Hoodsman: Saving Princesses

by Smith, Skye

  The priest and the coffin were now the other side of the church and out of sight. A guard got off his knees and looked towards him, and started motioning something to him. Raynar had to look away to un-nock his arrow and push it back into his roll of mat. Once it was out of sight he unstrung the bow and pushed it away as well. Just in time. The guard had walked over to him, and was motioning to the church and telling him to go and pray. Raynar had no choice, so he and the guard walked to the Saxon cross and Raynar continued forward and into the church.

  Since he had nothing to say to a god of hot dry kingdoms, he had absolutely no interest in this church. It was dark and smelled of must and incense. He wondered how long the guard would expect him to pray. Perhaps he should sing a song to himself. When he ran out of words for the song, then that would be about the same length as a prayer.

  Finally he ran out of bawdy verses and walked to the door. As he reached out to pull the door to open it wider, he was prodded out of the way by the priest. The procession had returned. Raynar stepped back out of the way of the coffin that was now filling the door. The procession was coming out of the bright sunlight into the dim church. They could see little, whereas Raynar’s eyes were used to the dark and saw everything. He was face to face with a man in a crown, so he reached for the only weapon he had on him, his eating knife.

  At that moment the coffin swung towards him and he had to push his knife back into its place and use his hands to save his face from the corner of the coffin. The boy behind William had stumbled and William grunted under the extra weight. William was blinking at him and he grunted an order in French, "Grab it from the boy.” Raynar had been trying to look like a farmer so was dressed in simple homespun. In the darkness William must have taken him for a monk or a cleric.

  Without thinking, Raynar swung in behind William and took the weight from both William and the boy. William straightened his back and the boy regained his footing. They turned to follow the priest and when the priest ordered it, they lowered the coffin back onto its pedestal.

  Raynar's heart was pounding. He looked around trying to see a way out of the church that did not include pushing through all the lords and ladies. William asked the boy, "Are you all right, Robert?"

  "Yes," the lad replied, "this smelly peasant took my load."

  William took a hard look at Raynar. So did Edwin across the ornate lid of the coffin.

  "What are you doing here?" demanded Edwin in English. He had recognized Raynar despite the gloom in the church.

  "I was told by the guard that I could come in and pray. He must have thought the procession would take longer," Raynar replied in English.

  William waited for Raynar to finish and then he asked Edwin in French to translate for him, "How did this peasant get in here?"

  Edwin replied in French, "The guard made a mistake. He let this man in to pray while we were gone. Shall I tell him to leave?"

  "No, he did save my back and the head of my boy. Tell him to do his praying near the door and leave quietly when he is finished."

  Edwin repeated the instructions in English to Raynar, and then gave him a hard stare.

  When Raynar was finally outside again, he took deep breaths of the fresh air and tried to calm his heart. He walked to Abby, untied her, and led her out of Warwick using the same street he had entered along. The guards at the edge of town recognized him as the onion farmer and waved him through.

  * * * * *

  About a mile from the town, the cartway forked. One way led to the highway going north, and the other to the highway south. There was a good alehouse here, the type popular with carters, and Raynar stopped in to fill his aleskin.

  There was a table of carters in the alehouse, but no carts outside. Raynar asked one of the carters where their carts were. "Taken by the army," was the bitter reply, "so here I sit, waiting for them to move the army so I can beg to drive my cart that is now their cart. They take all you have, and when you starve they offer you food in return for licking their boots."

  "The women get to lick above the boots," jested his drinking mate.

  "Mind your tongues," said the ale maid as she set down another pitcher.

  "I wouldn't mind your tongue on my ...," began one of the carters but she kicked him in the ankle before he could finish.

  Another carter said, "Warwick was a market town, but no more. How can you have a market when the army takes everything. Why would anyone bring their crops or their craft to this town to sell. The Normans will just take it and call the theft taxes."

  The first carter took a long drink and then said, "There is nothing left to sell, and no carts to move goods. We should all get on our knees and pray the army leaves before the harvest season else they'll take that too and we'll all starve this winter."

  Raynar spoke up, "The quartermaster told me that the army leaves tomorrow for Leicester and Nottingham."

  "Aye, but the bloody garrison will still be here. Thieving bastards."

  "It would be good," Raynar suggested, "to get a message along Fosse Way to warn the folk that they are in the way of this army. Given enough warning they will have a chance to get out of its way with their women and their animals, you know, before the foragers reach them."

  "Aye, thar's a good plan for ya, ceptin' none of us has horses anymore, and you'd need a horse to stay ahead of this army. They're all mounted, and Fosse Way is fast for mounted men."

  "A bitch for carts though. You watch their drivers pound our carts to pieces in those stone lined potholes," said another. "I wish there were no damn highway. It only serves to move armies. It's empty the rest of the time, so no one keeps it up."

  The ale maid had returned and said, "My brother says Fosse Way is the future. He is opening an alehouse right next to the highway."

  "Waste of money setting up beside that highway," replied a carter. "The locals and the carters don't use it, and the Norman army never pays for nowt."

  "It wouldn't have earned last year, but this year there are many Norman couriers with fat purses that need rest stops. They don't know the local prices and my brother will charge them Winchester prices." She put her hand out for payment. It was coin on delivery for out of work carters.

  "You stay away from Normans, love. They'll gang ya," said the carter closest to her.

  "Like you lot wouldn't if you had the nerve," she bounced her tray lightly on the man's head. "My brother gets along with them cause he's learned some French. He says they mean to set up baileys like the one in town, a day's march apart, all along the streets of the ancients." There was no response from the carters. "You lot are thick. It means they don't have to risk camping out. It means they can patrol half way to the next bailey and turn around and sleep safe in their own bed that night."

  She looked at Raynar and Raynar felt himself blushing at such a carnal look. "You were the one that said the army is going to Leicester and then Nottingham. It's to make baileys. What is after Nottingham?"

  "Lincoln," said a carter.

  "I'll wager Lincoln gets a bailey too," she said and she twirled and went back to her kegs.

  "I have a horse, and I am heading north on Fosse Way," said a voice from the corner of the alehouse. "What should I tell the folk along the way?" A thin man stood and walked towards the carters. He was young and well dressed, but not Norman.

  "Tell them simply that the Norman army is traveling north on Fosse Way towards Leicester and Nottingham and that they should flee either east or west a good day's walk away from the street," said Raynar, "and tell them to spread the word."

  "Tell any carter you meet that they will take his cart," grumbled one of the carters.

  "The army moves tomorrow?" asked the thin man.

  "That was what I was told," confirmed Raynar.

  "Then I had better leave now."

  Raynar and the thin man paid the ale maid and then went to say their fare-thee-wells to the carters. The maid was busy at the back kicking at something under a bench and saying "Come on, out of it. You
can't sleep here." They walked together to their horses.

  "I ride south else I would ride with you," Raynar said and the thin man shrugged. Abby and the other horse were standing together and Abby was very much a nag in comparison. "Don't let a Norman see you on that horse. They didn't want my plough horse, but yours is exactly what a Norman would want. "

  "The Norman it belongs to is sleeping under the bench I was sitting on. Poor man can't hold his ale," laughed the thin man, pantomiming thumping the man on the back of the neck.

  At the highway Raynar turned south back towards Streetford. He looked for and found the same hut beside the stream, but this time there was a boat pulled up on the bank. He knocked on the door. A farmer looked at him through the cracks in the door.

  "I owe you payment for some onions" Raynar said. The farmer said nothing. Raynar put the quartermaster's small stack of coins down in the dirt outside the door, and then backed away. The door opened and the farmer reached out for the coins. A woman looked out over his shoulder.

  Raynar had hoped to stay another night in this hut, but he didn't trust the look of the farmer. "Ah well," he thought, "I would be safer if I got well away from this highway anyway.” He spent the night under a large pine tree less than a mile from Streetford. It took him two more nights' sleeping under pine trees to reach Chester.

  * * * * *

  Chester was much quieter than when he had last been there. Without the warriors and the lords, the town had become just another market town. Local business, and not much else. The barn where he and Hereward had camped last time was now empty. There was a roofer working there and he told him to check with the watch. It was the business of the watch to know where any group of armed men was staying. Eventually he found Hereward, Eadric, Alan and all the skirmishers camped outside the town walls in an orchard.

  The welcome was very warm and everyone gathered round to hear Raynar's stories. They all enjoyed the way he put them together with jests and descriptions. They especially enjoyed the story of the church procession, though he left out the part about his murderous intent. Alan and Hereward gave him the bent eye, but he signaled that he would tell them more later.

  Then it was Raynar's turn to listen, and most of the banter was about convincing the Welsh to share the Norman horses. Raynar had noticed horses on the edge of camp but they seemed to be mostly farm nags and cart horses. When he mentioned it, someone called out, "You ever try to bargain with a Welshman. You always end up bent over with one of them bumping up behind you."

  Eadric, who had done the dealing, took offense and was quick to explain that handsome horses were of no use to them because the Normans would just steal them. "Raynar, here, proved the worth of a good horse that was born ugly. The Welsh took the best third of the horses to sell in Wales. We took the rest. They may be nags but we all rode back here to Chester."

  Raynar looked at Hereward who was looking glum. Probably at the thought of the loss of his black Frisian in trade for a cart horse. "The first thing you teach your new mounts," he said, "is how to stand absolutely still when you have an arrow nocked. Once they have the knack of that, they become valuable to a bowman."

  Then he told them how he had killed the Norman knight in the fens by walking the horse slowly into range, with his nocked bow hidden behind the horse. "I looked like a farmer, so they let me walk in close. At my signal my horse froze while I made my shot, and then she ran her heart out to get away."

  "Fine for you. You have that Byzantine bow. Short but powerful. You can't shoot a longbow from the saddle."

  "Did you see the bows the Welsh had? They were all Welsh bows carved from Yew staves, but they weren't all long bows. Some of them looked like they had crafted a longbow and then shortened each end, but kept the original girth of the bow. You give up some range and some power, but they are still wondrous compared to a self bow, and you can use them in tight bush and from the saddle."

  Hereward broke in, "What he is trying to explain is that an infantry archer needs the longbow for the range so they can stay far away from trouble. When you are mounted you have the speed of the horse to get you out of trouble, so the range can be shorter. You should choose your bow accordingly."

  It was now Eadric's turn. "Just make sure that your shortened Welsh bow always has better range than a Norman crossbow." He thought for a second and continued, "And when you run or ride to get away from a crossbow, always zig zag. Never run straight away from them, or straight towards them for that matter. That just helps them to kill you."

  Eadric and Hereward left the camp to go to town and tell the news of William's route north. Raynar sat near Alan and the men from Sherwood. "Does everyone have a horse?" They all nodded.

  "Then tomorrow we must make for the Peak forest and Sherwood and warn our bothers that there will be thousands of Normans passing nearby. Now is the time to go to ground, and give them absolutely no excuse to be vengeful. I don't think they will be staying anywhere long. Just long enough to use their huge numbers to create a motte fort. Nottingham already has one, so hopefully they will just pass through on the way to Lincoln and then York."

  "What of Lincoln. Who will tell them?"

  "Hereward’s men. That is their shire."

  "And York?"

  "Tell every traveler you meet going north. There are many with business in York. It is the second city of the kingdom after London," replied Raynar.

  Once Hereward returned, it was decided to set out in the morning. Eadric had been to Rhiwallon's house and he brought word of Raynar's friends Gwyn and John. They would both be staying in Powys a while longer. Gwyn, the faerie healer, was living with some Welsh wisen women. John, the talented smith, was being paid well to run the prince's forge with Welsh smithies watching on.

  Eadric dropped a small purse into Raynar's lap. "Rhiwallon's appreciation for the word on William's route north," he said, "I told him your story of the onion procession, and he says he will want the full story the next time he shares an ale with you."

  When Hereward and Raynar were finally alone, Raynar spoke quietly. "I fear that Edwin may become disloyal to his own folk. He seems to be doing for himself, not for the freemen that follow him. "

  "Did he mark you to William when you were in dagger range in the church?"

  "No."

  "Then he is not yet William's man," Hereward went silent while deciding on whether to speak more. "I share your fears, but so long as he can raise the fyrd against the Normans, as he did in Warwick, then I will remain his man."

  "I never have been anyone’s man. I follow you, not him, and not because I am your man, but because we think alike. I do not fault Edwin any more than I fault the rest of the English lords. They are all gathering their treasures, and getting ready to leave the kingdom. I fear they will leave their folk poor and helpless to face devils and demons."

  Alan had sat, and heard the last of this. "The Normans are just men. What puts the devil in them is owning slaves. I worked most of my life for old man Sweyn and he was a good enough lord until he bonded some slaves. It changed him a bit, but it changed his sons a lot. They became very much like the Normans that you hate so much."

  Raynar muttered his agreement. It had been Sweyn's younger son who had raped and killed his sister Leola. It was avenging her death that had first turned him into a killer.

  "Many freemen worked for Sweyn, " continued Alan, "they knew themselves as carters, or shepherds, or milk maids. If Sweyn asked a carter to do another job, like shovel shit, he could say no. But the bond slaves had no position, they just worked at what they were told to do. They could not say no. A freeman who is made a slave will be a bad slave, and a lord who is made a slave master will be a bad master. A devil. He walks taller and thinks more of himself than his due. He revels in the power he has over others and all too soon he begins to abuse it. "

  "I never thought of it like that," said Hereward, "but you are right. I have seen it happen. Especially with the women slaves, and the daughters in bond for a debt. The
y start as a kitchen girl or a maid and they work long hours in the house. They jump to everyone’s orders to fetch and clean. But then one day the order is to bend over. After that they have two jobs, maid and unpaid whore."

  "Yes, that is exactly what happened with old Sweyn's boy," said Alan. "He was a little man in a big man's world. He would lord it over the slaves. Order them, push them, kick them, and fuck them. It made him feel powerful. He was the younger son, so even as a boy he had been a slave master. In his mind there were only two types of people, the slave master and the slave."

  "But in England there are few slaves, other than for debts."

  "But there are lots of debt slaves, bond slaves, and peons. They themselves cannot be sold and when the debt is done, they are freemen again, but the debt can be sold. You could make the debt to a good master, and the debt could be sold to an evil master."

  "Normandy is mostly slaves, " said Hereward. "They call them serfs, but they are slaves. Serfs belong to the land, so they are the slaves of them that control the land. All the Normans in England are slave masters from Normandy. After listening to Alan, I think I understand how so many of them became such demons."

  * * * * *

  Eadric's men were staying on in Chester until the Welsh border settled down. The men from Lincolnshire, Sherwood, and the Peaks decided to enjoy Chester for a day more before returning to the life of the forests and villages. Before they left Chester, Eadric's men had swelled the membership of the Brotherhood of the Arrow.

  Raynar and Alan had decided to stay close to their homes in the Peaks until the Norman army was well to the north, so they said their fare-thee-wells to the men from Lincolnshire and Sherwood at Buxton.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Saving Princesses by Skye Smith Copyright 2010-13

  Chapter 3 - The Northern lords meet in York in August 1068