Hoodsman: Saving Princesses

by Smith, Skye

  He had Romanized priests with him, and on their orders Comyn desecrated our churches." He could tell from the stare that Raynar did not understand. "Our churches are of the true church. The church of Constantine. The church of the Greeks and Byzantines. The church of the northern kingdoms from the Rus to Norway to Denmark to Scotland to Ireland and England. "

  "The Norman priests treated me as if I were a Mussulman holy man, instead of a Christian Bishop. They have murdered the holy men and the ascetics at the forest chapels along the way. Normans are raiders, so I expected them to take any church treasure, but the ascetics have no treasure. They killed them because they were of the true church, not the Romanized sect. I suppose it is God's irony that these killers of holy men met their end in a Christian Bishop's house."

  "Well they have all gone to a higher judgment now," nodded Raynar, "I saw no survivors. Not one. The axemen killed the wounded for their armour. I could never grieve for a lord or for any one who lived rich by being born to riches. But I do grieve for the families, and for the camp followers and the peasant infantry, and for the waste of fine horses."

  "Don't speak such drivel lad. What of Margaret? She lives rich. You are saying that if she were killed, that you would not grieve. Bah. Nonsense. It is good that you grieve, it is good that you are heartsick. That only proves that inside you still lives a good man." The cleric patted Raynar’s head affectionately.

  "Come lad, we must meet with the Earls. I have news. And then you should find Margaret and have her sooth your soul."

  * * * * *

  They found the Earls overseeing the cleanup, ugh, treasure hunt at the Bishop's house. Aethelwine welled up and could hardly speak as he saw the devastation. The tumbled down walls blackened by fire. The ditch blackened by burned bodies. He motioned them away so he would not have to look. They rode to Cospatrick's house and waited while the Bishop relieved himself and made himself comfortable.

  The Bishop spoke. "I met and rode with Robert de Comyn until we came to the tiny church of Saint Michael which had been raided and bloodied before we arrived. I stayed there to pray. Robert was from Flanders but out of favour with his new count because he was French. Most of his men were French Flems also, though the priests with him were Norman. The Norman knights stayed with the garrison back in York. He would not say how large a garrison, but some hundreds.

  I warned him of your army and your intentions and it slowed his march because the scouts had to search wider. He also sent two couriers back to York to tell them of my warning. I think he feared that while he was gone from York, your army would sidestep him and attack the garrison at York."

  Aethelwine took a hot drink of mint infusion from the kitchen girl and thanked her warmly. "Most importantly, Comyn did not know if William were still in Selby or whether they had moved on to Lincoln, but in either case William was moving south away from Yorkshire."

  The Earls had nothing to say, but were too pleased with themselves and their victory to harbour ill will towards the Bishop. Besides, the man had just lost his beloved house.

  "Frankly," Aethelwine continued, "I am more worried about the Danelaw's axemen right now, than I am about William. Your call to arms for this battle with Comyn is still moving through the villages. The highway was filled with axemen coming this way. That is probably true of every cartway in Northumbria.

  This may sound strange to you, but it may have been a bad thing to have finished Robert so quickly before all of these axemen reached here. These axemen have grouped and are on the move, and are ready for violence. If not against Normans, then perhaps against towns and villages and travelers." To make his point he asked Edgar, "Have you heard from your family? Are they safely in Bamburgh yet? If not, then they could be at risk from roving bands of axemen."

  "They are moving with carts. Horse carts true, but still half the speed of mounted. They were not expected at Bamburgh until tomorrow at the earliest," replied Edgar.

  Raynar could not believe what he was hearing. He jumped to his feet and in a panicked voice said, "Loan me your bowmen and their mounts, Edgar. I will go to them now."

  "Yes, of course," replied Edgar, now also feeling Raynar's panic. "You stay and listen more to the good Bishop's news, while I go and give the orders."

  While Edgar rose and left, a girl came in with a jug of hot spiced ale and filled their pots. Every man sniffed at their ale suspiciously, and then sipped it carefully to see if there was the bitter taste of Yew to it. All save Aethelwine, who had not heard about the poisoned ale fed to the Normans, or rather the Flems, and gulped his down thankfully.

  "Will you rebuild your house, Aethelwine?" asked Raynar.

  "Not yet. I will await William's pleasure. It may be a new Bishop that inherits that mess of charcoal.” He smiled as Edgar returned.

  "We have a dilemma," spoke the Bishop, "our plan is in motion. William will be angry and will march to us, and we will lead him to Scotland.” They all agreed. "Unfortunately, we have raised too large of an army, too quickly, and the promised spoils that are bringing these axemen to join us, have already been won.

  The dilemma is caused by our success with Comyn. The only solution seems to be to lead the axemen away from Dun Holme, say to York and let them take the spoils from the Norman garrison there.” He waited for naysayers. There were none yet. "If we don't lead them away from here to York, there will be the devil to pay around Dun Holm."

  Raynar spoke, "We don't know where William is, but he is surely within two days' march of York. If the axemen take the garrison at York, they must not tarry. Win or lose they must retreat back north as soon as they hear that William is moving towards York."

  They all agreed.

  Cospatrick spoke next, "We cannot trust these wandering axemen to stay under our control. They may sack York. They may disappear back to their villages when William arrives. They owe us nothing, and most of them would cut our throats for our treasure."

  "I will lead them," offered Aethelwine. Everyone stared at him. "I am not their Earl, I am their Bishop. They may heed my words, where they may turn on any of you. You keep your loyal men here with you until we know William’s intent. I will take my own guard to York with the axemen and send daily couriers to you with news."

  They all agreed with the plan, though Raynar looked at Aethelwine in shock.

  "Be still lad. Don't fret for my old bones," said the Bishop, "I will not lead the axemen in battle. I go only to save the villages along the way, and to remind them to be fast out of York once William makes his move."

  With a finality and without a by-your-leave, Raynar stood and announced, "I am gone to protect your families. Go with God, Aethelwine, and stay alive." He bowed a quick salute to the Earls and they could hear him yelling orders before he was beyond the door.

  "I fear that man. He is too honest," said Cospatrick once Raynar was gone.

  "I keep him near me because he is honest," replied Edgar. "He was trained by Hereward, Edwin's right hand, and yet he has never oathed to Edwin. He told me once that he was still under oath to a dead king. He will not be free of it until the man is avenged."

  "He is young, so the king in his oath must have been... Ah, so that is why his ears prick at the mention of William," reflected the Bishop in a low voice.

  "Bah, he is a peasant, a freeman with no land. He spent most of his life as a shepherd and a porter," grumbled Cospatrick.

  "A peasant with a talent for tongues. His latest is Greek," laughed Bishop Aethelwine, "yet he refuses Latin."

  "He is the deadliest archer I have ever met," defended Edgar. "Not nearly the best shot, but the deadliest against men. He trained our bowmen in a month, yet the scavengers dug out over four hundred points from the men now buried in the ditch. Most of our shieldmen would not have bloodied their weapons if it hadn't been for the mercy killing of those poor bastards."

  "Did you watch him train them on those Welsh bows. He speaks Welsh by the way, and he is Saxon, though I would swear he was a Dane," said the Bishop. "
He trained them using four bows of different strengths in succession. He starts them on the lightest and as they train they switch to use heavier and heavier. His biggest order for bows with the bowyers is for a fifth bow, but there is some problem with the aging of the staves so they are delayed. I once tried to draw the second of the training bows, but I hurt myself."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

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

  Chapter 9 - Saving a Princess in Northumbria in February 1069

  Along the highway north, the bowmen had countless jests and rolls of laughter at young Raynar's expense. "Why don't you replace that farm nag, Raynar?" asked Gormund after his own laughter settled. "Good horses are cheap in Dun Holm because the whole of South Yorkshire moved their horses north to keep them from the Normans. Edgar would give you one gladly. He is embarrassed to be seen ride with you on that thing.” Gormund was one of Edgar's huscarls and now the captain of the skirmishers that Raynar had trained for Edgar.

  Gormund had been just a young and untried shieldman four months ago, as had the other twenty men riding with Raynar. As he had found out before, a young shieldmen learns the Welsh bow more quickly and built the strength of back and shoulder more quickly than the older, heavier men. More important, they had not yet made a reputation on the shieldwall that must be maintained.

  The men's saddles were packed with gear. Each of the men carried two bows. Their first and their fourth. The first was much shorter and it was possible to use it from the saddle. The fourth would puncture armour at seventy paces, but you needed to stand to draw it. Because they were originally shieldmen they still carried their mail and a shield, a short sword, a battle axe, a thrusting spear, and a pike. All they needed was some cavalry training and they were ready to be recruited as Norman knights. Most of them had killed their first men at the Bishop's house.

  They rode hard and long. Abby was not a fast horse, but she found her pace and then kept going endlessly. Not so the other horses, so every two hours they stopped for an hour to rest the backs of the men and the horses.

  There were other riders on the highway north. Axemen. They told each the same thing. "The battle in Dun Holm is won, the Normans slaughtered. An army was preparing to march on the garrison at York. Your axe will be welcome, but there is no fault if you turn for home instead."

  York was a lot further than Dun Holm but was renown for its riches. Some would hurry on. Others would stop and talk amongst themselves. Others would slow and turn for home. None saw the sense in keeping the brutal pace of these strange archer-shieldmen.

  They saw trouble only once that first afternoon. A gang of axemen was terrorizing the large village where the highway forded the river Tyne. Gormund had his men string their short bows and nock heavy arrows. Raynar rode towards the axemen with his hands away from his sides and his bow strung but hung from the saddle.

  The axemen stopped what they were doing, which seemed mainly to be molesting women and searching the huts for food and valuables. They stood in a line ready to charge, and hefted their axes.

  "Peace brothers," opened Raynar, "we are the Earl's men, and we just want to know what the problem is so that we can report it to him."

  An old man hobbled forward. "These men are raiding our village. There is no cause other than deviltry."

  "Where are the village men?" Raynar asked. This village was near to forests, so the young men here would be axemen and foresters.

  "Gone to Dun Holm to help your Earl," answered the old man.

  "Where are you bound?" he asked the axemen.

  "Dun Holm," one of them answered

  Raynar told him the news from Dun Holm, then, "Did you leave men in your village?"

  "No."

  "So your village is like this village. No men. Defenseless?"

  "Yes."

  "Go home. The Earl has no use for cowards when he fights Normans."

  The axemen moved forward at the insult, but were distracted by the sound of twenty bows stretching.

  "Or," Raynar yelled to get back their attention, "promise me that you will keep the peace on the highway and be on your way to Dun Holm."

  The axemen had quick words and made their decision. Half would go on. Half would turn back to protect their own village. They asked the forgiveness of the old man, and he gave it in return for a few coins that were offered. Then they were gone.

  A buxom woman walked towards the bowmen. "Please stay for a while to make sure they don't come back. We will feed you if you stay." She grabbed the old man's wrist and forced the coins from him.

  It was almost time for a rest break, so they accepted. Besides, they wanted the axemen that were headed home to be well clear of the ford of the big river before they themselves made the crossing.

  Like all Daneglish villages in the north, the center of the village was the longhouse. In the winter that was where most of the villagers spent most of their time. It was pleasantly warm but it stank of people who could not bathe in the cold weather, and of animals too valuable to be left out in the cold.

  Raynar could never get used to the stink of communal houses. After he finished some tough and overcooked ox, he slipped out passed his men and sat outside in the fresh air on a bench beside the low longhouse door. The buxom woman followed him outside and sat beside him.

  "You can have what they were going to take," she offered. Raynar looked blank. "You can have me." She grabbed his hand and squeezed it between her legs. When he did not respond, she moaned, "Come to my hut. My man is away and I could use a good shagging."

  "You owe me nothing for stopping those men," Raynar whispered.

  "Those men. The one with the big mouth has been wanting me for years. He is cousin to my man. He was just trying to take advantage of his being away. If he'd offered me those coins in the first place, I wouldn't have been struggling."

  He was greatly relieved when Gormund came out from the longhouse with some other bowmen and told him they were ready to go. On leaving the village they immediately had to cross a ford with a bottom made from large flagstones. 'The Romans must have been here too,' thought Raynar. They climbed out of the river valley and then he had no doubt about the Romans for the cartway passed through a collapsed gate in a long wall.

  Raynar dismounted and scrambled up and along the wall and walked to a local high point so he could look along the wall. It went without break as far as he could see. Some of the lads were from the area, and they told him it went clear across the kingdom from sea to sea. He sat in the drizzle and looked along the top of the wall in wonder.

  Except for the stop by the great wall, they kept up a good pace until the chill of night turned the road to ice and the way became too treacherous in the blackness of night. They turned off the highway and down a farmer's path and into thick woodland. There they made camp in the shelter of some trees which were the only escape from the bitter wind.

  They were in luck for there were large pine trees in the woods, which they turned into comfortable pine tents. They did not light a fire, due both to the pine, and to their fear of being discovered by axemen. The two pickets were changed every two hours so that they would not freeze where they sat.

  They woke to gently falling snow, and the snow was not melting when it touched the ground. The clouds were heavy and dark, and the daybreak was slow in coming. They were comfortable enough but too cold. The last shift of pickets had lit a fire and had started melting the snow to make gruel.

  "Never a friendly longhouse when you're freezing," muttered one of the men as he threw more wood on the fire. They were wearing all of their clothes under their cloaks. They all carried sheepskins to soften their saddles during the day and to sleep on at night, but it was well below freezing and most of the men could not stop shivering. The horses had slept huddled together under pines and were impatient to get moving, but they had to wait impatiently until the fire and the gruel warmed the men.

  Once moving again, their pace was slo
w. There was fresh dry snow over ice on the highway and the horses kept slipping. The only tracks on the road were that of game. There were few houses along this stretch and fewer villages. They stopped to ask about the carts at each village, but were never invited into the longhouses to get warm. No one wanted to draw the interest or prolong the stay of twenty well-armed men.

  Some of the men were complaining of frozen feet, and Raynar knew from the winters in the Peaks that they must soon get those feet warm and rub life back into them. At the next longhouse, Raynar asked if they could pay for a meal. He showed some coins and all were invited into the longhouse while the food was prepared. Again there were few men in the village. The call from Dun Holm had drawn many men away from the villages along this highway.

  Raynar was about to work on the frozen feet, when the old women of the village learned of the problem and eagerly showed their knowledge. This time he put up with the smell of the longhouse. It was too cold to sit outside. One of the old women told him that a line of carts passed the village just before dark last night. She said they were trying to make Amble before they stopped for the night.

  "They should have stayed here," she told Raynar. "We told them there was a storm coming."

  On this worrying news, Raynar wanted to leave immediately, but he knew some men couldn't leave until their feet were flesh-colored again. It was decided to split the patrol in two so that Raynar could find the carts. The others could follow their trail in the new snow once there was blood flowing in their feet again.

  There were no fresh tracks on the highway all the way to the next longhouse. The folk there had not seen anything of a line of carts. That meant the carts must have camped somewhere off the road. They doubled back and looked closely at every side path wide enough for a cart. They finally found where cart tracks led off the road. The path was so rough that it must lead to a single farm. The only reason the carts could use it was because the mud was frozen. They marked the path for the men that would be following them and then rode along it.