Hoodsman: Revolt of the Earls

by Smith, Skye

  From far away a new sound could be heard. A rhythmic beating. It grew louder as more joined in the rythme and the source moved closer. Raynar knew the sound and so did the older warriors. Henry looked at him quizzically as did the barons. "It is the sound of an English axeman banging his axe against his shield. They make this noise right before they charge into battle. Some say it means no quarter. Make your decisions quickly my lords, else you will all be slaughtered where you stand, and soon."

  Now everyone had taken up the rhythm. Swords against shields, bows against shields, pike axes clanged together, swords against mail. They were surrounded by the pounding rhythm and it was growing in intensity and speed. Henry leaped up beside Raynar and Raynar steadied him. Henry reached for the sky to quiet the noise so that he could speak. Raynar jumped down from the wall and walked towards the barons.

  "You have heard my people." Henry bellowed. "You have three days to surrender this castle without terms else we will pick it to pieces stone by stone, and every knight and lord will dance the gallows jig."

  Raynar translated it into French for the lords, while the callers spread it across the hillsides. The cheers were immediate. The cheers were so loud that they must have heard them in Shrewsbury.

  FitzCorbet walked close to the king, who jumped down from the wall so he could not 'accidentally' be pushed off the bridge to his death. "Sire, we will surrender the castle as soon as we can, but we have other lords inside to consult and mercenaries to placate. Would you object to using William Pantulf as a go between to allow it to proceed in an orderly fashion. We have heard that since his break with Belleme you have made William the castellan of Stafford and that you have named him as the go between with the Princes of Wales."

  "A good choice. I will send to Stafford for William. Meanwhile there will be a peace about this castle. Do you swear it?" demanded Henry. FitzCorbet dropped to his knees and so swore. The cheers erupted again. The men from the castle made their way back to the gate, and the cheers quieted. Henry again reached for the sky to get the army's attention.

  "Thank you all, you have won the day and the castle." Henry motioned to the callers to bellow his words and waited until the message had echoed to the far reaches of the countless mob.

  "The planting was late this year and my astrologers predict early rains. The most important job now is to get that harvest in. All of it." He motioned to the callers and waited.

  He turned to the east and bowed with a flourish to the multitude. "You, the fyrdmen on the east bank. You have saved Staffordshire and given flight to the Welsh raiders. You have done enough. Get thee home quickly, and save the harvest." He waited for the callers.

  "Those of you who came here as outlaws, go with them to your village and your harvest. You are no longer outlaws. You have my full pardon in front of the witnesses that stand beside you now." He waited for the callers.

  He turned to the west and bowed with a flourish to the multitude. "You, the fyrdmen on the west bank. Tomorrow you go to surround Shrewsbury. Your task is to make sure that nobody enters, and nobody leaves that town until I get there."

  Raynar was translating for the barons. When the parley was over, and the barons riding off to their camps, he grabbed Henry's arm and told his aide to bring horses. "Come with me sire. The fyrd is an English tradition and you must demobilize it as the English tradition demands." They rode together across the bridge to the east bank and up the rise until they were amongst the Mercian fyrdmen who had just been ordered back to their fields. "Now get off the damn horse and walk through them and thank them for coming and grasp their arms in the way of warriors and bid them well."

  Henry looked across the sea of heads and smelled the stench of the unwashed. He summoned his courage and gave them a wide smile. Thousands of eyes smiled back. He slipped from his saddle and walked away from the royal guard randomly into the crowded. He spent hours slapping backs, grasping forearms, and trading jests with Raynar walking at his heel leading their horses. The men were standing in groups by village and Raynar asked the name of each village as they passed. Henry had lived in and traveled widely across England for most of his adult life and he recognized some of the village names, and if not, knew of a village close by.

  Henry began to feel weary and they turned in a wide circle to make for where his guard was still blocked by the crowd. "Why am I doing this, again." he asked of Raynar.

  "You asked me when we first talked of raising the fyrd if they would follow you across the Manche. Each man you touch now will heed your next call and bring ten with him." Raynar told him. "Trust me in this. I know what of I speak." A wave of old memories flooded his mind from other times and other fyrds and other fyrd-ales.

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  The Hoodsman - Revolt of the Earls by Skye Smith

  Chapter 21 - Fyrd-ale for all in Huntingdonshire in September 1075

  This would be their third Fyrd-ale in four days. It was an ancient custom that was now serving both young Raynar and the Countess Judith well. They were using each other. He was using her to wander through her shires paying the prize silver to the families of the men who would never return. She was using him to let it be known to her manor lords and stewards that she had the support of the wolfpacks and hoodsmen, and therefore her future orders were to be obeyed despite her sex.

  They were using each other's bodies, as well, but only when it would not cause gossip. Today they had actually woken together in the same bed, a rare treat, made all the more enjoyable by his skill at making women lusty. When she was sated she lay there warm and dreamy and listened to the morning larks, and the general clatter of the manor that they were guests in.

  "Waltheof may be gone for some time," she said, not unhappily. "He will likely be kept at court under close watch at least until the earls Ralph and Roger are dealt with. I must learn how to run his villages and lands, at least in these three southern shires. I must become like Beatrice, able to keep things going while her man is away."

  "And what of his northern lands? Northumbria is huge and far away." he said bored with talk. He wanted his turn at ecstacy.

  "I doubt that William will let him keep Northumbria. Besides, it is cold up there. I like it here. I like the folk here. Will you be my partner?" She gently kissed his lips and then moved slowly down his chest, kissing as she went.

  "Don't be foolish. You are married already." he said and then held his breath as she kissed lower still. Then she stopped moving and he moaned. He was just entering the ecstasy zone, when she stopped what she was doing and used her tongue for words instead.

  "I mean like Klaes is partners with Beatrice. Beatrice manages the land and the crops and the folk and the mills, while Klaes manages the ships, and the trade to Flanders, and any brute force that is required. I have land and villages, you have ships and connections in Brugge. That kind of partner." She began kissing lower again, and knew the talk was finished for a few minutes. He because his mind was turning to mush, and she because her mouth was now full.

  Afterwards, a long time afterwards, they lay still joined, and keeping each other warm. "You can use my ships, and I will market your goods in Flanders, or elsewhere, but to become Beatrice will cost you more than just the wishing."

  She sat up with a jerk. "What cost, how much, why?"

  "Not coin, silly." He took up her soft hands. "These hands will become raw. Your white skin will be burned by sun and wind. Your back will ache at the end of the day and you will snatch short sleeps when you can."

  She gave him a curious stare.

  "To be like Beatrice, you must become involved in village life. You must know the work that your men and your women do for you. Know it because you have done it. Right now you are a spoiled princess who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. Today you begin. No better time. Get dressed."

  She began to paw at her tailored clothes. "Not those," he said, and he emptied her maid's bag and grabbed at some homespun. "Put a silk shirt on next to
your skin and then climb into these." He threw her the homespun, then he threw her a scarf. "And tie up your hair to keep it clean."

  Together they tidied the bed and the chamber, and then they went to the kitchen. The kitchen was already busy preparing for the Fyrd-ale feast that would start after noon and last past sunset. She was about to order the cook to serve her some food, when he yanked at her arm and led her to the baking oven. They served themselves of the fresh bread, and scraped the last of some butter out of a churn, and while eating they walked into the great hall.

  Women were moving tables and benches outside for the feast. He pointed to the far end of a bench and mumbled something through his bread and together they lifted it and carried it out. And so went the first day of the rest of Judith's life. Endless carrying. Helping to knead. Skimming ale. Rolling barrels. Gossiping with the other women. Slapping men’s bottoms to get them to help.

  By the time folk began arriving for the feast she was exhausted, her clothes were dusty and stained, her hair was hanging down in locks, and her hands were raw. Her maid led her back to their room, and she refused her silks and borrowed a plain woolen skirt and linen bodice from her maid. The two women, dressed alike, together took the children down to the feast.

  There was a seat of honor waiting for the countess at the head table, but Raynar shook his head at her. Instead she joined the other women in serving the food and ale. Once she was recognized the knowledge raced around the tables. The ale that she served to all the men just back from the fyrd levy was all the sweeter for being served from their countess's hands.

  The village's miller offered her a place on the bench beside him, and she looked over at the head table where her seat amongst her maids and babes was taken by a wolveshead who was talking to Raynar and the steward. She sighed and sat beside the miller. This meant squeezing in between two big and smelly men, and accepting meat from the miller's knife that he had just sliced from the haunch in front of him.

  She was too tired to keep up with the country dialect, but she tried, and eventually she understood that the miller needed help to rebuild one of the channels that brought water to his mill. When the dancing began she danced with the women, until the men were drunk on ale, and then the women sat and the men began to dance.

  When next she spoke to Raynar, the feast was breaking up so that folk could get home before dark. "Bed," was all she said.

  "Oh, no," he said and wheeled her to the music and danced her over to the feast tables. "The food must be put away before we loose the light. The rest can be put away on the morrow."

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  Again they woke together in the same bed, but this time she was in no mood for kisses. She was dirty, smelly, and her back ached.

  "Up," he told her.

  "No, let the others put it all away. Leave me be."

  "The others are putting it away. Can't you hear," he asked. "We have other work for our Countess. Dress in the same clothes as yesterday. We are going for a ride with your steward."

  When Judith walked through the kitchen and helped herself to some of the left-overs from the feast, she realized that something had changed. She could not fathom it until, nearby, one of the kitchen girls pulled the mornings bread from the oven. None of the other women busy in the kitchen dropped what they were doing to help the girl. They expected her, being closest, to help with the bread, and so she did help.

  It was such a subtle change, but now that she recognized it, she saw it all around her. Last week, if she had walked into this busy kitchen filled with busy women, the natural flow of things, the natural rhythm that the folk moved to, would have been disturbed, interrupted by her very presence. If nothing else, anyone taking a break would suddenly jump to a task in order to look busy in front of the Countess.

  This morning, her arrival had not changed the rhythm. By stepping in to help the girl with the bread, she was part of the rhythm. Party to the flow. Now that she was wondering at the easy and productive flow of this kitchen, she also noticed something in Raynar for the first time. She knew Raynar was a forest man, a hunter, and a tracker. She knew he could move quickly along a forest path without disturbing the bushes, or even the dead fall. Now she realized he moved the same way through this kitchen.

  Or at least he did until the girl doing the bread with her saw him, and stopped dead still, and her face went all soft, and her eyes sparkled, and she danced quickly to the same side board that Raynar was making for. She reached the trays of covered food at the same time as he, and made a fuss of showing him the types of food that need be eaten up. All the while she was shamelessly brushing up against him.

  What was it in this rough man that made women want to be near him, to help him, to protect him? She had seen this man anger nobles in her husbands court and when the nobles, feeling insulted by this peasant, had moved towards him in anger, she had seen every bowman in the room reach for their knives. She had the feeling that if the same had happened in this kitchen, every woman would have reached for the kitchen knives to defend him.

  It dawned on her that Beatrice instilled the same kind of loyalty in all her folk. She broke off some of the fresh bread and let the delicious aroma fill her senses before she tasted it. "Mmmm," she toasted the cook with the last morsel before she popped it into her mouth. It was a simple politeness that she had learned from Beatrice in their months spent together while she was pregnant.

  Those times flashed before her eyes. Beatrice had a strong mind but a soft heart, and when she reached out to another person it was in kindness as if all those around her were her children. She was snapped into the present by Raynar touching her arm and telling her that it was time to ride.

  The steward was waiting for them in the stable yard and holding their horses. He helped her into the saddle, and then led them out of the manor yard, and along path beside the river. Within a half mile they saw the mill, and a half a village of women lined up outside with their baskets of grain.

  The miller was the man from the feast, and he tripped over himself to give a tour of his mill to his Countess. Judith had never been in a grist mill before. The noise of the heavy wheels frightened her, and she steeled herself to ignore it. The miller was satisfied with just showing off his engines, but that was not enough for Raynar. He asked the miller to show her the complete business, from the grain arriving, to the grinding and to the separation and storage of the various grinds and grains.

  There were cats everywhere, and when she mentioned it, the miller told her that his biggest enemy was not thieves, but rats. "We keep the cats well fed," he said, "for we do not want them to kill a rat for food and then stop when fed enough, but to kill for the sport of killing, and never stop. They are trained to bring the carcasses to our kitchen step so that none are left in the grain to putrefy."

  "Why all the women in the queue?" she asked.

  "Grinding grain with a mortar takes too long. If they trade grain here for flour, then they can spend the time gossiping with other women from all about," replied the miller. "Here they also have their choice of grind depending on their baking needs. We take one part in five as our fee."

  Finally the miller was able to herd them outside and above the mill to show them the state of the channel. "See, the channel needs rebuilding. Too much water is escaping around the mill. Not a problem now, but in the dry season it will be. And it will get worse now that the water is flowing where it shouldn't."

  "So fix it," shrugged Judith, wondering at the stupidity of men.

  "Both my sons were killed in the bad times before Ely. I cannot fix the channel and run the mill at the same time."

  "The channel is the millers responsibility," the steward interrupted.

  "Fools," Judith muttered and walked back to the queue of women who were all staring at her, a countess, stomping through mud down the bank towards them. "Your boys are back from the fyrd now, yes?" she asked of the queue in her weak English. "And now they are under foot." There were laughs and murmurs of agreement. "The miller
needs help to repair the mill. Those women who send lads to help him will have their grain milled here for no loss of weight until the beginning of harvest."

  "Till spring." bargained a women.

  "Till spring for you if you give the miller a new son by then." replied Judith. The woman blushed at the laughter and ribald jests from her friends. "Beginning of harvest?" she repeated, and the women all nodded. She walked forward amongst them and pulled at the shawl of one. It was tightly woven of the softest wool, and had a pleasing pattern from the different natural colors of the yarn. She praised the woman for her skill. "I will pay good coin for weave of this quality," she said to all.

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  The Hoodsman - Revolt of the Earls by Skye Smith

  Chapter 22 - A winter helping Judith in 1075

  The month of September passed by and October was upon them. For a month Judith had dragged herself exhausted into bed each night. She learned to take her children and their maid with her on her rounds so that she could be with them during her overly busy days. She had been hostess at a dozen more Fyrd-ales. One at each her manors that were spread between Huntingdon, Northampton and Cambridge. She met all the stewards and listened to their reports of successes and failures and upcoming problems. For the most part they seemed to be honest men, and they all knew young Raynar.

  "They were axemen or bowmen during the Ely rebellion," he answered when she asked about them. "They were not chosen by your husband, but by the English women of the manors, who were twice widowed once their new Norman husbands, ah, went missing." He lost himself in memories for a long while. "For some reason, the kin of the Norman husbands do not seem to be in a hurry to reclaim residence."

  "Perhaps that is due to the long bows hung on the wall of each house, and the men working about the estates who still dress for the forest," she teased.

  When they finally returned to Huntingdon, which Judith preferred as a home base because of its command of rivers and highways, Thorold was waiting for her.