Hoodsman: Hunting Kings

by Smith, Skye

  William split his army into two parts and one part had raced forward and taken Winchester. William was now calling himself the Earl of Wessex, replacing the dead king in name and in estates. This did not surprise anyone, as the boy king Edgar was keeping his army north of the river to keep London safe.

  One day there was the disturbing news that Edgar’s army had stopped shadowing William's army along the north bank of the Thames. This news raised some eyebrows as it swept through the town. When Raynar told this news over ale in the guardhouse, he was not given time to drink his ale before he was hurried under guard to the Shirereeve's town house.

  Shirereeve Wigod welcomed him, and took him deeper into his house, to a room that could only be called the armoury. There was a crude but complete map of Oxfordshire on the wall, and another of the river Thames. Raynar immediately walked to the maps and began to memorize them.

  The Shirereeve was amazed. Usually the peasant folk that he brought into this room were drawn to the weapons. What was even more amazing was that this peasant boatman obviously knew how to read a map. A boatman who could read. Unheard of.

  The Shirereeve wanted this latest news to be told in detail, including any comment on the trustworthiness of the sources. After listening and asking questions, Wigod called his constable into the room and issued three orders. He wanted a mounted watch five miles down river, to immediately report any sightings of any army on either side of the river, and particularly any Normans.

  Next he ordered two riders to take his message to King Edgar asking for his advice. Next he sent out messengers across the shire to order the local lords to prepare the fyrd in case there was cause to call it out.

  While Wigod was busy writing messages and giving orders, Raynar begged some scraps of paper and a quill and set about copying both wall maps. Silence forced Raynar to look up. Wigod and his guards were watching him use the quill. A boatman who could write.

  "Who are you really, boatman? And where are you from?" hissed Wigod.

  "Sire, I am Raynar Porter. I was here in October with Earl Edwin's fyrd. I was sent home, but the winter was to be brutal in the Peaks this year, so I came back here."

  "Just another northerner moving south," quipped the guard who had brought him.

  "How did you learn to write?" asked Wigod

  "Sire, I worked as head porter for Repton Abbey. They taught me so that I could do the bills of lading and apportion the payments at their lead mine."

  "And read a map?"

  "Sire, the Abbey had many maps, and the abbot encouraged all the workers to learn to read."

  "And now you are satisfied to be a lowly boatman?" asked Wigod skeptically.

  "Sire, Garth Boatman was sick. I work his boat in his place. I like being a boatman. I like the Thames valley. The lead mines of the north are a bleak place."

  Wigod shot the guard a look, and he nodded to the truth of these words.

  "Thank you for your help, Raynar. From now on whenever you hear news of like import, you are to come directly to me. Just ask my guards to watch your boat, and run here." He handed Raynar a silver coin and waved him gone.

  Raynar bowed his way out, relieved. Halfway through the Shirereeve's questions, it had come to him that he was being tested to decide on whether or not he was a spy. He was lucky not to be locked in the cellar.

  * * * * *

  The nights were now frosty, and though rain was no longer a daily event, the traffic for Raynar's covered boat was increasing. There was a ceaseless movement of wealthy English families moving themselves and their valuables north. The first of them had all been from Sussex, but now they were mostly from Wessex.

  The stories they shared were grim. William's two armies were a pestilence on the land. It was winter, and yet they were taking all the food from the folk, and not leaving them enough to survive the winter. The freemen had small stores which they moved to their hides. Hides that, since ancient times, had been saving their families from starvation in the bad years when armies were on the march.

  The manors, however, had large stores, too large to hide. Their losses to the Norman foragers were heavy. If the men of the manor resisted the foragers, they were immediately killed, and a Norman was placed in charge of the manor and into the new widow's bed. Facing a choice of starvation or death, you could not fault these manor born folk for fleeing north.

  The Shirereeve listened to the grim news, but then assured Raynar that these were just a few of the thousand manor lords of Wessex. These families would have been the ones in the path of the armies, nothing more.

  One day a mounted guardsman galloped full speed past the ford and into the town. He brought the news that William had arrived at Wallingford. It was a day full of news, because earlier that morning Archbishop Stigand of Canterbury had arrived carrying a message from the boy king to Wigod.

  William's army camped on the south side of the river, downstream from the fortified town. The town had long ago been fortified by the Saxons to keep the Danes from crossing the ford and pushing further south. The fortifications were therefore on the wrong side of the ford to stop William from going north.

  The traffic across the ford was all headed north now. No one was crossing to the south bank. The bargemen had slipped their lines and were floating their barges downstream into deeper water, and keeping to the north bank.

  When Raynar noticed Wigod and Stigand riding together towards William's camp, he finished his last trip north and ignored the hails from the south bank. He ran to the house and told Aelfled to pack her valuables and some food and be ready to leave immediately on his say so. If there was trouble, they would take the boats and follow the barges downstream along the north bank.

  Raynar took his weapons and his pack and purse with him back to the boats and anchored them away from the bank in man deep water, but still close to the ford. The other boats continued to shuttle passengers in a line between he and the ford. He strung his strange homemade staff-bow, lined up his assortment of arrows on a bench, wrapped lead around the points of those that were the truest, and waited impatiently for Duke William.

  William did not come. After dark, Raynar anchored the boat in front of the hut in a man's depth of water, and had a wakecious sleep on some planks laid across the seats of the boat. He was woken at first light by criers calling out in their bellowing voices to the folk.

  Archbishop Stigand had declared a bishop's peace on the town and the ford. William's army and the Oxfordshire fyrd had agreed to keep the peace. Wallingford was open to William and his lords and they were to be made welcome and comfortable.

  Raynar was not surprised. With William's reputation of harsh revenge on towns that defied him, and with no English army in sight, Wigod was wise to submit and save his town, his folk, his position, and his life.

  Raynar was, however, surprised at Archbishop Stigand. Hereward had told him that it was Stigand who had led the support for Edgar as king over Edwin, and it was Stigand who had kept Edwin from holding the Thames, or even advancing on the Normans when they were licking their wounds at Hastings. He had been told that the Pope had excommunicated King Harold when he refused William the crown, and had excommunicated Stigand because he held two Bishoprics. Was it possible that the Stigand had been William's man all along, due to pressure from the Pope?

  Aelfled had made them a large breakfast out of all of the food that she had not packed ready to leave. He ate in silence with Aelfled and Garth, and then resumed his anchorage midstream. At midday he saw a party of Normans riding out of town and along the bank and both Stigand and Wigod were with them. His eyes searched for William but the men were too far away to be sure.

  Shortly afterwards, William's army began crossing the ford. It took them hours to cross, for the crossing was slow due to the flood levels of the Thames. None of the army were wearing armour. Their costly armour was loaded high above the wet on the backs of the tallest war horses. The loaded horses were being led in strings across the ford.

  Instead of
wading in the chilling water, the men were taking turns riding on carts, or were waiting for the horses to return to carry them across. The boatmen were conspicuous by their absence. None wanted to risk having their boats commandeered. When the first of the army reached the other side, they did not turn along the bank to the camp site that Edwin had used. Instead they marched to the north east away from the river.

  Raynar was furious and wished Edwin and Hereward were in his boat with him at this moment so that they could share this spectacle with him. In weighty armour, this army could not have fought their way across this river. Without their armour they would be sitting ducks for heavy arrows. If Edwin's army, even without the fyrd, had been on the other side, they would have slaughtered these men as they climbed the quagmire banks. Archbishop Stigand had just handed the Normans the north bank of the Thames when there was no need.

  Raynar was too angry to be patient. He needed to tell someone who would understand what had just happened here. He calmed himself by looking for and waving to pretty Aelfled where she was sitting in her best smock under the eaves of the house. Garth was with her. They were both ready to leave at his word, and had bundles stacked around them. They too were watching the endless parade of men and horses and carts, but also watching for any signal from Raynar.

  The people of the town, and the guards were watching from both banks. There were no weapons drawn, and there was no fear or anger on any face, Norman or English. The bishop's peace was holding.

  A procession of mounted nobles began across the ford. For the hundredth time, Raynar checked his staff bow and the heavy arrows beside it at his feet. He had brought all his arrows, armour piercing, hunting, and target. They were all long arrows so that they could be used with his strange bow, which was a cross between a shepherd's crook and a Welsh longbow. It had been a good friend from the day that he finished crafting it, four years ago.

  The procession of nobles was now midstream and at the closest point to Raynar's boat that they ever would be. They were also now in the deepest water, so the riders had slowed. Men on normal sized horses were lifting their boots to keep them dry. Raynar looked hard at each man in turn, and then he saw him, the Bastard Duke, William. He was at the centre of a cluster of nobles. His head was drooped as if he were looking down into the water, but he could see him clearly every few seconds between the heads of the other riders.

  He had him. No one was watching his boat. Everyone was watching the water and the banks. Even the men on the banks weren't watching his boat. They were watching the men crossing the ford. He reached to pick up his bow. After he killed William he would swiftly row to the bank, where Aelfled and Garth would jump in, and then he would row out to deep water and row endlessly downstream to safety.

  He looked back towards the hut to make sure Aelfled was still waiting and watching. There was something wrong at the hut. A Norman had walked up from the bank and had Aelfled by the arm. As Raynar watched the Norman grabbed the front of her clothes and ripped them down, exposing her breasts.

  Raynar looked over his shoulder back towards William, who was now getting further away with each step of his horse. He grabbed his bow and looked at William and then looked at Aelfled, and then dropped the bodkin arrow, and picked up a target arrow in its place. He drew and loosed and hit the Norman who was pawing Aelfled on his ass.

  The Norman howled in pain and swung around holding his bottom. The arrow fell to the ground. The howl had everyone's heads up. Raynar dropped low in the boat to pick back up the bodkin arrow, but he had lost sight of William's head. Due to the commotion on the bank, his nobles had clustered closer to him to protect him.

  Raynar pulled up the stone that was anchoring him and pushed the boat towards shore, trailing William but getting closer all the time to the bank and Aelfled. His eyes were searching for William. The nobles were gaining shallower water now and were moving faster. William had not been wearing armour. Even from this range Raynar's heavy arrows could kill the Bastard. He just needed one noble to move sideways for a half a minute.

  He flicked his eyes to the hut, and there were now two Normans. One was holding Aelfled and not letting her cover her breasts. He was enjoying watching her wriggle. The other was holding the arrow and his ass, and kept wiping the ass with his hand as if checking for blood.

  He never did get a clear shot at William. He almost took a wild shot out of frustration, but the thought of the consequences of a missed shot filled him with such fear for the safety of the folk on the bank watching the procession, that he eased the bow and allowed the heavy arrow to drop to the bench.

  Meanwhile a Norman knight and one of the Shirereeve's guards had tied up their horses and were marching double time towards the hut. Raynar hid all but the training arrows and paddled quickly towards the hut. He stood off the bank with another training arrow nocked. "Leave her be, else you get the next one!" he yelled at the Norman who was holding Aelfled.

  The knight and the guard reached the hut and the knight yelled at the two Normans holding Aelfled, something like, "Both of you come here. Bring the woman." Every man around them was leering at Aelfled's jiggling breasts.

  "Raynar Boatman, drop the bow, er staff, er bow, er drop the arrow." yelled the local guard.

  "Let the woman go, else I loose" yelled Raynar. The sobbing Aelfled was let go and she covered herself and ran back to Garth and helped him get back to his feet. Raynar dropped the arrow onto the bench.

  The knight grabbed the spent arrow from the first Norman and looked at the blunt head. He said something in French that Raynar assumed to be "Show me the blood." The man shook his head and bent over to show his ass. The knight kicked it as hard as he could and the man went sprawling to the ground. The knight walked over to the other man, who also shook his head, and was kneed in the groin. Then he yelled something that Raynar assumed was like "break a bishop's peace for a slut." The Norman's retreated along the river path with the knight kicking at them all the way to the ford.

  Raynar ran the boat's front platform up onto the bank and stepped off with the mooring line. The guard was waiting for him. Before the guard could speak Raynar grabbed his hand and shook it and said "Thank you, you saved Aelfled from them, and kept the peace. I don't know what would have happened if you had not been with the knight. My death, Garth's death, Aelfled's rape. You are a good man."

  The guard was well pleased with the compliment, although he had done nothing. He was better pleased by a hug from Aelfled and the rub of her firm bosom against his chest. Raynar walked him away from the hut "What were the Normans saying?" he asked.

  "Something about blood. I think it was good for you that there was none. I suppose I will have to learn their nasal tongue if I am to work with them."

  "I also" said Raynar, half to himself. In truth, he had already been trying to learn French. After all, how was he to gain news from Norman's if he couldn't listen in to their gossip.

  * * * * *

  That night was not the usual quiet night of cuddle fucking because for the first time Garth was not sleeping in the hut with them. Garth was now well enough to sleep on the boat and to guard it, and Aelfled had told him to do so. Instead it was a night of romping, rollicking lust and of sexual discovery. He showed her the things that pleased him most and she showed him the things that pleased her most, and this time with no thought of modesty.

  Before dawn he woke and she was spooned against him and breathing a soft sleep. He could not sleep. He had missed William, missed him for the second time. It could have been his last chance of getting close to him, certainly that close with a bow. He decided to practice more with the sling. A sling was easily hid, unlike a bow. A well aimed sling can kill a man, but will miss a small target nine times out of ten. However, a sling can cause a horse to bolt and throw it's rider, and a horse is a big target, especially a Norman horse.

  He also couldn't seep because he was fearful that the morning would bring a knock on the door for him to be hauled away by the Shirereeve's men for yest
erday's mischief. At first light the knock came, but it was not the Shirereeve's men. It was Garth, to tell him that there were passengers with ready coin waiting at the boat. Life went on. It was a busy day. Although the army had crossed yesterday, many of the camp followers, and therefore all of their women, were now arriving at the ford.

  His passengers crossing away from Wallingford were English women who had decided that being nice to Normans was the way to survive the winter. Crossing towards Wallingford were folk who had over the last few days fled Wallingford and the Normans, and were now returning.

  He noticed that the Shirereeve's men that usually guarded the ford were now paired with Norman guards. They shared the same guardhouse. This was no surprise. If things went badly for William at London, then this was his obvious line of retreat. It was only logical that he would keep enough men here to hold the ford.

  On his first trip across the river he said good day to the Shirereeve's man as usual, but this time he practiced his French by saying the same to the Normans. "Ah well," he thought, "at least French seems easier to learn than Welsh."

  As Raynar walked backwards and forwards the length of his small boat, and therefore walked across the Thames, he thought deeply about his missed opportunity. He decided not to blame himself or his desire to protect Aelfled. He never did have a clear shot at William, ever. If he had seen a clear shot, the Duke would be dead now. The fates were keeping the Bastard Duke alive.

  Instead he funneled his blame and anger at Archbishop Stigand. Each time he tried to justify what Stigand had done, he came up with the same answer. He must have been in league with William even before he rejected Edwin as King Harold's successor. The truth would be in Canterbury. If Stigand had retained his land, even during the sack of Canterbury, then he was William's man. "If so, then he is another leader who deserves an arrow," thought Raynar, "after I finish with William," he added aloud.