Hoodsman: Hunting Kings

by Smith, Skye

  "So how do we raise the pride of our skirmishers so that they will fight for themselves?" asked Osmund. "Answer me that riddle. Any of you?"

  No one spoke so Raynar did. "In my valley the Welsh miners were abused and had no respect so they formed a guild. Of course it could not be called a guild, so they called it a brotherhood instead. It seems silly when you talk about it, as it was just a word, an idea in the miners heads, but their brotherhood became a force in the valley. On important issues, the members of the brotherhood supported each other and spoke with one voice, so they were listened to.

  The mines were dangerous, so the brotherhood forced the mine owners to make them safer. The brotherhood worked together to make their own changes to make them safer. My father was a miner. His back was crushed in an accident. Afterwards the brotherhood took care of my family and found us a healthy place to live.

  Yes, my father had a few good friends, and if there had been no brotherhood, his friends would have helped as best they could. However, because of the brotherhood, it was as if he had a hundred friends to help. The miners were all brothers to the same risk, and any could have had their backs crushed, as my father's had been. That made them brothers to the victim, because any of them could have been the victim. Do you understand what I am saying?"

  "A shieldman calls his right hand man a brother-in-arms," Hereward replied. "He is completely dependant on the shield to the right of him in the wall, just as the man to his left is dependant on his shield."

  "A guild but not a guild. A brotherhood of skirmishers. Yes Raynar, I understand, " said Osmund, "It is the difference right now between our skirmishers and regular army archers. How many times have our skirmishers saved each others lives because we guard each others backs. We do it because we are often away from the army and must make our own way. I like this word brotherhood, this idea. I like it well. When we go home, we are no longer working as skirmishers, but we would still be part of a brotherhood of skirmishers. Now that I have heard it I wonder that it took us so long to think of it."

  John never spoke much, but he spoke now. "For two days I have been watching Raynar's back. He has been threatened. He need not ask me to do it. No one need ask me. I do it because he is like a brother to me. I will keep him safe, and if I were threatened, he would keep me safe."

  Hereward spoke. "The ancients had brotherhoods of warriors. It was as you say. They lived a dangerous life in common with others, and were brothers in that risk. Many of us have fought one next to the other since the battle at Fulford, and have been like brothers on those fields of death. We have shared food and fear, ale and arrows, life and death. We have protected the others and have been protected."

  "Yeh," said Osmund, "So how will I protect you lot, or be protected when I am sent home? So you think that if we form one of these brotherhoods, that we will stay linked. Oye, well, I suppose it's worth a try even if it's just a word."

  Hereward looked to the sun, "I have pressing duties elsewhere and must go. Let us all think about this and discuss it again in the morning. Think about the name, and some simple words to describe it to others, and we would need a vow or an oath or perhaps a creed. Some words to bind us. Some wise words to give us direction when there is no leader."

  * * * * *

  In the morning around a small cooking fire, they were ten. They all had some ideas and voiced them, but they could not all agree. Actually John was an eleventh man but he was only there as Raynar's shadow. He listened. John had a talent for design at the forge, and the beauty of his designs was in their simplicity. He finally stood to his full height. The chatter of the others slowed as they noticed the looming figure. When the others stopped talking, John began speaking in his deep slow voice.

  "I have listened to all the names proposed, and have twisted them on my tongue. They mix archer and bow and man or skirmisher, but they miss the point." He held up an arrow. "This is the point. The purpose of an archer and a bow is to deliver this to its target. The name should be the Brotherhood of the Arrow." He held up his hand to stop interruption.

  "The purpose of your brotherhood is two fold. You want a bond that will last after we have been sent home and you want the brotherhood to grow to include other men with the skill to kill Norman nobs, even if you have to train them yourselves. So shouldn't your oath say that, and only that. If you will be patient with my slow mind I will try to put it into words."

  The other encouraged him so John spoke again.

  "I am of the Brotherhood of the Arrow.

  I am a master of the arrow.

  I will teach the ways of the arrow.

  When I stand by myself, I am not alone.

  My brethren will protect me and avenge me.

  As I will protect and avenge them."

  There was silence. Not a word. John sat down in embarrassment.

  Hereward waited for comment, and when there was none he stood up. "I would make that oath here and now. Who would join me?" They all stood. And John led them in the oath. Afterwards they walked around to each other and gripped each others arms, and said "I am your brother, to the death."

  When they were finished Osmund asked for quiet. "I would ask your permission to invite my skirmishers into this brotherhood." And all yay'd.

  Hereward said "and mine". Again a chorus of Yay. "And Rodor's". Again a chorus of Yay.

  They each moved between the skirmisher camps explaining the brotherhood, and the reason for it, and the oath, and before the day was finished the brotherhood was well over a hundred strong. A hundred very dangerous men, now even more dangerous.

  Over the next several days, the skirmishers continued with their teachings and training with renewed vigor.

  Raynar's time was no longer at a premium with the lords and huscarls, so he and John set up a craftwork to show fyrdmen how to make strong bows and heavy arrows.

  Some of the skirmishers were shepherds, and they started craftworks to make slings and to train with slings.

  Osmund took a cart and men and combed the valley for seasoned staves of ash or ywen for crafting pikes and bows.

  Hereward had again disappeared.

  Wylie made up rhymes so that the fyrdmen would remember the drills. Rhymes such as.

  When the Norman came to prey.

  We spit his horse and made him pay.

  The Norman horseman riding tall.

  We tripped his horse and made him fall.

  Face the horseman, let him come.

  With arrow or pike, the horse goes down.

  Make the Norman lose his saddle

  And he is useless in the battle.

  Normans are pigs for gold and tits

  So shoot an arrow dipped in shit.

  And of course, the one that caused complaints from the English lords.

  Find the leader, kill him dead

  All his men go home to bed.

  Now there were over fifty trainers moving around the camps of fyrdmen. Rather than trying to train everyone, they were choosing one or two men from each village to be trained. Those that were trained were expected to take on the training of the other men from their village.

  The new brotherhood was on the tongues of the entire army. Despite it's notoriety, the brotherhood was no longer growing quickly. Any new recruit now had to be known to be worthy by existing members. Most of the huscarls who had become trainers were accepted, as were master archers, but few others, and no lords.

  * * * * *

  When the Northern Earls, Edwin and Morcar return from London, they returned to a camp divided. They first listened to the glowing reports from their huscarls about how advanced the anti-cavalry training was and how they were now confident that the Norman nobility would be slaughtered or better still, captured for ransom.

  Then they listened patiently to endless petitions from the manor lords, who were now rejecting more training for their fyrdmen, or who wanted all training to stop immediately. Edwin and Morcar had been fore warned of this division between those that wanted to slaug
hter the Normans and those English lords that were beginning to fear their own fyrdmen.

  Their decision was already pre-ordained, however, as they had come with orders from the southern bishops and the new king, to disband the northern fyrds and send them home. The fyrdmen were to be dismissed in village groups over a period of a week, beginning with those with the furthest way to travel to their homes. Thus, those of the brotherhood would soon be on their way to the far corners of the North.

  The brothers and the huscarls, who had trained so hard, were furious with the decision. They were ready and willing to clear the Normans from English soil before they walked home. Edwin was so embarrassed by his failure to sway the Witenagemot that he asked Hereward to explain the politics of it to the men. Afterwards Edwin answered their questions.

  "So who issued the order to disband the Northern fyrd and send it home, just when it was needed the most," asked a huscarl whose son had been butchered at Senlac.

  "It came from Archbishop Stigand of Canterbury on behalf of Prince Edgar."

  "Oye, wasn't 'e the bloke what rallied the votes agin Edwin being crowned," said a popular fyrdman who spoke slowly, but was known for his cunning.

  "Yes, that was also Stigand," Edwin replied.

  "Yeh, well where du fuck was 'e born den. Normandy?"

  Edwin calmed the jeers. "I have no reason to suspect Bishop Stigand of treachery. He was the personal chaplain to Knut the Great. He has been an advisor to every king that followed Knut. He is bishop of both Winchester and Canterbury. Besides, he has been excommunicated by the Pope in Rome, and the Pope is on Duke William's side. I have no reason to suspect him."

  The abbey's fine carts had been put to good use by Edwin to bring every barrel of ale from the town of Wallingford, across the river to the army camp. There were more questions, but most of the men drifted towards one or the other of the abbey's carts.

  It was Wylie who grabbed Hereward's arm and swung him around to face he and Raynar and John. "Edwin said he had no reason to suspect Stigand of treachery. I mistrust such carefully chosen words when they are spoken to the mob about politics. What is the truth that they hide?"

  Hereward lowered his voice. "Stigand is a an old priest in the twilight of his years, and he fears for his soul that he may die while under a writ of excommunication. I suspect that the Pope has promised to cancel the writ, in return for a few favours."

  "May the rats eat his flesh," cursed Wylie. "Priests, pious preaching bastards with no honor. Leaches that pray to crosses so the can prey on the old and the weak and the dying." He threw up his hands in fury and frustration and stomped towards the closest of the abbey's carts.

  * * * * *

  Days later, when it was the turn of the fyrdmen from the Trent valley to leave for home, John and Raynar and the four abbey carts went with them. Hereward and Osmund walked with them as they left the camp. Raynar asked each of them where they called home and for once they did not wave the personal question away.

  Osmund was from York but was in sworn service to Morcar, Earl of Northumbria.

  Hereward was in the sworn service to Edwin, Earl of Mercia. It was a good match for both of them, because Hereward was the illegitimate half brother of Aelfgar, who had been the previous Earl of Mercia. Hereward therefore had connections that were valuable to Edwin. He had not been to his mother's home in Burna for many years, not since his outlawry and his service in Scotland and Flanders. His mother's other son, by her legal husband, was now the lord in Burna.

  Out of site of all others, Hereward passed a heavy purse to Raynar. "This is from Edwin. It is the value of the Byzantine armour you won when you won that Byzantine bow of yours up in Yorkshire, as he promised. It is a fair price. Prince Edgar paid it, for the armour fit his young body well. As for the horses you won in that battle, they are with what is left of the Southern army in London with the rest of our horses, and you will likely never see them again."

  The march north was hungry. The earliest of the disbanded fyrdmen had trod that same way north ahead of them, and the local folk had long ago hidden any food and valuables. By Leicester everyone's bellies were cramping, except of course for the manor lords, so John and Raynar took one of the abbey's carts to Leicester market and used a tenth of Raynar's purse to buy a cartload of food and ale for the fyrdmen.

  To repay the generosity of the food, the Trent men agreed to leave the carts at Repton Abbey, which was on their way, which meant that they would have to shoulder what the carts had been carrying from that point on. One cart was carrying some sick men, who were healing so poorly that once they reached Repton the Abbot ordered the sick to stay behind at the abbey for proper care.

  On the day that the carts were returned to the abbey, the monk responsible for them, Brother Tucker, was away at the abbey mine at Wirksworth, so Raynar and John kept walking and found him there. He was overjoyed to see them, though he interrupted their reunion just long enough to send some carters to bring the sorely missed carts to the mine.

  By design, Tucker then delayed them until it was too dark for them to leave his company, and convinced them to stay the night by offering them comfortable beds. Despite having actual beds to sleep in, they got no sleep. Brother Tucker wanted to know everything and he kept them telling stories throughout the night.

  * * * * *

  The next day at Hathersage was a wonder of welcomes. John's mother smothered him with hugs. His father closed the forge and offered his best ale to all his neighbors and any passers by. But it was not Raynar's welcome, it was John's.

  Raynar stayed some hours to please the mother, and then started up the porterway to the glade. The mining widows and children were waiting for him. Word of his return had raced up the valley on porter's legs. The children swung from his arms and legs and only let him go when he pulled out sweets for all. Then the widows had their chance to swing in his arms.

  In Leicester market he had argued with John about whether to take dried fruit or fine spun cloth home to the glade. John threatened to beat him with a giant turnip if he took the fruit. John was wise. The bolts of cloth had been light to carry on his back, and put a sparkle in the eyes of the widows. More than one set of eyes invited him to visit at bedtime, but he declined all. Instead he unrolled a sheepskin near the pallets of the men injured in the latest mine disaster.

  He knew some of the men well, and none were strangers. He told them tales of the outside world. Of York and Wallingford and the Thames. He told them tales of the battles and the blood, of weapons and tactics, of Norse ships and Norman battle horses, of the kings and the earls and the duke. He slept there a week, while in the daytime he played with the children and their toys as he tried to recapture the innocence of his lost youth.

  One night he crawled into the bed of Gwyn the healer and cried in her arms. The next morning they did not leave her bed. Not for the reasons the glade whispered, though there was a bit of that too. They sat up in the bed entwined and discussed the meaning of life. Her mother encouraged Gwyn to take the time to heal Raynar's deeply disturbed mind. She even brought them food and drink in bed.

  He wished it were April, and not November, and the onset of summer, not the onset of winter. On a rare sunny day he walked to the Tor and looked out across the Peaks. He loved this wild land, but to be honest with himself, it was a miserable place to live in the winter. Compared to the lush land around the Thames, even his lovely Porter's Glade was a hard and poor place to live.

  He gathered the pack and weapons that he had arrived with, and told everyone that he must return to the Earl. After topping up Gwyn's purse with coins to be used to run the glade, and getting hugs from every woman and every child, he was gone.

  At John's house he stopped in to say farewell. While John's mother hovered around him, he took the metal rings off his sheepskin brynja. He was a peasant again and he would leave behind anything that made him look like a warrior. John accepted the loan of his Byzantine bow, and his Syrian sword, and the rustproof metal rings from his b
rynja, with the challenge to copy them.

  There was nothing showing on him that looked valuable. The only metal with him was the porters knife stuck in his sling belt, and a good number of John's special arrow points, and half of the heavy purse of silver coins that was his prize from the battle. With the brynja on his back now just leather and felted sheepskin, and with his hand made shepherds-crook-staff-bow in his hand, he looked like an itinerant shepherd.

  He told John the exact truth. He was not going back to the Earl, he was going back south to spend the winter exploring the Thames valley ... alone.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  THE HOODSMAN - Hunting Kings by Skye Smith

  Chapter 7 - A Helpful Boatman, Wallingford in November 1066

  With his farewells said to the folk in Hathersage, and after a short stop at Repton Abbey to resign as Brother Tucker's head porter, young Raynar then walked hurriedly from Repton Abbey to Wallingford. He fully expected that some of Edwin's army would still be there guarding the ford, and that they would know where Hereward was.

  It was not until he was mere miles away from Wallingford that he was told that what was left of Edwin's army had decamped and marched towards London to join forces with the warriors that Prince Edgar had saved from the slaughter on the road to Hastings.

  He had to walk through the abandoned army camp to reach the ford. There was nothing left. The gleaners had made off with anything of value, so all there was left of it was the wreckage of a few of the basket weave horses that they had used in training, and the smell of the latrines.

  Wallingford had many docks and barges. This year there was much water sickness along the Thames, and the docks and the barges were all looking for healthy backs to replace those who were stricken. "It should be easy to find work," he thought as he crossed the ford, and so it was.