by Smith, Skye
At the sight of a forest bowman, some lords automatically reached for their swords, only to be reminded by their empty scabbard that they were not carrying, not here in this court. Raynar slowed his pace, which forced the captain to also slow. He took the long way around the edges of the room rather than the direct route which the captain was urging. All the while he was listening, and pretending not to understand French.
Eventually they reached the table at the far end of the room, next to the doorway into the actual audience room. Here he told the clerk his name and the name of his town, and the nature of his business, which was all written down onto a scroll. The captain then had some urgent words with the clerk.
After the clerk had made the requisite polite protestations for the ears of those that had already been waiting for hours for an audience, he capitulated to the formidable captain, and directed the guards at the door to announce the captain and his guest. Almost at once the waiting lords rushed towards the clerk protesting about this peasant being given such immediate access to the king, and armed to boot. Again Raynar listened, and committed faces to his memory, and pretended not to.
He was shown into the audience hall, and his presence in that great hall had the same effect as it had in the waiting chamber. Silence, and then urgent whispers between well dressed people, French speaking people. Most of the people here were aides and clerks and chamberlains and court officers. Again he took a circuitous route towards the throne, the empty throne, and had his ears turned to listen.
Once he reached the group of men standing closest to the throne, he stopped, but now the captain grabbed his elbow and pulled him along to the right of the throne. He was led around and behind the throne and then between two heavily armed guards and behind a heavy curtain and through a small iron clad door. The captain did not enter with him, and said a curt farewell.
The iron clad door opened into a smaller room that had one large table and walls that were covered in maps. King Henry was standing relaxed and staring at a map of Normandy. He turned to face Raynar, and Raynar pulled off his hood and bowed. When Raynar moved forward, he was pulled back and blocked by the same four tall guards that had visited the Domus. Henry waved them away and motioned Raynar forward.
"Raynar, I should have you locked in the pillory for dressing in hunting garb at my court," said Henry, and then started a rolling laugh. "I'll wager there was more than one lord out there who would have dragged you to the pillory in an instant."
"Sire, can the pillory not wait until after I give you the message from Gregos?" asked Raynar. "I should dispense of the duty I swore to you, before your men drag me away to be punished.” He was much relieved that Henry saw humour in his bold actions, rather than a threat.
Henry waved his guards from the room. One of them stalled and pointed to Raynar’s weapons. He was waved away. "For a peasant, you have an easy way with kings. Have you served them before?"
"Served them ...” Raynar broke off. He had almost said 'and killed them'. "Well at least served with them, but I have never taken an oath to any. I helped Harold Godwinson to defeat the Norse at the Battle of Stamford Bridge. On the battlefield he did not demand court manors, though my peasant ways angered some of his lords."
The moment that the door closed behind the guards, Henry stopped the friendly banter and stuck out his hand for the message. Raynar gave it to him. Henry looked at it and slammed his hand down on the table. "This is not my code. Was Gregos in his right mind?"
"His mind was only clear enough to think in his native tongue, Greek. I will transcribe it for you. In French I assume, since they are mostly Norman names." It took but a few minutes to translate and transcribe the scribble into a list of names.
Henry had watched the bowman work the letters. It brought to mind the words of a Royal Verderer, the one from the hunting lodge in the New Forest. They had been standing over his brother William's corpse at the time, reading a note from the killer that they had found clutched in William's cold hand. The verderer had said "It's a rare bowman who can read and write."
Raynar finished the list and left it on the table and moved aside so that Henry could have it to himself. "Gregos asked me to say that these are your brother Robert's loyal contacts here in England. Robert's message to them was that they were to kill you only if you could not be captured. The minter had the list only because bankers have their own secure methods of passing messages across Christendom. These names mean nothing to me, so they must all be southern lords."
Henry looked down and read the list. "Yes, they are all Barons with holdings in Kent. Baronies given out by Earl Odo. Odo was always Robert's man." He looked at Raynar. "Is there more?"
"Your Coronation Charter. The Hoodsmen. May I speak?" Raynar was given a nod. "The Hoodsmen fought your father because of the harrowing tactics he used to conquer the North. They became the sworn enemies of the laws and practices of your father and of your brother and of the waves of corrupt and bloodthirsty lords that they appointed. Even today many still live as outlaws and seek revenge for old wounds.
Your charter spoke of bringing back English common law and the rule of law. It spoke of an amnesty. Make these things so, and make them so quickly, and the Hoodsman will protect you, and fight to keep you on your throne, and they may hand you Normandy as well." Raynar paused to see the effect of his words on Henry. He was motioned to continue.
"I have seen how Norman Barons battle other Norman Barons. It is like an expensive joust for prize money. In such a joust Robert's men will beat yours. He has the backing of France and the Norman Crusaders. Whoever wins, the cost in coin will ruin this kingdom. There is a better way. The Hood's longbows can drop the horses and then slaughter the riders, and for a cost paid in coins of silver, rather than in coins of gold."
There was a long silence. Henry hid the list of names in his vest and turned back to his map of Normandy. When this bowman had arrived, he had been using a charcoal stick to shade the areas that were likely to oppose him. It would have used much less charcoal if he had shaded the areas that were for him. He moved along the wall to the map of the Kingdom of England and stared unblinking while he thought.
The King straightened to his full height and turned to Raynar. "I will make it so, and my proclamation will be sent tomorrow across the kingdom. All able bodied bowmen that report for recruitment into the King's archers will be declared freemen, as will their wives and children. I will set up four recruitment centers in the north and two in the south. I will send the names of the castles to your Domus as soon as they have been arranged.
Once a man reaches one of those castles, he must swear a blood oath to me directly, and to no one else. Once sworn he will be a freemen and no longer an outlaw. Mark, however, that he must see to his own safety to reach the castles. There are many lords who will try to stop this recruitment, by murder if necessary."
"Agreed," said Raynar. "And don't worry about their safety. They are well used to moving unseen." He took Henry's hand in a firm grip. He felt Henry's fingers gauge the calluses on his string fingers. "Send me the details when they have been finalized and I will arrange to have them sent out across the kingdom. May your reign be long and peaceful and prosperous."
"Thank you. That is my wish also. Umm, now a personal favour. Please put your hood back up and walk with me slowly back through the court chambers. I wish to gauge the reaction of my lords and officers."
Shoulder to shoulder he walked with King Henry, with the four tall guardsmen behind them with hands on the hilts of their daggers. They walked back through the audience hall, stopping frequently as Henry spoke to many of the throng. Again Raynar pretended not to understand French. Sometimes the king himself would translate phrases into English for him.
Raynar was not pleased to be doing this. He could not walk with the king and still hide his face with his deep hood. Men, powerful men, were marking his face. It took them a half an hour to reach the waiting room, and there the king again mingled through the throng. Raynar wa
s never introduced, but again, powerful lords were marking his face. He recognized the names of some of them from their evil reputations. He was also marking faces.
* * * * *
Once Raynar was finally allowed to leave the palace, and claim his striding pony, it was nearing sunset. When he reached Temple Lane, there were cloaked men hiding in the shadows and stopping anyone from entering. As the pony walked across the entrance, he tried to look up the lane to see what was happening, but the shadows were too dark.
While trying to look inconspicuous, he continued down the embankment road to the next cartway, the one that led to the stable gate. Armed men came out of the shadows to stop him, so he kicked the horse and was passed them before they could stop him. It came to him that he could have just done something very stupid. Those men were now following him. He could be trapped. He looked ahead along the cartway for other men, and more important, for low places in the broken wall and thicket that he could use to escape this cartway.
As he approached the stable gate he yelled out to anyone in the stable to open the damn thing. There seemed to be no one to open the gate for him, so he stood on the saddle and lifted himself up to the wall. An arrow bounced off the top of the wall beside him.
"Hold!" he shouted. "It's Raynar!” There was a sound that was enough of a 'yes' that he pulled himself over the wall and slid down the inside of it. His trick knee buckled when his feet met the earth. He limped to the gate and opened the people door and pulled the pony towards it. He had to pull down on the reins to get her to drop her head enough to get half way through, and then hit her flank to get her to force the saddle through. He slammed the door and barred it. Just in time. Two men's shoulders hit the outside of the door just as the bar fell into place.
As a trained skirmisher, Raynar was never one for mass defense or mass offense. His battles were fought with rapid attacks at selected targets. He strung his longbow and nocked his first arrow. He yelled up to the lads on the roof that he was going to open the small door and that they could pick their own targets.
He kicked the bar up, swung the door wide, and stepped back to wait. The door was only wide enough for one man at a time. He let two enter before he slammed the first with a heavy arrow. One of the lads picked off the second while Raynar was reaching for another arrow.
A third entered, but saw two of his mates writhing on the ground and backed out. He couldn't. There was a man right behind him in the doorway. Raynar shot the first in the stomach to force him to bend over. While he was bending Raynar nocked another arrow, but it was not need. The man behind had already sprouted an arrow in his face and was staggering backwards howling.
One of the lads called down that there were no more men at the stable gate, so Raynar dragged the dying bodies away from the doorway and slammed and barred the door. The one with the gut wound was dying in slow agony. He would have to suffer until the attack was finished.
Another of the lads was waiting at the connecting door to the Inn and let him through. His news was that the main attack was at the inn gate in Temple Lane, but it had quieted now. Arrows from bowmen along the Inn's wall had downed six but the enemy was regrouping. Raynar ran to his room and swapped his longbow for his Seljuk bow, and swapped the long arrows for the standard. After a quick slug of wine directly from the jug, he skipped across the courtyard to check on Gregos.
Risto had his finger on the crossbow lever and relaxed his finger only when he recognized Raynar. Gregos was oblivious. The physician must have drugged him again.
"Risto, you had your fun the other day. This fun is ours. Stay in bed. It is under control. There are ten down already and the others are getting cold feet. Look at your arm man. You have already split some stitches and the bleeding has started again.” He reached over to a table and threw a wad of linen to him. "Press down on the wound with this until it stops bleeding."
An orderly ran by, and Raynar grabbed his arm. "Wyl?" he asked. The lad pointed to the roof. Raynar had to hop up the steps because his trick knee was still not bending properly. Some tenants were on the roof with Wyl, but they were not bowmen, just curious. He could hear them complaining to Wyl.
Wyl responded, "When one of our tenants is attacked their rent includes our protection. If it were you lying injured in your room, you could expect the same. That level of security is required if you are to trust us with your treasures while you are overseas.” The complaining stopped. It became a murmur of acceptance and even approval.
"Wyl, has the watcher at the embankment left for the palace yet?" asked Raynar.
"He has. I have been telling the lads not to kill too many of the attackers, because we don't want the buggers to run. We want them all here so they will be trapped by the King's guards, and that will be the end of this once and for all.” The mention of the King's guards started the other tenants murmuring again.
"What was their plan, Wyl? Scale the walls? We just took out four at the stable gate. They seemed to have no plan except to rush the door."
"One of the lads on the wall gave us an early warning there was a large cart turning into the lane. On the back of the cart they had built a staircase as high as the wall. Once the cart was in place beside the wall, they stupidly did not unhitch the horses. We used practice arrows and kept hitting the flanks of the horses until they panicked and ran.
The cart is now lodged across the corner at the top of the lane. They are still working at calming the horses and backing the cart down the lane." Wyl suddenly pointed across the ruins of the ancient temple across the lane. "I can see the palace guards. Here they come, riding hard. They know this place now. They are splitting up on the other side of the temple, and will be coming from both ends of the lane. Excellent. They will trap them all."
It was hours before he got to his bed, even though the battle in the lane was over almost as soon as the king's men arrived. He had briefed Wyl on his meeting with Henry, and Wyl was joyous.
Despite his rhetoric, Risto had snoozed away most of the rest of the evening, but he was determined to watch over Gregos through the night.
The lads were sharing shifts on the roof, but expected no more trouble since the palace guards had killed or dragged away all of the attackers. There was nothing left for Raynar to do, but to lay out his weapons and to sleep.
Being in a palace again brought back memories of other palaces, and other royal nobles. He did not sleep well.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - Frisians of the Fens by Skye Smith Copyright 2010-13
Chapter 12 - The Frisian Cogs of the Wash in March 1068
The salt spray washed over them all and made the grip on the oars cold and slippery, but they could not stop now. The waves were breaking over the bar and they were pulling on their oars to physically push the ship through the break and the foam. Every stroke must be matched to all others. One bad oar could scuttle the ship.
A loose grip would send a loose oar backwards and tangle the oars behind. Loss of oars on one side would turn them sideways into the swell and the ship could go over. Their muscles ached and strained. They were fighting exhaustion. And then, just like that, they were across the bar. A cheer went up from all hands and after a half-dozen more strokes, they all took a rest.
Young Raynar's chest hurt. At one point he had lost his grip and the oar had hit him full on the chest. It would solve nothing to look, but he wanted to see how much of his skin was black and blue. His fingers were too cold to pull his clothing loose. He gave up. He yelled up to the steersman, his friend Gerke, "If each crossing starts like that, it is a wonder that you ever go to sea at all."
The other men were relieved to be through it and were yelling insults at Gerke to calm themselves. Gerke took no offense. No one could expect that they would be hit by a tidal bore just as they reached the bar. They were in deep water now and the waves were long swells rather than breakers and surges.
Since winter began and everyone had moved to the dry village, Raynar had be
en accepted as one of Klaes's men. He had expected trouble from Gerke, considering he had been off and on bedding his wife and his sister, but there was no hard feelings. At the time, Gerke had pointed out this made them like brothers. Meanwhile Roas was still not with child.
"Look, our other ships did not even try!" The man at the next oar exclaimed. "They saw us do it and they fled back like cowards. "
"I would have beaten the steersmen if they had followed us," growled Klaes. "We were caught by surprise, and could do naught else but to row for our lives. There was no surprise for them. Ships are risky enough without tempting the Wyred sisters."
They had worked all winter, off and on during any good weather, to prepare the ships for the trading season. The ships were older style Frisian Cogs of about fifteen paces in length. They needed a mere two feet of water under them to float, when not loaded.
The winter work included pulling them from the water, drying the hulls, recaulking them with moss and pitch, and refitting lines and spars and oars. None of the work was difficult or urgent, and they had spent many pleasant hours singing and trading stories while they worked. They often had camped with the ships for days at a time. The longer they spent away from the village, the more welcome was the return to some of the most comely women anywhere on the North Sea.
Now the winter storms had moved north, and except for a rare spring blow, the weather was calm and warming, and most important of all, it was dry. Before they left the village to move the ships to the Wash, Klaes had issued orders to the women to move back from the dry village to the island village. The dry village was more comfortable living through the winter, but the island village was secure and defendable.
Still at the dry village were the lambs, the calves and the foals that were due or had already arrived. They could not move this livestock to more secure pastures until the birthing was finished and the young had their legs. This meant that some men had to stay in the dry village and mount a watch. Both cartways to the village had been set up for ambushes if the need be, and a pale of sharpened poles surrounded the house where the herders slept.
