by Smith, Skye
"Even if another woman offered herself, I could not," bragged Philippe. "She is sucking me dry. Literally. I am sure that Gesa, you remember Gesa, has been giving her lessons. I have suggested to Bertha that she bring Gesa to bed with us tonight to teach me how to better please a woman. She agreed. I can't believe that she agreed. By morning I won't be able to stand."
"Did you say that you want to learn how to pleasure a woman?" asked Fulk. "Does the church allow that?"
"I said it to get them both into my bed together, but now I am looking forward to learning what makes them lusty." whispered Philippe.
"Yes, yes, life has been wonderful for you, but meanwhile I have been knee deep in blood securing your kingdom," interrupted Fulk with just a small amount of exaggeration, as the only time he had bloodied his sword was to put a man out of his misery after his eyes had been scratched out by a vengeful woman.
"Of course," said Philippe calming himself. "We have heard the reports of your successes. Please continue."
Fulk spoke for over three hours with hardly an interruption and with Philippe leaning forward into his words and wanting more. "So Sire, the kernel of your kingdom has just tripled in size. Your treaty with Robert is secure, as the Montreuil’s garrison has expanded fourfold if you include the chartered ships. What is more, the garrison is now loyal to you, and only you, as all of the traitorous dogs have been killed."
"You did all this?" asked Philippe.
"With some help from Edgar and Raynar. I cannot imagine Edgar as a king. He is too easily led. Watch out for that Raynar, though. If he had noble blood I would tell you to make him a bishop, for he is as canny as one."
Philippe laughed at his friend. "The last time you spoke of him you would only call him 'that peasant'. Now he is Raynar?"
"He is welcome at my table any time, peasant or not. You ask him a straight question and he gives you a straight answer. And those bowmen of his, my God. I have commanded archers in the field and these men are not archers. They are hunters. In one battle, he led twenty men as skirmishers against two hundred, and within ten minutes they had killed every leader and the battle was won before any sword was blooded."
"Did you bring any of these wondrous bowmen back to Paris with you?"
"I brought sixty more men than I left with, but not of them bowmen," replied Fulk.
"That is a shame, for I am sending you to Le Mans immediately. There is trouble. Those freedom-loving communists have Hugh and Geoffrey under siege in the castle, and William of Normandy is said to be leading an army to crush both sides. "
"Goatfuckers!" shouted Fulk angrily. "They have done exactly what will make William's son the next count. They are fighting each other, instead of him."
"Ride tomorrow with your new men and convince the Manseaux to finish the siege and join with Hugh to stave off William. And if William does attack, then make sure that those merchant communists are in the front line."
"Tomorrow," sighed Fulk. "I have been in the saddle for over three weeks. I need a rest."
"Then go to bed, and don't take any women with you," Philippe ordered. "There is no time to delay. You were late returning from Montreuil."
"Can you do something that will delay William? Perhaps a raid south from Montreuil?"
"He would not hear of it in time to turn his army. My spies say he has come directly from England and he has brought English warriors with him. Pray that there are none of those bowmen with him, if they are as good as you say they are."
"The only bowman that William will attract is the one who will put an arrow through his eye," said Fulk. "I have drunk with them. This I know for sure."
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The Hoodsman - Courtesans and Exiles by Skye Smith
Chapter 26 - Captain of a ship to Malduna, Essex in January 1102
Mary was on the tiller again. On this smaller cog she did not need so much help from the tillerman, but he stood close by just in case. In London, Eustace had sent the Boulonnais ships to Favreshant to help build the new port, but this ship had arrived from a Frisian port in the Wash, and somehow Raynar had commandeered it.
He had also commandeered an extra crew. This small ship, when trading along the coast, carried a crew of twelve. With the extra oarsmen-come-bowmen they were now crewed for raiding. Not that they were raiders, but because Eustace was on his way to Witham to attend the court of the Honours of Boulogne in Essex. The honors that his family had regained from the king, almost as a wedding present.
Mary was glad they had taken the coastal cog rather than one of Boulogne's larger trading cogs. Unusual for January, they had been becalmed, so the two crews had spelled each other off in the rowing. The larger cogs were not really designed for ease of rowing, as they were too heavy and too high. This coastal cog was designed for both sail and oar, and the hull was now hissing through the calm dark waters of Blackwater estuary on the final leg of the journey from London to Malduna.
The tiller was so responsive when the ship was under oar in calm water. The sideways force of the currents and the wind were not pressing against the rudder, so it took little effort on the long handled tiller to control the ship. The tillerman knew this coastline well. This ship ran a coastal trade from the Wash to London and back, and they often made a call to Malduna because it was self-governing and therefore an open port. He was pointing to a small dock and telling her to make for it.
Eustace and Raynar climbed up to the tiny aft castle to stand beside her. "Mary, you are enjoying this far too much," Raynar told her. "I fear you will never be satisfied with life at court after having tasted the power of that tiller."
"Why are we making for that small dock?" she asked. "That cannot be Malduna. You told me that Malduna is a town of some two hundred families, and at the place where the river becomes an estuary." That is all she could say before the ship lurched to a full stop on a mud shoal. There were cries and groans of the oarsmen who had just fallen off the seaman’s chests they used as rowing benches.
"Oye!" yelled one of the oarsmen in fun, "woman driver!" There was no harm done. This coast cog was designed for shallow muddy bottoms and this was not the first time, nor the last, that it would run aground. Even if it had been left high and dry until the next tide, the ship would sit flat on the bottom, and not heel over like other ships.
Four huge oarsmen took their oars to the bow to pole the ship backwards off the bar, while the rest of the men scrambled to the stern to lighten the bow. Within a few moments they were afloat again, but Mary refused the tiller. Instead she went down the ranks of oarsmen until she found the one that had called to her in fun, and she sat beside him. "Here," she told him. "I'll take your oar, while you take the tiller. Let's see if you can do any better."
The handsome young man beamed a smile at the beauty now sharing his sea chest and they both blushed. The ship was going nowhere in a hurry because the men had decided that this was a fine moment to pass around the aleskins. Up on the castle, the ship's captain whispered to Raynar, "Well, they used to be my crew, but now they are hers."
After a well-earned break from the oars, they continued on to nose in against the small dock of the estate at Goldehangra. This was also an estate of the Honour of Boulogne, and one of the few that was right on navigable water, so it was of especial interest to Eustace. Although the beach was a gentle slope and was dry at low tide, the deeper water of a small creek allowed them to tie up at the dock.
"Aye," whispered the oarsman into Mary's ear. "You should see it in the spring. Yon meadow is completely yellow with merrie goldes. That is why it is named after those flowers." Being a Frisian lad, he was not in awe of her beauty or her title. Around Spalding where he grew up, there were many girls as pretty as she, and it was not part of the Frisian culture to bow and scrape to self-proclaimed nobility.
Mary didn't mind his insolence. She was getting used to the ways of Raynar's bowmen. It was honest and open-faced lads such as this one who had been guarding her every day since s
he had been rescued from the clutches of William Mortain. She was beginning to realize that Raynar was not a unique peasant for his lack of subservience to the ruling class; he was just unique at the king's court.
When they had visited Favreshant they had learned that it was not wise to surprise a lonely manor in the dead of winter, so this time they sent Raynar, dressed in his treasury robe, up to the manor to give fair warning. He walked with one bowman up the cartway from the dock to the manor buildings, and then hailed them in a loud voice to come out and speak with him.
The Frisian lad with him gave him a nudge and pointed to the roundness of the great house. It took him a minute to grasp his meaning. Of course, being so close to the coast he had hailed the house in Daneglish. This was not a Danish-style longhouse, but a Saxon round house, and it was the largest one he had ever seen. He hailed the house again in Saxonglish, his mother tongue. This time some men with pitchforks came forth from the barn.
The treasury robe did two things for him. The first was to protect him. It was a death penalty for anyone who hurt a king's tax collector. The second was to give him respect, for no one wanted to risk angering a tax collector. A few years ago, these robes may have earned him a hidden shallow grave, but not this year, not since King Henry's Coronation Charter had included the pardon for unpaid taxes.
He stood outside the house and explained to the tenant what was happening, and that the Count had arrived to meet him. Only then was he invited across the threshold of the roundhouse. It was now safe to send to the ship for the Count and Countess, and meanwhile he got warm beside the fire that burned in the center of these round houses, so that the smoke could escape up through the port in the center of the thatch roof.
The house was full of folk. Everyone from the hamlet and the farms around was gathered here until the weather warmed. They shared their food, and shared their firewood, and kept each other warm and amused around this fire until the first planting moon, for which they would go back to their huts near their fields.
Luckily the smoke drew the steam and funk and odor of so many damp unwashed bodies up and out through the port in the roof. Luckily there was ale and good humour to spare, and songs and dances and stories to pass the long winter nights. There were also ealders, the keepers of the memories, the teachers of knowledge and understanding.
It was the ealders who figured out who Mary really was. Not the Countess of Boulogne and not the Princess of Scotland, but a true Saxon Princess of England. When they told this to the folk of the round house, the folk went wild with joy, and declared this day a feast day.
Mary was swept away by the women to be dressed for the festival, that is dressed as befitted a Saxon princess in a long cream gown of fine draped wool, and a cloak of purple with wolf's fur trim. There was a modern manor house just beyond the round house, and it was there that the major tenant now lived, and it was there that the woman took Mary to prepare her for the evening.
Eustace was overwhelmed with the winter hospitality of this house. He had planned on a quick visit to mark the estate and the tenants to mind, but this was not to be. It would be rude to refuse such open hearted generosity, even though it was most obvious that it was all about Mary and not him.
The cynics at the feast may have belittled the generosity, because, after all, this estate was now the Honour of this Count from Boulogne. It was very politic of them all to treat him well, and therefore to treat his new wife well. But even the cynics had to catch their breath when the ealders brought forth gifts gleaned from some ancient Saxon treasure trove.
For Mary there was a crown of a very lightweight band of gold embroidered with filigree, and a matching pin for holding her cloak closed, and a bracelet of torqued gold. For Eustace there was an ancient Saxon seax of iron with a grip of windings of bronze, silver and gold wire. It was said to be a magic blade because it was engraved with ancient runes.
The feast rolled on through the night, with Mary joining in every woman's dance, and Eustace in every man's. Though they had quieter beds in the new manor, away from the spirits of the roundhouse, Mary spent barely two hours asleep there before she rose, borrowed a full apron from a house maid and went with the rest of the women to clean up the hall and prepare the morning meal.
Any hopes that Eustace had of making it as far as Witham that day, were undone as the ship approached the well-used docks at Malduna. Not only had the folk from Goldehangra rushed along the cartways to meet them there, but Malduna was already aware that a Saxon Princess of an ancient line was about to visit them.
There were a thousand folk out to meet them in the streets of the town. After all, there was little else to do on a short winter's day. The festival of the night before was continued. At one point the Saxon Princess was invited to step onto a huge round Saxon shield, which was then lifted by six stout local lads and paraded through the crowds so that all could see her.
The next day a full procession of folks accompanied the Princess and her foreign husband the five miles to Witham. It was not possible by ship for the river was blocked by a ford and a weir. At Witham they found the court of the Honour of Boulogne already called together in order to officially greet them.
At the sight of the tribunal Norman-style court, including a black-robed priest, Raynar signaled his bowmen to be watchful and then spoke into Eustace's ear. It was difficult to get the man's attention because he was watching his young wife again being paraded through the crowds astride a Saxon shield.
"There is trouble here, Eustace," Raynar spoke loudly into his ear so that he could be heard over the roar of the appreciative crowd. "Leave Mary out here with the crowd, and let us drag that Norman priest and the knights gathered with him, and a few of the ealders into the Hall and ask them for an accounting."
Eustace looked at his wife, now kneeling on the shield so that she could reach out and touch the hands of all the women who wanted to touch her, and then he looked at the severe-looking priest who was watching her, and said, "Damn. I knew this was all going too well. Leave most of your bowmen out here to watch out for Mary, but bring a few of the biggest into the Hall with us."
Mary saw Eustace lead Normans and ealders and bowmen into the hall, but she was not about to leave such an adoring audience. Instead she yelled over to a market stall where some itinerant musicians were sampling some food, and asked them to play a dance for the women.
Raynar shut out the sounds of instruments tuning up as he closed the door, and then signaled the bowmen to push into the shadows of the hall and watch for more signals. Already the Norman knights and the Saxon ealders were squabbling and trying to gain the Count's ear to hear their own side. After lifting a small bench with one foot, Raynar slammed it into a larger bench, which caused such a bang that everyone stopped talking and looked towards him.
"Your Grace," he told Eustace, "this is now your Honor, and therefore this is your court. I think you should sit at the head table and listen to orderly, ORDERLY, petitions."
Eustace nodded his thanks and took his place at the head table, with that heavy table separating him from the petitioners and then he asked for the eldest man in the room to step forward and give a balanced summary of what all the squabbling was about.
"Your Grace, this honor was ruled in trust by the king himself. Thus when the new king declared his Coronation Charter, this court was quick to abide by it. The amnesty for murder and taxes was organized, and so declared. Outlaws were pardoned and allowed to return to their fields. All was going as the king wished, until it came time for the existing Norman court to adjourn in favour of a moot of ealders. That court still refuses to adjourn."
Eustace motioned to the senior knight, now his knight, and asked for an explanation.
"Sire, there are cases still open before our court that must still be judged under the old laws and court as they were in effect under King William Rufus, who held this Honour before King Henry."
He motioned another ealder forward and asked him for an explanation.
&nbs
p; "Your Grace, the Coronation Charter was amnesty for all things, save issues of inheritance. There is no reason not to adjourn the court in favour of a moot."
Eustace stared at the knight. "What are the cases that are still open?"
"They all relate to inheritances, sire," the knight replied, but then there were shouts from the other men of words like 'rape, murder, poisoning, witchcraft.'
The word 'witchcraft' was yelled by the priest, and Eustace asked him, "Witchcraft to be tried in a civil court, not a church's court?"
"They are all interrelated, Your Grace," replied the priest with a slight bow.
Eustace stood and called out, "In any Norman court, I would now preside. I hereby call that court into session. Any cases before it will be judged now, and then the court will be permanently adjourned in favour of the moot."
Nobody seemed happy with the decision, least of all Raynar who was missing a perfectly good festival out in the market square. The knights and the priest joined the count behind the table, and the ealders took up the first row of benches. The senior knight told the clerks to bring in all of the folk from the back room, and they left to bring in a procession of a dozen folk, Norman and Saxon, male and female into the court.
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The Hoodsman - Courtesans and Exiles by Skye Smith
Chapter 27 - Court at Witham, Essex in January 1102
Raynar took a well-deserved snooze on his bench while the formal court introductions and oaths of truth were taken. He only half-listened to the case, which was a complex web of greed and murder that spanned the reigns of two kings and happened both before and after the general amnesty of the Coronation Charter.
