by Smith, Skye
"Agreed,” a number of leaders echoed. One of them said, "Tell the plan again from beginning to end, and then we will go and explain it to our men."
* * * * *
All morning horses were moved towards the escarpment in twos and threes, while the men moved their bedrolls further away from the river. It was a short day spent in a damp wood trying to get as much sleep, and to eat as much food as they could before sunset. When they smelled the smoke of the evening cooking fires of the bargemen, they organized into small groups and moved silently towards the river. Except for the cooking fires and the barge lamps, it was pitch black.
They charged the barges as one, yelling and slashing at anyone in their way, in order to make most of the men run away from their cooking fires and into hiding. They were up the gangplanks and in control of the barges within a few minutes of the initial charge. The men on board were told to run for their lives, but were not allowed to carry weapons or cudgels away with them. The only men that put up any fight were the captains or owners, and they were pushed off the deck and into the river.
Any oil lamps that were found were smashed into anything that looked flammable such as the decking, cargo, or tent shelters. Meanwhile burning sticks from the cooking fires were brought on board and thrown into the lamp oil. Some barges smoldered, some barges began slowly burning, but the wool barges almost exploded into flames.
Once a barge was burning beyond the point of dousing, the bow and stern lines were axed and any spare men put their backs into pushing them away from the banks. This was the hardest work of all because the shallows were half water, half slippery ooze. One by one the burning barges inched their way down the river and slowly picked up speed in the deeper water. They bumped and jostled each other into the current.
Bargemen that had been hiding on their barges were now coming on deck to inspect the fires, but soon realized that the firelight made them targets for arrows. Those bowmen who knew French kept calling to them to get off the barges or die. Most were wise enough to leap into the shallows and wade through the ooze to the shore.
There was now panic on the opposite bank as bargemen thought they would be next to be attacked and were trying to push their barges away from the south bank. The middle channel was slowly, oh so slowly being choked by barges, half with men, and half ablaze.
"How many is that now?” asked the knight commander.
"Eighteen I think” yelled Raynar. They both ducked low to the ground as the barge behind them erupted in searing flames. "Let's get the fuck out of here.” He looked along the cartway and saw all their men frozen watching the barges grow brighter and brighter against the inky river and the low clouds. It was like a nightmare dream of hell.
He whistled a signal as loudly as he could and waved down the line of men. Other men echoed the whistle along the river bank. Time to leave.
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The Hoodsman - Forest Law by Skye Smith
Chapter 12 - The burning of Rouen, Normandy in October 1076
More hurry less haste was the rule of the next hour as the English bowmen and the English exiles were forced to navigate the dense woods to find their horses. Nothing is as dark as a forest floor at night, and nothing is as filled with surprise tangles that trip and scratch and stub. Two hours later they were doing a head count on the ridge of the false escarpment. No one was in a hurry to ride north however. From the ridge they had a panoramic view of the river and the drifting flaming barges, and of the other barges that were trying to get out of harms way.
"We can't afford to stop here,” yelled the knight commander. "We must be far away before the Rouen garrison is sent after us.” No one moved. Most of the men had squatted to rest after fighting the bush and then leading fearful horses up the dark track to the ridge. Now they just stared in awe at the mischief they had just caused.
"The tide must be low,” called Raynar to the seamen around him. "The river is moving the barges faster than I figured yesterday. That city is on tidal water.” The seamen all nodded knowingly at his words. Others around them asked for an explanation of what tidal water was.
"In a way it is quite beautiful,” said one of the bowmen. "In my village in Yorkshire, well when there was a village, on the longest day of the year we would make model boats out of leaves and sticks. We would steal stubs of candles to put in them. At sunset we would light the candles and push the little boats into the current of the river and make a wish. If the candle stayed lit until your boat was out of sight, then your wish would come true."
"What did you wish for, lad,” asked one of the shieldmen.
"Usually to shag the woman next door. Oh she was so stacked.” laughed the bowmen and those around him laughed with him, but the laughter died too quickly. The reason they were living on this side of the sea was because their Danelaw villages were no more. Many of them had been burned in the great harrowing of the North. Entire villages gone. Hundreds of them, gone. And all their folk gone. Just like that, in the space of one winter. All gone.
"Stick them barges up your ass, William the Bastard,” yelled a bowman towards Rouen. From this distance the lead barges seem to be getting very close to the first church tower of the city. The shieldmen in the ranks of the exiles began a rhythmical pounding of sword or axe on shield. Before a battle they would have pounded ever louder and ever faster until the moment they charged. Tonight they pounded a dirge rhythm that seemed to match the snails pace of the barges.
There was a flash on the river, and a plume of flame. A short while later there was a sound like thunder. "That one must have had oil aboard.” called out one of the seamen. The explosion seemed to have spread the fire wide around the burning barge for there was ever more light from the area.
"The docks have caught fire, and the barges tied up to them,” speculated the seamen. There were murmurs in the ranks. They all had lived under thatched roofs. To live under a thatched roof is to live with the fear of fire ever getting into the thatch. A fire in thatch was perhaps even more frightening than a fire on board ship. The choking smoke was as dangerous as the flames. From the time they were children, they had been told that if the thatch catches fire they must crawl along the floor to the door and then run for their lives.
"It has, oh my god, it has gotten into some roofs,” someone said, and the pounding of the shields slowed and stopped completely. "Come on,” said one of the French guides. "Lets go home. I am suddenly very tired of this mission."
They mounted up and walked their horses carefully along the dark cartway until it met with the highway. All the way they kept looking over their shoulders at the red glow coming from the river valley. There was another large flash, followed a minute later by thunder just before they turned towards the Andelle valley.
There were people from nearby farms standing near the highway looking towards Rouen. They shied from the column of armed men, but those in the column who spoke French soothed them with words saying "You have nothing to fear from us. We are Duke Robert's men. Our enemy is his father, William the Bastard, the false Duke."
They rode slowly but never did stop to rest. They rode up the valley of the Andelle until the valley narrowed and twisted. At first light they were too exhausted to go on without rest. They made camp across the valley from a hill that the guides called Mount Sauveur. It was a good place to camp because there was clean water and good grazing for the horses.
The knight commander laid down beside Raynar, "On the way north do we attack the manors as we did coming south?"
"There is no purpose” replied Raynar sleepily "We did that on the way south so that Norman messengers could not ride ahead of us and give warning. Now we want everyone to know that Duke Robert's army is afield. Let them send messengers to Rouen and Caen. That is what Philippe wants."
"Enough killing,” said one of the bowmen nearby. The knight commander sneered at him for talking out of turn. Raynar, on the other hand, gave him an encouraging nod so the bowman continued. "Enough kill
ing. The mission is complete and successful. Scare the manor born if you must, take their horse to sell in the north if you wish, but let them live."
"We'll take more than their horses, lad,” said the knight commander. "Now that we are on our way home, we can load up the horses with treasure. Will you stop us in this Raynar?"
"So long as you take only from the manors and churches, and so long as there is no rape or other violence to the innocent, then our arrows will stay in their quivers."
"You're a good man Raynar,” said the knight commander. "I will spread your words, and warn them that disobeying may mean death.” He rose and stumbled with tired legs towards the other exiled shieldmen.
"Us too?” asked a wolveshead.
"Those in favour?” asked Raynar of the bowmen around him. Every man raised his hand. "so be it. We will spread out in three packs again, and glean our way home, but we take no risks. I want to drink ale with every man here once we reach Montreuil again."
* * * * *
There was no news at Montreuil from Bretagne. The Oudenburg bowmen rested there for a few days hoping for news. but there was none. Eventually they packed up their gleanings on their spare horses, and rode towards the Flanders border. Raynar did not know the butcher count of the exiles, but of the bowmen they lost four. Two to stupid accidents, one to a Norman blade, and one of the scouts to an argument with three exiles who were gang raping a young girl. The knight commander executed the three for the murder of the scout, not for the rape.
They arrived back in Oudenburg early in November. The trading season was finished. Raynar's cogs had arrived from Huntingdon during the same break in the weather that had allowed Beatrice to cross. She had now gone home to Spalding with Klaes but the rest of the ships were being prepared for a winter's rest.
Robert of Normandy was still worrying the northern Vexin from his base in Corbie. Judith was still in Brugge but had moved back into Beatrice's cozy town house for the winter. In his first week back, he saw Judith only once, and that was in the palace when he was making his report to the count. The count had no news from Bretagne. Judith lingered with Gertrude and waited impatiently for his meeting with the count to end so that she could give him a full length hug as a welcome back.
"It is dangerous to hug me so, love,” he whispered. "I have not been with a woman for weeks."
"And I have not been with a man,” she hinted.
"No love, please stop. Robert would consider it cheating. Until he cheats on you, we cannot."
"But you are willing, and I am willing,” she pouted.
"You must play by Christian rules again, not Frisian rules."
"Go then, go to your old widow in Oudenburg,” she hissed, but then realized that she had no real reason to be angry with him.
"We agreed that you must explore your feelings for Robert,” he whispered softly to her. "He is right now risking his life to champion your cause with his father."
Roas had warned her about his sanity, and how the loss of his first wife had put him into a deadly rage. None of his friends want to see that berserker side of him again. She decided to probe his feelings. "Was it so bad, the raiding.” she asked softly.
"It is always bad, love. People die. People are maimed. People lose loved ones. There is too much sorrow. I do not enjoy it. I do it for a purpose."
"Prince Canute is here. He is ambassador to Flanders now that his brother Harold is the new king of Denmark. Please talk to him about this war grief you feel. He is very wise."
"The count just told me the same,” he replied. "I am beginning to suspect that my friends are worried about me. Do you know what I really need?” He laughed aloud at the saucy look she gave him. It felt good to laugh. "I need to roll about on the floor with your children in a tickle match."
"Maud would love that. She has been missing you. You must come and play with them. We are at Beatrice's town house again. That oven of hers keeps the whole house warm. The small palace was always draughty."
"You promise not to drag me to bed if I come."
"No,” she watched him sigh, "Oh all right, I promise."
"May I bring Canute?"
"Of course.” she replied.
"Then tomorrow at noon."
She kissed him and then let him walk away. She loved two men and yet here she was with neither holding her close. Gertrude had been watching them, and saw the grief on her face and so came to her and led her into a private room so that she could cry.
* * * * *
Judith's eldest, Maud, was the princess warrior, riding on her great mount and bashing her sword at the enemy.
"Ouch,” Canute mocked injury and rolled away from the long wooden spoon that Maud was flailing about. "I will trip your magic horse, princess warrior,” he said and pulled one of Raynar's arms out from under him and then had to reach forward and save Maud as she tumbled head first off Raynar's swayed back. "I am beaten princess, may we stop now and eat the magic honey cakes."
"Oooh, magic honey cakes,” Maud said and her eyes widened, "they are my favourite."
"Mine too, since the oven that bakes them warms me to my soul,” laughed Gertrude who was sitting close to the oven. "I see now why you moved back into this house, Judith."
"You are welcome to come and eat my cakes on any day,” replied Judith, "especially on cold days like this one."
Raynar lifted Maud off Canute's chest and then pulled Canute up off the floor. "Oh Maud, look what we have done. Canute's best red tunic is now white with flour dust. Brush him off.” He held her up so she could reach Canute's shoulders and she began banging his tunic with her tiny hands. Clouds of dust made her sneeze. "Oh no, that has made it worse. Now he has snotty flour on his best tunic."
The sight of these two tall warriors dancing about with the children warmed Gertrude more than the blessed oven. "You said you would give me an answer today, Raynar. Will you take me to Paris so I may visit with Bertha. Please."
Raynar sat on the same bench as Gertrude and sat Maud on his knee. "Well why not. The men of Paris are still in Bretagne, so it would be a good time for me to visit. All those hungry Parisian beauties and no men."
Judith pouted. She would not even ask to go with them. She was the object of a political tug of war between Normandy and France so she was much safer here in Flanders. Besides, Robert should be returning from Corbie any day now. She frowned. She had told herself the same thing every day of the week since Raynar had returned.
"Will we take my men or your husband's men as an escort?” he asked Gertrude.
"Why your men of course,” she replied, "They have just been killing Normans for the sake of Paris. It is only fitting that they be rewarded by the hungry women of that city. I am packed already. We can leave tomorrow if you will it."
"My men will be packed an hour after I invite them along.” laughed Raynar.
Canute wanted to join the escort, but instead he swallowed his words. A visit to Paris would be interesting, but his presence would put Gertrude at risk. He still did not trust that his brother Harold, the new king of Denmark, would not try to 'dispose' of him to ensure his own succession. Everyone would be safer, including him, if he remained here in Flanders. Instead he asked "Will you ride or use a cart, Gertrude?"
"I must ride, for a cart would be too slow on flooded streets. So long as I can stretch my legs each hour, I will be fine."
Raynar knew the other reason that Gertrude wished to visit Paris, but he would not say it here. Not in front of Judith. Judith's parents may be 'guests' of Philippe in Paris, and Gertrude wished to intervene on Judith's behalf. And Gertrude wanted him along in case Philippe returned from Bretagne while she was visiting.
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The Hoodsman - Forest Law by Skye Smith
Chapter 13 - At Bertha's court in Paris in November 1076
Philippe arrived back in Paris a mere two days after Gertrude had arrived there. Bertha, the palace, and all Paris gave him a champion's welcome, much to hi
s pleasure. Events of importance were unfolding quickly, however, and he demurred from many of the victory festivities and closeted himself with the Frankish barons who were now flocking to his side.
Gertrude stayed with Bertha, and Raynar stayed with Gesa, but the four of them were otherwise inseparable. Philippe would sometimes join them for meals, but ate quickly and was gone with barely a word. Eventually after three days of this Philippe pulled him out of earshot of the women and hissed at Raynar, "Why are you hanging about my women. Is it gold that you want?"
"No, your highness,” Raynar replied using his most courtly manners to mollify the irritated monarch. "I simply brought Gertrude to visit her daughter. My bowmen were paid out of Montreuil's treasury. You owe me no gold."
Philippe stared at him, eyes wide, as if he was seeing him for the first time, and then laughed aloud. "Of course, you are Fulk's Englishman, Raynar. I must apologize for not recognizing you. I have been surrounded by new and old faces for some days, all pressing me for my time, and for decisions, and for court rulings."
The laughter and lighter tone of the king brought curious looks from around the richly appointed room. Philippe, though continuously being applauded for his great victory over William in Bretagne, had been in a sour mood since his return. "You are the only man in Paris to tell me that you don't want anything. The rest of my uninvited guests seem to be here, not to celebrate my victory, but to increase their own wealth at my expense. What would you do in my place?"
"The Greeks would call them opportunists. Greedy men who jump from alliance to alliance for their own purposes, like blood sucking insects."
"Exactly,” replied Philippe. "What was that word. Opportunists. Yes, exactly. So what do I do with them?"
