by Smith, Skye
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The Hoodsman - Forest Law by Skye Smith
Chapter 3 - A king's messenger comes to Huntingdon in September 1076
Someone was shaking him gently. Raynar rolled over to see who it was. Little Lucy's toothy grin came into focus. He took the deep breath of a yawn and almost choked on the foul funk of unwashed bodies and damp wool and smoke. He stifled his coughing with his fist which only made it worse. He felt like gagging, so he rose to his feet and one by one stepped across the bodies between him and the door. The occasional body stirred and complained but he was beyond seeing clearly now. He must make it outside before he lost his stomach.
The guard at the door saw the tall fair man lurching towards him and opened the door just before he got there. Raynar escaped the dark funk of the manor house and into the pink world of pre-dawn outside. He gasped and gulped clean fresh air thankfully.
"See, that is why I woke you. See. Sky, pink, the morning star.” said Lucy who, as a plucky nine year old, had gracefully skipped over the very same bodies and out the door after him.
He took gulps of fresh air and lost the urge to gag but the last burp burned his throat. He straightened and took some more breaths and then took Lucy's hand. "Come, let's look from the tower.” They half ran to the base of the watch tower and began to climb the stairs. A voice mumbled above.
"It's Lucy” she called up to the tower watchers. "I'm bringing Raynar up."
"Bring the whole bloody village up. This will be the first sunrise I have seen for a month,” the watcher yelled down. He was right. This year's summer had dissolved into early soaking rains and there had been an endless succession of north wind and low clouds. Pelting rain. Heavy rain. Heavy clouds. The Fens were a damp and cold place at the best of times, but so far this fall had been especially hard on the folk and their animals. A bad harvest due to the early rains, and early rains promised a long, dark, damp winter.
The folk from the farming hamlets all around were already drifting into the burgh of Huntingdon as if it were already mid winter and they were bringing their animals and whatever grain they could glean and save from mould. The folk were already cramming themselves into the longhouses and even into the manor, so that they could use the smaller houses as stables to keep the more valuable animals from suffering too much damp.
"I come too,” said a tinkle of a voice from behind Lucy. It was little Maud. She was now four, but only half the size of a Frisian girl of four. Her and her mother, the Countess Judith, had the only shiny black hair in the town. Lucy, who was very much nine going on twenty, reached out to take Maud by the hand, but Raynar swept the child into his arms and hugged her close while they climbed up the four levels of the tower.
"The world is pink,” said Maud as she was first through the open trap door at the highest level. Raynar and Lucy agreed with her. The tower gave a grand view all around over the low flat lands of the Fens. Land was not the right word, for today it was all standing water from a month of heavy rain. But it did shine pink, and the morning mist rising from the flooded land was pink, and the eastern sky was pink. And there was sky. All around there was sky, rather than the low heavy clouds that had been normal for weeks.
Raynar leaned through the wooden crenellations and yelled down to the guard stretching his legs down below. "Wake everyone. The wind is warm, the sun is about to rise. There are no clouds. There will be sun all of the day. Get everyone to work washing and sweeping and cleaning. By sunset I want everyone, every animal, and every blanket to smell like sun and fresh air."
The guard needed no more prompting. He purposefully chose the night watch so that he would not have to sleep in the stink of the buildings. He walked from building to building banging and yelling to wake everyone. The first out of the doorways were half dressed men with spears and axes ready for an attack, and in the confusion it took some moments to quiet everyone to the fact of the pink sky. Actual sky. At first they were angry at the abrupt awakening, but then they all saw the sense of it. This could be just one day of sun, and they could not waste time when there was drying and cleaning and freshening to be done.
Maud's mother, Judith joined them in the tower for the sunrise. She had her two year old son Uchtred on one hip and her three year old daughter Adelise on the other. Her eldest daughter Maud refused to be take from Raynar's arms so he sat her on his shoulders and then pulled Lucy close to him to keep her warm in the early morning chill. Lucy's mother, the Countess Beatrice, and her father Thorold had left her in Judith's care while they visited his holdings closer to Lincoln. That was two weeks ago, and she had spent every minute of it being followed about by Maud.
Judith cuddled into Raynar on his other side from Lucy. The sunrise was more beautiful than any she remembered. The red and yellow light glinted off the surrounding waterways as if the very water was on fire. To the southeast she could see the distant tower at Cambridge, and to the east she could see the tower at Ely, and she thought she could see the towers of Lynn and Spalding as well. All of the towers would now have people crammed into them watching this event. And then the sun was up and the world became suddenly too bright and too dazzling due to the white mists.
"Uncle Raynar,” said Lucy. She knew him as an uncle, though there was no blood between them. "Are you and Auntie Judith married now?” At the silence she sensed something was wrong so she said, "well you sleep together all the time."
Raynar was about to say "No, we are business partners.” but then he noticed Judith's silence as if she were holding her breath, so he said. "Yes, we are man and wife now, but don't you dare tell the priests. They have forbidden it of us."
"May I tell my mam?"
"Your mam already knows. But don't tell anyone who might tell it to the priests."
Lucy pursed her lips and put a finger in front of them and kissed it. "I only wanted to know for me. I am glad that Maud has a father. She needs one to teach her how to ride and to swim.” Lucy, at nine, already rode like she was glued to the horse, and swam like an eel. "I am glad you are over Anske now. I loved Anske too, and I miss her, but she has been a Valkyrie for years now."
Judith crossed herself at the mention of the devil's whores but said nothing. She was feeling the glow of knowing that this lovely and vital man thought of her as his wife. "Come on. We have a thousand pieces of cloth to wash and dry before the Lord takes this sun from us."
"But I thought you were the lord, Auntie Judith,” Lucy pouted. "Aren't you a countess like my mam?"
"Do you never go to church, child?” asked Judith.
"Oh, no auntie. Only devils go to church, like the priests in Spalding that use the young boys like women, and the abbot in Peterburgh who murders and steals."
Raynar choked down a laugh, "Never mind you two. There is much work to do and look down at the streets of the burgh. The folk are already about it.” They all looked down and saw men and women at every house carrying things out from under roofs and into the bright light.
While Judith rushed off to get the folk doing the same under every roof in the bailey, Raynar marched down to the great swing bridge over the river, with Maud on his shoulders and Lucy skipping beside him. Judith had assigned him to task of making sure that the women turned upstream to bathe and wash clothes, while the men turned downstream to bathe the animals and themselves.
A few of his ship's crew tumbled out of the alehouse-come-brothel beside the docks to ask when they would sail back to Flanders. Raynar's ships were based in Oudenburg just outside of Brugge, but three of them had been caught on this side of the North Sea by a fierce storm a month ago and the seas had been too rough to sail ever since.
There were only four men staying at the brothel. The rest of the three crews had long ago taken berths in the houses of Huntingdon and Spalding and the villages in between, where they had taken on husbandly duties with the women of those houses. Fair enough. Klaes, who ran the ships of Spalding, had been caught with his crews on the Flemish side by th
e same ceaseless winds, and his men would likely be husbanding the households and lonely wives of Oudenburg.
Raynar looked up at the heavens and tried to look wise when he answered the men. "Nope, this is just one day of good weather. The seas will still be churning, and there will be a new storm tomorrow. Fair warning though, that we should be making everything shipshape for a fast departure if there is a break."
There were groans from the men. Working on the ships was all they had been doing for the last month, other than warming someone else’s wife, and fixing someone else's roof. Their trading cogs were as ship shape as they ever would be.
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The safest guess for tomorrow's weather is always 'the same as today', and in the way of weather guessers everywhere, Raynar's wild guess of 'back to rain' was wrong. After a full and exhausting day of taking everything out from under roofs to be cleaned and dried, and then putting them back half dried once the sun set, the folk woke the next morning to an even warmer and sunnier day.
Everything was once again dragged out into the sunshine, and women once again took bundles of blankets and cloaks upstream along the riverbank, while men once again took animals downstream. This second day there was time to sweep out the straw and droppings from under the roofs and replace it from the dwindling supply of clean straw.
Every piece of clothing that Raynar had in Huntingdon was being washed, so he was dressed only in his cleanest silk undershirt. Luckily it was long enough to provide for his modesty, sort of. It was of thin silk after all. Judith's task for him today was to watch the youngest children and keep them out of trouble, so that their mothers could stand up to their knees in the river and stomp on the bubbles of wet cloth to clean them.
This old ford upstream from the swing bridge had a stone bottom, probably Roman, so there was little mud. The women were mostly naked or naked mostly, and they laughed and splashed and made lewd comments at the size of each other's bellies, and jested with the occasional man who passed by bound down stream with a herd of animals.
Judith was with the women in the river. Had it been only four years since he had first met her. She had been a frightened teen bride then. Now she was twenty two and a widow, four months a widow, and had three children. She had matured quickly.
He wondered if he had changed so drastically. He was now, what, twenty eight. Was it possible that the Normans had been ruining England now for almost ten years. He wondered what Margaret would look like today. He hadn't seen her for six years. She was now over thirty, middle aged, and had born four sons for Malcolm of Scotland, the turd. He smiled at the thought of her. She would be a wonderful mother, like Judith.
The children were not allowed near the river because the waters were extremely high and were running unusually fast for this flat land. Raynar began a game of hide and go seek with them in the hedges that ran beside the quagmire that passed for a cartway during rainy season in the fens.
Judith's tiny son Uchtred was wailing in frustration at not being able to keep up to his sisters, so Raynar showed him how to dig in the wet earth with a stick. He turned quickly to see four young urchins sneaking close to tag the home stone and he raced after them, causing them to scream in mock terror. Because of the happy screams, no one heard the hoofs of the approaching riders.
"You, peasant,” called out the rider closest to him, "I come bearing a summons to the court in Winchester for the Countess Judith."
Raynar stood tall and motioned all the children to be still. The second man he recognized as a constable's man from Cambridge. More importantly, the man recognized him.
"Raynar,” he said, looking nervously at the half naked women in the river, some of whom were trying to cover themselves with bits of wet cloth. "We mean no disrespect. We did not realize that this was the women’s bathing area. We will go on to the bailey and make our queries there.” He could not help himself from taking an appreciative look at the shapely bosoms displayed like ripe fruit in a market. He spotted a woman with black hair and was about to point the countess out to the messenger but Raynar's punch to his shins stopped him in mid breath.
"You may hand me the summons,” replied Raynar, "I am the countess's clerk and I will ensure that she gets it when she returns.” The constable's man almost choked listening to his words. Raynar, chief wolveshead of the Ely rebellion calling himself a clerk, and the countess standing not fifty paces away.
"This is a royal summons,” answered the messenger. "If the countess is not in residence, I must ask for a bed so I can wait for her to return.” The messenger scanned his eyes down the row of fine Frisian and Danish womanhood. "In the meantime, I imagine you have no objections to my taking my due with some of these women."
"Nooo,” yelled out the constable's man. "Not these women. Not in this burg. These are not serf women for you to command and use. The women here are free. They have husbands and brothers, very dangerous husbands and brothers."
"Bah,” replied the messenger swinging down from his saddle and passing the reins to clerk Raynar to hold. "In fact I choose that young one with the ribbon in her hair. I will take her now to make the point that it is my due."
Raynar called out to the teen in question "Sylvie, are you a virgin?"
Sylvie gave him a saucy look that no teen should ever know how to make, and then remembered herself and looked at her mother and her aunts around her, and then stuttered the lie. "Yes, of course I am a virgin."
"Then you are welcome to her,” said Raynar to the messenger, and he bowed.
"No, no, no,” cried out the constable's man as he dismounted and grabbed at the messenger's arm. "He is trying to trick you unto death.” He turned to Raynar. "That was a cruel jest Raynar. He is a royal messenger and cannot be thwarted from his duty."
"His duty is raping virgins then?” asked Raynar sarcastically. Those women who were now more or less covered, were walking closer and laughing at, and taunting the two riders. Judith came forward with them, though she stayed behind the two very tall Frisian women who Beatrice had sent to her to help with the children.
The messenger shook off the grip of the Cambridge man and stood tall and assumed a prideful stance in spite of the ribald jests from the women. The Cambridge man said hopefully "He does not understand. He is from the South. He does not know that these shires have not yet rescinded the laws that Prince Canute enacted in Ely."
"Prince Canute,” the messenger said haughtily, "the Danish prince. What do I care for Danish laws."
"But it is the law here too, and still.” said the Cambridge man with a bit of panic in his voice. "To keep the women more safe during the rebellion, these shires all accepted Canute's changes to his grandfather's laws. A woman cannot be wed or otherwise taken against her will. A man who rapes a mother earns ten lashes. A man who rapes a woman not yet a mother earns twenty. A man who rapes a virgin forfeits his life. Don't you understand. The, ugh, clerk, is trying to trick you into committing suicide."
On hearing this, the messenger quickly drew his broad sword and slashed it towards the unarmed Raynar. An eye blink later he was on the ground with a very tall, fair, and almost naked woman standing on his sword hand. He tried to roll and stand and got a hard kick in the chest for his efforts. He stilled himself to catch his breath and to look up at the beautiful blonde woman standing above him, and at the equally tall and comely woman at her shoulder, and then at the raven haired woman peeking at him from behind the two blondes.
The Cambridge man groveled to the woman with raven hair. "Please don't have him killed. Oh please not that. He is a royal messenger and in my care,” She anwered him with a nod which said that it was Raynar's call, and then she disappeared behind the other women.
"Let him rise, but without his weapons,” suggested Raynar, "If he continues to fight cut off his hand.” He reached down and grabbed the downed man with one hand and pulled him to his feet. While staring into the man's face, he said in courtly French, "Give me the summons and I swear that the countess will see it as so
on as is possible. I don't think it safe for you to stay longer in this burg."
The man was startled and relieved to hear French. "But her response. My orders are to return either with her or with her response."
"You can wait in Cambridge."
"Ah, then, that will work,” the messenger replied and then looked long at the buxom women that had taken him down so easily. "They are magnificent. Look at those breasts. Can I buy one of these women? How did she do it?” He brushed the mud from his britches.
"When you swung your sword at me,” Raynar replied, "you ignored how close the women were to you. During such a committed swing you must balance on your fore leg. She kicked that leg behind the knee and you crumpled to the ground.” Raynar smiled at him. "Do you see that hunters horn hung from her shoulder. If instead of taking you down, she had blown a warning with that horn, the men would have run here from down stream and you would have sprouted arrows like a hedgehog."
"And the law, about rape, Canute's law. That is so?” he asked.
"It is so, and it will remain so in these shires. It is a good law. If you want a woman you must ask her permission. These women are free, not to be bought or to be sold, so they may not be forced."
"But that is insane. God created women to serve us. It is natural. We want, we take, they serve.” A woman with raven hair threw mud into his face, as if she had understood his rapid French. He wiped his face and gave a scroll pipe to the man in the silk shirt, and then motioned to his guide that they should leave. The tall Frisian shield maiden who had taken him down, handed him back his sword.
"Pigs,” yelled Judith after them in French. Then she swung around and kissed each of Beatrice's women on the cheek and smiled warmly at them. "Thank you".
They laughed aloud at her gratitude. They were well trained in arms. They were as strong as men. Certainly as strong as the wimpy Norman messenger. They had only been doing what Beatrice expected of them, which was to protect Judith and her children.
