by Smith, Skye
She had the decency to blush, but that did not prove her virginity. "I have just ridden here from our castle at Montfort. It is not far."
"How did you get passed the palace guard, especially Gesa's Frisian guards?"
"They know me. I am a lady in waiting, that is, when war is not threatened. They never stop us and never tell if they see us scurrying late at night."
"I think I can help you," he said as he lay back down and stopped looking at the beauty and tried thinking of blood and gore instead. Anything to stop his cock from twitching under the summer linens. "But not until the morning. There is a maid's bed in the corner. Sleep there for the night and we will talk in the morning."
She curtseyed, and then floated over to the small bed and began to undress. The candle she had placed on the floor beside her bed allowed him the full show. Did she do that on purpose? She was of prime breeding age for a noblewoman, perhaps seventeen. Of course she did it on purpose.
As he closed his eyes he remembered the purple and orange standard. Her father was dead. Perhaps the first man killed by Garth. But why was a king's man with a castle so close to Paris, riding with the Normans? She was in trouble. Her entire family was in trouble. This news in Philip's ear could be the undoing of them, the death of them even.
* * * * *
For two days Gesa nursed Raynar until he was recovered enough to stand and walk unassisted. She was quite happy to have recruited a new spy, especially one so deliciously lovely as Bertrade de Montfort, and so pliable. That was the cost of keeping your secrets at this French court. You had to search out and feed other secrets to Mistress Gesa, the grande courtesan.
It was on the third morning of the bruised battle hero being pampered with sleeping in a glorious bed, that an urgent courier arrived from Rouen from Robert for Gesa. His father was very ill. Some of the physicians thought he was improving, but the Conqueror was absolutely sure that he would die unless Gesa came to him.
There were three very official looking scrolls delivered with the message. The first was a Ducal passport in her name demanding that every lord and churchman in Normandy assist her in her every endeavour. The second was a full king's pardon for Edgar Aetheling, freeing him and allowing him to once again live in England on any estate that was his prior to 1066. The third was the same pardon for Morcar Aelfgarson.
Gesa showed all of the writings to Raynar first, but his only comment was his joy that Edgar Aetheling must have now returned to Normandy from Italy.
She could not keep the writings from Philip, not since they included a comment from Robert that the great Norman army was already breaking apart. The prospect of looting the rich city of Paris was fading as now France had more time to prepare for their attack. The rich loot of Paris, was now weighed against a possible mauling by Le Rechin Fulk, who had a well earned reputation for mauling invading armies.
At Raynar's suggestion the news from Rouen was sent on to Flanders, and these couriers took messages from Raynar as well. Two days later, Philip, well protected by the Palace's Frisian guard, rode out towards Mantes to inspect the extent of the devastation and to confer with Fulk. With him rode Raynar, Gesa, and the young and lovely Bertrade.
Bertrade had come supposedly to find her father's remains, but really to convince Fulk that his official reports must say that her father had been killed while fighting the Normans, and not the other way around. There was no doubt at all that she would be successful in her first mission as Gesa's spy. Fulk had an eye for young women, and fancied himself a seducer. All Bertrade need do is to refuse him until his report was worded correctly and delivered.
Philip had planned to stay a while in Mantes to be seen by the army and with Fulk. The Paris garrison had ridden out with Fulk's army, and eventually they would ride back to Paris with Philip. This allowed Philip to furlough the Palace's Frisian guards to keep Gesa safe on her journey to Normandy. Of course, Raynar was also accompanying her.
Convincing Gesa to go to Normandy had taken some doing. Her first reaction was, "Let the vicious Bastard die. His priests burned my mother as a witch. I have saved him already once, and for what, so that he could slaughter more of my folk."
"Calm yourself Gesa." Raynar had told her. "We will tell everyone that you are going to minister to the Conqueror, but that is not where I am taking you. We are bound for Caen, or rather a fortified manor just inland from Caen. The place where Morcar and Edgar are under house arrest. Armed with your passport, and their pardons, we are going to spring them loose."
"And then what? The Conqueror will know of it before we can get back across Normandy to France. They will catch us. The wrath of the Conqueror at such a betrayal will cost us our lives."
"Ahh," Raynar had soothed her. "It is but an hours ride from that manor to the fishing village that guards the river mouth that leads to Caen. I sent urgent messages to Flanders, remember. There will be a ship waiting for us, waiting to take Morcar and Edgar to England, and us all beyond the Conqueror's grasp."
* * * * *
Gesa's passport had worked like magic to get them safely across Normandy, though they spent their nights in church houses rather than lord's castles, just because they did not trust the lords of Normandy. Not right now. Not when it was rumoured that the Conqueror was dying. In Normandy when a liege lord died, all agreements with him, oaths to him, and honors from him, die with him.
It didn't hurt that they had a wolfpack as an escort to protect them against brigands and robber barons, even though it was the best dressed wolfpack on the planet for they still wore their Palace fancies. Their scouts occasionally saw men trailing them, but a few warning arrows always put a stop to that kind of nonsense.
Raynar had no trouble finding the manor house where Edgar and Morcar had lived in comfort off and on for fifteen years. Back in '82 when he had played the part of the Pope's esteemed messenger, he himself had been kept there for a summer. They arrived at the manor, presented the passport and the pardons to the warden there, and as soon as Edgar and Morcar had packed their essentials, they were away.
As it turned out, they couldn't be out of Normandy fast enough. William the Conqueror had died the night before, September ninth, and Normandy had immediately gone into a state of fortified warlordism. The Conqueror's dying wish that his son Robert become the Duke of Normandy, and his son William be crowned as the King of the English, and his church trained son Henry was to receive his mothers dowry with which to buy a bishop's throne. Of course, these were just the words of a dying man. It was up to the Norman nobles and barons to make them come true, or not.
They first heard this news as they rode warily and skirted William's great fortress that overshadowed Caen and the river. The gossip was that every Norman baron had been at his deathbed hoping for grand gestures. His only gesture was his bequeathment to his sons, and his order to release all of his political prisoners. The moment he was declared dead, the barons all deserted the corpse and rode hell bent for leather to claim as many estates and castles as they could so that they would have a greater say in the succession.
The good news was that now it was public knowledge that Edgar and Morcar had been set free, so they needn't ride in disguise. The bad news was that this same proclamation freed the Conqueror's half brother, the odious Odo, Bishop of Bayeux.
It was with great relief that they found two ships from Flanders unloading a cargo of furs at the docks. It was with greater relief that Raynar knew both captains. It was with joyous relief that the ships did not even finish unloading, or wait to be paid for the cargo already unloaded, before the captains welcomed the thirty four passengers on board, slipped their lines and rowed at double time out to sea.
Two miles off the coast they were joined by six other ships, an escort led by Hereward himself, despite his renown seasickness. With William the King of the English now dead, Edgar had a stronger legal claim to the throne than did either of the Conqueror's sons, or Odo the long time regent of England. With the Conqueror dead, under Norman Feudal l
aw the honors he had given out had to be renewed to the new king. This included the earldoms. Morcar had a stronger legal right to Mercia and Northumbria than anyone currently in England, and Edgar had a stronger legal right to Wessex.
While Hereward traded news with Edgar and Morcar, Gesa stood beside Raynar on the steering deck of their ship, and felt his joy. They had survived the Norman Conquest, and that conquest was now over. The English could now rise behind Edgar and Morcar, and with the help of every fleet on the North Sea, take back England for the English. The Norman rule of England was soon to be finished, and those Normans that did not want to live under and English style rule of law, and under the English King Edgar, would be banished.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - The Second Invasion by Skye Smith
Chapter 32 - Battle of Tinchebray in September 1106
"Friend," Raynar replied in Welsh to the sentry's question. "I have come to speak with your Duke." As he expected, speaking to the sentry in Welsh got him better treatment from the Breton sentries than speaking in French or English would have. "Can you provide an escort to see me safely to him."
The sentry laughed. As if a Welshman would be allowed within their camp without an escort. He was probably here to see if there were any unguarded horses to steal. He barked some orders to a group of men sitting beneath an apple tree eating apples.
The Breton camp was on full alert. There was, after all, a huge battle going on just over the next rise of land. The horses were all saddled, and weapons hung from each saddle. Duke Alan was standing on a hillock watching the battle from a safe distance. From the hillock he could see Henry's army and the middle of the battlefield, but not the castle end and not Robert's army unless it was attacking Henry.
The sentries were leading a man up the hillock who was dressed as a hunter, but wearing a rich cloak. It wasn't until the hunter was almost to the top that Alan recognized him. It was the English ship's captain, Raynar. The man who had rescued him from a deadly trap near Mount Saint Michelle only last fall. "English, I welcome you," he called out.
"Your grace," Raynar called back. "How is the view from the top." He stopped and gained his breath for a moment before continuing. He was too old for all of this exercise.
"It is good. Come up and see." Alan grasped Raynar's arm in a warrior welcome. "I saw that cavalry charge. It was a surprise, eh. There were supposed to be no cavalry. That is why my men are here and not on the battlefield."
"Oh," said Raynar, now lowering his tone to just above a whisper. "I thought you were here waiting for the two brothers to slaughter each other's armies so that you could ride down at the end and choose the winner?"
Alan guffawed aloud. He liked this English captain. He always spoke his mind. "May your lovers bear you many lambs, English, for maligning my concern for Henry's wellbeing."
"Bah, you aren't giving a rat's fart to help Henry. You are here only to make sure that Belleme is not the next Duke of Normandy."
"Crudely said," replied Alan, "but not a lie."
"I need your help."
"I am busy. Perhaps another day."
"You owe me," said Raynar, louder now so that the Dukes captains could hear.
"Yes I do, English, but not today. Today I am trying to keep my men alive as long as possible."
"What if the help I need from you is to ask you not to fight. What if all I want is for you to tease your greatest enemy into chasing you?" At his words, Raynar could see the men all around him become interested and begin moving closer to hear. Alan nodded to him to continue.
"You just saw Mortain's treachery. A full cavalry charge in an attempt to kill Henry and his generals. Mortain and his men are now on foot and will fight according to the terms. Of Belleme there is no sign and no word. I expect the worst of the man. I always expect the worst of that man. I expect that once the two main armies are locked in combat, Belleme will sally forth with his knights and cavalry and outflank Henry. Again, totally against the terms of engagement."
"If I were Belleme," replied Alan thoughtfully, "that is what I would do. Belleme is playing the same game as me, and as La Fleche over on the other side of the valley. He is safely waiting on the sidelines until he can choose the winner."
"But that way means that Henry looses and Belleme wins. That would be very bad for you and Bretagne. If, however, you can get Belleme's cavalry to give chase to your cavalry, it will give Henry the time he needs to win the battle."
"And how do you propose that I do that?" asked Alan, though he knew the answer. It was obvious.
"Break the rules of engagement and charge your cavalry at the rear of Robert's army. You do not need to fight, just charge. Belleme is in charge of Robert's reserve. When he sees you charging he must break cover and chase you away, otherwise the battle will be lost."
Alan looked around at his captains. They were all nodding. Bretons used light cavalry. Normans used heavy cavalry. In a chase there was no contest. The Bretons would easily outdistance Belleme's cavalry. Other than the normal number of riding accidents, there would be no losses from this plan. Alan shook his head no.
"Alan, don't be so quick to say no. What if I could turn the chase into an ambush and slaughter Belleme's cavalry?"
Alan's eyes lit up. "If you can ambush Belleme, I will build a church in your name."
"Do you see that woods to the south of the battlefield. There is a cartway through it at this end. Once Belleme is chasing you, escape the battlefield along that cartway. There are four thousand English archers in those woods."
Alan's eyes were now gleaming. "Done English. We will lead Belleme into that ambush, and you will kill them all, and then I won't owe you."
"There was some mention of a church," Raynar laughed, suddenly relieved. This day was going to end well after all.
"I thought I promised a cross. I was sure I said cross. A stone cross in a market place."
"A gold cross for the man who kills Belleme. To save is soul for killing such a good Christian."
Now all the men around were laughing, and yelling orders, and men all around the hillock were rising and making for their horses. Raynar walked down the hillock with the captains, and when he reached his own horse he turned to Alan, who was still at the top and called out. "Give me time to reach the woods before you fart in Belleme's face."
* * * * *
By the time Raynar found the King's archer captains in the woods, the battle was in full roar. The first two lines of both armies were in full combat, mostly man on man, hand to hand combat. The captains were quick to understand the plan and rallied their archers to draw backwards away from the view and to stay hidden in the woods, and then they moved fully half of them to line the cartway that spit the woods in two.
The archers had barely gotten into position when the thunder of hooves changed the sounds of the battle. The Breton light cavalry, lead personally by their duke were cantering onto the castle end of the battlefield. Once they had grouped on the field, they paused for a few moments, probably to give Belleme's watcher time to report their movement.
If their aim was to change the battle with a surprise attack on the rear of Robert's army, they would not have paused. The effect on Robert's army, however, was the same. Men were turning away from the main battle to face the Bretons. This immediately gave an advantage to Henry's men, who surged forward.
Alan flourished his sword and charged towards the battle with his Bretons, and they were not quiet about it. This was no sneak surprise attack. They wanted to be noticed. Raynar watched the open land around the castle, watched it like a hawk. Where was Belleme. He should have mounted and have been on the field by now.
Alan had been overtaken by youngsters wanting to make a name for themselves, and he allowed that. He was slowed because he kept turning in the saddle to see where the hell Belleme was. They were almost at the battle lines and there was still no sign of him.
To the rear of any army in battle were the support men. Wate
r carriers. Weapons carriers. The wounded. The weak of heart. The nobles with skin too valuable to be wasted on the front line. Alan's youngsters were now amongst them, trying to get any of them to stand and fight. None did. They were running.
The one thing every hoodsman is trained to do, is never to turn your back to a horse. Your final defense in fighting a mounted man is to be able to duck and dodge out of the horses way. You can't do that unless you are facing it. These men, even the nobles, were too stupid to know that. They were running away from the Breton cavalry.
There is nothing that cavalry is better at doing than scything down men who are running away from them. Now that was exactly what the Breton cavalry began doing. There was still no sign of Belleme. Belleme the Impaler was allowing this slaughter. The madman. The bastard. He was allowing this.
Even though Belleme did not send in the reserves, Henry did. Roberts army was being splintered and given the chase. The reserves were not sent in to help with the fighting, but to stop men from escaping capture. As soon as Raynar saw what the reserves were doing, he yelled to the archer captains, and four thousand Englishmen ran onto the field to surround the entire battle. They were yelling "cease" over and over again in three different languages, all of them with arrows knocked as a threat.
The message finally got through and men on both sides stopped swinging their weapons and stopped fighting. The battle was over. Robert and his Normans had lost. There was nowhere to run to, no where to escape to. No one could outrun an arrow. The English archers were between the battle and the castle. The Breton cavalry was between the archers and the castle. There was still no sign of Belleme the Impaler and his reserves.
Raynar left the captains and the archers with orders to keep the peace, and rode through the middle of the battlefield towards Henry and Meulan who themselves were riding into the middle, but behind a phalanx of hoodsmen. He heard his name called and stopped his horse and looked around.
He wanted to puke. Battlefields always effected him like this after the fighting was finished. There was always so much blood, so much gore, so many hewn bodies, so many calls for help, so many screams of anguish, so many unseeing eyes.
