Hoodsman: Revolt of the Earls

by Smith, Skye

"Nah, it wasn't barely big enough for one band of us. The sheriff billeted in another manor and the fyrd are camped between the two."

  "And the women, Jeanne and Gysel?" Raynar asked and took a breath to wait for the answer.

  "They's shacked up with Brunt. One's 'is lover and the other's 'is sister. No one messes with either of 'em. It'd be worth your life to cross Brunt. That sister's a strange'n though. At first she hid from the men like she was feared of 'em, but after a few days she began running the place instead of the Lady. Now the great hall is run like an ale house, but polite like. The sheriff comes over every day to sniff around the both of them women."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Revolt of the Earls by Skye Smith

  Chapter 25 - A royal wolfpack at Wenlock Edge, Shropshire in August 1102

  "I smell like a shepherd," complained Henry wrinkling his nose.

  "It's the brynja, the felted wool inside," replied Raynar, "Don't say I didn't warn you. Do you want to head back to Bridgnorth?"

  "Not a chance," replied Henry, "This is the most fun I have had since we marched on Arundel. My god this is a beautiful place." They were riding north west along the spine of Wenlock Edge in a wolf pack of thirty bowmen. Both he and Raynar were dressed as bowmen, nothing more, and they were riding plain nags. He not only smelled, but he knew he had inherited at least two fleas. He didn't even want to think of the lice. The only concession to comfort that Raynar would allow him was a sheepskin to cushion the plain wooden saddle, and a silk under shirt to protect his skin from the rough wool of his homespun shirt.

  He made a mental note to himself to order some brynjas for hunting for himself, and to look into supplying them for all his ship bound warriors. Viking oarsmen had worn them for centuries because metal armour makes you sink. This jerkin was made of leather and sheepskin. The wool of the sheepskin was felted to be warmer and less bulky, and would keep a man warm even if soaking wet. Raynar had told him that the air trapped in the felting would keep a drowning man afloat for perhaps half an hour.

  On cold days you wore them felt in, and on hot days, felt out. Viking warriors added leather belts with large hollow metal rings that would defeat most blades, thus making them almost as good as mail for what they covered. The one he was wearing was from the Frisian villages near the Wash. It had metal wire threaded behind the felting. It was lighter and cheaper than metal rings, and the metal was hidden from view. It was a style favoured by the northern bowmen in his Royal Archers, and the more he wore one, the more he thought it should become standard issue across his army.

  The nag he rode would make a good winter stew. His own horses obeyed him instantly and were trained for a light touch and one hand or no hand control. This nag had to be first hit on the shoulder to get her attention and then all the guiding moves had to be exaggerated, except that was, for stopping. Any sign that may mean stop, brought her to a complete standstill which she was then loath to move from.

  Each time it happened to him, the men behind him laughed and poked at it to help him get it going. "She is an archer's horse," the bowman behind him said. "She knows one trick well. How to stand perfectly still with her head down while you make your shot."

  From this ridge trail Henry could see the wide clouds of dust raised by ten thousand of his fyrd making for Huvel Hagen with shovels and axes and carts. Ahead of them he could see two other wolfpacks of bowmen almost at the start of the forest and gorge. On the other side of the gorge would be the fourth wolfpack on the high ridge on the other side of the gorge.

  He liked the wolfpack formation as soon as he began riding with it. It was big for a patrol, having thirty rather than twenty, but that meant it could be broken into three groups of ten for flanking, guarding, and making camps. In most actions, Raynar had explained, ten would advance to one side, ten to the other, and ten would keep back guarding the horses as a reserve.

  He also liked the simplicity of the organization. All men wore the tough and useful clothing of hunters, and the dull colors that allowed them to blend in with the cover. All men had hoods that they could pull to hide the color of their hair, and brown linen scarves that they could pull up over their noses to hide their cheeks, or to stop from breathing dust. The only signs of rank were different colored scarves worn by the wolvesheads and the seconds. Usually white or yellow or red.

  They were now almost at their position high on the edge above the gorge. They and the fourth wolfpack would stay on the high land and shoot down on any crossbowmen that were flushed by the other two wolfpacks. They were flushing from east to west along Huvel Hagen to encourage the enemy to make a run for Shrewsbury.

  They arrived at the end of the spine and looked down into the gorge. The view from here was good, but it seemed to him that the roadbed was out of range. He dismounted and handed his reins to one of the ten men that would guard the horses and followed the twenty shooters. The twenty strung out along the edge and were careful to keep their heads down. Below they could see the lower two wolfpacks split up. Twenty on each side of the roadbed, and twenty with the horses staying back from the front line. All had arrows nocked. Those on foot were splitting into pairs and using skirmisher tactics, or perhaps they were outlaw tactics, of leap frogging each other to move forward and yet keep to cover, and keep each other covered.

  There was a warning yell and a man in dull mail broke his own cover and began to run. The first two arrows missed him. The third took him in the calf and it slowed him. Henry wanted to yell down to take him alive for questioning, but his wolfpack were to stay hidden until they found the camp. His yell would have been too late in any case, for as soon as the man slowed he became an easy target for other arrows.

  The mans yell had an effect though. From up here they could now see other men popping their heads up to see what was happening. A few of the bowmen beside him were sending hand signals to their brothers below that would be recognized by any stealthy hunter. The enemy had no chance. They were out flanked, out manned, and were not invisible from above.

  There were other yells now from the other side of the gorge. He could now see the horses of the fourth wolfpack on the other ridge. Success was inevitable but it would still take hours. He looked back towards Bridgnorth. The fyrd hoard were less than a mile away, and would start hacking the forest back from the highway within the hour.

  There were more yells below and the man beside him was signaling frantically. Eventually he gave a long low bird call and then repeated the signal. The pack below understood. They moved towards the hillside and cut off two arbalesters and shot them down like dogs before they could swing their clumsy weapons to bear.

  So it continued for an hour, and then Raynar came to him from the lead position and whispered, "The scouts have found the camp. Step quietly for another two hundred paces and then set out your arrows."

  Henry did as he was told and felt a thrill run through him. This form of battle was unknown to him. He had been trained for the church, not the army. Usually he was riding with knight commanders who knew how to wield lines of cavalry and never was he in the front line. Cavalry tended to seek open ground to use as battlefields. This battle was being won tree by tree through terrain where cavalry would be sitting ducks for the arrows. Which, he supposed, was why Belleme sent these arbalesters here.

  He ran low and crouched next to Raynar who was already sticking arrows in the dirt in front of him, ready to be plucked and nocked. The man on the other side of him passed him a foul smelling old purse that he had opened and spilled some contents on the ground. Henry spilled some too and then recognized the stuff from the smell. Pig shit. The man told him to wipe the arrow points with it, so that even a scratch may cause death in a week or two.

  Henry was horrified and refused. The man who had offered looked dumbfounded, but another man said "He's not 'ere for vengeance like you mate. He'll think different if Belleme catches him and snips his fingers off with shears dipped in the same shit."

  The men o
f this wolfpack knew he was their king, but he had ordered them to treat him as any other to keep him safe in his disguise. At Bridgnorth it was assumed he was in secret meetings discussing the fate of the castle, but he had left that in William Pantulf's hands. A snapping of fingers brought him back to the edge of the gorge. He peered down at the enemy camp. There were but a dozen men there. He chose one as his target.

  Raynar stood, which was the signal and twenty arrows took flight towards the camp, and then twenty more. The first twenty all overshot due to the height they were shot from. A half a dozen of the second twenty hit a target. After the third flight those that were not hit, were in deep cover. Then the lower wolfpack went to work, first with arrows and then with daggers.

  Four arbalesters escaped the trap and headed west. "There were no horses here," said Raynar only so loud as for his men to hear, "so this is just their forward camp. Scouts, keep those four in sight. They will lead us to the main camp. It will be near the western entrance to the gorge."

  Henry grabbed his arrows from the soil and running low he tried to keep with the advance scouts. He smirked in glee, not just from a real adventure, but from the thought that Raynar would be biting his lip to stop from shouting for him to keep with the main group.

  He could see one of the arbalesters running below and kept one eye set on him. The other eye tried to stay aware of the rough ground. He would hate to trip and fall down this slope. He lost the man, and stopped to look more carefully. He saw Raynar well behind him making arm signals to the wolfpack below. He spotted the man again as he left cover for another sprint.

  The path he was following now began to drop. He was at the other end of the gorge and he could see back along the edge of the escarpment. The scouts ahead stopped suddenly and he almost ran into them. They pointed. The main camp was below, but the alarm had been sounded and some were saddling horses, while others weren't bothering with the saddle and were mounting up bare of back.

  While he was preparing his first arrow, he was astonished that the two scouts had already got three shots off apiece. One of the horses below screamed and kicked the man trying to mount her. Another man dropped to the ground holding his thigh. The other bowmen had caught up now, and were already taking shots, but it was hopeless. Almost all the men below were now mounted. They would be a mile ahead before this wolfpack could lead their horses down this slope. The wolfpack below had the best chance to chase them, but they were busy mopping up, and the reserves with the horses had still not caught up to where they were.

  Henry watched about twenty horsemen fleeing out the valley at the gallop. Where they met clear land they were joined by another dozen. They must have been the enemy flushed on the other side of the highway by the other wolfpacks. There was no one in pursuit. So be it. The plan was to clear the gorge and hopefully take some prisoners. The mission was complete.

  As he watched, the galloping men suddenly turned south west and ran down the valley at the base of the edge. This was a surprise. They were expected to run north west to the River Severn or west to Shrewsbury, not south.

  One of the scouts nearby began spitting obscenities and then trotted back along the trail they had come by towards the group of men who were bringing their horses. Once at the horses, the scout grabbed his, leaped onto it's back, howled and kicked his horse to a gallop back along the ridge path.

  Henry stood with Raynar and the other scout and watched the man take the fork that lead south along the ridge, and kicked his horse to a crazy speed. "What ails him?" asked Raynar.

  The scout turned from watching his brother in arms. "Hughley is the first village those bastards below us will reach. It is bound to suffer. That scout is Osgar of Hughley. It's his village. By staying on the high trail along the edge he may be able to cut them off before they get to his sisters." With that he stepped quickly into the slowing herd of horses, grabbed his, pulled himself into the saddle, and turned to face Henry. "I take my leave from you, sire. I go to help a friend in need." He turned the horse and kicked it to speed and followed the other scout.

  "Bugger," said Raynar watching the second man go. A mounted bowman pulled his and Henry's horse around to them.

  Henry mounted his, looked along Wenlock Edge from the additional height of his saddle. Then he looked at the other men who were claiming their horses. "I beg your leave," he said to the men, "for I have a mate in need." And without any other explanation to Raynar, he kicked his horse and charged after the two quickly disappearing scouts.

  "Bugger," repeated Raynar then bellowed with his hands cupped around his mouth, "Henry, come back." but the king did not hear or did not care. The ten men that had brought the horses did not even look at him for direction, but kicked their horses and gave chase. "Protect him!" Raynar bellowed the redundant command after them.

  The other men were sorting their mounts and tightening leather to ride after them. Raynar grabbed two before they could mount and ordered them to tie up their horses and to slide down the slope to the gorge instead. He pointed down to the roadway at twenty men of the lower wolfpacks with all their horses. "Tell them to take a left at the first fork west of here and meet us at Hughley. It's less than three miles so don't spare the horses."

  Raynar was the last to mount and ride. He was a lot older than the rest of the wolfpack, and he was tired and sore and did not hurry his mount along the rough bridal path. "Let the younger men do the work," he said to himself.

  After about a mile he could clearly see the hamlet of Hughley and the patrol of arbalesters riding towards it. They had stopped their panicked flight as soon as they saw that they were not being chased. Now they were sorting the gear they still held in their hands and organized their saddles and then they continued at a slower pace. Luckily the enemies below were not watching the ridge trail, and luckily the riders ahead of him on this trail were raising only tiny puffs of white dust.

  After two miles he found the fork where his men had begun the traverse down the steep slope. At a steep switchback he could now see Osgar, the lead scout. He was on flat land and almost at the hamlet. He was waving his bow and must have been yelling a warning, for the folk of the village were stopped in their work and looking towards him.

  Behind Osgar was Henry and the second scout and three others. At least they had the sense to stay with the king. The rest of his wolfpack were still hidden by the rough terrain.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Revolt of the Earls by Skye Smith

  Chapter 26 - Wolfpacks clash at Hughley, Shropshire in August 1102

  Henry was amazed by this ugly nag he rode. It had been a hard ride and still it was not flagging. Even when it slid down the steep crumbling pathways, it had never lost its legs. The wonderful horses he usually rode would have taken tumbles or shied at the steepness, but this nag made it look easy. He looked down and his britches and the legs of the nag were covered in white dust. Even his brynja had a coating of dust, and he could taste the dirt in his mouth.

  Now that they were on relatively flat ground, the other riders closest to him had taken positions on all sides. Ahead he could see Osgar reach the hamlet, and to the right he could see the enemy almost at the village. They must have seen the wolfpack coming down the slope because the had kicked their horses to reach the buildings first. It was now a race to the buildings, and the best cover.

  Within the minute Henry knew he would beat them to the buildings. He could see Osgar ahead urging womenfolk to drop their loads and get inside the longhouse. Osgar leaped from his horse and grabbed bow and bowman's pack from the saddle and began to run to a low wall in the middle of the buildings. It must be a wall around a well.

  Henry pulled his horse hard up just short of the low wall and was on the ground in one movement, while dragging the horses head to the ground to stop him from running on. He reached for his bow and his pack and ran towards Osgar. He could hear the footsteps of the others with him doing the same. He heard a yell, and realized he was being to
ld to go to ground. It was redundant. He had tripped and went hands and face first into the dust. He heard racing hoofs close by and a hoof stomped down just inches in front of his face.

  He rolled in the dust so he could see what was happening. Another horse was coming fast at him but the rider held a sword which could not reach him if he stayed on the ground. The horse jumped his body rather than step on him and in mid jump it was hit in the chest with a heavy arrow. The horse mis-stepped its landing beyond him and both horse and rider somersaulted into the ground. There was a clear space between horses and, staying low, he ran towards the low wall like his life depended on it, which it did.

  "Nock up, kill the horses," Osgar yelled at him. Two other bowmen had made it to the wall and were already shooting. Henry stood so that he could use all the strength of his shoulders and back to pull the arrow full. He loosed and watched the frightening power of the heavy arrow as it skewered the breast of the closest horse. The poor beast was dead before hit the ground and slid along the dirt with the rider's leg trapped and twisting underneath which caused the rider to scream in absolute agony.

  He was watching in wonder at his shot, when a big hand grabbed his arm and dragged him down behind the low wall. Two bolts bounced off the wall above him and he tried to see where they had come from. Ten of the wolfpack were now between the buildings and they were taking full advantage of the slow reload time of the crossbows. One of them was taking careful aim at the man who seemed to be in charge of the arbalesters, and he was so intent on his shot that he was ignoring the rider, almost upon him, about to slash his head off with a sword.

  The bowmen got his shot off and his target took an arrow full in the chest. The rider and the horse that were charging him, sprouted arrows from all sides and both fell heavily. One of the arrows was Henry's. He ducked behind the wall again and peered over it looking for more targets.