by Smith, Skye
There was a yell of warning from one of the arbalesters. The rest of the wolfpack had arrived. This evened the odds and turned the advantage to the bowmen. With the way through the hamlet now blocked, the enemy used their horses as cover and retreated back the way they had come. Long heavy arrows were now streaming into horseflesh and the screams of the horses were loud and frantic. Some of the enemy left their wounded and dying horses and began to run back north and out of Hughley.
Henry stood again to run after them but Osgar held him back. "We hold the best defensive position. Our task is now to give cover to the rest of our men so they can attack." In moments the battle had moved to be north of the hamlet and the ten men around Henry began working the bodies with their daggers. Horses were put out of their misery. Injured men were disarmed. Those with fight still left in them were threatened with arrows until they threw away their weapons.
Henry found his nag and mounted so he could ride north to see what was happening. He needn't have bothered. Another full wolfpack had arrived from the north on the tail of the enemy and they were convincing the arbalesters to give up.
Raynar arrived after the fighting was finished, as did a third wolfpack. There were a dozen of the enemy still uninjured and six walking wounded, four badly wounded, and fifteen dead or close to it. The leader was dead, and Henry and Raynar searched him carefully for clues to who he was. There were none. The second was uninjured but refused to answer any question.
"Where is the fourth wolfpack?" Raynar asked the wolvesheads who had just arrived.
"Still in the Huvel Hagen. They are mopping up, caring for the injured, and holding the west entrance until the fyrd reach them."
"Excellent," said Henry and the wolveshead gave him a queer look. Only Raynar's wolfpack knew his true identity. He pulled Raynar out of the hearing of others. "Our prisoners sound Welsh. This is treachery by the Princes."
"That is not Welsh you hear," Raynar corrected, "but something akin to it. Either Irish or Cornish. Perhaps Breton. My coin is on Cornwall because of that devil Mortain." Some of their own men had injuries and he yelled out not to move any of the wounded until he had seen to them. "Osgar, get your women out here with linen for bandages, vinegar or bad wine for cleansing, and needle and thread for sewing up wounds. And get someone to bring my saddle pack here."
He walked between the injured men checking the injuries. Though his own men were not the worst wounded he began with them. "Henry, get over here and hold this man still so I can remove the bolt." The man had broken the shaft off, but the point was still in the wound. Working carefully with a small knife, Raynar eased the point out. A woman arrived and he welcomed her and showed her what he was doing. "This wound is deep and has bits of cloth buried in it." He took a long needle from those the woman offered, and started probing for bits. "Hold still lad, help him Henry." Finally he found all the pieces and then he told the man to grit his teeth and he flushed the wound with sour wine.
"Henry, hold this linen tight on the wound to stop the bleeding," he said and then turned to the women that had gathered. "Soak your threads and needles in wine and then sew up this wound." He searched in his pack and pulled out a jar of unguent. "Afterwards spread a little of this paste on a clean bandage and cover your stitches. Keep pressure on the bandage until the bleeding stops."
Osgar was close again and he called him over, "When these women are finished, this man will need a clean bed for perhaps a week, and the care of a woman." Osgar nodded and ran off towards the long house to arrange it.
One of the wolvesheads came close to see how his man was doing, just as Raynar sat back to watch the women begin their sewing. Raynar pulled Henry and the wolveshead to one side. "This is Henry, your king. No," Raynar pulled up on the mans arm, "Don't bow. He is in disguise. Take your wolfpack and get him back to Bridgnorth. If you take the path from this village over the Edge, you will see a good cartway on the other side. It will get you there before sunset."
The wolveshead strode off and began yelling at his men to gather their horses. Henry stood eye to eye with Raynar and said, "Now I know why you have so many good stories. This is your kind of battle. Riding with tight knit groups of men that care for each other. Ever changing tactics, hiding, riding, striking, and reforming. How many years have you been doing this?"
"Since the Battle of Stamford in '66. In all that time I've never stood in a shield wall, and I've never joined a cavalry charge." replied Raynar. "Go, they are waiting for you."
"Find out who's salt these men have eaten," the king ordered and then made for his mount. Raynar did not stand as he watched him leave. He had other injured to care for.
* * * * *
It had taken him almost until sunset to care for all the wounded. The last of them had a dislocated knee, and he screamed like a woman when two men stretched it so that Raynar could twist it into place. Afterwards he slumped on a bench and leaned against the wall behind him and quieted himself to watch the sunset. Caring for the wounds had taken longer than he expected, and he decided not to ride to Huvel Hegen to see to the injured there. It would be dark by the time he arrived, and he would not be able to see. Tomorrow would have to do.
Osgar slumped down beside him to make his report. "The armour and weapons are in a hut and under guard. There wasn't much there that anyone wanted. Their coins have been distributed to the men. Enough for a few ales apiece. The prisoners are sleeping in the church along with our men. The wounded are in the longhouse with some guards and the village women. The dead horses have all been skinned and butchered. There is an army's worth of meirch stew if you want some."
"Did you have the women make liver broth for the wounded?" yawned Raynar. He didn't hear the answer. He fell asleep with the last of the golden light warming his face. He woke an hour later to the touch of a cool damp cloth on his forehead. A woman had replaced Osgar beside him and she hummed quietly as she washed his hands and face. She then put a tray on his lap that held a bowl of stew and some fresh bread. The nap had revived him, and his hunger, and he needed no invitation to dig into the bowl.
It must have been her hut that he was leaning against, for after he was finished eating she led him inside and helped him undress and then finished washing him. He had learned many years ago not to resist being washed by women. It was one of the ways they could honor those who they respected. She had put her best linen on the pallet and he lay down on them and was asleep almost as soon as he smelled the scent of lavender from the linen.
The next morning started early for Raynar. He and five others led some spare horses back to Huvel Hegen to check on the last wolfpack. As they rode out of the hamlet they could see other men climbing to the ridge at the top of the Edge. They would set pickets above so they could see in all directions and send messages if any enemy armies were seen.
It took less than an hour to find the other Wolfpack. They were in the arbalester’s camp, and all save two pickets were sleeping soundly. Raynar set to work immediately on the wounded, including two wounded arbalesters. He praised the wolveshead because the wounds had already been cleaned and covered, but the wolveshead would not accept the praise and instead called forward a young bowman to accept the praise. The lad was of Frisian blood from the Fens and had spent most of his life as a swamp rat hiding from the Normans. His becoming a kings bowman had allowed his aging parents (who were approaching forty now) to return to their village and rebuild their hut.
The fyrd's main camp was on the flat land to the north west of the gorge. In just a day, the gorge had become a different place. Though there was still work to be done, the trees around the road were all down and cliff sides had been pulled down to widen and fill the bottom and the roadbed. Despite the early hour, carts were on the move taking supplies to the main camp. The camp was massive. All yesterday afternoon, after the Wolfpacks had cleared it of the enemy, men had been on the move towards Shrewsbury.
The wolfpack had three prisoners fit enough to ride, and Raynar gave them the worst three h
orses and escorted them past the camp and then told them to take a message to Belleme in Shrewsbury from the English fyrd. "Surrender or die." By noon Raynar and the fourth wolfpack had borrowed a horse cart and had moved the wounded bowmen from Huvel Hegen to Hughley. He had decided to stay independent from the main army with his three wolfpacks and rest in this quiet hamlet of Hughley until he heard more news from Bridgnorth.
News came the next day. There had been a fight within Bridgnorth castle between the landed men who wanted to repair relationships with Henry, and Belleme's mercenaries from France who saw no reason to surrender the castle. Luckily for Henry, the landed men opened the gate in time so that the mercenaries had no choice but to surrender and be escorted to ships on the south coast. Henry certainly did not need mercenaries, and perhaps that was a telling difference between himself and his father the Conqueror and his brother Rufus, who were always dependant on mercenaries to keep their thrones. Henry's professional army could now march towards Shrewsbury.
He shared this news with their prisoners, and that night while making the rounds of the wounded in the longhouse, one of the wounded arbalesters whispered more news to him.
"My name is Cador, and I am not a warrior. I was the servant of D'Arcey, who led this pack of murderers. He and four others were from France, and the rest were Cornishmen paid well for their treachery against the king. Our mission was not to block the pass, but to ambush the king."
"Why do you tell me this?" asked Raynar.
"Because I hated D'Arcey and was pressed into his service, and I hate the Earl who pays him because he is a yoke around the neck of my folk."
"And which earl would that be, Cador?"
"The Mortain, of course, the Earl of Cornwall. He was in Shrewsbury with Belleme."
"If Mortain bolted and made for Cornwall, which highway would he take?" asked Raynar.
"He has already bolted. He is in Ludlow waiting to hear of our success. That is why we were riding down Wenlock Edge. It is the fastest way to reach the Ludlow road."
"I have not been to Ludlow for years. Is Hugh De Lacy still the baron? How is the castle there?" asked Raynar. "Take a breath while I pull this bandage off."
"Ludlow is falling down. D'Arcey said that Roger, that is Hugh's older brother, the one who was always rebelling against Rufus and was banished for it. Anyway, Roger had been rebuilding the fortress in stone, but Hugh has not continued with the rebuilding. Belleme wanted Roger to return from Normandy once Rufus was killed, but he would have none of it, so the castle is slowly dissolving in the rain. From what I saw, it would still be harder to take Ludlow than to take Shrewsbury."
Raynar made the rest of his rounds and then returned to Cador. "I have no way of keeping prisoners here, and we have another mission we must serve. You and the other wounded must stay here until you are fit. I am going to suggest to the rest of your squad that they return to Shrewsbury unarmed and unhurt. You that are injured must stay here another week to recover, but then you may also go. To offer this I must keep their weapons, and they must swear to make no trouble, and to keep the peace until they report to Belleme. Do you think they would make such an oath?"
"The Cornish will, but I cannot speak for the French."
And so it was that they escorted the unarmed prisoners, each with enough cooked horse meat for a week, to the cartway west. Raynar walked with their commander and spoke to him quietly in French. "We are letting you go, because we have just had word from the fyrd. King Henry is dead. An assassin's bolt did for him. Tomorrow the fyrd will be demobilized. The army is stalled in a camp to the west of Huvel Hegen trying to decide what to do. I would have let you have weapons, but some of my men are from villages here abouts, and would not hear of it. Go with God and in peace."
The pickets on the ridge had been told to be watchful of these released prisoners to make sure they kept going towards Shrewsbury. When the good light was gone two of the pickets slid down from the Edge and reported. "They walked west until they thought they were out of sight and then they turned south and made for Ludlow."
"Excellent," replied Raynar. "Signal the pickets to come down from the edge and tell all the men to bed down early. We ride at first light." Raynar went to find Osgar.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - Revolt of the Earls by Skye Smith
Chapter 27 - Ambush at Stokesay, Shropshire in August 1102
There were bird calls from the hill above. The first calls were to get their attention. They answered back in like. Then came the message. Five crows calls. Fifty mounted men. One Owl hoot. Ten knights. Telling the men to get ready was redundant. They all knew what the signals meant.
The ford across the River Onny at Stokesay was summer shallow and would not slow the riders, but no one had slashed the bush back from the ford for years so there was thick cover along both sides of the river and along both sides of the road.
Osgar had guessed that Mortain and his men would take this highway from Ludlow back to Shrewsbury. It was the quickest way to join with Watling Street without riding over the southern slopes of Wenlock Edge. Watling Street ran over a valley saddle at Stretton and afterwards there was a fork to the north that took you straight to Shrewsbury.
They had used all of the three hours they had been at this ford to prepare horse traps. Now there was nothing to do but wait. Raynar had let the other wolvesheads prepare the ambush. They had enough expert outlaws in the ranks that they did not need his help. His own wolfpack would close the trap behind Mortain and make sure he did not escape back to Ludlow.
He knew Mortain's type. When the battle went badly for him, he would leave his men to fight, while he made a run for Ludlow. He had twenty long bows that wagered he wouldn't make it. He had even searched out the man with the pouch of pig shit and used it to poison his points. Mortain would die today. This was personal. This man had raped his daughter Mary, and would have killed her to silence her.
He and his men hung back in deep cover. If they were seen the trap would never have a chance of working. With their heads low to the dirt they listened as the enemy horses clumped by. They heard the splashes of the ford. Then came the sound of screaming horses. Mortain and his men were in the main trap.
His men dragged cut bush out of the shadows and piled them across the cartway. Raynar and ten men stood behind the blockade. Five were guarding their horses to the east at the base of the hill, which left ten to stand in the bushes next to the river, which was shallow enough to run a horse along.
The screams of horses was now mixed with the screams and yells of men. There was no sound of metal on metal. That was a good thing. Metal on metal would mean hand to hand combat. That would mean the trap did not work and the bowmen would be legging it to their horses.
There was a glint of sunlight on a metal helmet from beyond the bushes. Riders were retreating towards them. Ten backs strained against bows and ten long shafts were drawn to their full extent. The first riders came up the bank of the ford. There were six of them. There was the sound of bowstrings vibrating and flights swooshing and the thunk as they hit horse flesh. The six horses went down as one and the riders fell hard, and horses and men became a mangled writhing wall of bodies and hooves and teeth blocking the cartway. Raynar had not seen Mortain amongst them.
There were more riders behind them who were now blocked by the wall of dying horseflesh. They turned quickly back into the ford and tried to use the river as a road. Raynar and his ten ran left through the forest towards the river. The other men were all in a line along the close bank and were shooting as horses came into view. Eight or ten horses were hit, and hit again before the riders could once more change directions. All twenty of the wolfpack ran straight across the river and up the other bank. There were riders escaping through the trees on the other side.
Raynar slowed in mid river long enough to look for Mortain. The water was not deep enough to have broken the fall of the riders, but despite a hard fall, enough of them seemed to be stil
l able enough to evade writhing horses. They were too busy with their own problems to challenge him. There was so much splashing that a rainbow had formed above the carnage. He could not see Mortain. He began running again to catch up to his men.
The forest thinned quickly on the other side. The bowmen were on foot. If the riders made it through these last trees they would be to clear ground and could speed away. He heard his men calling to each other ahead. Two riders were clear of the woods. Raynar sprinted to the edge of the trees. He could see the riders. Every second they were ten paces further away. There was no distinguishing the men at this distance, but the horses were different. One was a fine large black stallion. Luckily they were racing straight away from him and not across his aim. He took a deep breath, put his shoulders into his Seljuk bow let the feel do the aiming, at the last second he raised the point just slightly, and loosed.
The arrow seemed to move in slow motion, arching gracefully as it rose and then began to drop ever so slightly. It hit the stallion in the rear haunches and the poor beast stumbled mid stride and went down sideways. The rider kicked off his stirrup on the low side and seemed to stand for a split second with one foot on the saddle and then he leaped away from the horse, threw his sword to the ground, and rolled twice.
He must have saved himself from severe injury for he was quickly on his feet and running to his sword. Raynar was running towards him as he nocked another arrow. Two other men were running with him. The other rider had pulled up hard and had circled back to help his friend. Raynar stopped to draw his bow. What was his target. Mortain himself, or the other horse. The horse of course.
The other rider was reaching down to pull Mortain up behind his saddle. Mortain shoved his sword into the man and dragged him from the horse as he climbed up. Raynar loosed. The arrow flew. The horse turned and backed away from the falling man. The arrow brushed by and disappeared into the long grass. Mortain kicked the horse forward and then turned it wildly. The turn saved the horse from the two arrows of the other bowmen. Mortain aimed the beast off the track and into some bushes. The next they saw him, he was out of range.
