by Smith, Skye
Mortain had given him a look of warning to shut him up, but it was too late. The girl had heard. That had sealed her fate. She could not be allowed to ever speak to Henry or Robert. He smirked to himself as he day dreamed about what she would do for him to save herself from torture, or from death. The gray day began to brighten for him.
They rode easy to start with, but then the knight reminded him of the distance still to Wareham so they picked up the pace.
* * * * *
The outlaws made a stop at the hut of the old Friar that held messages for them. There was still a half a side of hind hung here from their last visit, and they needed to eat. The Friar was reading a tattered book when they arrived, a gift from another visit from the outlaws.
The chief of the band went to sit by the friar and watched him read. This man had some good skills including some skills with healing. "Friar, can you write as well as read?"
The Friar closed his book. The outlaw was not a man to waste words. "I have some paper. What would you like written."
"Could you write a scroll that pardoned all my men. You know. The words of a pardon and then a list of all our names."
"I could write the words," replied the friar, "but it would need the signature of a sheriff or an earl or some other agent of the king. I will not do forgery for you."
"And I wouldn't ask you to. So you know the wording of a pardon. You can make it look good."
"Yes, but by rights you should have one pardon per name. Each man need carry it to prove himself. I do not have that much paper," said the Friar and he made for the hut and his store of paper and gull.
"Then make just two copies of the pardon, but name everyone and without any forgery. Just so we have our names in print."
It took the friar as long to make the two scrolls as it took the men to cook and eat the meat. They left the friar a choice bit, and overpaid him for the paper so he could purchase more, and then rode back to the highway. By now the outlaws traveling by foot should be ahead of them.
They did check the next soft road bed for hoof prints. No groups had passed before them since the rain. The lad with the bodkin peeled off at the next village to give his message to the bowyer that lived there.
The outlaws continued without him. They rode hard but kept away from villages until they entered Wareham forest. A mile into the forest there was a ford of a stream that backed up at high tides. It therefore stank of sea mud. The mud was deep and sticky downstream from the ford, and the forest thick with brambles upstream from the ford.
"Come on lads. We've work to do before we rest. They had just finished laying the lines across the road and hiding them with dust when the rest of the outlaws marched into their camp.
All the men had the same question. Were they allowed to kill the Normans.
"The message said slow them and don't hurt the girl," answered the chief.
"I think that slow is just is just another word for kill, when it comes to Normans," offered his second.
"They are less than four miles from the castle. Slowing them won't mean much if they reach it," said another.
"They would slaughter us if we come within reach. You saw the armour and the weapons."
"So we need to stay alive and we need to stop them from reaching the castle," reflected the chief, "the horses. Kill the horses. But not the girl's. No arrows anywhere near the girl. Once they are on foot we hide in the forest and force them to take cover. They will use their shields for cover as they walk to the castle, but it will be very slow progress because we will move with them."
* * * * *
Mortain kept leering at her. She felt ill. She felt unclean. She hurt every time the horse bounced her. She had listened to many of Raynar's stories, though he would always soften the blood and gore when she was present. She always asked questions to get him to describe the horror that the women of England had lived through because of the Normans. Now she was living it.
Mortain's leer said volumes. She was for it, and she would not enjoy it. The other men leered at her in the same way. What had he promised them. She shuddered but refused to cry. Just like last night as he slobbered over her and they had cheered him on. She had refused to cry.
As children the nuns at Auntie Cristina's convent had scared them into behaving by threatening to send them to Bishop Odo as a punishment. The tales of how Odo preyed on young women were legend and sordid. She now felt all that fear returning. This man was Odo's nephew. He had spent much time in Odo's household. She shuddered and wanted to puke.
They had been skirting a string of bays along the coastline. Now they entered another forest. There was a ford ahead so she knew they would stop to water the horses. Perhaps they would offer her some ale. She was so thirsty. She was so tired. No, she was weak, and she hated feeling weak. She straightened her back but that only reminded her of how much her bum hurt.
While their horses bent their heads to drink from the wide, shallow ford, there was a snapping sound and fences appeared from nowhere ahead of them and behind them on the road. She knew from Raynar's stories what they were. Sherwood fences. She pulled her horse around and slowly moved as far away from Mortain and his men as she could.
The arrows flew in low and fast. A dozen and then a dozen more and a dozen more. The horses were falling and bucking and rearing and fighting. The men were trying to stay in control, trying to stay in the saddle, trying to see where the shafts were coming from.
She could see that there were different types of arrows. Some had little force and bounced off the horse flesh. Some punctured the flesh and were held in by barbs. Some of the arrows were frightening in their power. They hit hard and sank deeply into the horseflesh and most of the horses hit by those arrows dropped to their knees almost immediately.
She was now fighting her own mare, who was reacting to the madness in front of her eyes and to the smell of hot blood. One by one the men were dismounting or being thrown. Some had legs trapped under the weight of their horses. Once on the ground the men were wrestling with their shields to gain cover. By using the bodies of horses and their shields they created a small fort of safety. A knight strode over to her and dragged her from her horse and using her as a shield, dragged her into the fort.
Some of the younger men were charging at the bushes with shield and sword held forward. The arrows stopped. The bowmen had vanished. One man walked carefully to the magic fence behind them and found that it was just a line with sticks tied to it. He cut it with his dagger and it dropped back to the ground.
Mary began to laugh when she saw Mortain's face. He was almost pissing himself keeping hidden from the arrows behind the shields of his men. He told her to shut her mouth, but she would not. "That was a Sherwood fence blocking the road, and you know what that means don't you?"
Mortain stared at her, and saw her face beaming with new found courage, and he wanted to punch it, but instead he shook his head. He put his head up high enough to see around. Half his men were walking wounded, not from arrows but from the falls from their horses. Two were lying motionless in the ford. Broken necks he presumed.
He had expected all of the horses to be dead or dying, but he was wrong. His horse and those of his knights were certainly dead, as were those of the men who had tried to charge the bowmen. More than half of the horses were still standing. All had been hit by arrows but not by killing arrows. The Sherwood fence had kept them from bolting down the road to Wareham, and now they were standing nervously close together in the ford.
Mary waited until he had finished his look around. "Do you know who shoots arrows that can drop a horse, William. Those men out there are not just outlaws, and not just archers, they are hoodsmen. You have been caught, but not by my husband, and not by the king. They would simply have bound you and taken you to Winchester.
You have been caught by the Hood, and that means that my mother's old champion is out there with his bow." She laughed aloud. It was almost the laugh of a harridan. "Raynar is here with his longbows. All of y
ou get on your knees and make your peace with God. You are all about to die!"
The other men looked at each other and at the girl. Her eyes were wild like a mad woman.
"Do you know the story of my mother's champion, William? He once avenged a Valkyrie for her foul rape and murder. As a reward, she gave him a Valkyries' Knife. When he captures a rapist he ties them to a post, and gelds them with the magic knife, and then feeds them their own cock. They bleed to death from the balls and choke to death on their own manhood. That is your fate, William. That is how this day will end for you." She started laughing again. A wild cruel mocking laugh.
He grabbed at her to hold her while he hurt her, but she pushed herself behind the knight who had brought her to the shields. He reached forward, but as he did he looked towards the fence that had been cut. There were horsemen approaching. As they came closer, he groaned, "More bowmen". He wondered which one was the champion with the Valkyrie's magic knife.
He was watching the bowmen so carefully that the knight had to point out that there were Normans in the troop. Behind the bowmen rode Henry and Eustace. How he hated Henry. He was such a weakling. As a teen, he never used to join him and Rufus in beating the serfs and banging their daughters. The little weasel would run and tell tales and spoil the fun. Every punishment, beating and lashing he had suffered from their weapons master, had been caused by Henry.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - Ely Wakes by Skye Smith
Chapter 37 - Mary with a knife at her throat in October 1101
He grabbed a coil of Mary's hair and put a dagger to her throat and then stood and pulled her cruelly to her feet by her hair. "You are just in time cousin. We have been attacked by outlaws. See all the dead horses."
"Let her go, William," shouted Eustace.
Mortain twisted his hand's grip to twist her hair and make her scream in pain. "She is my wife now, Henry. I have taken her before witnesses."
Henry reached over and grabbed Eustace's reins from him and pulled that horse back. "Not now Eustace. He will maim her or kill her."
He told his guards to take Eustace to the end of the troop and to keep him there. By the time Eustace was at the rear, all the bowmen had dismounted and were standing with drawn arrows aimed at Mortains men. "Loosen your draw," he ordered, and they very carefully eased the power from their bows.
The verderer from Yten came to him and said in a low voice. "Them's hoodsman's arrows that brought down them horses. We have the earl surrounded. The bushes are bristling with points. On your word they are all dead men."
Henry looked hard at the bushes. They were almost invisible but yes, there were bowmen lining the road to Wareham. "Let her go, William. She is Eustace's wife. The court will fine you a heavy purse for cuckolding him. All you need do is pay the price and you can walk away from this."
"These are not your bowmen, Henry," he yelled back. "She has told me so. Her mother's champion is in the forest. She says he kills rapists. One word from him and I am dead, no matter what you promise."
"Raynar is not here, he is in London." Henry raised his voice so all in the bushes could hear. "If these indeed be hoodsmen, then their sons have oathed to me and march proudly in my army. They beat you at Alton, remember, after shooting but two arrows. They will head my orders. The sons have earned the pardon of their fathers."
"I did not understand a word you said, fool, you spoke in English," Mortain yelled back. He eased his dagger blade slightly so that Mary could translate for him. When she finished he looked around at the bushes behind him. The bowmen stepped forward out of the bushes so that he could see them.
"If you want this woman unharmed, then here is what you will do," Mortain yelled. "You will dismount and have horses brought to us. You will allow us to ride to Wareham unhindered."
"Done," said Henry, and told his men to dismount and lead enough horses to the other side of the ford. He translated the terms into English so all could hear them.
"I don't trust you, Henry. You always were a weasel. I will leave two men here with the girl with a dagger to her throat. They will wait until I am miles and miles away, and only then will they release the girl. They also will be allowed to ride away unhindered."
"Done," said Henry, "Mount and be gone. I will expect you in court next week to answer to charges of the rape of another man's wife."
"I look forward to attending," sneered William. "Now tell the bowmen that I am free to go. At the first arrow she dies."
Henry spoke loudly in English to the bowmen, and they all loosened their draw.
Mortain handed Mary and the dagger to a knight. He used the scarf from around her neck to tightly gag her. A second knight stood with a shield protecting the back of the first. The other men left the safety of the wall of horse flesh and walked behind their shields towards the waiting horses. They mounted as Mortain mounted and then they were gone down the Wareham road.
Mary struggled and tried to loosen her gag and tried to yell a warning but only muffled coughing came forth. The knight held her more tightly and told her to settle and be quiet else the knife will cut her.
There was a yell from the rear of Henry's troop and Eustace came running forward while holding onto Raynar’s saddle. Raynar took in the situation as he dismounted. Henry and Eustace were both speaking to him but their words were making no sense to him and he ignored them.
This was like a nightmare returning from Raynar's past to haunt him. A warrior was holding a woman he loved with a dagger at her throat. She had been treated roughly. Another warrior was protecting the first with sword and shield. There was a stand off. Henry's mouth was opening and closing but the sounds were not making any sense.
He felt sick to his stomach as he reached and unhooked his Seljuk bow from the saddle and chose three heavy arrows. He strung the bow and knocked the first arrow and walked towards the swordsman. The whole world seemed to be moving slowly, the sounds were muffled. The only thing that was clear was the look in Mary's eyes. 'Don't move,' he willed her, 'Don't drop. Oh please don't drop.' and then he looked to the sky and preyed silently, 'Oh Anske, see her here and keep her on her feet.'
The knight holding her was a tall man, a full head taller than Mary. But it was no longer Mary, it was Anske, poor lovely Anske, the Angel of Selby. Now one of Freyja's Valkyries.
He did not speak. He did not listen. He did not breath. This recurring nightmare from his past always ended the same way. Anske died. No matter what he did, Anske died. She bled her life out into the mud.
He walked towards the shieldman with the arrow drawn and pointed at his face. The man pulled his shield towards himself to cover more of his heart and thus uncovered more of the man with Anske. With a movement so fast that no one saw it coming, Raynar changed aim and loosed. The arrow split the bridge of the nose and skewered the brain and blew out the skull of the man holding Anske.
The dagger followed the man's hand to the ground. Mary stepped forward away from the knight as soon as she felt his grip soften. She ripped some hairs from her head doing so, and winced, and at the same time she was ripping her scarf down from her mouth so that she could breath.
Eustace ran to her. The swordsman charged Raynar, who was standing in a trance watching Anske walking unhurt into the arms of another man. The heavy sword came down towards Raynar's skull with the power and sureness that only years of practice could make so certain.
The knight waited for the crunch of sword smashing bone. It was a feeling he relished, and he always let the blade follow through so that it would cleave an unarmoured men almost in two. He felt his blade hit but the hit did not feel right. It rang, instead of crunched, and then he saw a thin flash of light and then felt a searing pain across his eyes.
However well aimed the knight's heavy broadsword was, Risto's sword was faster. His light, thin, Salamancan blade was invisible in its speed. It deflected the heavy sword sideways so that it's own momentum made it unbalance the arm and shoulder that wielded it.
Once the heavy sword was out of position, Risto twirled on one leg so that the full weight of his body broke the momentum of his own sword, and stepped into a back swing that slashed his blade across the eyes and forehead of the knight. The knight's shield dropped two feet as he tried to rebalance. His open chest and face were hit by a half dozen heavy arrows. He was thrown into the air by the force of them and was likely dead before he met the ground.
Raynar was still in a trance watching Anske and Eustace. Something was wrong with the dream. She should be on the ground in a pool of her own blood. Risto was shaking him and he turned to look at the smiling face of the master swordsman and he started to gain focus again. Words were beginning to make sense again. The whole world was speeding up and making sense again.
Everyone was talking at once, with happiness and relief and the loss of tension. Mary had to scream to get their attention. "Mortain has tricked you. He has two hundred men at Wareham castle. How far is it to Wareham, a few miles. He will be back with the full force to capture us. These men were to hold me with their daggers until he returned."
The outlaw chief was walking towards Henry and in his hands were two scrolls. He turned and yelled to his men to fetch their horses. "You can take our horses, sire. We will stay here and slow Mortain down and afterwards we will disappear into the forest. You will have enough of a head start for you to reach safety."
Henry looked at the man, and said his thanks.
"Before you go sire, do you have time to sign these for me." He offered Henry the two scrolls. "They are a pardon for all my men. Mortain has refused us the pardon's promised by your charter, and I doubt he will ever give them to us after today's work."
Henry unrolled the scrolls and read the old fashioned writing. "Gladly, but I have no pen."
