by Smith, Skye
Raynar stood up and walked over to the largest of his hanging tapestries, the one that showed a map of the known world from Ireland, to the eastern border of the Byzantine, and from the icy land of the Fins to the desert lands of Moorish Africa.
"The three seas of this coast," he said pointing along the western edge of the map, "are the Baltic, the North, and the Celtic.
The Baltic Sea was controlled by the Norse and their Rus brethren. They had river routes between the Baltic and the Black sea. King Harald of Norway even lived in Constantinople for many years, and he was using the rich trade with Constantinople to buy warriors and build ships.
The North Sea was controlled by the Danes, the English-Danes, and the Frisians-Danes from the Low Countries. I think there were more English Danes than true Danes at the time, because England had been the jewel in Knut's crown. At the time all the nobles of both the North and the South of England were of English-Danish blood. The English royal family were cousins to the Danish royal family.
The Celtic sea was shared by Norse Vikings based in Ireland, and by Norman ex-Vikings in Normandy, and Celtic Britons from Wales, Cornwall, and Brittany, and by the English-Saxon traders of Wessex, and the English-Danish traders of London. At that time, London was the largest Danish city in the world.
In '66, while the churches were prophesying doom to the folk, the astrologers were earning gold by telling the kings that the Hairy Star was a fortuitous sign for them to expand their empires. Meanwhile the warriors were sharpening their swords. Whoever was right, the warriors were going to rent out their sword arms for good silver.
In England, King Edward the Confessor had died and the English bishops chose Edward's warlord, Earl Harold Godwinson of Wessex to succeed him. In Flanders the old count was ill and dying. In France the old king had already died and the kingdom and its boy king were being governed from Flanders. Tostig Godwinson, exiled from England, was sailing around the seas trying to cause political problems for his brother Harold."
"Slow down," said Gregos, "Let me reflect on the upset to the balance of power around these seas. Hmm. Interesting. So what you are saying is that a generation after Knut had created a peaceful empire, everything was falling apart. All right, continue."
William of Normandy wanted to create an empire around the Celtic sea, so he decided to invade the South coast of England. King Harald of Norway heard about William's plans from Tostig, so he pulled his ships back from their endless small attacks on the Danes and invaded the English-Danes instead.
If logic had ruled in '66 rather than the fickle fates, then England would still be a very wealthy kingdom. By rights, William of Normandy should have landed first, and Harald of Norway some time later. King Harold of England would have defeated both of them and become the next Emperor of the North Sea. Harald of Norway would have retreated to concentrate on his river trade route to Constantinople. William of Normandy would have retreated to concentrate on building a Norman Empire in the Mediterranean.
Instead, the fates whipped up endless storms in the south to delay the Normans, and the Norse invaded first. The Norse were slaughtered and their ships seized, but that misplaced half the English army and the Normans killed Harold of England and all the English-Dane nobles. With help from some traitorous bishops, Duke William became the King of the English.
Instead of widespread peace that would have come from having one Emperor in the North Sea, we have had little peace and a lot of slaughter. William slaughtered the English-Danes, and slaughtered the Welsh, and slaughtered the Scots, and there has been continuous war across all of the kingdoms of the Baltic, North, and Celtic seas."
"Ahh, let me think about this," Gregos interrupted. "You may add the Black and the Mediterranean Seas to that list. And you blame this all on the arrival of the Star of Bethlehem in 1066?"
"Of course. The folk became fearful, and the warriors brave, and the kings greedy. Of course I blame it on the Hairy Star."
"Well then, continue," said Gregos, unconvinced.
"In thirty five years of Norman mis-rule, England has gone from being a wealthy and powerful kingdom to being a poor and depopulated place that is bled by the Normans to fund their Mediterranean campaigns.
England and Normandy have been sharing a king, and both are the worse for it. Because the Conqueror's armies were tied up in England, he missed his chance to take over both Flanders and France. Later he tried for France, and that led to his slaughtering the French of all the counties on his borders. William Rufus, was an even worse ruler than his father. They were both warriors first, gluttons next, and governors last."
Raynar took another sip of ale and was glad that Risto was not here yet. Gregos loved this kind of talk but it bored Risto. Risto wanted stories of wenches and weapons.
"Nowadays, the Normans no longer care about trade with this ruined and poor kingdom of England, or the North Sea Trade, or building an empire on the North Sea or the Celtic Sea. The Normans are too busy grabbing pieces of the Byzantine Empire as it is picked to pieces by the Holy Wars. That is where the wealth of the world is stored, in the Byzantine, and the Normans want the lion's share of it."
Risto had arrived and they had to order more ale, for he drained the flagon in one tip. Gregos motioned to them to go away so he could sleep, so Risto led Raynar outside into the courtyard and they sat and drank ale and swapped stories of wenches and weapons for hours.
* * * * *
* * * * *
THE HOODSMAN - Hunting Kings by Skye Smith
Chapter 14 - In Search of Welsh Bows, Near Cirencester in April 1067
The cart way to Gloucester ran west through Wantage to Suindune, and then by Roman street to Cirencester and on to Gloucester. There was little traffic on the highways that young Raynar was traveling, but there were many wealthy English refugees at each north-south crossroads and in each of the towns that boasted of Inns.
He was cautious at these crossroad towns because some had Norman garrisons, who were questioning anyone traveling and looking wealthy. He was still just a lad, but he was driving a cart worthy of a lord, so he was careful to dress like a hired carter, and he had his heavy purse of coins well hidden. Despite the garrison men in the towns, there were few Normans actually patrolling the highways, so the garrisons must have been short of men.
Travel by the cart and horse that he had bought in Wallingford was comfortable and relaxed, and allowed him to enjoy the scenery around him. In truth, he was thoroughly enjoying himself, though missing the close company of Aelfled, his woman of the river. This was a part of England that had been well settled by the ancients. There was even an ancient white horse carved out of the chalk hillside above the highway between Wantage and Suindune.
The cart horse, a mare named Abby, was a few cuts above a normal cart nag, and she was already a good friend. The symmetry of the name amused him, as he had worked for so many years for an Abbey. She was about four years old and had been well cared for, and must have been a spirited saddle horse before she was assigned to this cart by the circumstances of the previous owner. It was too bad that a saddle had not been part of the purchase.
The cart was nearly new, and the axles well greased, and it had something he had never seen on a cart before. A comfortable seat. The seat was supported by bowed staves in such a way that it bounced rather than crashed when the wheels hit bumps and rocks and potholes.
Just past the chalk white horse, the highway also became white with the same chalk, and though dusty, it was a fast surface for a cart. With a smirk on his face, and an eye for potholes, Raynar tried the cart out at different speeds. Even at a canter, he could keep his seat. Save for mounted riders, this cart was the fastest thing on the road.
The cart had been equipped for carrying the previous owner's aged grandparents on a long journey, so it had a roof of oil cloth stretched over a frame, very similar in construction to the one Raynar had added to Garth's boat. Tucked under the roof on each side, there were rolls of oilcloth that could be unrolled a
nd lashed down to create sides to the roof. The floor of the cart was covered in a bed of straw, where the old people had traveled. All of this, the sprung seat, the roof, the bed of straw was all because of the frailness of the grandmother. "Thank you gran," he said as a quick prayer to the clouds for her continued health..
Raynar was so used to ferrying boat passengers, and exchanging gossip, and being paid for it, that it was no stretch for him to do the same thing along the highway. For most of the trip he had passengers. He never forced any to pay, but if they offered, he accepted. The payment was usually edible. A boiled egg, or a roasted leg of bird or rabbit, a turnip or an apple. Which meant he rarely had to dig into his own tuck bag for the smoke dried meats that Aelfled had packed for him.
His random passengers not only kept his belly happy, but also his thirst for news. He was eager for any news of what lay ahead, and often stopped to chat to carters coming towards him. He did not want to stay in the towns, because he feared that the Norman garrisons would commandeer his cart. His porter upbringing made him shudder at the thought of staying at an inn, especially when he had such a good horse and cart to guard. So it was that the news he was most thankful for was to be told of a safe place ahead to stop and to sleep.
He was past Suindune before sunset of the first day, and Abby needed to rest, as did Raynar's back. This was a sparsely populated area though, and therefore tracks off the highway were also sparse, and none of them seemed to lead to a friendly place to sleep. He was just thinking of turning back to the last village, when ahead he saw a family group trudging along the Ermine way with their belongings.
He stopped beside them and offered them a lift, and then jumped down to stretch his legs and to help them to them climb aboard. While they settled in the straw, he set out again, slowly. Ermine way was a Roman street with a rough cobblestone surface. It was straight and if anyone had thought to put crushed limestone over the bed of rock, it would have been fast. Unfortunately no one had done any maintenance to this road for years, so it was littered with potholes and slow going. Wheel jagging slow.
He gave Abby her reins and let her walk leisurely at her own pace. This meant that he could turn around and take a closer look at his unusually silent passengers. There was a small boy and a very small girl, and he lifted them both onto the seat beside him to keep watch for road hazards. This meant that he could clamber into the back and have a toes-up. He stretched out flat on his back on the straw and sighed as his back straightened and un-kinked. There were two faces staring at him. One was a young man and the other a woman, but he could not tell her age as her face was hidden by her hood.
"Where are you bound for?" he asked between his stretches.
"Our home is in Cricklade near where the street crosses the Thames. " said the young man. He must be young indeed as his voice had not yet deepened.
"The Thames runs here as well?" asked Raynar, "I am a boatman on the Thames at Wallingford, but I have never explored its length."
"Oh, you could not reach here by boat. It is very small here, hardly a stream. It begins across the marsh from us, but closer to Cirencester."
"Is there a place here abouts where I can stop and sleep the night in safety?" asked Raynar.
"Cricklade is close, though this street forces an oxen's pace. If you take us all the way home, then you will be welcome to sleep in our yard. It is as safe as anywhere," offered the young man.
"Then you have a ride home from Raynar Boatman," he said as he looked around to make sure that the children were still watching for hazards.
The boy saw him look, and said "I am Octha, and this is my sister Muriel." he pointed to the woman, "and that is our mother Rowena, and her sister Leona." He held his hand to his mouth, "oops, I mean brother Leonel."
Raynar looked at Leona and smiled, "I had a sister name Leola. Your disguise is safe with me. It is a good plan since you are two women traveling alone in these dangerous times, but Octha needs more practice at play acting."
A dagger had appeared in Leona's hand. "Stay down," she said to him, "carefully pass your dagger to Rowena. Handle first."
He looked at the brave resolve in her eyes, and decided not to take the dagger away from her. "I have never been robbed by such a fearsome foursome before. Please don't kill me. You can have my coppers."
He passed his dagger to Rowena, and then also the purse of small coins that he wore as a decoy for this very reason. While Rowena was looking down at the items he had just given to her, he sat up and looked around to check for road hazards. "Mistress Rowena, if you will be so kind as to watch out for road hazards, and watch out for your children, then I can go back to sleep. That will put Leona more at ease." He settled down and closed his eyes and stretched his back some more.
He woke with a start at a violent swaying of the cart. He sat up and grabbed hold of the cart for balance. Leona was walking in front, leading Abby down from the height of the Roman street onto a cartway. When she climbed up onto the cart again, it was onto the seat where she took up the reins. Once off the Roman cobbles and onto the soft dirt cartway, Abby could easily keep up a trot. There was a glimpse of a manor ahead, outlined by the sunset. The manor's kitchen garden sloped down towards the river bank.
Abby pulled into the yard between a large barn and the house. The yard was all behind a low earthwork wall and there was a gate, which looked as if it had not been closed for a long, long time. There was candle light in the house, and there was a flickering candle moving towards them from what must have been the kitchen shed. The rotund woman walking towards them with the candle must have been the cook.
"Milady, I was just about to feed the household. It is just a peas porridge with ham, but you have the look of someone who you should eat soon," the rotund cook announced.
"Peas porridge will be fine" said Rowena with a tired breath, "take the children and feed them now. We will come once the household has finished eating. It will give us time to wash."
"It did not go well then?" asked the cook.
"No, they would not accept Octha's petition at this time. The moot has been dissolved by a Norman appointed judge. A knight who could not even read. He told us to come back in a fortnight." She reached into the cart for her things and saw Raynar. "Oh and set a place at the table for Raynar. He will be sleeping here in his cart tonight."
Leona walked up to Raynar and told him, "There is plenty of feed and water for Abby. When the stableman finishes eating, he will help you, and show you where to put the cart." She handed him back his dagger and his purse. "Fearsome foursome, indeed. Only when we are tired and hungry. You understood why I did it. You did not seem to mind."
"I was still getting over being disappointed that you were not a lad. I liked the look of that lad. He looked trustworthy. The lad was polite, whereas the lass pulled a knife. Why were you walking the street without escort? You must know that there are Normans about, and they are hungry for women?"
"Rowena is a widow. She went to the moot to finish the transfer of the land into Octha's name. I went along because the other men in the house are needed here, because the Normans are hungrier for manors than the are for women."
"It is the same" he told her softly. "A widow is the means to a manor for a Norman knight."
The stableman was approaching across the yard, so Leona lifted the last of their things from the cart and spoke to the stableman as she made her way to the house, but in a tone that was too low for Raynar to hear. He began to help the stableman with the harness, but the man just nodded in the direction of the house, and told him to go eat.
By the time Raynar had washed and sat down, all were finished eating save Leona and Rowena. The porridge was thick, the talk was thin.
"I am to Gloucester in the morning," he told them, once his initial hunger was sated by spoonfuls of the green porridge.
"So you have already said," Rowena replied, without any invitation for more words.
"It should be a nice morning," he tried again.
"Yes
"
"Do you know Gloucester?"
"No"
"I have heard that it is a wonderful town."
"Yes"
"I go for the market."
"So you told us."
"I've been told it will be held the day after tomorrow."
"Then you should make an early start on the morrow."
Leona was silent the whole time. Once she had begun to speak but Rowena stared at her and she turned it into a false cough instead. Raynar enjoyed eating with the two women, and they were being polite, but certainly not friendly towards him.
While Rowena sided the dishes out to the kitchen shed, he said to Leona, "Please relax, I mean you no harm, and I will not stray from my cart tonight. I am too tired."
"You cannot blame us for being cautious," Leona replied, almost cracking a smile.
"I can forgive you your cautiousness, but not your dour countenance," with his fingers he pulled the corner of his lips into a mock smile. Finally he won a smile from her, and her natural milk maid beauty shone through. She was no longer dressed as a man, and she looked very feminine in her skirt, with her hair tumbling down over her shoulders.
He stood and bowed slightly and thanked her for the food. "If you do not mind, I wish to walk through your kitchen garden and down to the river. The Thames has been a good friend to me, and I would pay my respect."
When not quite to the bank, he heard a footfall behind him, and turned slowly to see who was following him. It was Leona who skipped up to him and put an arm through his.
"The Thames is our friend as well," she told him, "but here abouts we call it the Isis. Isis is a goddess you know," she suddenly crossed herself, "at least she was before the worship of churches. I suppose she still is. I think that Isis is just another name for our old Saxon goddess Freyja." Now she looked up at the horizon where the moon would rise later in the night and blew Freyja a kiss.
