Hoodsman: The Second Invasion

by Smith, Skye

  "You see," she said, "the long back means that Sleepy is not a good saddle horse, but for occasional races there is nothing that can beat him over smooth ground. He is trained to both saddle and cart. Now say thank you."

  Raynar gave her a hug and a kiss and a thank you but looked nervously over at the ridiculously out of proportion horse. Would he ever have the nerve to lay flat along the back as Lucy had done. Obviously that was to distribute the weight so the stallions back could work its trick. No matter. For most of the miles he would be logging, Sleepy would be drawing a light cart.

  * * * * *

  The betrothal negotiations at Lincoln Castle with Ivo Taillebois were almost humourous. Though Raynar was dressed as a peasant and was riding Sleepy, his ships crew had ridden along as an escort and they were neatly groomed in Judith’s livery. Each rode one of the black horses with the flag tails that had made the Frisians of the Fens so famous as horse breeders.

  At Lincoln they kept to the low land and circled the walled town above them on the hill to gain the back gate of the castle. The awed reaction of the gatekeepers made it obvious what a clash of cultures this was. In Norman culture the captains and knights rode expensive horses as a matter of pride, while their men at arms rode the best mounts they could buy or steal. The Frisian captain that had hailed them was riding a butt ugly farm nag, while his men at arms rode horses fit for Earls.

  Not only that, but for months no Norman had ventured out from the castle mounted on a fine horse for fear of having it stolen or killed from under them. Yet these Frisians had just ridden the length of Lincolnshire with no problem on horses that would catch every horse thief’s eye. The gatekeepers were even more shocked when they listened to the banter between the peasant captain and Lord Sheriff Ivo. Ivo had been offered a young wife of noble blood along with a king's ransom of lands and villages so long as he came to live on them, and the fool Ivo had refused the offer.

  * * * * *

  Once the Huntingdon wolfpack heard their brother hoodsman's signals called out from the trees at the entrance to Sherwood Forest about ten miles north of Nottingham, they knew that their escort duties were finished. Nothing could harm their captain now that he was within Sherwood. The Sherwood Hood would make sure of that.

  They spent one last night camped with him in one of the Hood's outer camps. This was not just to say their fare-thee-wells to their captain, but also to trade stories with the Sherwood brethren. The brothers told them of the great changes in Sherwood over the past year. With the Norman garrison keeping to Nottingham castle, and only venturing out to forage, the outlaws and runaway serfs that used to hide in the forest were now back under their clan's roofs in their own villages.

  Every day, however, the brethren would take turns watching the highways through Sherwood to make sure that the Normans continued to be docile. They had told the Sheriff straight up that they would not harm any of his men so long as those men harmed none of the folk, and so long as his men foraged on foot, or in ox carts, and not mounted.

  The next day, with his crew riding the shortest route back to Huntingdon, Raynar set off alone across the width of the great forest and towards the Peaks of Derbyshire. Now out of sight of the expert riders of his crew, and with a wide soft forest path stretching out in front of him, he made his first attempt at running Sleepy.

  Stretching his weight out along the back took a little getting used to, since you could practice it at a walk or at a gallop but not at a trot. Eventually after some near falls, he sucked up his courage and gave the horse his head, and then hung on to the coarse mane for dear life. This horse was frighteningly fast, especially as the prone riding position seemed so precarious.

  Once he left the other side of Sherwood Forest there were a few open miles of ancient fields and villages before he would reach the Peaks Forest and the high country. It was beginning to feel so familiar. This was his home turf, where he had grown up. Where he had earned his crust as a porter carrying lead ore down from the high mines.

  He saw a handful of riders about the same time as they saw him. He couldn't tell if they were English or Norman, but since they were mounted he assumed they were English. The Sherwood hood had assured him that the Normans rarely risked the theft of there few remaining horses anymore so he continued on his way. When he got closer and realized they were Normans, he changed course slightly by turning off the cartway and onto a well used bridle path. The Normans turned to intercept him. They were about to block him off from the forest which was still a half a mile away.

  He urged Sleepy up to a run, and then laid out along his back as he had practiced and then gave him his head. The burst of speed took them safely beyond the Normans interception point, but they did not give up, and instead chased along behind him. Sleepy easily stayed in front all the way to the first trees of the forest, but then the bridle path turned into not much more than a game path, and so he had to slow right down and sit up in the saddle. The Norman's didn't slow.

  With the loss of the good trail, he had lost the advantage of Sleepy's strange gait. Lucy had warned him about this. Sleepy was unbeatable in a straight line race on a soft surface, but was weak when it came to fast turns and broken surfaces. He was losing ground to the pursuit. And then, for no reason, the Normans stopped. At first he thought they had given up, or just did not want to enter the forest, but then, with a longer look he saw that they were raising their hands up over their heads.

  That could only mean one thing, archers in the forest. He slowed the horse to a stop and then turned it clumsily on the narrow trail and backtracked for a closer look. As he watched, the Normans dismounted and then tied their horses to the nearby bushed. He was now close enough to hear what was being called to them in broken French.

  "We warned your sheriff that there is hoof and mouth disease in this forest. Didn't he warn you, or are you just stupid. Now we cannot allow you to ride these horses back through the farmland. You will have to walk."

  Sure enough, as he watched the Normans removed their saddles and began the long march back to Nottingham with the clumsy loads over their own shoulders. Curse the luck. That meant that he could not continue with Sleepy either. There was no surer way of spreading that most foul of animal diseases than by traveling with a grass eating animal. He rode up to where the other horses were tied, and dismounted and tied Sleepy beside them. With a pat on the neck he said goodbye to his gift from Lucy. Said goodbye to his new friend.

  "Whatsup," said a gruff voice from behind him, spiced with the familiar Peaks drawl.

  "Just saying good by before you do for these horses. Will you bury them, or burn them? I suppose it's not worth the risk to butcher them."

  "Shite man. You didn't believe what I told those Normans did you. That is just the excuse we use to take their horses away from them. No sane man will risk spreading the hoof and mouth, not even the Sheriff."

  "You mean..."

  "Aye, I do mean. This is sneak thievery. You however, can keep that nag of yours. We've got enough meat for the pot for now, and better horses than that nag pull our ploughs. That is, unless your are carrying chains of gold in your saddle roll."

  It was a typical Hoodsman's signal of recognition. Raynar smiled. He was amongst brothers. He may even know some of them. "I'm in search of a wee man in a smithy's apron by the name of John. Do you know his where abouts?"

  "Aye, I do, for he is staying with my kinswoman," the man replied. "And I recognize you Ray Porter, so why don't you recognize me." With that the man pulled back his deep hood and cast his face to the sun.

  "Wait, wait," Raynar said walking closer to the youngster and staring hard at his face. "You are the spitting image of.... but no. His hair was robin red, and yours is dark."

  "Aye, it's me Ray. Robin of Loxley. John and Marion are at my house. Come, I'll take you."

  "But your hair."

  "It made me too easy to recognize. The women dye it dark for me. Look's good eh. When I shave I look like a Norma..." He didn't finish becau
se Raynar was all over him, hugging the breath out of him.

  * * * * *

  The manor at Loxley was still a Daneglish house with a large thatch roof and low ceilings. John stayed sitting on a bench because it was easier to sit than to endlessly stoop. All the women of the household, save Marion who stood with Raynar's arm around her, had been told to find something to do outside.

  Robin leaned against the main post of the house with a toothy smile on his face. This was the first time that all four of them had been together in one place since the day seven years ago when John had taken Marion south and out of reach of the Norman knight who wanted to wed and bed her for her estates. He was now almost nineteen, so that made Marion about twenty four, and John and Ray about thirty five.

  "So what you are asking," mumbled John, "is that I go back to running a carting business in Wessex so that we have spies there."

  "Not you John," Raynar told him, "You are too noticeable. I need any and all of our carters who know the Wessex highways and speak a bit of French."

  "So you are going to Wessex to set that up instead of me?"

  "I'll be on my way as soon as you loan me a small fast cart to match my small fast horse."

  "There's no coin in carting in Wessex anymore," Marion piped up. "There's nothing being built, no fat purses to buy market goods, no harvests being sold by landlords to townsfolk. The towns of Wessex are dying, and it was the towns that kept our carts busy."

  "I don't care if there is coin in it. We need to know what is going on. Right now everything we know is from the few ships from Montreuil that are calling in at Wessex ports looking for cargo. They are just barely paying their way by carrying passengers over to Normandy, but pay or not, they need to use those ports to keep watch. Inland we have nothing."

  "What passengers?" John asked thoughtfully. "I mean, if there are passengers for the ships then there may be passengers for the carts."

  "Umm, mostly Normans returning to Normandy. But that is a good thought. If they are catching ships then they won't want to ride their own horses or carts. They will need a ride." Raynar also went quiet and thoughtful.

  "Passengers want to travel in horse carts not ox carts," John told them. "They want a faster, more comfortable ride. Right, so be it. We'll rebuild some of our carts with lighter decks and lighter wheels and with sprung seats for passengers. It will take a while."

  "I need one now, John."

  "Ray, you are just like the Normans," John scolded him. "Always in a hurry. There is more to life than going faster you know."

  Robin straightened himself and spoke carefully. "This peace we have now is because there is no army anywhere in the kingdom. It's as John says. Things have slowed down and folk are leaving the towns and going back to their villages and farms. Life is good on the farms right now, because no army or Earl or Jarl is robbing the farmers. The brothers here in the Peaks don't want Canute to invade. Any army, even a friendly army, would end this peace."

  "Aye," Marion agreed. "If all this spying in Wessex helps armies and fleets, then I am against it."

  "Even if it means that we still have a Norman king, and Norman bishops and earls?" Raynar asked her, them.

  "Hah, what does it matter who calls themselves king or bishop or earl, if there are no armies. Without armies," Robin pointed to the long bows hung by the front door, "it is English bows that rule the farms and the roads and keep the Norman lords out of the saddle. The English bows are why the moot courts have been set up again to decide arguements, and it is the moot courts that mean that feuds are settled rather than fought"

  Raynar smiled at the thought but did not mention that they were Welsh bows, not English ones. He was too glad that Robin was speaking his own mind to sidetrack him. "I agree. England is learning what the south of France learned, that villages and towns are better off ruling themselves than being ruled by distant kings and their barons. Certainly the taxes are less.

  Still, this doesn't change that we need watchers in Wessex. We need to know what is happening with the farm folk and the landlords, and especially we need to know as soon as the Normans begin returning from Normandy."

  "Right then," John cut them short. They had talked enough and daylight was wasting. "I will have some of the brothers convert their carts and take them south. They will be based in London and will roll the inland highways to Winchester, and the coastal highways through Kent to Winchester. Meanwhile the brothers who know no French will help me set up a few bowyer works for more bows, points and arrows."

  As usual John had gone straight to the heart of the matter and no one argued with his plan. "Ray, as for a cart for you, we will go and borrow Prior Tucker's. After you've rested a few days, and perhaps taken a hike up to Castleton, we'll ride together to Repton Abbey."

  "Where the hell is Castleton?" Raynar asked.

  "Ach, you have been away a long time," Robin laughed. "That is what they call Pechesers, you know, Peaks Arse, now that Sheriff Peverel has built a castle there. He didn't like the name Peaks Arse, and the miners didn't like the name Peverelham, so the locals keep the peace by calling it Castleton."

  * * * * *

  "Peverel is a fool, a brutal fool," Prior Tucker spoke quietly to the two big hoodsmen. "He builds his castle at Peaks Arse to control the pass and the mines, right when there is no market for lead. Well, at least the miners earned some bread from building his walls, because it certainly isn't worth working the mines. The best of the miners, the Welsh, have now gone back to Powys because of him."

  "So is that a yes or a no?" Raynar asked. "May I borrow your cart?"

  "It is a yes, but only if while you are in Wessex you visit each abbey and minster along your way and tell them of our new prices for rolled lead." Tucker smiled. With the mines shut down he had little use for his personal cart right now anyway. "I will give you a letter of introduction to carry. It will be enough to assure you a meal and a safe bed each night."

  Raynar did not insult his old friend and mentor Tucker by telling him that he had just suffered through almost a year of hard beds and thin gruel as a pilgrim and as a pope's messenger, and was not likely to be asking for such things from a holy house. He did mention to the good monk that he had met with Pope Gregory, though briefly.

  "Oh yes," Tucker whispered, "well at least the man was trained in a monastery, and that alone makes him one of the better Popes we have had. Were you impressed by his holiness?"

  "Ugh, not at all," Raynar replied. "He was just another regent bishop like Odo. Ruthless and too full of himself. Umm, so if Odo robbed you of your gold relics, and if selling lead is no longer filling the abbey treasury with coin, how is it that you still seem so prosperous here at the abbey?"

  "Ah, because of the new business in land trusts. You see, landlords who leave their estates, for instance to go to the Italies, or to Normandy, tend to lose their land to taxes, or to English squatters. Instead they give it in trust to a monastery and the monastery runs it to pay the taxes, and makes good use of the land so that it does not revert to in-common. When the lords return, the trust is cancelled."

  "And if they don't return?"

  "You mean if none of their heirs return, well for each year after the first seven, a tenth of the trust becomes the monastery’s. It promises to be a very profitable endeavor for us, over time you know, over time. The abbey holdings will become huge over time."

  "But that just cheats the villages out of their future supply of in-common land," John exclaimed. "That cannot be legal."

  "I think John means ethical," Raynar grumbled. He had learned long ago not to expect ethics in church business, especially not when there were estates involved.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - The Second Invasion by Skye Smith

  Chapter 12 - Spy master of England in the summer of 1083

  Tucker's small cart was a perfect match to Sleepy. John had created the cart for Tucker out of a small Welsh pony cart after the good prior had hurt his back i
n a fall. The wheels were light, the hubs were greased metal cones, the single axle was mounted with leathers to absorb the hardest jogs of potholes, and the two bench seats were sprung with bowed yew staffs.

  The sorry state of English roads kept carts moving slowly. Pot holes, roots, washouts and loose cobles cost many a hurrying carter a wheel or an axle or a back. In this little cart, Raynar could easily travel twice the speed of a horse drawn freight cart, and six times the speed of any ox cart. Sleepy was much happier drawing a cart, than walking with a man's weight pressing down on his long back.

  Occasionally they came to a stretch of road cushioned with tree needles and leaf mulch and Sleepy would glance back at him as if to say, "Well, should I run?" and run he did. The queer looking horse ran faster with the cart than with a saddle. Raynar even learned to move his own weight to the rear bench seat to put his weight over the axle, and thereby lift his weight from the pulling shafts.

  Such soft roadbeds were rare however, especially ones with no other traffic on them. More than once they were yelled at to slow down, and to not be so reckless, and to have a thought to the safety of others. They were right of course. At such speeds all it would take would be one hidden pothole or one swerve around a child to launch them off the road to a certain maiming.

  * * * * *

  For three months Raynar traveled a circuit first along the Thames to London, then down to Canterbury, then along the coast to Chichester and to Winchester, and then back to the Thames and London. His aim was to carry passengers, not for the fare, but for the gossip. It was from the officers of abbeys, and minsters, and from his wide assortment of Norman passengers that he gathered gossip and pieced it together into news about what was happening in Wessex and in Normandy.