by Smith, Skye
"Then the town can bow to him," Robert said as he firmed his jaw, "but my fathers great fortress is impregnable. We can hold out for a year."
"Not by yourself, Robert, and soon you will be the only one left here. Everyone else is packing up and getting out."
"But, but they can't. They can't desert me. I am their duke. Force them to stay."
"Not me, Robert. By the time Henry gets here, I want to be well on my way to Lassy. I'm leaving. Are you coming with me?"
"No. I will not run." Robert said in brave words, but once Enguerran hurried from the room, he lost his courage and began to look for his clothes. "Damn bitches have stolen my britches!"
* * * * *
Henry's scouts were waiting with the greeting party of Caen's wealthiest burghers when Henry arrived. At first the burghers did not realize that he was the king because he was leading a horse, his horse, which was carrying an old woman and two children. Behind Henry was his 'army of thousands', a trudging mass of filthy ragged folk with bundles of whatever they had saved from the great fire of Bayeux.
After the greetings were completed, Henry told the burghers that they would be responsible for sheltering the poor masses that followed him until some of the roofs were rebuilt in Bayeux. The burghers were not pleased. They had made the wrong decision in opening the gates to Henry's army. There was no army.
They were wrong of course. Interspersed with the ragged folk were three hundred English bowmen who were just as ragged as the folk, but still carried their massive bows and still carried more than enough arrows to protect the column. Henry's loyal Normans, especially those from the Cotentin, had been sent to shadow the Manseaux and the Angevins in hopes of hurrying them back to Maine and Anjou. The faster they were out of Normandy the better.
"I leave you in charge of finding billets for these folk," Henry told the burghers, "while I go and speak to my brother in the castle. Please send for the abbots of both of Caen's abbeys. I would speak to them also." With that said he left the column, and guarded by his favourite wolfpack, a wolfpack in which he knew most of the men by name, he marched through the town gate and towards his father's massive fortress.
At the outer gate of the fortress Henry expected to be hailed by the gatekeepers, or by the guard on the wall, but there were neither and no one about to hail him. While he was looking all around and wondering how to proceed, the wolfshead signaled half his men to slip through the gate and climb to scout the battlements so they could keep the king covered.
Henry was about to lead his men towards his mother's palace, but Raynar pulled him back and went first in his stead. In turn, Raynar was pulled back by the wolfshead, who assumed the lead with four scouts with arrows knocked and half drawn. Up above them on the walls, bowmen were moving to stay abreast of them and searching with their eyes for any movement in the grand courtyard.
They entered the palace, and had come the whole way without seeing a soul. Henry called out. No reply. He called out again that no one need be afraid of him so long as they came forward unarmed. An old man called back to him, "Is that you Henry. I haven't seen you since you were a teen."
The old man served as a guide, and as they walked, Henry stared unbelievingly at the emptiness of the rooms. The walls were bare, instead of covered with his mother's fine collection of tapestries and draperies. The statues were gone, as was the furniture, and even his fathers collection of unique weapons that should have been in the great hall. The rooms echoed like a church, empty, cold, and no longer the home of his father's clan.
Upstairs they entered his father's old quarters. Here at least there was furniture and a bed. Two women were waiting for him in the bed, well, waiting for someone.
"Oh," said one of the women, as she grabbed at the linens to clutch them to her sagging breasts, "you aren't Robert."
"Where is Robert?" Henry asked.
"Fled," the old retainer answered. "Out the back gate. His men deserted him. He feared your arrival would cost him his life. He is gone." The old man slapped at the women and told them to get back to the kitchen.
"My God," Henry said soulfully as he sat on the corner of the bed. He wanted to stretch out on the bed, his father's bed, and go to sleep and try to forget this nightmare. "How has it come to this. How has Normandy fallen so far from the grace of God?"
Although Raynar knew that the question was rhetorical, he answered anyway, "This is the inevitable outcome of a culture of masters and slaves, propped up by violence. Eventually the greed of the masters waste everything in the interests of false pride, and what remains is taken by bankers and other vultures."
"Spare me the philosophy lesson, Raynar, and tell me the history of it. Where did my family go so wrong."
"Two things come to mind. The clash of two cultures, one run by rule by might and the other by rule by law, and then of course, the invasion of England trapped Normandy's best men into an endless struggle between the two cultures."
"Too true," reflected Henry with a sigh. "If my father had not invaded England, he would have first become the Count of Flanders, and then the King of France. By now, Normandy would be the center of a great empire, instead of carrion for vultures."
"Perhaps France, but I doubt Flanders. The French share the same manorial culture of feuding lords and rule by might. Look at the problems you just had with the Angevins. Flanders has rule of law, the same as England. The Frisians and Flems would have struggled endlessly, just as the English folk have."
* * * * *
By July the only castle town near on the coastal plain that had not rallied behind Henry was Falaise, and that was only because Duke Robert had taken up residence their. Henry had no stomach for more sieges, not after the unintended consequences of Bayeux. He had met with Robert at the end of May in the village of Cintheaux near Falaise but Robert had been in no mental state for logical negotiations.
Without the knights of Martel and La Fleche, Henry did not have a force strong enough to beat Belleme and Mortain. His time in Normandy had not been wasted however. His peace had been holding since April, and the crops were growing everywhere, and even in Bayeux the folk had returned and there was a building boom funded by Henry's silver.
"So are you going to plead with Martel and La Fleche to return to Normandy so you can finish Belleme?" asked Raynar as they walked the ramparts of Laigle Castle watching the sunset over the River Risle. Henry was here to meet with Anselm, the Archbishop of Canterbury, to discuss who has the right to choose new bishops. Henry's sister, Adela of Blois, had set up the meeting with the help of Ivo of Chartres.
"Never. I was a fool to accept their help in the first place. In any battle, they would have been late to the field to allow Normans to slaughter Normans. I would have weakened my own forces by weakening Bellemes, and then they would have taken Normandy. I cannot fault them in this. In their shoes I would do the same."
"So what now?"
"My Norman knights control the castles and are united by the chance to crush Belleme. They are strong enough to protect the harvest and without hunger there will be peace all winter. I must go back to England and raise an army for an invasion. My second invasion. If I cannot trust the French then I must bring the English here in their stead."
"An army of knights then?"
"Too expensive. Even getting their horses to Normandy would cost a fortune. No, an army of archers. I will need your help. I will need to recruit every archer from the North, and they don't like me."
"They dislike you because you are a Norman. They hate Normans. That said, in truth I think they will rally to you. The invasion will restore their pride. After all, it is the chance to invade Normandy and to kill Normans. Most will see it as a fitting vengeance."
"And that worries me too," Henry said softly. "I do not want them to slaughter the Norman folk as their folk were slaughtered."
"They will not slaughter the folk, but a goodly number of Norman knights may be dropped by arrows."
"That I will not scold them for, so lo
ng as the falling knights are the vicious ones that follow Belleme. I am told that with the battles in the Holy Land now going so badly, the Crusader knights are flocking to his side. He pays them well and allows them the pitiless butchery that is common with all knights who are fighting in Christ's name."
Both men stood in silence as the sun touched the horizon, then Raynar broke the silence by asking, "So how do your discussions go with Anselm?"
"I have lost, but I knew I would loose as soon as Bayeux burned. I need the support of the church if I want to depose Robert, and I knew that Anselm would block that support until I agreed that all churchmen be appointed by the church." Henry reached forward and grabbed at a boy who was racing by them along the parapets. "Go slowly, Stephen," Henry told the lad. "there are women and old men watching the sunset, and I fear you will trip and someone will fall from these walls."
"Aw, uncle," the lad complained, "it's not fair. I was playing up here first." He noticed the old peasant Englishman standing by his uncle and he changed his tone and sneered. "Why is this peasant not bowing to me. I shall cut off his nose for the snub."
"Go and play in the stables," Henry said, smirking. He watched the lad leap down the stone stairs two at a time. "I like that lad."
"Not me," replied Raynar. "He is his father's son, and the count is old style Norman. And by that I mean that he thinks that the only good peasant is a well whipped peasant. I pity Blois if young Stephen there ever becomes Count. And may the fates keep him on this side of the Manche." He turned back to Henry. "So you have agreed with Anselm. I thought as much when I saw his messengers riding out this morning. Messengers to Rome with the good news. Am I right?"
"Yes, messengers to Rome."
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - The Second Invasion by Skye Smith
Chapter 28 - The second invasion of Normandy in September 1106
"Those are not terms I can agree to," replied Duke Robert to King Henry's offer as he tried to remember the bargaining strategy that he and Belleme and Mortain had discussed last night. What was the first counter offer they had decided upon? He must get it right.
"Robert," Henry said softly so that Mortain, who was standing just paces away, would not hear. "If you don't accept then a lot of men will die here today. That would be a tragedy. Accept my offer. Bow to me as your liege lord. Make Normandy a vassal state of England rather than of France. You can remain the duke and spend your life in courtly grandeur while my administrators bring peace to Normandy and make it wealthy again."
Robert's voice was a harsh whisper. "You underestimate Belleme's power and vengeance. I can refuse you and die in glorious battle, or accept you and end my days on one of his impaling hooks."
"My army will protect you. They have come from Cornwall, Cotentin, the Vexin, Anjou and Bretagne, with one mutual interest. To stop Belleme and Mortain. They do not blame you for being too weak to stop those demons. They all fear them too. Once Belleme is sent back to hell, you will be forgiven. Completely forgiven."
Robert looked nervously over at Mortain. Had he heard? No he wasn't paying attention. He was fidgeting nervously and not taking his eyes off Edith's champion, the peasant Raynar. Another one of the English administrators that Henry had raised up out of the dust, choosing competence over breeding. He remembered what he had been told to say, "We are prepared for a long siege at Tinchebray. If you want an open battle instead then you must swear that you will not use your English archers. They must withdraw from the battlefield."
Henry was expecting this. Any advantage that Robert had was all to do with cavalry. Belleme had hired Norman knights returning from the Italies and the Holy Land. Henry, meanwhile, was relying on the cavalry from Maine and Bretagne to support him in battle. Unfortunately both sides knew that Henry's cavalry commanders, Le Fleche of Le Mans and Alan the Breton, would hold back and allow Normans to slaughter Normans for as long as possible before they themselves joined the battle.
Mortain and Belleme had enough horses to mount every one of their fighting men, whereas without the Manseaux and Bretons, Henry had few horses and fewer mounted warriors. Worse, most of his Norman knights were men like the Warrenes who had switched sides between Robert and he, some of them more than once. The only men on the field that he could rely on absolutely were his four thousand English bowmen, and the dribs and drabs of survivors from Mortains ravaging of the Cotentin and Avranches.
Henry looked first at his general Meulan, and then at his wife's man Raynar. Both of them were shaking their heads. "Alright," Henry spoke out so everyone around could hear. "My English archers will withdraw from the battlefield, but only if your knights all fight on foot. No cavalry charges. None."
Mortain nodded to Robert but kept his distance. He didn't want to come within twenty feet of Edith's man Raynar. "Accept these terms Robert, though under the Papal decree Henry would be excommunicated in any case, if he ordered his archers to kill knights. Otherwise standard rules of engagement. Noble against noble, knight against knight, peasant against peasant. Like weapon against like weapon, and no blows after a man resigns."
Henry agreed to the terms, only slightly distracted by Raynar as the old Englishman stomped off in anger away from the parley.
Raynar stomped all the way to the right flank where the English bowmen were squatting patiently in the long grass waiting for the nobs to finish their parley. A man wearing a white silk scarf around his neck, his only badge of office, called out to him. "Yo, Ray, what's the word?" The men around him stilled like hunters listening for game.
"They've decided that archers aren't welcome on this field," Raynar growled. "We can't use bows, and they can't use horses."
"Fine by me. Let the shieldmen do some fighting for a change. Do we wait for official orders or should we start walking over to the trees and off the field?"
"Tell the rank and file to start walking," Raynar replied, "but I want the skirmishers to gather around me, at least three wolfpacks worth."
At a nod from the wolfshead in the white scarf, a lad of about sixteen stood up and put two fingers into his mouth and let go an ear piercing whistle. It was the signal to listen up and pay attention. The word passed through the ranks and the men stood up from their farmer's squat and stretched out their legs and then shouldered their archer's pack-baskets and began to walk towards the far woods and off the battlefield.
Thousands of men were now on the move. Each was dressed in a Norse style brynja, a felted sheepskin vest with metal rings sewn into it. Each was carrying a yew selfbow, and a tall, narrow basket-weave backpack, which was all they carried to shield themselves from sword slashes and arrow points. A hundred men did not stand, did not move. They waited patiently for the youngsters to move on.
Those remaining seemed to be relaxed, but their eyes kept track of every movement on the battlefield that stretched between them and the castle in the distance. They were expert hunters every one, and over the years each of them had hunted the most vicious animals of all. Norman knights.
"S'up, Ray?" asked a man with one ear as he turned his remaining ear to hear the response.
"The rules of engagement are that we can't use archers and they can't mount their knights."
"What's bloody Henry thinking. Why doesn't he just get on with it and slaughter the fuckers?"
"It was the only way to bring them out of the castle," replied Raynar. "The siege isn't working, and they can outlast him. Henry needs to beat them before the winter weather closes in, and before there is any treachery from the Norman nobles that keep changing sides."
"So what do you want us to do?" asked a man who was cleaning his nails with the point of his Valkyrie knife. In truth just a fish filleting knife that could be found in most women's kitchens, but long, thin, and razor sharp.
"Hang out somewhere behind Henry's command post and wait for the cavalry charge."
The man stopped cleaning his nail and gave old Ray a hard stare. "Didn't you say they can't mount their kni
ghts?"
"You're from Cornwall. Would you trust the word of Mortain, the ex-earl of Cornwall?"
"Not effing likely. So, a surprise charge then. Into a flank, d'ya think, or into the center?"
"Center," replied Raynar. "A column charge aimed directly at Henry's command post. If they kill or capture Henry and Meulan, then they win everything, and England goes back to the bad old days of Norman slave masters. That means they will line up their infantry and march them towards the center of our line, but just short of our line they will wheel towards our flanks. As soon as the gap opens in the center of their line, their knights will charge through. They will have only one chance at this, so there will be a lot of them."
"So since we are not even supposed to be on the field, do we have any special rules of engagement?" asked one-ear.
"Skirmisher rules. Kill the leaders first. Oh, and by the way, you are not allowed to target men. Pope's rules. Horses only. After all, it will be hard for them to complain to the Pope about us killing their horses, since there weren't supposed to be any horses on the field."
* * * * *
"They aren't supposed to be on the field," Henry hissed at Raynar as he motioned towards the three wolfpacks of hard men, one time outlaws, who were sitting patiently in the sunshine behind his corps of messengers.
"They are extra messengers, nothing more," Raynar replied with a smile as he looked at the difference between his calm hardened hoodsmen and the gaggle of exited teen messengers.
Henry didn't have time to argue. Robert's infantry were on the march towards them. There were orders still to send out, and so he climbed up the steps to the bed of the cart-platform to stand beside his general Meulan. From the extra height of the cart they had a good view all around.
Meulan was grumbling. "There are more men not fighting in this battle than are fighting. Our archers, their cavalry, the Manseaux, the Bretons, all of them circling around somewhere out of sight. I don't like it. I don't see any knights with that first line of Robert's infantry."
