by Smith, Skye
She used the point of the crystal to hover along his wound and he could feel the warmth, the goodness, the touch, and he felt the itchy pain go away. Then she held up what looked like a dagger blade without a hasp and he shivered involuntarily as he wondered if it was a sacrificial knife.
"This blade also fits into my crystal's cage," she said. "It is my silver blade. Pure polished silver. No, don't touch. It is ever so sharp. It is what I use to cut into skin or work inside a wound. The silver kills dis-ease and stops poisons, so whatever it cuts, heals again quickly. My crystal becomes the handle."
She held up another piece of metal. It looked like a rope making spike. "This is polished bog iron. No rust. I heat it and use it to cauterize wounds. My crystal becomes its handle too."
"So, when can I have my crystal back?"
"When I have fitted another cage to it. One of the bog iron cages, the same as mine."
He sighed. He was in no position to argue. "How long must I baby my back?" he asked. She had moved to better see the lowest of the stitches and he could not turn his neck far enough to see her.
"If there is still no pus or smell," she said kindly, "perhaps a fortnight. If there is pus, it could be months. If there is smell, the rest of your very short life. Don't worry, I used my crystal tools. A fortnight at most."
He remembered, he finally remembered what he had been reaching for in his mind. "Has Hereward answered my message yet?"
"He came and went. He said he will come back when you are healed. He took your prisoner and most of our men with him."
* * * * *
Four days later Hereward came to visit. Raynar had been eating liver broth for every meal and was much stronger. He no longer slept all day. His mind was clear. The stitches had dried over, but stung if he stretched his back. He rolled carefully onto his side to speak to Hereward.
"The Normans have stopped sending patrols out to the villages," said Hereward.
"So, my killing the sheriff did have an effect."
"A partial effect. The truth is that there have been rebellions in Kent and on the Welsh border country, and many Norman warriors were pulled south. They do not want to risk the men they have left in patrols. They lost one full patrol to this village, and Nottingham lost another patrol five days ago."
"Your doing?" Raynar asked.
"I helped Rodor and the men of Sherwood. We stopped the patrol from escaping a trap that had been set at another village, and then forced the Normans to fight rather than run. They lost."
"What did you think of that Writ?” Raynar asked.
"I sent a translation to York, to Dun Holm, and to Denmark. I have heard nothing back yet. It is disturbing news. I'll wager that if you hadn't killed that sheriff, Odo would have removed him. It was foolish of him to leave written proof that can be used to stir up a full scale rebellion. It may come to that yet. Edgar, Edwin, and Morcar are to return from Normandy with King William and all of them are supposed to be back in England by Saint Nicolas' day."
"And my prisoner?" Raynar asked.
Hereward answered carefully. "We sent him in good health to the sheriff of Nottingham. He carried a message offering a peace whilst the south is in rebellion." He saw Raynar flinch. "Don't look at me like that. We needed a peace to get the crops harvested. Besides, we needed time to change our advice to the villages so that the axemen would not be slaughtered like sheep. Once the harvest is in, we will go back to shooting Normans."
Raynar was nodding off to sleep. Hereward held his arm to stop him from rolling onto his back and onto his stitches. He decided to liven up and lighten up the visit. "So how many of these women have you bonked so far, Raynar? They are the most comely women I have ever met, and even better, they are willing partners."
"None. First I was too busy, and now I am too injured."
"Well, don't bother keeping count. Just let it happen," laughed Hereward.
"I don't understand," Raynar said sleepily.
"You never did understand women. Take that lovely young woman that nurses you."
"Roas."
"Yes, that one. She is totally in love with Gerke, the axeman you sent to me. And he with her. There is no other man for her, nor woman for him. They have been walking beside each other in life since she was four. They will do so for the rest of their lives," said Hereward.
"But she, she tried to..."
"She is forbidden to breed with him because their mothers are sisters. You look enough like Gerke to be his brother. Understand?"
"I understand. He will kill me if I touch her," said Raynar.
"No, you don't understand. They are not Saxons who would demand money to forget a slight of honor, nor Danes who would demand blood. They are Frisians. They follow the old ways of the Angles. They are horse breeders and cattle breeders, and they earn top coin for their stock. They know the secrets of mixing bloodlines to produce better stock. And they know the dark side of mixing the bloodlines of kin."
"So he will not kill me," Raynar guessed again.
"He is more likely to help you, or perhaps just ignore you and pretend it did not happen," said Hereward.
"And she?"
"She is a woman who wants a baby. She will get it, so long as the seer approves of the match."
"Inka."
"Yes, she is seer now. She is a star amongst women. When I lived here she lied to me about her age. Ah well, no complaints on my part. She will call a council of the women and those old bats will ogle your body and poke it and play with it as is their duty. And then they will say which women can mate with you and which cannot."
"They did this to you?" asked Raynar.
"Yes, though I would have enjoyed it more if Inka had been the seer then. They pronounced my ears too big and my nose too long, so I could not mate with any woman with big ears or a big nose. At first I though I was going to be refused any women, because they found a weeping sore on my bum."
He laughed at the memories. "I convinced them that it was not a disease, but only a saddle sore that had not healed. They called in the horse master to confirm it, and you should have heard the bawdy jests when he bent down to my naked backside to have a look.” Hereward’s soft laughter was getting more raucous and he was sputtering to stop himself. He knew how infectious his laugh could be, and how painful it would be for Raynar to laugh with that long line of stitches that ran up his back.
Too late. Raynar was laughing, and then crying out in pain, and laughing again. Roas came running in at the sound of the cry, and gave Hereward a hard stare. Hereward returned her stare and blew her a kiss.
"Too bad you were too young when I live here, Roas. My, you are a tasty-looking woman." Hereward teased her. "And you don't have a big nose or big ears. How about you nursing me over on the other bed. I have time." Hereward winked at Raynar and cause more pain to Raynar's back.
"Get away, you smelly old man," laughed Roas, while pulling Hereward by his big ears towards her so that his big nose was pressed between her breasts. "You went off to Flanders. You probably have the pox that infects all of those Flemish doxies. You will never get Inka's approval again."
"I bet I can get Inka, though," laughed Hereward, and then stopped laughing and asked her seriously, "do you think she would have me again?"
Roas gave him kisses on his forehead and his eyes, and danced out of his reach to the doorway. "You are asking the wrong woman." And she was gone.
"I should have stayed here and wed Inka," said Hereward, "rather than fleeing to Flanders and riding in the company of that bastard Tostig. After you have seen other places, you realize what a paradise you leave behind here. Mind you, this is a cold and damp island for three months of the winter. In winter you can never stay dry so you can never stay warm."
"It sounds like my home. One of the reasons I spent that time as a boatman on the Thames was that I couldn't face another grisly cold winter in the Peaks. It is not as if I have family there anymore. Just some old friends. Unfortunately they depend on me in the winter for a
few coins and some winter venison." Raynar felt better and more awake after the light humor and laughing banter.
"Give them extra coins to buy meat and stay away again this winter," said Hereward.
"I have already arranged for an abundance of coin for them. Remember John the Smith? The giant. He will keep a watch there for me."
"A good man, John. And who would believe such a subtle mind in such a brute of a body," remembered Hereward. "Anyway. Do not plan on returning to the peaks this winter. When William returns to England he will crush the rebellions in the south and then march north. He is shipping more Normans to England every month."
"When William returns to England, I will kill him. I swear it," Raynar said.
Hereward would have taken the words as bravado from any other man, but not from this lad. This lad had already killed a mighty king and many a seasoned warrior. "Well, meanwhile lad, I have a task for you," said Hereward as he sat forward. "Since you are here anyway until you mend, I want you to set up this island so that it can be defended by these women."
"Stop jesting. My back hurts enough," moaned Raynar.
"I am not jesting. This island is a natural fortress. It has always held out against raiders in the past. If the women could hold this island with fewer men, then the men could get back to their ships. With their ships at sea they could worry the Norman shipping to keep it away from the Wash.
Your Norman prisoner was telling you the truth. The Normans want all the Danes dead because they will never stop trying to push out the Normans. Land is only one side of that story. The other side is the ships. William depends on his ships to supply him across the Manche. It is his weakness. The English Saxons no longer have ships. The Norse lost most of their ships in the Humber. The Danes of Denmark and England still have more ships than Normandy and Flanders."
"But wait. These men have but three ships," Raynar countered, "and three ships will change nothing."
"This island is a gateway to the fens. There are a half a dozen island villages between it and the sea. Perhaps two ships per village. That makes for a fierce and mobile force that can keep the Normans from controlling the Wash and its northern rivers. The rivers lead to half of Lincolnshire. This island is within striking distance of the Roman Street that connects Peterburgh with Lincoln. Don't think of it as an island. Think of it as a fortress."
Hereward softened his voice. "I want you to teach your Welsh bowcraft to all of the men and boys that stay here, and to all of the women that have the strength."
Raynar moaned. "The last time I needed Welsh bows I had to find Welshmen to buy them from. Even to craft them I need seasoned staves. Yew staves, seasoned for a year."
"I have bows and staves. I will send them to you. Meanwhile you get well. When I hear that Roas is bouncing you, I will know that you have the strength to draw a bow again."
* * * * *
This was it. This was what Hereward had jested about. He had been serious. Raynar was standing naked in front of the ealder women of the village. They were all very serious. They were all dressed the same in light colored cloaks. They almost looked like nuns. He was turning slowly so they could see every part of him and touch every part of him. They spent a lot of time with his teeth and his gums. "He had good food while a child. His teeth are strong."
"I was a shepherd's helper as a boy," Raynar explained respectfully, "I ate a lot of sheep’s milk and cheese and fermented milk."
"He has been ill. How do we know his blood is not bad?" said the oldest.
"Bah!" said Inka "he was wounded, not ill. He healed cleanly and quickly. His blood is pure."
"Prove it," said the oldest one. She cackled. The others giggled.
"Stop being ornery," Inka told her.
"Prove it," repeated the old one.
"Raynar," Inka said with a grimace, "they want to smell and taste your seed. No, I am not jesting. It is to make sure it is healthy. It is a common enough test. If your seed smells and tastes healthy then so is your blood." She put a hand on his arm. " I am sorry. It is not necessary. We know your blood is good from the speed of your recovery."
"It is little to ask. I have plenty. So be it." He looked at the ealders and asked, "So who is to be the taster? Step forward and do it." He looked at the oldest. "You?"
The old woman eagerly moved forward and started playing with him. It drooped in her hand.
"Maybe if we were alone," Raynar suggested, "or maybe if you showed me your breasts."
Inka started to laugh. She should not have worried about the lad. She should have paid more attention when he told her that he grew up in a hamlet of widows and healers. He could handle these women without any help from her. She watched as Raynar jested with the ealders. She began to laugh and then couldn't stop.
One of the women scolded her. "We are protecting the purity of the bloodlines. Your laughter is ill-timed."
The old one showed her breasts. They were shriveled and hung flat against her chest. She was enjoying showing them to this young and handsome man. She tugged at him again to no effect. Now some of the other women began laughing. As soon as one stopped the laughter of the others started her laughing again. It was like they were all drugged. Perhaps they were. Raynar was the drug. Now more than ever, Inka wanted this young man to live on this island. She wanted his influence on the boys and the men of the island.
The other ealders were now giving ribald instructions to the old one.
"Don't get me laughing," pleaded Raynar in fun, "Inka has taken out my stitches. If I laugh too hard my wound will open again." He couldn't help himself and began to laugh.
"Stop. Everyone stop." Inka had to raise her voice to be heard. "I declare that this man has slightly bandy legs, and he can mate with any woman who has straight legs." She pointed to the old one. "Let go of him. He can do that for himself into a bowl once he is alone." She walked over to Raynar and pulled herself up to his face and kissed him on the lips. "Welcome to our village."
The women left the hut and left him with a bowl. Inka put something into his hand as she left. His crystal, now with a different cage holding it. It felt good to have his old friend hanging down his chest again. He decided to use the bowl, now, and get it over with, but after a few minutes he was having as much success as the old woman. Then Roas came in, and there were no more problems. After they had passed the bowl out to the women outside, Raynar told Roas that he could not mate with women with bandy legs. He lifted her shift to look at her legs.
Roas giggled and said, "There are no bandy legs on this island save the ealder women who are bandy with age." She helped him back into his bed, and then took off her own clothes. She also wore a crystal. No one else saw them for hours, but everyone in the village heard them.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - Frisians of the Fens by Skye Smith Copyright 2010-13
Chapter 9 - Fortifying the Island of Westerbur, The Fens in September 1067
The bows and the bow staves arrived as promised by Hereward, so young Raynar began to organize the training. Instead of general training, he focused on what was most important to know for the defense of the island. The channel, at its narrowest point, was some twenty paces across. Forty at its widest. The defenders needed to be able to pierce armour at fifty paces.
He was pleased to find out that some of the women already knew archery. They had small selfbows that they used with long thin arrows to shoot fish, and shorter arrows to shoot birds and rabbits. Unfortunately the selfbows were short range weapons, and did not have the power to shoot the heavy battle arrows.
Even more unfortunate was that Hereward's Welsh bows were too large for boys and women. He could not bring himself to weaken existing bows, so he showed the women how to craft new ones from the staves. They were quicker to learn the shaping than most of the archers he had taught over the last year.
The next problem was the strength in the shoulders. Or rather the lack of strength. Women were not built like men. Try as they
might, the arrows from the women's Ywen bows did not have the power to pierce armour at fifty paces. He had them continue practicing hoping the strength would improve. The aim improved. The strength did not.
* * * * *
The harvest began and many of Klaes's men were now staying on or near the island. Everyone was busy with the harvest. The horses and cattle had been moved to trusted Danish estates towards Lincoln, so there was no reason to harvest the hay, but there was corn, oats, barley, rye, turnips, peas and beans to bring in. The village folk worked all hours of the day and then collapsed into their beds at the end of the day.
Those that could not do the heavy work, like Raynar, were set tasks such as cleaning barrels, and chalking them, and then cleaning, drying, and packing the crops into the chalked barrels. Drying was important. In this damp climate, food rotted or grew mushrooms quickly if it was not kept dry.
With so many men now living in the dry village and in the island village, Raynar was able to see the difference between Frisian society and the Saxon society of his father. Almost everything in the village was held in-common except for the huts and what was in the huts. The women claimed the huts for their children and their personal things. When the men were in the village, each woman would invite their current man, or men, into her hut to stay with her and her children.
He did not know what was happening inside the huts between the sexes, but outside the huts there was happiness and friendliness between most men and women. The women talked and flirted shamelessly with any man working close by. The men reached out for women and held them and stroked them in a way that would be considered shameless in Saxon society. In Saxon society, such open friendliness and flirtations would have caused fights between men, and the rejection of the woman by other women.
All were included in the openly physical touching. The children were cherished and hugged. It seemed strange to see the warriors that he had seen beheading Normans and covered in blood and gore, now sitting on the ground and playing silly children's games with the little ones. Even Gerke, the giant axeman, would settle down and gently play with small rag dolls with Inka's daughter Gesa, who was no more than five. After the evening meal, which was cooked, eaten, and cleaned away communally, he watched the children fall asleep in the arms of the men, while the women sang soft songs.
