by Smith, Skye
Gil pointed to the porker. "The last resident of this camp left enough bones that the tusker set up house."
"This place has been used before?" asked Raynar.
"This is an ancient forest, mate. It's probably been used hundreds of times, but the last time was about a month ago."
Some men were gossiping and jesting to keep themselves awake long enough to rip into the fresh venison. Others were making themselves useful by setting up a latrine area near enough to the brook so they could wash their asses afterwards. Much and another youngster were notching the trunk of a tall tree to see if they could climb high enough to see over the forest canopy. Ten men were on watch, mostly back where they had first stopped, but also on each main game trail leading to the pool where the two brooks joined.
Raynar dozed off, and again was woken by a gentle shake. A man was stretched out leaning on the same log as he was. "That pork must be close to done. My mouth is watering from the smell of the crackling."
Raynar chuckled. "I was dreaming that I was sucking on a piece already." He paused. He focused on the man. The face was familiar, but his Sherwood men were all of Daneglish blood. He was sure that this man had woken him by speaking in Saxon. Much slipped down to the ground from the tree and turned to come over to the log and join him. He stopped in mid stride. Then he whipped out his dagger and sounded an alarm.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - Ely Wakes by Skye Smith
Chapter 15 - Transporting bows in the Wyre Forest, Shropshire in July 1070
"Whoa lad," said the stranger in common English, "I was just talking to Raynar."
There was something wrong but Raynar could not place it.
"Who is he?" asked Much, while other men gathered near.
Then it came to Raynar. The man, though familiar, was not a member of this wolfpack.
"I am Thurcytel, Eadric's man. I recognized Raynar here, and a few others, when you claimed my camp for yourselves. You're Sherwood men. Rodor's men. We shared stories not a year past at Chester and Warwick." He paused. "Those were better times."
Raynar needed to know one thing immediately. "Where is Eadric?"
"Wish I knew. In February we were caught between FitzOsbern and King William. We were harrying William for what he did to the villages, and didn't know that he had sent for the Earl. Eadric agreed to terms and we had to give over any horses, armour, and weapons and then disperse.
If William had not camped for a few more days, we'd have been done for by the Earl, or rather DeLacy, but the king forced them to keep to the terms. Half of us have been living in Wyre Forest ever since. It's a good thing Eadric trained us in living wild cause it has been rough living without weapons. "
If Thurcytel knew Eadic's fate he wasn't telling, so neither would Raynar. "No weapons? None at all?"
"Staffs and home made self bows," he replied, "a few knives. Pickings are slim around the Wyre cause no road passes through it, and the roads around it are patrolled by DeLacy's men."
The other men had not relaxed. Gilbert introduced himself and a few of the men who were standing close and then asked, "So how many are you?" Every man quieted to hear the answer. They stayed alive by staying suspicious.
"About fifty all together, but we live in groups of ten plus any women and children. Any more and you cannot keep the camps hidden. My lot were about to move into this camp, when you arrived."
"Move to here?" questioned Gilbert.
"Yeh. This camp is deep away from the highways. Safer. There are a lot of patrols on the highways right now so we decided to move deeper in."
"We need rest. Badly. We will be gone in a few days and then you will have it to yourselves."
Thurcytel looked around and counted the horses. "They're lookin' fer you, ain't they. The extra patrols. They're lookin' fer you?"
Gilbert was about to evade the question but Raynar broke in, "Not only looking for us, but hunting us. We were tracked by a column of two hundred back in the hills."
"Some carter's told us some gossip that two hundred English had slaughtered twenty of Chester's men. Where are the rest of you?" asked Thurcytel.
"You shouldn't believe everything you hear from a carter. That sound's like the Earl of Chester's version of the fight. The odds were the other way around and we slaughtered fifty of them."
"You have their armour and weapons and horses then. Can you spare some?"
"We left the spares in Powys on account."
The man's face twisted into a snarl. "The fucking princes in Wales. You trusted them with your winnings. They sold us to William the Bastard. That was why Eadric had to make terms. William paid Bleddyn to return to Wales."
"We have the same problem with the fucking princes of Denmark," answered Raynar. "Our bargain with Bleddyn could not be helped. He had something we wanted."
Thurcytel stood up and made a sound like a troubled eagle. His men appeared from no where and walked into the camp. "We've been invited to dine with the men of Sherwood," he yelled to the men, "no need of weapons." He looked at Gilbert. "Could you spread the word to your pickets that there will be others joining us. The password is eagle."
* * * * *
During the meal, much news was shared, so that after the meal the men of Wyre left and spread out across the forest to spread the news while the men of Sherwood slept. The most important news for the men of Wyre Forest, however, was that they should move quickly to the deep camps away from the highways.
That afternoon the men of Wyre brought two stags to the camp for cooking and for drying. This time there were more of them, for the leaders of each of their five groups had been invited.
Gilbert and Raynar formed a close circle with the leaders and they spoke of weapons and armour and DeLacy.
Gilbert had a suggestion. "The new Earl of Chester is a Flemish bastard, but he is a wealthy Flemish bastard and not a Norman bastard and he just lost fifty men at arms and a few knights. You lot seem to be mostly Saxon huscarls and swordsmen. Why don't you contract yourselves to him. The villagers would be better served if you were doing the policing than if DeLacy was."
"A good plan but there are a few problems with it," said Thurcytel, "like how do we get to Chester without being slaughtered by DeLacy. Like what if he says no and just cuts our throats. Like how do we serve as men at arms when we have no weapons or armour. The earl would make us bond slaves for the cost of equipping us and we would be his for twenty years."
Although Raynar could offer some solutions to these problems, he kept quiet. He would rather someone else spoke them. Any of his plans would risk Sherwood lives, and he had risked them enough already.
Much was always quick with ideas. "If you need armour and weapons then why not take them from DeLacy's men. You will need to break through their patrols anyway."
All of them laughed at the innocence of the lad. "In the Saxon language that would be called a conundrum," chuckled one of the leaders. "If we had weapons, then we could take weapons, and then we would have weapons."
When the laughter settled down, Gilbert asked, "Are any of you bowmen?"
"We all have selfbows to hunt, but we are not skilled with longbows like you lot. We have no war bows or war arrows."
"You do now," offered Raynar, "each of our packhorses carries enough for this forest."
"Ahh, of course" said Thurcytel, "what Bleddyn had that you were willing to trade for armour."
"Too right," said Gilbert, "even the lad there is a match for a Norman knight cause he knows how to press a Welsh bow."
"And you would be willing to give us some?"
"Listen," said Gilbert, "we both have the same problem. We need to break out of this forest and make sure we are not followed when we do so. We can help each other. We have axes amongst us that we can to turn into pole axes for some of your men. We have the bows and can train your best archers in their use. Together we are eighty with forty horses." He kicked Raynar's foot to have him take over the planning.
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br /> "How many men does DeLacy put in a highway patrol?" asked Raynar.
"About ten, until this week. Now twenty or thirty."
"Then we need to ambush two patrols to equip your men," stated Raynar.
"If they know you lot are in this forest, they will be watching for ambushes."
"Not if they are in hot pursuit with overwhelming odds," replied Raynar.
Gilbert spoke up, "The Normans don't chase after our women any more. We haven't been able to use them as bait since the harrowing. The Normans are so well fucked by all the hungry widows that even an honest whore can't make a good living from them."
"That is in the Danelaw," Raynar stated. "This is Shropshire." He looked at the Wyre men. "What about it? Would one of DeLacy's patrols chase a few women for the sport of them."
"Like he says," was the answer, "they get laid regular by all the hungry women."
"What about horses?" asked Much. "Would they chase horses?"
Gilbert waved him away. He should not have been in the circle.
"The lads got a point. After the harrowings, pussy got plentiful and horses got rare."
Much stood but stayed in place "We have some horses that the Normans would love to steal. Two Frisian blacks, and three coursers."
"Right then. We have our bait. Now where can we ambush a patrol?" asked Raynar.
"The place for an ambush is not the problem, is it?" said a Wyre man. "The real problem is that we are trapped in this forest by two highways and the River Severn. Crossing or using the highways plays into DeLacy's strength. Anywhere west of the Severn is controlled by him and his Earl, FitzOsbern. For us to reach Chester and for you to reach Sherwood, it's the same problem. We must cross the Severn as soon as we leave this forest."
"I was a riverman once. A boatman on the Thames. Tell me about the Severn," asked Raynar.
"Well, around these parts it flows north to south. In summer there is not much current, but it is a hundred feet across and six feet deep. There are two fords at the edge of the forest, but both are within sight of each other, and DeLacy has a small bailey and a garrison there to keep watch on them."
"Do they patrol the river. Is there a cartway along the bank?" asked Raynar.
"There is a cartway on the other bank, and they patrol along the other bank. The garrison at Worcester sends a patrol each morning that turns around at the ford and patrols back to Worcester. In the other direction there is a garrison at a fortified manor just past Quatford and they does the same."
"What times?" asked Raynar.
"Same times. Both patrols eat their midday meal at the bailey. If one of the patrols is late, the other patrol keeps riding to check on them."
"I'm glad Nottingham isn't so well organized," Gilbert remarked.
"Does the garrison at the bailey ever do any patrolling?" asked Raynar.
"They ride out and stop everything that crosses either ford. I've seen them search carts, but I think they are just hoping to steal something."
"Bugger. This DeLacy knows his business," said Gilbert.
Raynar rose and retrieved his scroll pipe from his gear. He rolled out his map of the area. It was not a good map, but at least it showed the Severn and Worcester and Shrewsbury and a few of the Roman streets. He long ago found out that looking at a map helped him to plan and to think. The Wyre men looked at the scroll and one mumbled, "So were you a monk before you were an outlaw? We had a monk with us once. He was bloody good with a sword."
"Have you watched the fords?" asked Raynar.
"Many times. The men could swim the river well enough but we have a dozen women and their young'ns. The ford is the answer, but wishing it doesn't make it so."
"Who uses the ford?" asked Raynar.
"Not many. The occasional farmer's cart. Folk going to market at Kidderminster. The monastery there has land on this side of the Severn so the occasional monk crosses. Hunters, of course, going early to the forest."
"We could explain all day," said Thurcytel. "Better to go have a look see for yourself. Grab a handful of your men so they learn the way and we'll take you."
"First let's arrange some archery training for your men. Send someone to fetch them, and Gil will organize some men to train them."
The next day the training began in earnest. Not just bowmanship, but also practicing ways to unhorse heavy cavalry.
Meanwhile Raynar, Gilbert and Thurcytel walked to the ford and explored the area until the heat of the afternoon was finished. They walked along one bank, swam the river and walked back along the other bank. They watched the traffic on the ford and watched how the garrison handled them.
Raynar was pacing and counting all the time. They explored the woods around the bailey, and sat and watched the patrols arrive and leave the bailey. The Quatford patrol arrived about an hour before midday. The Worcester patrol was later arriving, but the other patrol did not mount up to search for them until midday, by which time they could be seen along the next bend in the river.
When they got back to camp, Raynar said, "Tomorrow we cross the Severn. Bring everyone here that is going. We will all have our last meal and sleep at this camp, then take the bailey in the morning, and take both the patrols at midday."
* * * * *
The watch in the tower above the bailey's gate were bored, again, always. "Oy, cart coming over," they yelled down to the guards playing dice in the shade. Five of them cursed and left the game, and mounted their horses. The gatekeeper swung the gate open, but he had heard the call and knew they would be back in a minute. He waited there with the gate open.
The gate faced the highway, not the ford, so the mounted guards had to swing around the walls of the bailey before they could see the cart. It was on the northern ford. "Bloody watch," grumbled the leader, "there is more than just a cart." Crossing the ford was the cart with four women riding on it with the carter. They would have hitched a lift to keep their skirts dry. They'd be on their way to market. Behind them was two farm lads splashing at the women while they walked behind the cart. Behind them was a mounted hunter with a stag slung over the back of his horse.
They waited on the bank for the cart to pull out of the water and out of the mud of the bank. Carters hated being stopped in mud. They were just about to ask to search the cart when there was loud splashing from the other ford. Two rough looking men were running their horses through the ford and behind them they led five empty horses, and they were beauties. "After them," the lead guardsman yelled and they kicked their horses to a run along the bank to give chase to the horse thieves. "Finally, some action," he called out over his shoulder.
The watch in the tower did what they did best. They watched the chase. Meanwhile the lone hunter passed the cart and carried on to the gate. The gatekeeper said, "Watcha?" in French and the hunter answered in French that the guard had told him to surrender the stag at the gate.
The gatekeeper wasn't going to complain about some venison for the next meal so he waved him in, but the bloody hunter pushed the carcass off the horse against one of the gates. He groaned and was about to curse the bugger, when a woman's voice turned him and he saw a cart piled high with women. He could only see one clearly but she was waving. The carter stopped his cart in the gateway and the women moved to the back of the cart to climb down.
The gatekeeper had moved back against the gate to be clear of the ox and cart, and was about to call for more guards when the hunter, now dismounted came up beside him and said, "Ah, venison and sweet meats, you lucky bastards." Instead of calling the guards he opened his mouth to make a jest, but nothing came out of his mouth but blood.
The hunter kept his back to the gate and waved at the women, carter, and farm lads to join him. Here they were in a blind spot from the tower. All of them except for the one real woman pulled bows and quivers from the cart and flattened themselves against the gate. The hunter nocked a heavy arrow into a Byzantine bow and moved to the end of the gate. He could just see the watcher in the tower, and he put an arrow through h
is back with such force that it completely skewered his heart. The watcher dropped with a thump to the floor of the tower.
As soon as the watcher dropped, a stream of bowmen began running out of the woods about three hundred paces away. They almost made it unseen, except that the garrison commander had chosen that moment to step up to the wall and check on the ford. He gave a yell of warning, but it was too late. Raynar and the cart load of bowmen ran through the gateway. The commander fell from the wall with an arrow in his chest. The dice players had barely time to stand before arrows hit them. By then it was too late to save the bailey. Thirty men were pouring through the gate.
The carter threw the stag out of the way of the gate, and hauled on the ox to turn the cart and led it out of the gate, down the bank, and back across the ford. Once across, ten children jumped into it and he made the trip across the ford again, but this time with a dozen women and forty men, half of them mounted, following him. As soon as they were across he turned the cart and took it back over the ford and into the forest. He pulled the trussed up farmer who owned the cart out of the bushes and undid the twine that held him, and told him to go home. The farmer did not argue.
The men and women and children went directly to the woods on the other side of the bailey. Once into the shadows, they kept going until they reached a small clearing that they had been told about.
Meanwhile the rest of the garrison wisely surrendered, and began to strip. The dead watcher in the tower was replaced with a Wyre man in captured armour. The gateman by another. They waited patiently but then they heard a whoop and into the gateway cantered the two men leading the five good horses. Close on their tale were the five guards, not knowing what was going on, and angry enough to kill these two men that they had chased for a mile only to end up back at the bailey. The gate closed behind them and they were trapped facing a dozen bows. They surrendered.
