts of the goddess, they also have a dark side. We will use the mushrooms to make these men lose their minds."
"Kill them," growled Raynar.
"No. But we will make them wish they were dead. We will make their next few hours seem like Christian hell. The mushrooms will make them think it real. We want them to reach their fortress and spread the fear of the demons and the evil mists of the Fens."
"We can use the masks from the Hogmany festival," said another of the ealders. "Think Sirens, Harpies. First we arouse them with beauty and the fertility dances of Beltane, then we change it all to become the terrors of the night. We will need all of the women on the other bank to do this."
"We are agreed," spoke Inka. "So be it. We turn sweet dreams into nightmares and destroy their minds. Anything else?"
"Do we use more blue mushrooms, or some other mushrooms? The rye-spur mushroom may serve better to crack their sanity."
"A good thought, but it is too hard to control the strength of the rye-spur. Too strong and they will die."
"The rye-spur mushroom?" Raynar asked. "Bowmen sometimes have visions. Is it because they oil their bows with rye oil."
"Hah, not just bowman," laughed one of the women, "every woman who uses rye oil to preserve the handles of their rakes, their spades, their brooms, can have visions. We learn to enjoy them." Other women laughed in agreement.
Inka clapped her hands to get their attention back. "So not the blue mushrooms, and not the rye-spur. What about powdered mandrake root?"
"Yes, of course," replied an ealder, "we never use it for visions because its effect is too harsh, and lasts too long. Sometimes for days. Perfect for those Norman swine."
Raynar broke in again. "What if some did not eat the blue mushrooms in your stew, or did not eat enough? What if the mushrooms have made some into Berserkers? They are armed for battle even though they carry no shields. It will be too dangerous to cross the channel, even just to see if they are all drugged."
Inka spoke to him, "You have a powerful bow Raynar. Can you use it?"
"I can use it, and I have points that pierce mail."
"Then you and I will cross by boat," said Inka, "and make sure the Normans are all peaceful and dreamy. You may kill any that are not. Then the rest of the women will join us and take the armour and weapons. I do not want any of the women to risk being close to them, so if we cannot convince them to take off their own mail, then they can keep it."
The talk between the women continued.
"Our men will be angry with us if we do not capture all the horses, saddles, weapons, and armour. They all fetch a good price."
"They will be angry with you for not drowning them," said Raynar. "If they will be so drugged, why not just lead them to the channel and push them in. The mail will sink them. Once they drown you can drag them out and remove the armour."
The women ignored his comments. "We will capture most of their gear. It is enough. Remember that though drugged, the raiders will still have their strength. They could still be dangerous if they grab one of us."
Inka motioned to Raynar. "It has been an hour. It is time enough for the mushrooms to do their work. Grab your bow. Let's go to the boat."
Inka joined him at the boat with her spear. Raynar took up the punting pole and it felt good to be a boatman again. He had spent a winter as a boatman on the Thames and they had been some of the happiest months of his life.
Inka watched his technique and his sureness. "You are from the Fens also, then."
"No, I am of the highlands on the other side of Nottingham. There are no boats."
"They make handsome men there. You are a most comely man.” Inka stopped herself from saying more. She leaped lightly onto the bank with her spear prone. Raynar nocked an arrow and followed her. She took a wide route around to the front of the huts, stopping frequently to listen. When they finally saw a Norman he was unarmed and was dancing halfheartedly after a butterfly.
The rest were in similar states. Even the pickets at the start of the cartway were busy looking at things in the grass. They walked the entire area and no one challenged them. One man walked, or rather, meandered, towards them, but Raynar ordered him in French to go and find a butterfly. And he went away to do so, without question. Inka gave him another stare of curiosity at his use of French, and then she returned to the boat and signaled for more women to cross over and collect the arms.
Raynar sat on a log in the shade of a hut and watched and listened. One of the Normans started slashing at a post with his sword. He seemed to be getting more and more agitated. "He already has his own demons," Raynar thought. Raynar yelled to the man to stop making so much noise as others were trying to sleep. It slowed the slashes for a few moments but then the slashing increased again. He was still watching when Inka returned. He had expected the man to have exhausted himself, but he was not tiring.
Inka looked at the man with some alarm. Would her women be safe around these men, even in their stupor?
Then the women arrived. They were dressed for a spring fair. Light-colored shifts with scarves of many colors and crowns of woven leaves woven with flowers. They danced through the village twirling as if it were a May fete. As they danced the men all watched them but did not move. Their eyes were big and unblinking. The women were carrying aleskins and they tossed them to groups of men as they danced past. Raynar motioned for one, but the woman closest to him wagged her finger no and then motioned to her head and circled one finger. Raynar understood. The ale was drugged with mandrake root.
Starting with the tethered horses, the women searched out all weapons and carried them and placed them quietly in a boat. Raynar realized the women were trying to make it look like they were part of a dream. They moved slowly and twirled occasionally so that their scarves would flick and fly behind them. They were moving closer and closer to the men, picking up weapons that had been stacked at picket posts, or just left where they fell. Eventually the only weapons not in the boat were the ones still worn by the men.
One of the women still on the other bank started to call to the men. Another was singing to get the men’s attentions. Once the men were watching, they dropped their shifts to the ground, and once naked they stepped into the water and swam across and began splashing water at the men. Other women joined them.
One of the men, moving in a confused slow motion, took off his sword belt and his mail, and his clothes and also walked into the water. He called out to his friends to join him. Most of the men did. The women swam well and kept well out of their reach. While the men were in the water, their weapons were collected and put in a boat. There were now two boatloads of weapons and they were pushed across to the island.
Eventually only the man hacking at the post was still armed. Raynar was ready to shoot him, but a hand on his arm stayed his shot. Roas looked down at him and asked, "How do you
say 'you are frightening me' in his tongue.” Raynar told her and she practiced it several times. Then she walked forward with an ale skin, offering it to the warrior and repeating the phrase. The man stopped slashing at the post and dropped his sword and took the ale and drank deeply.
Roas picked up the sword and dragged it over to Raynar. She gave him a look of satisfaction. "By sunset, the blue mushrooms will be replaced by the mandrake in their dreams. They have just two hours to enjoy this pleasant dream before the nightmare begins. Those poor men. Look at them play in the water.
Swimming and playing in water feels delicious under the spell of the blue mushrooms." She was pointing at one man who was floating on his back watching the sky. "Don't look at me. Look at them. They are playing like children. And our women are keeping them herded in the shallows so they can all still stand on their feet."
Raynar continued his guard. Should any man turn violent he would die immediately. Slowly the mood of the men was changing. As the day dimmed, the joy of simplicity and wonder was giving way to fear. The younger women went back to the island, leaving only the older women. Inka replaced Roas sitting beside Raynar. She understood the effects of the mandrake and she now explained the actions of the men.
She explained it using a beetle that she had picked up and was holding in her hand. "Under the magic of the mushrooms this beetle is a wonder of beauty. You would see the brilliant red and green of the back and be fascinated by it. And the beetle would not fear you and would be friendly.
However, under the sway of the mandrake, you will focus on the jaws and the creeping legs, and you will be disgusted by it, and so the beetle will fear you and may even bite you to escape. And so it is with all things on earth. The mushrooms allow you to see the wondrous side, the mandrake brings out the ugly and threatening."
She passed him a large piece of smoked eel and an aleskin. "Here, it may be a long night." She saw him look at the aleskin with suspicion. "Only our funky old skins were drugged. The dark and cracked ones. The new looking ones contain good ale."
"When will they be normal again?" asked Raynar.
"They will never be normal again. The drugs will wear off, perhaps by morning, but the images and the fear from the drug will last much longer, even years. I have ordered all the young women back to the island. We old ones are staying here and will wear our demon masks. Things will come out of the night at them.
Some may hurt themselves, some will escape into unconsciousness, but most will spend the most fearful night of their lives. And in the morning the fear will continue." She took a swig of ale. "Please sit here and stay alert. If there is violence you know what to do with that bow of yours. We will come and get you when we are ready to return to the island."
Just before sunset, Raynar heard the sounds of the women leading all the horses away. There were twenty-odd horses. He did not know where they were led, but it took some time before the women returned from that task.
Once the twilight finished, it became so dark that Raynar could no longer see anything. There were occasional screams, but none were women’s voices, although the screams had a pitch of terror to them. Occasionally he would see a woman come out of the night wearing dark clothing and a hideous mask. Some masks were of animals, some of demons, but all were frightening.
Eventually the high-pitched male screams came from all directions, and Inka came to get him. They waited in the boat for one last woman. This woman wore no mask, but her face was twisted in hatred like a mask. Inka explained in a low voice, "The girl they raped and killed was hers. She has been walking through the naked men rubbing their crotches with poison oak."
Raynar beached the boat on the island bank and tied it off. Inka pointed to a light upstream from the landing and the bridge. "At the light you can bathe. Afterwards you can sleep in that same first hut by the bridge. I will wake you at first light."
Raynar stumbled along the bank towards the light until he found a sand track that led straight to it. There he stripped and walked into the water. The bottom was flat white stones so the water was not muddy. He walked a few paces until the water reached his thighs and he sat in the water. It was warmer than the air of this late summer evening. He lay back until his hair was wet and then he scrubbed his hair to get rid of the dust and the blood from the battle that morning.
Was that only this morning? What a long day it had been since he broke camp this morning. A long ride, meeting the village warriors, the battle, another ride, meeting the island women, boating, and watching. His eyes were closed, but he heard someone else enter the water. They were moving stealthily. When they were within reach, he pushed his feet to the bottom and dove away from the newcomer and then stood and looked. It was Roas, now startled by his frantic leap away from her.
"It is not wise to sneak towards someone when there are enemies about," cautioned Raynar.
"I was coming to help you wash."
"I am finished. I need sleep."
"I brought some cloth to dry you with."
Raynar walked to the bank but she was there first and started to softly rub his skin with the cloth. Her real intentions were obvious and he let her dry him to see what she would do. She became very sexual, very quickly. Raynar held her away from him and made a guess. "Has Inka given you permission for this?” She threw the cloth in his face, picked up her clothes, and ran naked towards the village. 'I guess not," he thought, "damn."
He put on just his silk undershirt. The silk shirt that he had won from a Byzantine archer last year. One of Harald of Norway's archers. Killing the man had given him his bow, his sword, this silk shirt, and a lot of silver coin from the sale of his armour. He enjoyed the comfort of the silk, and it protected his skin from the coarse felted wool of the sheepskin liner of his leather brynja. He picked up the rest of his clothes, weapons, and boots and walked to the hut closest to the bridge. Even though shorter than the Frisian men, he still had to duck under the low doorway.
There was a miser's candle lit which turned everything into a shadow. Someone had laid a bed on the pallet. He unsheathed his thin sword and stood it at the head of the pallet within easy reach. Then he crawled into the bedding. His last thought was that he should ensure there was a watch posted, but it was just a passing thought, negated by his respect for how well-organized the village was. He woke only once during the night, to the touch of a woman’s breasts against his back.
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The Hoodsman - Frisians of the Fens by Skye Smith Copyright 2010-13
Chapter 5 - The Prisoner of the Island of Westerbur, The Fens in September 1067
Young Raynar woke to a gentle shake. It was daylight, but just barely. He turned and was face to face with Inka. So this was her bed. She rolled away from him and stood. Raynar was startled. She was old for a woman, perhaps even forty, and yet she was still well-muscled and strong. Her skin still looked young, her tummy was taught and her small breasts still rode high on her chest. She was watching him watch her.
She smiled. "May I try it on?" she whispered.
It took him a moment to realize she was talking about his silk shirt. He looked around. They were alone. He pulled it over his head and handed it to her. She took it and then gave his body a hard stare. "Very nice," she said, not saying whether she meant him or the shirt. She pulled it down over her head and shoulders and let it drop its full length. On Raynar it was just decent and reached to just below his crotch. On her it reached to just above the knees. She twisted and stretched and danced in it.
"It feels delicious against the skin. You may have noticed me rubbing against it all night." She looked down at his manhood, which was pointed up. "Yes, I suppose you did." She looked him up and down. "Is this the cloth they call silk. The cloth from the east that the Normans covet?" Raynar nodded yes. "Will you give it to me?" Raynar wagged no. "No harm in asking," she sighed and smoothed it against her skin with her hands and then pulled it up and over her head and laid it on the bed.
Inka m
oved closer to him and reached forward with her right hand. He expected to be touched, sexually, but instead she fingered the long crystal that he always wore hung from his neck. The crystal that had been given to him by Gwyn, the healer at his own hamlet.
"This is a healing crystal," she said, "A woman's thing. Why do you wear it?"
"You wear one too," he replied. "Though yours is hung upside down by its point. Why is that?"
She reached for his right wrist and pulled his hand up to where it could hover over, but not quite touch, the nipple on her left breast, and then she let go of his wrist. A feeling, no a sensation, of warmth filled her breast and her nipple doubled in size. "You are my first," she said. "No, don't take your hand away. You are the first man I have ever met with the touch. It is quite common here on this island you know, the healing touch. Quite common in the women. Now I understand why Roas wanted you so badly. She must have known."
"Why is your crystal hung upside down?"
"For now this is our secret," Inka said. Thinking was difficult when his touch was pushing, pulsating, pampering her breast. "Don't tell anyone that you have the touch. Oh, that's not going to work if Roas already knows."
"Roas probably saw my crystal. Others will see it. I never take it off. Why is yours hung upside down?"
"You've gone soft," she said looking down.
"That always happens when I draw the feelings up and push them out from my hand. It shrivels."
"Hmm," she was having trouble staying in the now. "It is the opposite with me. After using my touch I want sex, crave sex. Interesting." Was that her moaning.
"If you want more of this then you should lie down," he said softly.
"NO!" she fought the delicious feeling, and grabbed his hand and the waves of his touch stopped. "Oh my. No not now. Later. We have things to do. Get dressed."
She put on a woolen shift striped with many colors. She pulled his hand to the wool over her breast and had him feel it. "This is the cloth that we make for trade." It was soft to the touch, not scratchy like most woolen cloth. "Come then. Grab your weapons. I need your protection while I scout what happened to the Normans last night."
