by Smith, Skye
"When do we go? " another call from the back.
"We go now and we move fast" Hereward answered to a widespread groan. "We have spies watching for William, but he has horses and can move fast faster than us, so we won't be safe from him until we cross the Thames."
"Where are our horses? " the call was from the front this time.
"They are in London. Earl Edgar was guarding them at Senlac Ridge, and has used them to get the survivors to London."
"That young lordling, he probably left before the battle started." from the back.
"He saved many," Raynar broke in. "But it would have been better if he had attacked rather than retreated."
Silence. They all knew that Raynar was deeply emotional about what he had seen in the battle.
"On the march, Osmund and Rodor will be in charge. I am being sent south on the Earl's business. Get going then. Pack up and start walking," finished Hereward.
Hereward walked passed Raynar and said simply "No."
Raynar followed him. "You don't know what I would ask."
"No I won't tell you my mission, and no you can't come."
Raynar was pulled backwards by a giant hand on his shoulder. Since Edwin's warning about the possible enmity of the lords, his instincts had been taut, and he ducked and turned and had his dagger out. He looked up, and towering above him was John Smith. "John," he exclaimed and he grabbed his hand, "John, you are still growing. " He was indeed, but no higher, just broader of arm and shoulder and chest.
John had all the news of home and Raynar never left his side for the two days it took to march to Wallingford. John had come south as a fyrdman, though against his family's wishes, but with the help of Brother Tucker, who was praying everyday for Raynar’s safe return. With the abbey's carts of course.
There had been a bad accident at the mine, so the glade had more families, and Gwyn and the widows were now running everything in Raynar's absence. The glade was doing well run by the widows, because they had the porters wrapped around their fingers, as well as a few other body parts.
The news was mostly good news, except for the accident, but Raynar felt saddened to the heart. The news was about people he knew, but there was no news of family because he had no family, not for two years now. Everyday new groups of fyrd joined the army and old groups left, and there was always a fyrdmen who learned of a sister's wedding, or a new baby. But there was no such family news for him.
* * * * *
Earls Edwin and Morcar, escorted by a band of their huscarls, had left the column for the Witenagemot about the same time that Hereward had disappeared. Without their stern rule, the army loosened and relaxed. Once they had crossed the Thames at Wallingford they made camp, and afterwards, with no duties other than running the camp, there was a festive feel to the camp. After a day of rest, therefore, those left in command ordered that the men be trained in how to slaughter cavalry.
Raynar’s time was instantly in high demand, as there were few other men who had witnessed Norman battle horses in a fight. He took Osmund, John, a purse, and a cart across the ford into Wallingford and they came back with the cart full of training supplies. Meanwhile, Wylie and a few skirmishers combed the weapons carts for the longest daggers, and the smallest throwing axes they could find.
While John enlisted some fyrdmen to attach the daggers and the throwing axes to the ends of long staves, thus creating poleaxes, Osmund and his skirmishers put together a training field complete with a shield wall of stakes and standing shields, and tall straw horses made from baskets and branches.
They concentrated on training the experienced skirmishers first, so that they in turn could help train the others. Osmund’s training style was army. Drill and drill and more drill. Raynar's was more in line with how skirmishers fought. Recognize opportunity and act. They worked as a team, with Raynar showing and explaining, and Osmund organizing drills and practices.
Most skirmishers already had some experience in fighting horsemen. What they now needed was to practice how to fight a heavy cavalry charge. From the training supply cart, each man was issued a strong bow, heavy arrows, a makeshift poleaxe, a sling, and a short length of light rope.
And then they drilled, and drilled, and drilled until it finally sank in that this was all about practicing a handful of dirty tricks that could to cripple a horse. It was against the nature of these men to cripple valuable animals, but the more they listened to Raynar's description of the cowardly tactics of Norman cavalry, the more they accepted that crippling the horse was the safest and surest way to defeat the rider.
Osmund eventually allowed the skirmishers to change his original drills. They were catching on and were inventing their own techniques of tripping and slashing the legs of horses while staying out of the reach of the rider's weapons. They were realizing how useful a pole axe was, especially a pole axe that they could lash together using common weapons like daggers and throwing axes.
Meanwhile John was showing the archers how the stopping power of an arrow increased if they wrapped a strip of lead around the shaft behind the point. The object was to make standard army arrows pack enough punch to find a horses heart from ten paces. Within days, the men were playing dice using lead strips as tokens, for everyone had a dozen in their purse.
Once the training got good and going, the twenty who had set it up began to teach other skirmishers, and then the skirmishers began to train the fyrdmen. Now even shieldmen began stopping by to join the practices.
The huscarls were first to join the practices. They had also listened to Raynar's battle stories and now realized how important it was to have trained fyrdmen armed with poleaxes behind them when they stood in the shieldwall facing a cavalry charge. They, more than anyone else, wanted these fyrdmen to be trained. The huscarls were warriors by chosen profession, and with their help the quality of the training increased hugely.
Twenty trained, became eighty trained, and eventually the limit was not the number of trainers, but the size of the training field and the number of training weapons. At any one time there could be a hundred men on the training field learning and practicing. For every one on the field there were five watching.
Eventually the huscarls came to dominate the training field and at that point, even their lords got involved and joined them in practice. This angered Osmund a bit. After all it was the fyrdmen, not the shieldmen, who would be the pikemen in a battle, and it was they who had the most to learn.
Worse, Osmund was having trouble getting the fyrdmen to drill or practice. The fyrdmen wanted to go and save their harvest, not become warriors. Since there was a good chance they would be replaced within the fortnight by local fyrdmen, they weren't all that interested. They were farmers and porters who had little skill with weapons and usually did not own any made of metal except for their knife.
Wyle came up with the answer. He created pantomime shows that demonstrated the techniques but were humourous. The men were all sitting around bored, so any kind of entertainment was welcome. The pantomimes not only showed the basic techniques, but they got the men thinking about the problem of how to fight heavy cavalrymen, and sparked their interest in the training.
The most humorous pantomime was enjoyed all across the camp. Massive John played the mounted Norman knight. He was wearing a helmet and some shoulder armour and was carrying a wooden sword. Around his middle was a barrel shaped basket with a hobby horse head stuck in the front. As an afterthought Wylie added a stuffed stocking to represent the knights sexual excitement.
There were three other players, all short men, each playing females, with cloaks wrapped as skirts. The plot was simple. Two 'girls' were playing with a skipping rope. The dastardly mounted knight chased the third 'girl' with his sex stocking. They chased around in a circle with him growling, and her screaming rape.
That would catch the interest of the audience. Once a crowd gathered, the two 'girls' stop skipping and use the skipping rope to trip the Norman's horse. At this point John falls and rol
ls on the ground, and the 'girl' holds up a wickedly long dagger. John flops around pretending he can't get up because of his armour, until the 'girl' stabs him through the face shield of the helmet.
Wylie played the narrator giving the morals, such as, do not run from the horse, face it, take the horse down first, and only then attack the rider. By the end of the week they had a dozen pantomime plots, each showing a different technique for fighting heavy cavalry.
By the start of the second week, there were three training fields busy at all times. As men practiced with the dummy horses, they learned the weaknesses of heavy cavalry. In the evening, Raynar would eat with the lords while telling and retelling his stories of Senlac Ridge, and describing the tactics that had worked and had not worked in that battle.
* * * * *
The river bank was peaceful here, a mile upstream from the army camp across from Wallingford. Although he enjoyed the comradery of the thirty skirmishers he hung around with, the camp contained thousands of men. Thousands of men meant thousands of voices, and thousands of smelly bodies, and thousands using the latrines. Sometimes he just needed to be alone with his thoughts, and away from others.
The hairy star was bright in the early evening sky. It no longer seemed to be threatening to come to earth, but instead seemed to be chasing Venus. Perhaps that was a good thing. He sat on the bank and watched the great river flow. It was clean here upstream from both the town and the camp. Even better, it did not stink.
As towns went, Wallingford was quite pleasant, and most of that was due to this river. The river meant that the surrounding land was lush and rich. It was a transport link to London and the traffic along it was constant. Local businesses and farmers were able to sell to London for good earnings and in good coin. The towns on the banks of the Thames were prospering.
Raynar enjoyed his long walks along the river bank, sometimes with Wylie or with John, and sometimes alone. This evening he had come alone. There was a full moon rising and he wanted to be alone with it. The moon was Gwyn's goddess, and Sonja's goddess though the women were from different cultures. Somehow he felt closer to the women in his life when the moon was full.
He sighed at the thought of Sonja, his first lover, and wondered how her marriage was going. She was now wed to old Lord Sweyn and she had a young son, supposedly the lords, but he knew better. Perhaps it was the romance of the moonlight across the river water or just homesickness but he had a deep desire to see Sonja again.
He was heading back to camp and just rounding the first long bend in the river when he heard the snapping of a twig behind him. The camp was still on a war footing, so pickets watched the approaches. He had met them before while walking. He turned and spoke out in Saxon English, to identify himself. There was no response.
Then they were upon him. There were two. They were armed with knives, and the first swipe cut the forearm he had blocked it with. There was no time to draw his short sword and he had nothing to use as a shield. He was going to die. But instead, one of the attackers fell to the ground and the other ran head first into a tree.
There was a third man behind the other two. He was dressed in black and was just a shadow against the shimmering water. The man in black kicked the man on the ground and heard a moan, so he stomped hard on the back of the mans right knee and there was a sickening pop and a scream of pain. He then moved to the attacker who was slumped by the tree, kicked him, listened to the moan, then stomped on that man's left knee.
"Raynar, do you know me?" the man in black said. He moved closer to Raynar and turned his face to catch the moonlight. By this time Raynar had his wickedly thin short sword in his hand, and he stepped towards the man. He was Gunnur, one of Edwin's personal huscarls.
Raynar sheathed his sword. "What is happening Gunnur, who are these men?"
"The one by the tree is a lord that Edwin and Hereward did not trust, and we have been watching him. The other is one of his huscarls. We suspected that they were spies for the Normans, so when they left the camp after dark I followed them. He waved his hand down his black clothing. "The dark clothing is for sneaking through the night. Both of them have accidentally broken their knees so they won't be running away."
Gunnur made sure they had no more weapons and pulled them to their feet. "Here, help me rope them together" The men were moaning at every step. "I thought they were out here to pass on messages. Instead they were out here to kill you. You are lucky you blocked that first knife or I would have been too late with my help."
"Why would they kill me?" wondered Raynar. "I am just a porter who works for an abbey. I shouldn't even be with this army."
"The captain of the guard will be asking them the same question, but I can guess at their reasons. You are the most dangerous enemy that William has in this camp. You survived the battle and you are training us to beat him." It took them an age to get back to camp because of the injured men. Once to the edge of the camp, Gunnur seconded two guards to help him with his prisoners and sent Raynar off to his bed.
In the morning Raynar was summoned to a tribunal. His two attackers were there and they looked like they had been thoroughly beaten. He was asked if he recognized either of the men. Raynar looked closely at the supposed lord. "This one. The morning after Harold was killed, he was one of the lords listening to my tales of the battlefield." He looked again more closely and the thought of a bridge came to mind. "And before that, at Stamford, he was the lord in charge of taking the bridge from the berserker. He decried me to Harold for killing the berserker who was slowing down our flanking action."
"I did not complain that you killed him, I complained that you were insubordinate and I wanted you whipped." the lord looked at him with venom.
Raynar pointed an accusing finger at the man "Because of you, we had to fight for the high ground. A lot of Harold's men died because of you." Raynar was dismissed, and as he walked away he heard a lot of grumbling and growling from the tent. He never saw his attackers again, and he was never told what happened to them. Even Gunner would tell him nothing, however, he did let it slip where Hereward was. He was in Kent, gathering stories about William from English spies. Hereward had become the army's spy master.
When Osmund was told of the attack, he told his skirmishers to keep an eye on the lad. It wasn't necessary, because John stuck to him like glue from then on.
* * * * *
* * * * *
THE HOODSMAN - Hunting Kings by Skye Smith
Chapter 6 - Brotherhood of the Arrow, Wallingford in October 1066
Hereward returned two days later. Edwin had not yet returned from London, but Hereward had the news. He raved about it to his inner group of skirmishers, the ones that Raynar had ridden with when scouting Stamford before the battle.
"The new King of the English is Prince Edgar. A snot nosed lad." Hereward was angry. "They refused to make Edwin king. Their only chance to beat William and they would not take it. The Witan must all be insane. It was the southern bishops that denied him."
"So what happens now?" asked Osmund.
"I think the lot of us will be home before winter starts. Why should Edwin risk all to save the south from William, if the south does not trust him as king," replied Hereward.
"It's not just Edwin that has been refused the crown," stated Osmund, as usual going straight to the meat of the matter. "William has been refused to. What will William do now?"
"He can take Wessex and make himself the Earl. There is no one to stop him. Most of their lords and huscarls are dead and in shallow graves. It would be the smart thing to do. Wessex is the richest earldom in England and it faces across the sea to Normandy. The next time the Witen must choose a king, William would be undeniable as the Earl of Wessex.
William, though, is not a patient man. Besides which, Edgar is a young king and will likely outlive William. Therefore my best guess is that he will force Edgar to abdicate, and to do that, he must capture him. Either that or threaten a deed so vile that Edgar is held for ransom by it. I su
ppose that means he must threaten to destroy London. It could take William months to make up his mind. Edwin is not going to keep us camped here for months."
"Hereward," Osmund spoke for the rest, "we have trained the skirmishers to fight heavy cavalry. The fyrdmen are also prepared, as are the shieldmen. Are you saying that the very men who can beat William are to be sent home. That is insanity."
"Edgar is king now. He can call up the southern fyrdmen, he can gather the lords, and their huscarls."
"But without us, they won't know how to beat William," complained Osmund.
Young Raynar broke into the discussion "When William tries to take Mercia, the training will still be remembered. Nothing about it was difficult, once it was thought out and explained. The fyrd know how to beat horsemen with common weapons that are within everyman’s grasp or, at least, can be fashioned within an hour. Staves and blades and lashings is all they need."
Osmund laughed cynically. "The Norman knights are lords. A fyrdman will not attack a lord without orders from his own lord. Otherwise the natural order of gods and kings and men would be turned upside down. Besides, one fyrdman alone is not enough. In the training we have proven that it takes two, or better yet, three to kill a Norman cavalryman."
"Our skirmishers would not hesitate to attack a Norman knight," said Wylie. "If a skirmisher attacks, the fyrdmen would help him. But you are right, there must be two who are willing."
"But when we are sent home, we will no longer be skirmishers." Osmund pointed out.
Hereward was thinking. "Osmund, as usual you have cut through the talk and gone right to the issue." He looked up with a smile. "The problem we face is how to keep everyone thinking they are skirmishers even when they are behind a plough. A skirmisher is nothing in this army. To the lords and the huscarls we are just fyrdmen with bows who are useful as scouts."
"To the nobles any peasant is a nothing," reflected Raynar "The Norman nobs were willing to sacrifice their archers and infantry, and they even trampled them if they got in their way, as if they were nothing. Our own nobs hated that we were training English peasants to kill Norman nobs."
