Wolves in Armour nc-1

by Iain Campbell

  Alan had chosen to make Thorrington his home, hence the directions for building the fortification. Whilst it was the southernmost of his manors and some miles away from the bulk of his estates in the north-east of the Hundred, he had a liking for the pretty village and its people. In return the villagers seemed to have a genuine affection for him, unlike the villagers and servants at Ramsey and Bradfield who could barely conceal their antipathy. Ramsey may have been a more logical choice but Alan wanted to live where he was comfortable. Anyway, the northern villages were only an hour or so away by horse, and Thorrington was closer to the pleasures of the town of Colchester.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THORRINGTON FEBRUARY 1067

  It was midday on a clear crisp winter day in late February when Alan was out with four local thegns, Edward, Alric, Edwold and Ketel who he had invited hawking for a ‘get to know you day’. Together with half a dozen servants they were in a forest near Alresford in the north of Alan’s demesne. All of his companions were Saxons and like them he wore a padded jerkin and thick breeches against the cold, leather gloves on his hands and a close fitting knitted cap on his head. As usual he was dressed in black and dark brown and wore no armour- having decided on his first day in the manor that if he had to wear armour to protect him from his own people he might as well give up and go home. Respect, not fear, was what he strove for in both man and beast.

  Alan enjoyed falconry. This was a quiet morning’s ride with a small group of friends seeking their quarry in the forest clearings and open spaces where the birds which falcons and hawks usually sought as prey could be found and the occasional hare could be started, although most falcons and hawks would rarely chase ground-based prey.

  Alan disliked the larger and more formal hunts for boar and deer, as he enjoyed pitting his wits against his foe. A well-shot arrow in a stalk through the forest was worth a dozen deer driven to the bowmen by beaters, and Alan had to admit he was at best an indifferent hand with the bow. Boar-hunting was more… exciting, with an angry 200 pound beast with sharp tusks charging at short-range in the semi-darkness of deep forest. Alan had in the past used stout boar-spears to kill what he felt was his fair share of boar in hunts arranged by his father in the woodlands near his ancestral home and felt no need to test his courage and fortitude on a regular basis. He adamantly refused to hunt animals that couldn’t be eaten, such as bear and wolves, unless they were causing undue depredation amongst the local livestock.

  Benoic, Alan’s Falconer, rode behind him and carried the long-wing female peregrine falcon that was the excuse for today’s outing. She was a beautifully marked bird of white with brown speckles and dark-brown head currently covered by a soft leather hood. Alan been content to watch those two of his companions with hawks flying them against quarry, as they were riding through a stand of dense forest and the long-winged birds wouldn’t be able to be flown until they came to a large open area.

  In reality, after a week of bad weather and judicial duties keeping him indoors, Alan was simply out for some exercise and fresh air. He was riding Odin, to also give him some exercise, although the large and bad-tempered destrier was hardly the most suitable horse for a hunting expedition. In stables or gentle riding the horse was difficult. He bit and kicked in the stables, and fidgeted and pranced in riding. Alan was prepared to put up with that behaviour as the French-trained war-horse responded to him in battle or practice as if they shared a single mind.

  The path through the forest was a narrow and winding dirt track, the canopy of leafless oak and elm overhead letting light into the under-storey of bushes and shrubs that crowded the sides of the pathway. There had been no snow for over a week but the dirt path remained frozen solid.

  Hearing a faint cry up ahead Alan cocked his head and used a gloved hand to move the knitted wool cap and uncover his ear. There was another shout, followed by the unmistakable ringing sound of steel on steel.

  While Alan wore no armour, like all men of station he carried a sword hanging at his hip. The path ahead curved to the left and Alan spurred Odin into a gallop, bending low in the saddle to avoid the branches whipping by overhead. The sound of galloping hooves behind indicated that his Saxon companions were following.

  After riding around the curve the path broadened, with the trees and undergrowth falling back to a distance of some ten paces on either side. Alan sat upright in his saddle and drew his sword Blue Fire, a well-balanced and superbly forged and acid-etched one-and-a-half-hand masterpiece some thirty-one inches in length, which he had literally picked up at Caldbec Hill.

  Thirty yards ahead an unpleasant vignette was being played out. About a dozen roughly-dressed men were standing in a small clearing perhaps thirty yards across; several other people, including two women, were lying on the ground. Six horses were milling around in confusion, threatening to trample people underfoot as they cavorted and reared.

  As Alan watched, one on the roughly-dressed men used a long knife to slit the throat of a man who was lying helpless on the ground. Two other men lay crumpled and still near the pathway, each with several arrows protruding from their chests. Two men were near each of the two women lying on the ground.

  One woman wearing rich clothes was lying unmoving like a broken doll, while the men rifled through her clothing for valuables and removed the rings from her fingers. The other, by her clothing a maid, had her dress ripped open at the bodice and also pulled up to her waist. One man, with his pants around his ankles, was thrusting himself between her legs, with another awaiting his turn.

  A man armed with a spear stood on the roadway just ahead of Alan. Rather than paying attention to his duties as a look-out, he had turned to face the clearing- obviously looking forward to his turn with the women. Before the man could gather his wits, Odin swerved towards him without any command by Alan. The horse smashed his massive chest into the bandit, throwing the man backwards onto the pathway. Odin paid particular attention to stamp each of his steel-shod feet on the body below him as he swept over, making sure to give a parting backwards kick which caught the man full on the head, smashing it open with a sound like a ripe melon bursting.

  Another man ran in front of them, brandishing a rusty sword. Odin reared onto his hind-legs, making Alan to have to lean forward to maintain his seat as the horse lashed out with its iron-shod fore-hooves. The man’s face disappeared in a spray of blood as he reeled backwards and again the horse rode him down.

  The slight pause had given Alan’s Saxon companions a chance to catch up, and after having felt a little like a passenger for the last few moments Alan took Odin in hand with a wrench of the reins, directing him towards the two men who were near the inert body of the noblewoman.

  The two bandits started to rise to their feet, abandoning their preoccupation with robbery, with fear written clearly on their faces. As Alan reined Odin to an abrupt halt, the horse was almost standing on the woman. Without needing instruction, and with surprising adroitness and control, the animal carefully placed his feet so as not to crush the woman.

  Alan gave a backhanded slash with his sword at the bandit to his right. The blade cleaved through the man’s right shoulder next to neck while the man was still fumbling with his own sword and trying to come to grips with the rapidly changed situation. The almost horizontal cut nearly severed the man’s head and he dropped in a shower of blood from severed arteries with a look of surprise still on his face.

  Alan twitched Odin’s reins to make him move to the right and then launched himself out of the saddle towards the bandit on the left, who by now had recovered from his surprise sufficiently to draw his own sword from its scabbard and raise it to an ‘en garde’ position. Alan stumbled on landing and his opponent sought to take advantage by making a wild swing with the sword at his head. Alan immediately performed a passata-sotto, dropping down with his left hand to the ground and lowering his body below his opponent’s blade as it whistled overhead. Springing upright Alan performed an advance and a simple riposte lunge, running
six inches of steel into his opponent’s chest before the latter could recover his balance. Remembering his teaching that ‘the damage is done by the first three inches of the blade, not the last three’ he was able to easily withdraw his blade as his opponent toppled over backwards.

  With a quick glance around to make sure he was momentarily clear of further attack, Alan then kicked the his victim’s blade clear of his twitching hand. Looking around he saw that the thegns had finished off the two men who had been ravaging the maid. One, now a headless corpse, still lay on her, drenching her with his blood. One thegn was approaching the last bandit still standing in the clearing. Alan could see movement in the trees as two or three survivors fled into the forest.

  “Hold on! We want a prisoner!” shouted Alan- unfortunately just too late as the thegn performed a beat-parry, striking the bandit’s incoming blade aside before using a thrust to the throat. “Ah, well! Too late! Alric, get one of the men to catch the horses then help me. Edward, you and a couple of the servants stand guard in case those vermin return. Ketel, can you look to the maid?” The last was in response to the hysterical screams coming from underneath the headless corpse. “Edwold, check the bodies of both sides. See if any are still breathing.”

  As Ketel heaved to one side the corpse atop the maid, the screams from the blood-drenched woman subsided into heart-rending sobs. After carefully wiping his blade clean on the filthy and ragged clothes of one the bandits and then sliding it back into its leather scabbard, Alan hurried over to the still motionless form of the well-dressed woman lying near the pathway.

  He turned her head and checked her tongue to ensure she would not choke and gave her a cursory examination. He knelt at her right side, while Alric knelt on her left, his face looking anxious. “Do you know her?” asked Alan. Alric shook his head, his long blonde hair swinging from side to side. “Definitely a broken leg,” continued Alan. “This is a nasty cut to the thigh, and…” gently sounding her ribs with his fingertips, “I think some broken ribs. There’s no way we can put her on a horse and this path is too narrow for a cart or wagon. Get a couple of cloaks from her dead retainers and cover her while I check the others.”

  Edwold had found that one of the retainers was still breathing and had rolled him onto his back. Alan knelt beside them and noted the blood from a wound to the chest and the pink frothy blood on the man’s lips. Edwold, who had seen enough killing wounds to know what that meant, pulled a wry face to Alan and shook his head sadly.

  Alan gave a slight nod of agreement. “We can’t put him on a horse either. Alresford is your demesne isn’t it? Right! Come with me and we’ll get some more horses and get some litters made. We are, what… two miles away?” Raising his voice he continued, calling to the eldest of the thegns. “Alric! Edwold and I will be back in about an hour. Keep these two warm. Don’t move them. And keep a watch out, as there may be other bandits.”

  Three men rode back to Alresford, Alan, Edwold and the falconer Benoic, who had retrieved all four of the birds that the party had been flying and had extracted a promise from Edwold to be able to place them in his mews until the excitement was over. Alan saw Benoic’s devotion to the birds, in the face of the calamity they had come across, as being if not quite humorous at least interestingly single-minded. The man had his job, his job was hawks and that was all he was interested in.

  As they rode towards Alresford at a brisk canter Alan issued instructions to Edwold. “The injured are about half a mile into the forest. We’ll need stretchers or litters to bring them out. It’ll probably be easier to carry them out by hand rather than using litters. Can you have a light cart brought to the edge of the forest so we can get them here as soon as possible? Fortunately they’re both unconscious at the moment.”

  Edwold largely ignored the flow of ideas and words from Alan’s lips. He knew perfectly well how to make a litter and didn’t need any instruction, least of all from an outlander. As they rode though the gate of the palisade that surrounded his Hall Edwold was shouting for attention. Within minutes stretchers were being made, horses brought, a cart requisitioned and provided with a draft horse, and the village Wise Woman sought (she was not immediately available, being out in the forest picking herbs, but a boy was left on her doorstep with instructions to bring her to the Hall the moment she returned).

  It was more than two hours later that they returned to the clearing in the forest with a multitude of helpers and horses. All of the dead, including the bandits, were thrown onto the back of packhorses, two or three to a horse. As they were loaded the horses sidled nervously, eyes wide and nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. There had been little change in the condition of the wounded man and woman. If anything the man was breathing more clearly than Alan would have expected. Placing his ear against his chest he could hear the rattle of air being drawn through blood. Alan grimaced as he sat back, well aware that the unidentified servant was slowly drowning in his own blood and there was nothing anybody could do about it other than pray for his immortal soul.

  Alan directed that stout sheets of cloth be slid under the two injured people, and then used to lift them and place them onto the stretchers. They had brought with them two women and a firkin of water. The women went to work on the maid, who was now in a catatonic state sitting on a fallen tree trunk, washing away the blood that had clotted on her face, hair and arms and providing her with a change of clothing. She and the other women would be given a place on the cart for the journey back to Alresford.

  “Anything else you think we have missed?” Alan asked Edwold.

  “No, but I don’t understand why you want the bodies, and the one loose head, of the footpads,” replied Edwold.

  “I intend to display them at all the villages around here,” replied Alan. “Perhaps somebody will recognise them and be able to give us some information. Can you lend me a wagon and a couple of intelligent men tomorrow to start the rounds? It’ll probably take a week to visit all the villages, and by that time they’d hardly be recognisable anyway. You’d need some men with strong stomachs for the job. Also, can you get your steward to call all the hunters and the poachers together for a meeting tomorrow? They can look at the bodies and you can ask them what they’ve been seeing in the forest. Any leads they have about where the outlaw’s hide-out may be, with no more questions asked and twelve shillings from me to the man who can locate their camp if we can catch them still in residence. Your people know you and will trust you more than me. One thing I’ve found is that no peasant, and few freemen, will talk to the local lord, and here we need the help of those that are… let’s say on the edge of the law.”

  “I’ll have to tell them that it is your money!” said Edwold with a grin. “They know that I don’t have two shillings to rub together!”

  Alan snorted with amusement. “Me neither, but I can find it if I have to.”

  “By the way,” commented Edwold “I’ve never seen a horse behave like yours. He was a weapon all on his own.”

  “He is a mean and vicious bastard, just like his owner. He’s very intelligent in his way. We get on well, although we frequently have disagreements about who’s in charge on any one day,” laughed Alan. “He was specially trained, like most destriers. That’s why they cost so much. The only problem is he’s pretty much a one-use animal, not like your rouncey over there that you can use for anything from a cavalry charge to a pack-horse to teaching your children how to ride.”

  By this time everything and everybody was packed away and the party started out in the late afternoon towards Alresford. When they arrived and the cart was driven through the Hall gate the village Wise Woman Dona was waiting and climbed onto the cart immediately. Alan nodded to her respectfully and said, “Welcome! Edwold tells me that your name is Dona.” Alan though that the name ‘Mother Goddess’ was particularly suitable for a village Wise Woman. Dona gave a long thoughtful look as the rescued maid was handed down from the cart, noting the frozen expression of her face, and then turned to the two
patients lying in the back.

  Alan said, “Before I forget, you noticed that girl is badly affected by her experience today. May I suggest a strong sedative and constant supervision?” Dona tilted her head to the side and nodded, not committing herself but acknowledging the advice given. “Now as to this one,” Alan continued pointing to the injured man, and then waited while Dona performed a quick appraisal.

  “I hope that you don’t expect a cure from me” said Dona in a nasal tone.

  Alan pulled a wry face and replied, “No. This man, whoever he is, has his soul in God’s hands. And God will take it shortly. All I ask is that you ease his passing. I’ll send word for the priest to come and shrive him. Do what you can, and here is a price for your efforts,” pulling out his purse and extracting a dozen silver pennies.

  Dona snorted. “More than I have been paid for many a year,” she commented.

  “The workman, or woman, is worthy of his hire, and I can see that you are experienced and capable,” replied Alan. “Do what you can with both the man and the maid. I feel the woman will be the bigger problem and take more effort, as the man won’t be with us for long. I don’t feel that I’ve overpaid you. If you later feel that more payment is needed, come and see me.”

  Dona’s lips twitched. “Although you speak English well, I can tell by your accent that you are not a native. I presume that you are our new Norman lord, come to enslave us all?” As Alan laughed heartily she continued, “And the lady?” with an indication of her hand to the other stretcher in the cart.

  Alan glanced up to the sky. He estimated it was about three in the afternoon. Two miles to Thorrington. Half an hour, perhaps three-quarters if they had to slow down in the dark. “I’ll take her with me to Thorrington. She has some broken bones that need setting and then will need to rest for some time.” Edwold made several men available, including a cart driver and a couple of warriors. Alric and Edward decided to accompany Alan back to Thorrington for the night. Benoic was to follow with Alan’s hawk the next day.