by Smith, Skye
"That would be wise only if you are so ordered," Raynar replied. "With the villages emptied of men gone to join Henry, he expects the lords to keep the peace and defend the villages in their absence." The man looked relieved. By the size of his tummy, it was a long time since he had last ridden in battle. "The fyrd are bound for Stafford, so which route would be the safest for us?"
"From here, hmm," the knight stroked his beard and closed his eyes. "Certainly not west or even north west. The Earl of Cornwall is Belleme's staunchest ally, so Gloucestershire and Herefordshire will be dangerous to the king's men." He opened his eyes. "Use Ryknild Street. If you head for Stow-on-the-Wold you will find it. Ryknild Street will take you right there, and if the fyrd use it, then their very numbers will keep it safe."
"And Bridgnorth, on the River Severn?" Raynar asked "Does Ryknild pass close by."
"Not close. You would need to turn west and cross the River Stour at Stourbridge," the knight replied. "Bridgnorth, isn't that where Earl Belleme is building a new fortress to control the crossing of the River Severn?"
"It is. That is where we are bound."
"Then I suggest you leave early," the old knight told them. "There is an Inn at Bidford where the Ryknild crosses the River Avon that is worth the price, but it is a long day's ride from here."
* * * * *
The knight of High Suindune did well by them. They ate well and slept well and the horses were well tended. They woke just after first light to the smell of fresh bread, and besides a hearty meal they were given a large bag of food for the road. "It is a bleak and empty road through Stow, with no friendly kitchens and fewer friendly folk," warned the knight as the waved them on their way.
The knight told it true. Save for an alehouse where the highway crossed the Thames, and another where it crossed Akeman Street, and two at Stow where they crossed Foss Way, there was little to comfort a traveler. Once out of the Thames valley the land rose and was empty but for sheep and shepherds and a shredding wind that would not stop. There were no other travelers in either direction, and the few locals they saw, hid from them. It was like a land possessed by ghosts. They were glad to descend into the Vale of Evesham and through the lushness of the farms along the River Avon.
The Black Knight Inn at Bidford had an over busy alehouse, but still had rooms and Raynar rented the largest for all of them. They left the couriers under guard in the room and sent food up to them from the alehouse. The alehouse was doing a rollicking business from the men gathering for the fyrd. They had no coin for rooms, but enough for ale. They were camped out by the river and were waiting for more men to join them before leaving for Stafford. They all wanted the safety of numbers. There was not a horse between them. Small farms could risk loosing a farmhand, but not a horse.
Most of the men were young farm lads looking for adventure with their kin's aging swords and axes, and with shields made from barrel tops or from basket weave and reed. Raynar would have worried for their safety if it weren't for the handful of older men with them who were carrying longbows and pikes. He bought a round for all on condition they would hear him out. They thought it a fair swap, so he stood on a bench and spoke to them as they drank his ale.
He told them of the situation and the strategy. It was the fyrd's role to push the Welsh raiders out of Staffordshire. He told them that more than anything else, the queen wanted Henry protected from the Norman traitors. He motioned to the ealder bowmen to come forward and stand with him and introduce themselves to the lads. "Stick close to these men and do what they tell you," he told the youngsters. "If you get separated, find yourself another band with longbows and pikes to walk with."
To the bowmen he said "While you are waiting for men to gather, have these lads craft themselves some pikes from saplings. The Welsh and the Normans will all be mounted, but with enough pikes you will be safe enough from the horses. Make sure the pikes have some kind of a hook at one end for pulling riders down."
He and his own bowmen sat with these local bowmen and Raynar reminded them of the golden rules for fighting cavalry:
Always post a watch because cavalry reposition quickly.
Take down the horse first. Hopefully the rider will be hurt in the fall.
Ambush, trip, and trap the horses.
Fight on land that is difficult for horses.
Don't turn your back on the horse. If you face it, you can pike it, or dodge it.
He then pulled some thin ribbons of lead from his pocket and showed the bowmen how to turn their hunting arrows into man killers by adding weight behind the point.
"Good trick," said one of the bowmen looking at the modified arrow. "Where do we get the lead?"
"Buy it from the local priest," replied Raynar. "You don't need much. When you pound it ribbon thin, a little goes a long way."
* * * * *
They left the Black Knight Inn just after first light, even before the kitchens were fired. The alehouse was filled with snoring men that hadn't made it back to their camps. They rode for some miles before they stopped for their morning meal in a carter's alehouse just before Redditch. After the emptiness of Ryknild street, they were amazed at the number of carters at Redditch. The entire alehouse was in an animated discussion, which stopped as soon as they saw Raynar's tax collector tunic.
Again Raynar bought a round and confirmed the gossip they had all heard. After he had his say, he was bombarded with questions. All his ale was long gone before he was allowed to stop talking.
The carters were trying to decide on whether to hide their carts and animals, or to carry the fyrd to Staffordshire. Usually carters would get out of the way of any army so that their carts would not be commandeered. With a general raising of the fyrd, however, there was no getting out of the way. The fyrd would be coming from all directions and from near and far.
This was the argument against hiding. It would do no good. They would be found. The argument against carrying the fyrd was that they never had ready coin to pay with. Any payment would be in the form of pilferage rights. The discussion eventually got around to how much pilferage should be charged. Raynar laughed to himself. These carters were fixing prices. Carters were the same everywhere.
Eventually they asked Raynar’s advise. He shrugged his shoulders. "You have no choice but to carry the fyrd. They are farmers. If you don't carry them, they will chuck you head first into the ditch and drive themselves. My advice is to carry them, but demand to be guarded by pikemen. They can craft themselves some pikes fast enough. Once you've carried them, don't hang about hoping for spoils. Tell them you are going back to carry more men, or offer to carry the sick and wounded away, but don't hang about a battlefield."
After that advice, it was the carters turn to buy ale, and so they did. It was their turn to give advice. The latest news was that the castle and village of Dudley, about four hours north, was still controlled by Fulk Paganel, the Baron of Dudley who was loyal to the king. The Welsh were north of Dudley, so it was worth your life to venture beyond that castle.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - Revolt of the Earls by Skye Smith
Chapter 13 - Seeking the Welsh in Dudley, Staffordshire in July 1102
The Arundel couriers were close to rebellion when Raynar did not turn west towards Bridgnorth, but instead continued north to Dudley. They reached Dudley castle in twilight and it took a half hour before the Baron deigned to open the gate for them, so fearful was he of treachery. His castle was a well built wooden bailey with a tower on a high motte. He was rebuilding it in stone, but so far only the walls around the gate had been completed. Fulk, the baron, was about thirty and well spoken in both French and English. He did not have the bulk of a warrior, but he was a wise castellan and therefore took no chances.
Raynar was naturally suspicious of the Norman baron, so he introduced the Arundel couriers to the baron and allowed them to sit the meal with the baron. Raynar sat close and pretended not to speak French hoping to catch some ungu
arded talk. It did not take long for the baron to recognize Belleme's men by reputation, and once they were known as Belleme's men, he ordered them to be locked in the guard room.
The great hall where everyone else ate was filled to overflowing. Fulk explained that there were Welsh raiders about, so he had ordered all valuable animals and chattels moved from the villages into the bailey, and for all his people to sleep behind the walls.
"I believe that the Welsh raiding parties are gathering to attack us." Fulk explained. "They will be waiting for Prince Gruffydd to arrive and then we will be for it. I locked up the couriers because I know that Gruffydd has been promised land and coin to harrow Staffordshire, and I don't want Belleme's men seeing our defenses from the inside."
After eating in the company of the baron and baroness, Raynar excused himself from the head table and took a walk around the walls. From the height of the walkway suspended from the pales he could see both outwards towards the ditch, which was made more dangerous with imbedded stakes, and inwards across the roofs of the buildings. He saw the weakness of the bailey immediately. There were half full water barrels lined up under every roof in the hope of rain. The one well was covered and guarded. The numbers of folk and beasts were straining the water supply.
He heard a human sound behind him and he swung around quickly while reaching for his short sword.
"Go peacefully milord," said a voice from the shadows of a corner. A white haired man stepped into the twilight to be seen. "I am a watcher, nothing more. Come and share my bench if you want to watch out. It is protected from stray arrows."
Raynar walked forwards as the white head retreated back into the shadows and sat on an unseen bench. He sat beside the white head. Built into the wall in front of the bench was a lattice that gave those seated some protection from arrows while allowing a view of the ditch. "There were many lads in the great hall, old one. Why are you keeping this vigil?"
"This is Dudley my friend," replied a smooth and confident voice. "and being an ealder means nothing here. Aged and crippled serfs meet with accidents when they no longer have a use. I can no longer work in the fields, but my eyes are still good, and men of my age rarely sleep. Volunteering to watch is what keeps me fed and free of the baron's accidents."
"You damn your lord with these words. How do you know I will not tell him?"
"Because you are Saxon despite your king's uniform," replied white head, "tell me I am wrong."
"I am Saxon, though I have lived as a Frisian for most of my life."
"Ahh, a marsh mucker then?" confirmed white head.
"It was the vales and tors of the peaks of Derbyshire that formed me, though I admit I have spent too much time on the coasts and lately in the harbours."
"I was born in the manor here," said white head "before there were Normans and before there was this bailey. My mam was a Saxon widow who was raped into wedlock by Ansculph, the first of the Norman lords. The village swore I was the son of her maid to save my life. What life. It meant I became a serf with the rest of my folk."
"So you still have a good claim to this land."
"Aye, if I could prove my birth it would be mine. My mam had only one child by Ansculph, a daughter, Fulk's wife. But I have waited too long to make the claim. Waited for the English to rise and push these Normans into the sea. It never came, and it never will. Now everyone who can attest my birth right is dead, but for me, and I will join them soon enough."
They sat in silence and listened to the night. The noise from the hall was so great that if there were sounds from outside the walls, they would have never heard them.
"You are wrong," said white head "I do not damn my lord. He is the best of a bad lot, and bad is very bad when you live on the edge of Shropshire. Very bad means demonic, like Earl Robert. Belleme treats his serfs as slaves and they are used badly. Always badly. Fulk treats us as if we were valued livestock, so we are pampered in comparison."
"As livestock? You jest?"
"By Norman law, anyone born to a serf woman is a serf," explained white head, "no matter the station of the father. Fulk treats his serf women as if they were breeding mares. During harvest each year, each serf woman of birthing age is covered by many men. You must have noticed in the hall that most young women had a babe on the tit?"
"Why yes, come to think of it, there were a lot of babies the same age."
"Did you notice the bonnets on the women?" asked white head. "Every woman wears a bonnet. Those with white bonnets are trusted to decide for themselves who and when they bed a man. The Norman women, any freeman women, and the older serf women wear the white.
Those with homespun brown bonnets are serf women of bearing age. They can be bedded only at harvest, and many men search them out at that time. Those were the ones with the babes.
The ones in red bonnets are under the protection of the lord. They are virgins, usually because of their age. The lord decides when and by whom they are to be bedded. The penalty for bedding a red bonnet without the lord's permission is gelding. The penalty for bedding a brown bonnet out of season is a whipping. The penalty for bedding a white bonnet without her permission depends on the circumstances."
"Hmm" replied Raynar "I have stayed in villages in the Germanies and in Byzantium that had similar rules. How does it work here."
"Like I said, he is the best of a bad lot," replied white head. "It works. The women don't spend half their life underneath horny Normans, and most of the babes survive as they are mostly born in lambing season and so most are old enough to survive the first winter. Even the young lads don't complain much, as the white bonnets often take them to bed. The priests don't like it though."
"Why is that?"
"Few weddings and most every serf is a bastard. Since every child born to a serf woman is a serf there is little reason to prove who the father is, and little chance of knowing, since the mother was likely mounted by more than one man during the harvest festival. Since there is no property at stake, and since there are betrothal fees charged by barons and priests, few women seek an official wedding.
Besides, after a year together, Knut's law is that the couple are as wed. The Normans and the few families that are still free, well they still have weddings, but too few to fill the priest's purse. The priest is always in trouble with his bishop for the church's poor attendance and paltry income."
"It doesn't sound bad at all. Not compared to the grizzly slavery they call serfdom in other places."
"It's fine if you don't mind being treated like livestock." mumbled white head. "Some of the younguns want more from life, and do a runner to Stafford or to Worcester. They are soon back, usually of their own mind. To his credit the baron forgives them one run. Considers it part of growing up cause it lets them see how bad it is everywhere else."
"What is that?"
"You know, how tough life is on the road..." white heads began to reply.
"No, I mean out there by the ditch. See by that sapling? There, another. There are men out there."
White head took a small hammer tucked in his belt and crashed it against a metal bar suspended behind the bench. He kept clanging it until they heard footsteps on the stairway and a voice commanding "Who sounded the alarm?"
"Over here," replied white head in his loudest voice. "Men at the ditch on the north side."
Now there were sounds of many feet and the yard beneath them was lighted from open doors as men pushed through them and hurried to find their weapons. The baron was fit for his thirty odd years and came up the stairs two at a time, with a page behind him carrying his helmet and a tunic of mail, and trying to keep up. The baron came straight to white head and had him point through the lattice to the area where he had seen movement.
"I saw them too," confirmed Raynar. "At least three heads near to that willow sapling."
"Give them a hail," ordered the baron, and white head called out to the ditch telling the men to identify themselves. There was no answer. "Try again," ordered the baron, but again t
here was no answer.
"Let me try," said Raynar, and at the nod from the baron, he repeated the call in Welsh. This time there was a reply. Raynar told the baron to tell his men not to do harm to any who came forward to speak. Once those orders were given, he called out again in Welsh "Come forward and speak with me. I have given orders that you are not to be harmed." There was a short wait, and then two young men with dark hair rode forward on small horses.
"I am Raynar of the Peaks, a friend of Welsh princes. You may have shared ale with me before. Who are you?"
"We are scouts for Prince Gruffydd who leads more men than there are trees on this land." said one of the riders.
"The prince is a brother in arms. Ride to him and tell him that I will join him for his morning meal, but leave me a guide to escort me to his camp. There will be no trickery. He will be glad of my company."
The rider waved his understanding and called back that he should be ready to ride at an hour after first light. Then the riders turned and rode and were swallowed by the night. The baron grabbed Raynar by the elbow and hissed, "A word, in my chambers, now."
Once at the barons chambers, Fulk shooed out the womenfolk and slammed the door behind them. "What plans have you made with Gruffydd, and why should I trust you? A Saxon who speaks Welsh and is known to Welsh princes and comes to me as the king's man with two of Belleme's trusted men in tow. Why is it that I have a strong urge to lock you up with the couriers?"
"Calm yourself Fulk. I have just saved your castle, your villages, and your land from a Welsh harrowing. How long did you think you could hold these walls with so little water. Two days, a week? Be thankful and not angry."
"Are you in truth the king's man?" asked Fulk.
"When on Treasury business, I am the king's man. When on the business of saving the king's skin, I am the queen's man. Tomorrow I will ride out alone to talk with Prince Gruffydd and hopefully a thousand lives will be spared by our talking, including yours. If I do not return, then I hold you to the task of making sure that my party reaches Bridgnorth."