by Smith, Skye
"Any of you with bows, I want lined up along the river bank. If any Norman comes within range I want you to shoot his horse. Understand me, because this is important. Shoot the horses first. Don't shoot a man unless he is on foot. Understood."
He looked hard at the Welsh women. They were so different from Frisian women. So different as to be opposites. They were short instead of tall. They were thin boned instead of big boned. Their hair was dark instead of fair. Their skin was white and pale instead of fawn and tanned. They had fine bones in their face and pointed noses, instead of the rounded Frisian look. But they were all women and children, and he swore to himself that they would not die today. "Oh, and if you see men without armour, men wearing brynjas like this one, and carrying Welsh bows, they are friends. Do not harm them."
He mounted and rode back to his thirty, and with a whoop they kicked their horses to speed and crossed the summer shallow river with enough splashing to cause a rainbow. The women watched them ride off, and then began to organize themselves.
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The Hoodsman - Ely Wakes by Skye Smith
Chapter 12 - Saving the Welsh refugees in Shropshire in July 1070
Young Raynar's thirty hoodsmen trotted towards the low ridge that hid the Norman cavalry from them. They knew they were being watched but pretended they were unaware. They pretended that they were from the women's camp and were setting off on some errand from the camp, so they trotted along in small groups while talking and yelling jests. The had almost reached the end of the ridge before the Norman heavy cavalry made their move by cantering around the end of the ridge and spreading out in a single line in front of them.
Still pretending, they did the natural thing that any band would do when facing such odds. They kicked their horses and made for the closest cover. The Normans were expecting that move. The closest cover was the line of trees and bushes that lined the rivulet that ran from the ridge to the river. Forty of the Norman line spurred their battle horses to a gallop to cut off Raynar's thirty before they could reach that cover.
The thirty were also at a gallop keeping up the pretence of trying to reach the trees before they were cut off. Raynar constantly adjusted his speed so that they would just barely lose that race, and so they did lose the race. The thirty pulled their horses to a dusty stop. The forty Normans had cut them off and now formed a line between them and the trees. The other Normans were riding fast to come in behind them and trap them between two forces.
Raynar told his men to load their short bows but to hold them low in their left hand beneath the level of the horses back. He told them not to move, not to give away which direction they would turn. On his signal they would turn left back towards the ridge where the Normans had come from.
They faced a line of forty Normans, each one of which had a large shield on his left arm and a long pig sticker lance under his right arm. They were waiting for the order to charge. They were waiting for the other Normans to get closer and cut off all retreat. They were waiting to slaughter these English riders, and it would be a slaughter. Heavy cavalry against unarmoured men on farm nags.
The line of forty Normans had their backs to the trees, with their shields pointed forwards ready for the charge. Their armoured backs were wide, still, targets for the seventy heavy points that whistled towards them from the trees and punctured their armour and split their skin and lodged in their lungs and liver and heart. Almost every man was hit by one of the first seventy arrows. The second seventy arrows had every one of them teetering in their saddles, and the third seventy arrows pummeled the few targets that were left.
Raynar had kept his own men dead still, to keep the line of forty equally still, and therefore easy targets for those first seventy arrows, which is why so many of them had found their marks. Once the first volley had hit, he then screamed and howled a wolf's howl to take the attention of his thirty away from the fate of the line of Normans in front of them, and as one they wheeled their mounts left and followed Raynar.
Raynar kept turning them until he was racing towards the ridge end of the other line of Norman cavalry. This put his mens’ bow hands towards the line of cavalry who had come up behind them. It was a tactic that he learned on the Frisian ships. Race along and behind the other ship then turn sharply and race forward along the other side of the ship but going the same direction.
And that is what the thirty did to this line of twenty Normans. Each bowman shot an arrow as best they could from a moving horse as they ran along the front of Normans and then turned quickly around the line as they reloaded and shot another arrow at the back of the line. The bowmen aimed low because a true aim was not possible. By aiming low they may just lodge an arrow in the mans middle or the horses flank.
Though they slowed and smoothed the gait of the horses for the two shots, they did not slow to watch their effect. Without looking back they raced after Raynar who was racing towards the river and the camp of Welsh women.
They knew that they would not have done much damage to the cavalry because they were using their short bows that could be used from the saddle, and making shots while riding. They would have been lucky to have hit anything, but it had the desired effect, for they could hear the howls of rage from the Norman line as they spurred their huge battle horses on to ride these bowmen down.
It was a race for the river, but it was a race that the farm horses carrying the lighter loads would win. They splashed across the river and leaped down from their slowing horses. Holding onto the saddles, they ran along beside the still moving horses, hopping to keep their balance on the uneven ground, but then let go once they reached the river bank. Most of them were therefore standing on the river bank just as the Norman charge reached the other side.
The Welsh women had light self bows and light hunting arrows designed for small game, not armoured men, but they remembered Raynar's orders and shot their arrows at the huge battle horses rather than the armoured men.
Their aim was good and their light arrows true, so even though none of the arrows did serious damage to the huge horses, they annoyed them and scared them, and hurt them to the point where the riders had to drop one or the other of their hands to control the reins. This meant either lowering their shields or lowering their lances. The smart ones lowered their lances. There weren't many smart ones.
The cavalrymen who lowered their shields were immediately hit in the chest by the heavy arrows aimed by Raynar's thirty men. Or at least twenty of the men, as some had trouble dismounting from moving horses and had not yet made it to the river bank. With the men now standing firmly on solid ground, twenty Yew bows were ample for the task. Those that had lowered their shields were hit hard and hit in vital places.
Those who had correctly lowered their lances still had their shields defending their bodies from the bodkin arrows. This was very bad news if you were their horse, because the shield did not defend the horses vitals and the bodkin arrows were puncturing deep into the chests of the horses.
Only fifteen of the twenty Normans had been healthy enough to chase them to the river, but now all fifteen were on the ground. Most had been horribly wounded and the fall from their horses had made their wounds worse. Some had fallen with their wounded horses and now were being crushed under the huge weight of their thrashing and dying horses.
The Welsh women threw down their bows, lifted their skirts and walked across the river to the writhing wall of blooded bodies. Each had a wicked thin dagger in their belt and now they used those daggers on the wounded and helpless Normans. The women made quick work of the men either with a violent stab through the eye holes of their helmets or into the neck under the mouth gate. Within minutes the entire camp was racing towards the slaughtered men hoping to find something of value on the men or on the saddles. Women dripping in Norman blood were dancing between the bodies holding up fat purses and bejeweled knives.
When his own men began to cross the river to look for booty, Raynar called them back. "L
eave this lot for the women. We have bigger spoils to claim. To your horses. Quickly."
They followed their original route from the river to the ridge. They could see about twenty bowmen over by the trees walking between the bodies of the Normans that had been slaughtered there and securing horses. The rest of Rodor's hoodsmen were not to be seen.
As they came closer to the end of the ridge, they saw Rodor's men riding up the slope further along the ridge. Raynar hurried his men. He wanted the Norman camp to see him first, to draw their attention from Rodor's main force.
They rounded the end of the ridge, and they were expected. The camp must have been watching the slaughter from the ridge because the guard of the camp were already mounted and armed and now they came riding towards Raynar's thirty. Behind them there were servants, grooms and camp women throwing things into carts and walking quickly beside carts that were already on the move to the west.
Raynar knew he was in trouble as soon as he saw the guard. The lord had sent only sixty to chase him the first time, because that was enough to slaughter his thirty. This had left over thirty warriors to guard the camp. They were all mounted and carrying fighting shields and long cavalry swords. These men were guarding their lord and his treasure and the camp women. They would not be rash with their charges and they would use their skill with intelligence and eventually kill all of Raynar's thirty.
He needn't have worried. These were Normans. When a battle did not go their way they would for terms and buy their way out of trouble with promises of fat ransoms. When the Normans realized that Rodor's fifty bowmen were coming down the slope of the ridge behind the camp, trumpets blared and white flags fluttered and some lord hidden in the center of his fleeing carts, asked for terms for surrender.
At the blare of the trumpets the cavalry facing Raynar turned on their tail and walked their horses back to the line of carts. Raynar ordered his men to hold a loaded bow ready in their left hands and then they followed the retreating cavalry with great caution. The two groups of bowmen formed a loose ring around the camp, dismounted and aimed their bows at the closest armoured men. Rodor was already walking alone towards the Norman lord. He waved to Raynar to join him. Raynar was already walking to join him. They would need his translations.
The finely dressed, plump, piggish looking lord was Earl Gerbod of Chester. He was Flemish, so they bargained in English. Gerbod's first offer was laughable. He offered all the belongings of the men already down, and he would warrant them safe passage to the Welsh border.
Rodor stared at Gerbod and laughed. "We are the Knives of the Valkyries from the Danelaw. Perhaps you have heard of us. We have been given gelding knives by the Valkyries, and they will watch in glee as we first geld the dead, and then the living, and especially you. Or, you can stop talking nonsense."
Gerbod shuddered despite himself. He was afraid of his eyes giving something away to the Wolfshead, so instead he looked into the blue of the interpreter's eyes, and shuddered again. There was something in those eyes that unnerved him. Something he had seen in the eyes of those that had lost their minds to the battle madness. Such a man would run himself onto your lance if it meant he could take your head before he died. He looked down and his next words were just a mumble.
"We will come as your prisoners to the border. Everything we have goes across the border with you, save for the mounts we ride, the armour we wear, and the weapons we carry. You cross the border. We ride for Chester."
"You still offer us less than we would have if we killed you here and now," warned Rodor.
"Then you must not know that the Sheriff of Shropshire is between you and the border with over two hundred cavalry. Considering that, I think my offer is generous."
Raynar pulled Rodor aside and whispered. "I believe the story of the sheriff. They were not preparing this camp for a siege, they were preparing to run, and so another force must be very close."
"It will be as you have offered," Rodor said to the earl, "but with one more provision. The sheriff must withdraw to Shrewsbury, so that we need not fear an ambush."
"This I cannot promise," replied Gerbod. "Without the sheriff at the border, you could kill us as you step across. Besides, if the sheriff ambushes you, I would be the first you would kill. The added provision has no merit."
Rodor walked closer to Gerbod and gave him a hard stare. "Does the sheriff have prisoners, slaves."
"He must," replied Gerbod, "we are both in need of serfs, and have been rounding up the hungry and homeless from last winter."
"Then it will be as you have offered," agreed Rodor, "but at the border all of the prisoners and slaves cross with us."
"We have a bargain then," he gave Rodor an oily smile, "I love bargaining. This was the obvious terms that I could have stated at the beginning, but then I would have lost the enjoyment of the bargaining."
Rodor and Raynar stared at the man in disbelief. This man had just lost sixty men and lost a fortune in armour, and yet he prides himself on his bargaining. He was beyond redemption.
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The Hoodsman - Ely Wakes by Skye Smith
Chapter 13 - At the palace at Mathrafal, Powys, Wales in July 1070
Prince Bleddyn's warriors were thick along the border. They knew that the sheriff and the earls were ranging through the borderlands and they were moving north and south with them to keep them away from Wales. Riders were sent in all directions to fetch more men, when a large column of Normans and folk was spotted making directly for the border.
The column was a mix of rich and poor including Welsh women, English bowmen, the sheriffs cavalry, the prisoners of the English, and the slaves of the Normans, as well as horses and carts. The column stayed north of the River Severn and south of Oswestry and when it crossed the dyke there were hundreds of men on both sides of the border.
Once the slaves and the refugees, the carts loaded with armour and weapons and supplies and camp gear, and the horses had crossed the dyke, only then did the bowmen released their Norman prisoners. Men were tense on both sides of the border until the Earl had led his men away from the dyke and had joined the escort of the sheriffs men. Any thought of treachery the Earl may have had for when he was freed, had been erased by the arrival of the Welsh border patrols.
Those that had crossed the border were allowed to travel another five miles before the Welsh patrols had them stop and make an accounting of themselves. After an hour of discussions, they decided to take them to the palace at Mathrafal and let Bleddyn and Haer decide what to do. At first they wanted the bowmen to surrender their bows, but that demand was withdrawn after Rodor stood beside the Welsh chief and pointed to the Welsh warriors who were coveting the contents of the carts.
Bleddyn was not at the palace at Mathrafal when they arrived, but his wife Haer took charge of the situation. The freed slaves and the refugee women were sent away to the villages around the palace for food and quarters, except for their ealders. As their quarters, the Hoodsmen were given two longhouses behind the main hall of the palace and were allowed to unload the carts into them. The horses were taken down into a lush pasture near the river to graze and drink.
It was a pleasant and sunny day to be in these sprawling palace grounds. While most of the men caught up on sleep now that they needn't sleep with one eye open. Rodor and Alan were off somewhere making arrangements for food, so Raynar wandered through the herb gardens that were planted in the shade of orchard trees and vines. He recognized a tall man sitting on a bench in the shade, but could not place him. He went closer to see the face better.
He was recognized. "You are Raynar from the Peaks." The man stood as he approached and offered his arm in a warrior clasp. "We rode together at Warwick." He was Eadric's man. "We heard of your adventures in the winter passes. Eadric would enjoy to hear the full story."
"Eadric is here?"
"In that hut by the herb garden." He held his arm to stop him for a moment. "Be warned, he is dying." Then he let go the a
rm and put fingers to his lips. It was a secret.
Raynar walked to the hut. The door was open to allow the sun and the dry air into the room. He eased through the doorway not knowing what to expect. There was a smell that all warriors recognized and feared. The smell of your own flesh rotting as it turned green and poisoned you. He coughed as he closed his nose and breathed through his mouth.
There was a man lying on a pallet and he turned towards Raynar and blinked and smiled. "Old friend," he rasped and tried to raise himself. There was a woman bent beside him applying salve to a wrist where a hand should have been, but she did not look up.
Raynar spoke in Welsh to the woman, "Why salve and not maggots to eat the green flesh, or a recut of the arm above the green?"
She was busy and still did not look up. "No use. You can see the blue in the veins from the poison. It is beyond the arm. The salve stops the stump from itching and burning, nothing more."
"Eadric, I wondered where you were when I rode by Oswestry and did not loose any horses to thieves. So now you spend the summers in palaces, eh." It was a poor jest but he felt a jest was needed.
The woman finished the bandage and then stood, and turned and then flew into his arms. He pushed her back so he could see her face. He was face to face with Gwyn, his childhood friend, his sometimes lover. Gwyn the healer, now Gwyn the harpist, now Gwyn the Seer of Powys.
"Bugger," jested Eadric, "now she will never bed me."
The couple pulled apart. It was unseemly in front of a dying man.
"How is he?" Raynar asked.
Her lips parted, but Eadric beat her words. "I am dying. Hopefully tonight because I do not like the effect of the poppy juice on my dreams, and I need more of it each day." He slowly and with great pain raised his right arm to show the missing hand. "Some local constable thought he had caught himself a common poacher. He didn't know enough to fire the stub. I told my men not to avenge me. I want FitzOsbern and DeLacy to think me still alive and still a threat to them."
