by Smith, Skye
Raynar looked at the next bench where there was a group of lordlings returning from a hunt. He finished his pie and then waited for an opening so that he could join in the gossip with the carters. As a boatman he had learned how quickly gossip traveled, especially when it was bad news, or rude.
He spoke loud enough for the lordlings to hear. "They've taken over the court. So there must be many lordless manors along the Trent?"
"Yes there are. The Norse killed more than a few up in Yorkshire. Why would you ask?"
"I saw the same thing happen in the south in the towns with many manor widows," he told them. "The Normans take over the court so that they control the Escheat petitions. Then they take the land." Every ear in the alehouse was now turned to hear more.
"They can't take the land, there are clear heirs. Escheat does not apply. The law would stop 'em," said one of the young lordlings.
Raynar smiled. The lordlings were listening, excellent. "Where you been lad. The Normans are the law now. They run the courts."
"In your dreams. They would never get away with it," replied the lordling.
"They will pretend there is a dispute over the heir," Raynar said.
"So what?"
"So then the land becomes the kings for a year and a day until the dispute is cleared," he replied.
"That's right, Geoff. Two year ago at Wilchen, you remember. The two brothers. The king's man ran the manor for a year until it was settled."
"Like I said, Escheat. Up to a year and a day by law. A Norman knight rides in, proclaims escheat, and the estate is run by him for a year and a day," said Raynar.
The lordlings and a few rough looking Saxon huscarls from the far bench were moving closer, and bringing their pots and ale jugs with them.
"So, a year and a day, and then the heir inherits," said one of the huscarls. An ugly brute with a battle scarred face. "Makes no matter in the long run."
"A lot can happen in a year," replied Raynar, "That is a lot of horse rides, where the widow's son may take a tumble and smash his brains on a rock. It takes only nine month to get a new child by the widow."
"What, like they plan it that way. The lord's men would skewer the bastards."
"The Norman is on the kings legal business. To harm him would be treason. Suicide," Raynar told them in a soft voice.
"Ah, you've bin drinking ale in the hot sun. It can't happen," said one of the carters.
"You never cart in the south, then. The stories you hear. And not just one or two. Everywhere the same. The knock on the door, the gathering of the household, the Escheat proclaimed in front of witnesses. The king's man all polite and kindly, allows the family to stay on.
Then one day, he drags the widow down onto the floor in front of witnesses, and he porks her good and proper and declares her his betrothed. For a month he keeps bonking her until she swells up. A few months later any other males that have any claim on the land start having nasty accidents." Raynar snapped his fingers "Just like that, guess who has the strongest petition for the land, and guess who has Norman friends in the court."
"Wouldn't work around here. The widows are mostly past nursing," announced the brute of a huscarl.
"The Normans are horny buggers," replied Raynar. "They'll bonk every woman in the house, especially the daughters. They don't care, they just need a mixed blood baby. They're not like the Norse. They don't just want to be paid tribute so they will leave. They want the land and to stay on as the lords of you lot." Raynar stopped talking and took a gulp of ale. The lordlings were hushing those behind them.
"How do I become a Norman?" jested a carter, "I could do with bonking a few of the daughters over at Branston Hall, no fear. Do you think they keep them chained naked to a bed, and do them every time they pass by." This started a flurry of lurid and sexual comments from the carters including an arguement over which of the local manor women had the biggest tits.
Raynar smiled widely. This gossip had its wings and would be up and down the Ryknild and the River Trent by sunset.
One of the lordlings caught Raynar’s attention, and offered to fill his cup from their jug. He walked over to their bench and the well dressed youth asked, "Is what you say true?"
"I wish it weren't," replied Raynar, "but the widows get dragged down and fucked in front of witnesses before they know what is afoot. The Normans arrive in a valley and knock on every rich widow's door on the same day, so there is no warning. If they are in the court today, then this valley is next."
"And in the south, when they are warned, what can they do?" asked another lordling.
"They keep Norman cocks away from their widows, and Norman accidents away from her sons. If the Normans don't put a baby in any of the dead lord's women, and his son's survive, then after a year and a day the land stays in the family. Course, it means that they have to leave the manor and go to live somewhere safe, cause the Norman will still run the estate under escheat.
Simple enough, but they have to know ahead of time to get away from the manor. In the south, so few got away. Poor women, first they were mounted by some pig that cares snot for them, and then to lose all their sons. Them Normans is sneaky buggers. Caught the widows all by surprise."
The lordlings looked at each other and Raynar saw their anger and their new found missions grow in their eyes. They left Raynar with their jug, which he took back to the carter bench and helped drink. Four lordlings on four fleet horses headed out in four directions. The huscarls finished their jugs, but left not long after.
He smiled to himself. That should ruin the plans of a few Norman knights. He said his goodbyes to the carters who were still dreaming up scenes of being Normans in manors filled with buxom women. He had encouraged the ribald stories. The racier they got, the further and faster they would travel. As for Raynar, he wanted to reach Repton Abbey as soon as he could. The carters had told him that it was just three miles, or perhaps a little more.
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THE HOODSMAN - Hunting Kings by Skye Smith
Chapter 16 - Brother Tucker Commits, Repton, Derbyshire in April 1067
"You are being thick Brother Tucker, and it is not like you." there was an edge to young Raynar's voice caused by the frustration of needing to explain Dead and Bed for a second time to the good monk. "The only chance the widows have is to be forewarned so they can get to a safe house and be protected by their family."
Tucker mumbled something about the courts and the law.
"No, the courts answer to Odo, and the law is being twisted to deviltry."
"But Odo is a bishop, and is favoured by the Pope," argued Tucker.
"Brother, your abbey is not normal. It is filled with a piety that is not found in other church offices."
"It is all too evil to be believed," Tucker moaned softly.
"Tucker, the churches in the north are still run by English clerics. If we could warn them, they could warn the widows. It is perhaps the only remaining way that the widows can all be forewarned in time."
"Raynar, the abbot is ill and ....," Tucker started to speak but was interrupted.
"The abbot is ill and you speak for him in the finances of the abbey. This is a simple thing. Gather the brothers, explain the problem, and have them go in two's to every priest within a half day's walk. The walk will do them good, and the mission is one of selfless goodness. Some of the priests will play thick and do nothing, but some will take action and spread the word to widows and other priests."
"I cannot strip the abbey of all brothers," stalled Tucker.
"Then just the ones with strong legs," replied Raynar, "You must help defeat the wave of evil sweeping northwards in this kingdom. To do nothing is to approve of it."
"I fear you expect more of me," said Tucker.
"When was the last time you visited Derby and Nottingham?" asked Raynar, "My cart has a sprung seat which you must try out to believe."
"I knew it. I knew it. You want me to spread this gossip in the church offices."
The good brother crossed himself.
"Only if they are still run by English, Tucker. If they are Normans, then we come right home."
"But."
"No time for buts, Brother," said Raynar, "Innocent lives are at stake. With Earls Edwin and Morcar prisoners in Normandy, the warnings have not been spreading through the normal ways."
"The Earls are in Normandy?" asked Tucker.
"Yes, Yes, and I have much other news from the south, but first we must mobilize your brethren. On the way to Derby we will have much time to talk."
Once Brother Tucker of Repton Abbey was convinced of something, his learning and insight took control. By sunrise the next day, after prayer, half the brethren were walking with purpose in all directions away from the abbey. He ordered Raynar’s load of staves unloaded so they could travel faster, and he raised his eyebrows at the last layer beneath the unfashioned staves. As an excuse to visit the church offices, he fetched some books, which the abbey had finished copying, from the scriptorium.
On the road, Raynar spoke as quickly as he could but he still could not talk fast enough for Tucker's liking. Tucker was committing everything that Raynar said to memory, and wanted more, and wanted to know how places, and people, and events were connected. He had brought with him a small scroll that was a map of Wessex, and he studied it as Raynar spoke.
They were both greatly relieved to find that the church offices of both Derby and Nottingham were still in English hands. Raynar was left at the gates with the cart, while Tucker went and calmly described the evil that the manor widows faced. In each case the Deans were horrified and were slow to believe, but the Brother made his case of forewarning the widows.
His logic was undeniable. There was no harm in giving the forewarning, but a possibility of great harm if the forewarning was not given. As shepherds of the flock, they could do no other than spread the word through all of the priests and all of the churches in their bishoprics.
Tucker was elated by his days work. The more he listened to Raynar’s Norman stories, the more he feared that they were a great pestilence set upon the kingdom. When he saw the new wooden bailey that the Normans were building at Nottingham, and watched how the Norman men at arms were using brutal force to drive the workers, then he was convinced that the Normans did mean to stay and become the new land lords.
"Do you think we have put the Deans in danger?" Raynar asked.
"Their only danger is a loss of position. It is a small penalty for the good they may do," answered Tucker, "Besides, once the word is spread, replacing them will not stop the words of warning that they have put into motion. No, I worry more about a young porter who is carting an army's load of weapons across the countryside."
"Look beyond the weapons themselves and it is the same task," replied Raynar, "I do not want to visit one village and give every man a bow. I want to visit every village and give one skilled man a bow. That one man can teach others to fashion the staves into more bows. Spreading the bows is like spreading the word to the widows. Forewarned is forearmed."
"Ah you have a plan then," said Tucker, "A plan that does not include helping me to sell lead roofing."
"Yes, I have a plan, a simple plan, and I think it a good plan that should work well. I plan on attending every village fete this summer, to run an archery tournament for the local lads. The first prize, to the best archer, and therefore to each village's expert in bows, will be a Welsh bow. The other prizes will be staves, seasoned and ready to be crafted into bows. By summer's end my bows will be in every village in Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire.
I will keep the match entry fee small. Just enough to feed me and to keep young boys from entering. The beauty is, I will be an entertainer, not a weapons merchant. The village fetes will want me to hold the match, because it will draw more people. The folk from all around will see the power of these bows first hand. The young boys will be cutting and seasoning their own ywen staves so that they too can craft a bow."
"There is more isn't there?" asked Tucker, "There is a darker side. I have listened to your stories Raynar Porter, and I fear that you will never reach heaven unless you are shriven by the Pope himself. Tell me the dark side."
And so Raynar told him of the Brotherhood of the Arrow, the brotherhood of skirmishers, and how it must grow larger and more violent to protect the folk because the English lords were fleeing. "Through the archery competitions, I will be known by the best archers in the countryside, and they will each have one of my bows. I will meet them, and buy them an ale, and take their measure, and I can talk of the brotherhood with them. If they are good men I will train them, one on one, in the power of the bow against armour and war horses. I will train them in how to humble war horses, and kill Normans, and survive the day. "
"You are becoming as evil as the Normans, Raynar," replied Tucker, "There is a devil in your tongue that twists motives to justify outcomes."
Raynar was quiet for a long time. True, through the eyes of a man of god he had already done great evil in his short life time. They were things that needed doing, but he had sworn to himself, or to others, not to speak of them.
For instance, this was certainly not the time to tell Tucker that four days ago he shot two Normans in the back and had buried them in a bog. He must never tell anyone that story, as just the telling could have dire consequences for the women in Cricklade.
"No, Tucker, you are wrong. I am what I am because I carry a burden. I am the only peasant in England who has killed a King. We are all taught that kings and popes are God's chosen or are descended from gods. Harald of Norway was not like a god. He died like any other man. These Normans ride high horses, and wear fortunes in armour and clothing, so that they look like God's chosen ones, but they too die like any other man. I know this well.
The Normans want to turn English freemen into serfs and beaten dogs. I want to turn English freemen into Norman killers. The Normans have become a culture of professional warriors like in the songs of the ancients. I fear that they may defeat our English armies again and again and turn England into a land of widows for them to rape.
The only thing that me, a peasant, can do about this is to spread my Welsh bows and tell how they can be used to slaughter Norman knights. With my bows, and with skirmisher tactics, the freemen of England can work alone or in small groups to defeat this pestilence that is spreading across the kingdom. Such a brotherhood would teach the Normans humility, and respect, and make them keep the law else face deadly consequences."
Tucker was silent for a long time but when he spoke, he spoke forcefully. "Raynar, the flaw in your plans for the brotherhood, is that it will grow best when fed on hot vengeance. You would therefore create a brotherhood of vengeful skirmishers, who imagine themselves as god's avenging angels. I fear that there will be consequences from this that you cannot predict. No one can predict.
You have told me the stories of the Norman vengeance in Kent at Dover and at Romney, and on the south bank of the Thames in London. I fear Norman vengeance more than I fear yours, because their vengeance will be against women and children and entire villages. In a war of vengeance they will win and the folk will lose, and in comparison, your brotherhood will be like the flies buzzing around a carcass. But the Normans will not be the carcass. The carcass will be the very folk you were trying to protect."
Tuckers words were like bathing in ice water to Raynar. "Brother, I am not a lord, nor a warlord, nor a leader. I only wish to forewarn and forearm. The hard choices, the balance of risk, must be made by each freeman before he acts. He must live with the consequences of the choice he makes. All I seek is to give him a choice. If I do nothing, there will be no choice.
I am not evil Tucker, but it is true that I am vengeful. You are a pious brother who is like a soft summer breeze, while the Normans are a tempest of brute force and violence. I hope for a summer of soft breezes, but when the clouds are high and black, I would be foolish not to prepare for a storm."
Raynar looked deeply into Tuck
ers eyes. "Please don't shun me because I am vengeful. I need your advice all the more for it. You add balance to my thinking."
Tucker kept the gaze, "I will help you to save lives, as we did today, but I will not help you to kill. I want your bows gone from the Abbey by the morning, and they are not welcome back. Go and visit the fetes, and may your archery matches bring happiness to the villagers for an hour or two, because their future seems most perilous, with or without you."
Raynar was silent, and the only noise was the clop of Abby's feet. "Well, ask it," said Tucker.
"What?"
"I don't know, for you have not yet asked it," replied Tucker.
"I am bound for the Porter's Glade. The closest cartway goes only so far as Grindel," said Raynar.
"Yes, alright, yes you can leave Abby, your cart, and the load of bows with the Abbeys watchman at Grindel. But ....there is a condition," Tucker smiled at Raynar's suddenly worried look, "Talk John into putting a sprung seat like this on all of the abbey's carts."
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THE HOODSMAN - Hunting Kings by Skye Smith
Chapter 17 - Two Robins in Loxley, Yorkshire in April 1067
John almost crushed young Raynar in his bear hug. The hammering of steel in the forge and the fitting of axles to carts was building his muscles and turning him into a giant amongst a trade known for its large men. The smithy, however, did not look busy.
John explained, "We had a contract with the Earl's armourer to supply arrow points to the northern army, but by the time the second load was ready, William was king and the army was home ploughing fields. There hasn't been much work since, and our metal and a lot of hard work is locked up in arrow points. We were hoping we would not have to melt them down, but we may be forced to."
He showed Raynar the barrels of arrow points ready to be shipped. They were of John's design, simple but ingenious. Each point was made so that with a push and a twist they could quickly be snugged onto a standard arrow shaft as required.