Hoodsman: Courtesans and Exiles

by Smith, Skye

  The captains were the first to step down onto the floats. It was their duty to ask permission to land, but Raynar did not wait for the formalities. "Klaes!" he yelled, recognizing the tallest of the captains. "Klaes, welcome!" He hurried to grip the man's hand. "How long can you stay? Who is with you? What cargo do you carry?" but his words stopped as he saw a vision of an angel standing on the small rear castle. His questions stopped and he did not hear the answers that Klaes was giving.

  As usual when ships of the sea appeared at Plassendale, the tiny village became a beehive of activity. Every merchant and whore in Oudenburg was approaching along the road to the docks, looking for quick sales. Even fresh water had a cost, for the Flems never gave anything away. Permission to land was granted and the ramps were set and men began flowing off the ships.

  Klaes realized that Raynar was no longer listening and he knew why. He had work to do, and so he followed the port's clerk towards his office in the closest tower. Raynar began to walk towards the ramp to board the cog, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw that Hereward was ahead of him. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that she was Hereward's now, by her choice. He watched Hereward take Roas in his arms and hold her to him, and gently stroke the mane of thick golden hair that was snugged against her neck in a loose braid.

  Raynar took a deep breath and turned away to find something else to keep his mind busy. That took but a second. Over the years, Klaes's men had all been his shipmates, as well as brothers in arms, and they were now quick to make fun of his being dressed like a burgher from Brugge.

  The sound of their Frisian tongue, and the smell of the pickled herring on their breath had his mind swirling in good memories. This warm greeting lasted only moments. Only until they saw the ale cart surrounded by an abundance of loose women. He saw Klaes's head visible above all others, just before it ducked to enter the door to the tower, so he aimed his feet in that direction.

  As he walked through the door he could see Klaes beside the table pushing a few coins towards the clerk. The clerk was telling him that full crews were not allowed in the channel to Brugge. Ten men per ship was all he could take.

  Klaes looked around at him. "Raynar, is this true?"

  "For now, yes," he replied. "This clerk is the count's man, and those are the count's orders. Last month a hundred crew from a longship ran amok in the town and there was much looting. Crews now wait for their ships here in Oudenburg where there is little to loot, and where Hereward's garrison of two hundred bowmen can more easily keep the peace."

  "That explains the number of whores in such a mean village as this," Klaes observed. "I trust there are enough alehouses to keep my men amused."

  "More every week. The tax from them pays Hereward's garrison, and pays for rebuilding the walls," Raynar replied. "Now don't you be teasing me, Klaes, for you know I am hungry for news. You are the first to have run the Norman blockade of the Wash since we got here. How fares Ely, and Lynn, and Spalding?"

  "Should I not wait the news until Hereward can also hear it?"

  "Hereward is with Roas," replied Raynar. "We will not be seeing them until the morrow, and by then she will have told him the news."

  "Ely fell the same day that you and Hereward burned the bridge at Aldreth as a warning that William the Bastard was on his way. Morcar held the king's forces on the causeway only long enough to allow everyone other than his own oath men to escape. I have since heard that Morcar is still in chains. Those who escaped Ely on that day hid in the fens until William withdrew back to Cambridge."

  "This I have already heard from traders from Ipswich," said Raynar, "what then?"

  "Once Ely fell there was little for the king to do. Most of the folk had already left Ely to go and rebuild the roofs in their own villages. What was left of the rebellion melted into the fens, as if they had never been there. Waltheof was in Huntingdon, the abbot in Peterburgh, Thorold in Spalding and Lynn, and they all were keeping the peace and giving profuse thanks to the king for clearing the nest of raiders from their midst.

  Once the king was told that Hereward had evaded his ships and was on the way to Flanders, he lost interest in Cambridge and sent his knights to their homes for the winter. Now he is marching again, this time through Lincoln and York. His fleet stayed in the Wash waiting for the winter storms to end, but then they too sailed north. They still try to block the Wash as punishment to the villages that had fed the Danes, but now all that remains of the blockade are a few old longships that patrol out of Brancaster."

  "Uh." Raynar's heart fell and he felt a sickness in his gut. "So the harrowing has begun again. Has he been cruel to the Danes and the Frisians of Lincolnshire?"

  "Naa, he was in too much of a hurry to get north to Cumbria. He took provisions as he marched, as is usual for armies, but the folk were left in peace and with food enough hidden from the foragers. Life is returning to normal in Lincolnshire. Thorold and Beatrice are well, and wealthy, and send their best. They have told me to use Hereward as their agent in Flanders from now on."

  Raynar's stony look softened and then he smiled, just a little. The news in Lincolnshire for five years had been all about war and battle and slaughter and starvation. He was wary of so much news of peace. "Peace and the restoration of Lincolnshire's villages was what Thorold and Hereward were trying to achieve. They are both successes," he said thoughtfully. "It is only I that have failed, for King William still lives, still marches, and still controls the yoke that still presses English faces towards the ground."

  "Bah, Raynar, you still live, you are still young, and with the Norman fleet now gone north, you can return to Spalding and continue your life. There are a number of lusty women waiting for your return."

  "I will not endanger Beatrice by visiting Spalding while that snake of an abbot still controls Peterburgh. If I go, it will be for short visits and trade, and I will confine myself to the ship or to the fen villages." Raynar did not mention that Hereward had already been pressing him to take a ship back to Spalding and collect the treasure hoard that he and Hereward had secreted at Surfleet.

  He and Hereward had fled from the Fens to Flanders with two hundred men in four ships. Too noticeable of a force to take into the abandoned village of Surfleet. The secret of the cache where they had hidden the treasure would not have survived so many eyes.

  "Why Cumbria, Klaes?" he asked it as soon as he thought it. "Why is William marching to Cumbria? I thought the reason he harrowed the north before was so he would not have to return."

  "His half-brother Odo is in deep trouble up near Bamburgh," replied Klaes, "or at least that was what Thorold heard when he accompanied William to Lincoln." Raynar was giving him an expectant stare, and he had to remind himself that the blockade had stopped most news from reaching him here.

  "While William was busy with our rebellion in Ely, Malcolm of Scotland was taking full advantage of it by making raids across the border. William sent Odo with an army to punish Malcolm, but it was Odo who was punished. Odo suffered a bloody retreat and was offered no help from Cospatrick in Bamburgh. Odo's problem was not the skirmish attacks, but that his army was starving because there are no crops, nor herds left on the English side of the border."

  "So there is divine justice, Klaes. It was a Norman army that left the North so barren."

  "Without food to steal," Klaes continued, "armies can't march. Thorold reported that because of the harrowing, there is so little food in Northumbria that William has been forced to march through Cumbria and then across Scotland. Apparently there is still food to steal in Mercia and Cumbria."

  "Bastard," cursed Raynar, "but it could be good news for Malcolm. I have traveled that route and there are steep valleys and high passes. The hill folk there are vicious sods who thieve by murder, and their rocky land lends itself to ambush."

  "That may be true, but what if Malcolm is far south chasing Odo, and is caught unawares?" Klaes was thinking aloud. "If only you could catch Malcolm's ear from here. Sometimes I have a dre
am where I am far away and I want to talk to Beatrice, and I shout to her up to the clouds and a goddess hears my words and carries them to the clouds above Beatrice and shouts them down to her. Do you think the Romans had such help from their gods? Their empire was huge. How else could they keep everyone aware over such distances?"

  "The Romans had no magic or gods to speak their messages through the heavens, Klaes. They had straight, paved roads and stations every dozen miles, so the messengers need ride only as far as the next post with the message bag and then ride back. The Byzantines do it the same, even today. A bag of messages travels twelve miles an hour, at all hours, night and day. That is, um, um, um, two hundred and eighty miles a day, a thousand miles in less than four days."

  "I have made over two hundred miles in one day in my ship, but that was riding a storm, and it was as scary a thing as I have ever done," remembered Klaes, "Makes a good story, though. Talking of ships, are those Hereward’s three scows being rebuilt on the bank?"

  "They were the best that the Danes sold to us when they left Ely. They are longships of an old design, but they got us here, though every man without an oar bailed the whole way. Hereward promised his crews that they would not put out again until the rot was replaced and they had new tar and moss. By the way, Hereward is not much of a sailor."

  "So whose is that pretty cog up river?" asked Klaes. "It has both a rudder and leeboards so it must be new."

  "Mine."

  "Yours, you dog!" Klaus laughed, clapping his friend on the back, "where did you steal it?"

  "A gift from the Count," replied Raynar softly. "He owed me large for his victory at Cassel, but you know me. I don't want manors or titles. At my behest he made Hereward the burgh master of Oudenburg and Plassendale. To me he gave that ship, and it is nearly new. It was originally commissioned as a gift to him from his stepson, Dirk, the Count of Frisia, but it is too small for Robert now that he is the Count of Flanders. He thinks me a fool for not taking land, but then, he doesn't know ships."

  "Gave it to you, or are you just the captain?"

  "Here in Flanders, Robert rules like a king, so I suppose it is mine, until he tells me to give it back. Then I would have the hard choice of giving it to him, or leaving Flanders on it."

  "I have two days of business in Brugge and then I will be back. You must let me take her out."

  Ray nodded, and then, with a glance back at the ship asked, "Roas, does she mean to stay with Hereward?"

  "She has come to marry him, and to be with him. She is heavy with child, and Hereward needs a son," replied Klaes. He knew of Raynar's feelings for the woman. He had been the one that pushed them together after they had both been widowed. "Hereward is tired, Raynar. He has suffered too many wounds, too many sorrows. His oath lord, Edwin, is dead. He is exiled from England. They can start a new life together here in Flanders."

  Klaes saw the deep frown on Raynar's face and knew that his heart was churning his mind. "Raynar, you are still young. Not yet five and twenty. You still have adventures to seek. You just said that you don't want manors and land. Well, wake up to the real world. Women want manors and land. They go together. Leave her be and be happy for them. Be happy for yourself. With Thorold on that side of the sea, and Hereward on this side, and that swift ship under your heel, this sea is yours to explore."

  "All our ships share that blessing now, Klaes. Where do you go from here?"

  "Back to Spalding. We bring wool to Brugge and take wine back. It is a steady trade that pays well."

  "Do you need another ship?"

  "We can sell every casket we can carry," Klaes replied. "Ahh, of course. You are captain, and know ships and know men, but you do not know the routes and the headlands and the shoals." Klaes's face opened up in a wide grin. "So be it. My second can run my ship. I will come with you as pilot and teacher. I will look forward to seeing if that rudder, leeboard combination on your new cog is worth the trouble."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Courtesans and Exiles by Skye Smith

  Chapter 3 - The crossing from Flanders to the Wash in June 1072

  The name of the ship was new, but the freshness of the paint was barely noticeable because all the paint was fresh. The ship "Anske", named after young Raynar's personal Valkyrie, pulled away from the floats and followed Klaes's three cogs down the channel towards the sea. Hereward stood on the float with Roas curled into one of his arms and Roas waved a slow wave to the ships, especially to the ship named after her sister.

  She knew all the men of these ships. She had grown up with them in Westerbur, her island village in the Fens. With them she had broken and trained and ridden the black Frisian horses that they bred in the drier fields nearer to Burna. She had harvested bog iron with them, and harvested eels with them. She had helped fashion the bows and the arrows that protected them, and had dressed their wounds after fights, and had fed them broth while they healed. She nuzzled closer into Hereward. That life was finished for her now. She wanted safety so that she could enjoy the child that was growing inside of her.

  "I pray Anske keeps an eye on her ship and keeps it safe," she whispered to Hereward. Anske, her sister, the beauty, the angel, had been Raynar's heart and soul. Her death by violent rape at the hands of the abbot's men had scarred Raynar's soul. It had driven Raynar mad with grief, and then the grief turned into a frightening bloodlust for revenge. Men had followed him. Other grieving and vengeful men from Yorkshire and Lincolnshire had joined in his thirst for Norman blood. They had joined him by the hundreds.

  They were the men who had survived the Harrowing of the North. Men with nothing left to lose. They came together with Raynar and formed one wolfpack of thirty dangerous men. As more men joined them, that one pack had split into two, and then four, and eventually a dozen, and they roamed the lands from Peterburgh to Saint Albans. They were mounted and armed with long bows and pikes. They ambushed Normans with extreme violence at every Norman manor they came upon, and then moved quickly on, searching for more Normans.

  The wolfpacks had become more feared by the Normans than all of the English nobles and all of their armies ever had been. The Normans had chosen the name wolfpack, and they called it a peasant revolt because the wolfpacks were not led by knights or by lords. The wolvesheads of each pack were porters like Raynar, or foresters, or carters, or even shepherds.

  Every nobleman in Christendom had nightmares about peasant revolts. When the rebellion of Ely erupted across Cambridgeshire, even the Pope of the Romanized church took notice. It was said that William had been ordered by the Pope to ignore all other rebellions until the one in Cambridgeshire was crushed. It was also said that William was now being chastened by Rome, who blamed his harrowings for causing such a dangerous revolt. Dangerous to the God given order of things where there were masters and serfs.

  Roas had known many of the men from the wolfpacks. She had lived with them in Huntingdon and in Ely. She had spent some months as Raynar's wife, and for a time was likely the best-protected woman in the kingdom. Every man in every wolfpack would have nocked an arrow to protect Raynar, and therefore her. The same was true of every man in Hereward's garrisons in Huntingdon and in Ely.

  That part of her life was finished now. She was tired of fear and of blood and of death and of war. Wars came and went, battles came and went, armies came and went, but it was always the same folk who lost all. The women and the children were always the losers, no matter who won.

  Hereward was old, over forty now. It was his time to settle and create, rather than roam and destroy. She would make his house a home and fill it with children. She would not even feel homesick living away from her Fens, not here in Flanders. The low lands surrounding Brugge felt as familiar as if it were the Fens.

  It had the same mud and the same pools and the same plants and the same birds and the same endless flatness. Oudenburg could be a sister town to Peterburgh with its ancient walls and towers. Even the sing song of the speech of these Flemish
folk sounded familiar to her ear, despite the words themselves being strange to her.

  She broke from Hereward's arm and skipped along the float, crossing onto the bank in a hurry to reach the watch tower. She pushed her way past the guard and took the steps two at a time. This tower was tall enough to have a fine view for many miles around, but she stared only at the ships gliding quickly towards the sea.

  What she felt inside, she shared with all of the women, in all the villages, on all the coasts that surrounded this North Sea. That longing and heartache, fear and loneliness from watching those you love leave on the tide. The ships were sturdy and usually returned safely, but if they did not, there would like as not be an entire village in mourning. It had not yet been a year since her son, and her first husband and his ship and a dozen of the village men had been lost at sea.

  Hereward joined her in the tower and was ready to scold her for rushing so carelessly on slippery planks and steps, but the harsh words froze on his lips and he pulled her into his arms and let her sob. He brushed a tear from his own eye. He heard the clerk yelling up to him, and he had to leave her to put his mark on the clerk's accounts. He gave a hand signal to one of the watchers to keep an eye on her, and the man gave him an exaggerated wince. As if he would need such a signal to keep Roas safe.

  * * * * *

  Klaes was working Anske's crew hard to see what this modern ship could do. They were racing with his own three ships on different tacks and in different currents. In all cases, except for running before the wind, the Anske was faster. The rudder and the leeboard made the difference. With the leeboard swung down, they could keep the sail unreefed in stronger winds, and in every wind there was less sideways drift away from the set course. He didn't know why, but somehow the leeboard turned the sideways push from the sail, into a forwards push on the hull.

  "I'm convinced," Klaes said, "You must leave your cog in our winter pool for a week so that we can study the fittings and make patterns. I see no reason why we cannot convert all our cogs to this new steering." He set his trim and then pushed the tiller down into one of the notches on the 'hang-on' railing in front of him. "I love those notches. Let's see how long she can sail herself."