by Smith, Skye
"You noticed," he whispered back. He felt her hand caressing him between his legs with an expected result. "Shh, go to sleep now. It is enough that I feel your skin on mine while we sleep." With those words he turned over and pretended to sleep. Very soon he was no longer pretending.
The next morning while rubbing skins together while stretching, and watching the colors change with the sunrise, they knew the exact moment that Roger told the two courtesans that they must pack their things. They could not hear the words but they could hear the punctuation marks as various objects smashed against the walls and the door.
"I wonder if that last pot," Raynar said to Gysel, "was because Roger tricked them into seducing him, or because he told them they must leave, or because he told them that they can take their gowns but not their jewels?"
"They will take their jewels," replied Gysel, "as will all the wives. Women can hide jewels in many places that are safe from men."
"I was hoping that fear of being treated as looters if they are caught would stop such nonsense."
"The only nonsense is believing that you could separate a woman from her jewels," she chuckled.
"So what am I to do. I cannot have my men do body searches of all the wives," he groaned and then flinched as something heavy hit the door of the other room.
"I will arrange the searches. The serving wenches from the kitchen despise the Norman's wives and hate their husbands for the same reason I hated Jeanne's husband. We will search each cart and each bag as they pass the burgh gate, and we can search the women in the gate house, hidden from the view of men."
"That will take forever."
"Not if we execute the first wife that we catch looting. We can have an open chest guarded by monks just before the gate to allow them to volunteer their jewels before they are searched."
"My instructions were that looters would be shot. My men have orders to shoot to stop them from running, not shoot to kill. Do you really think I would execute someone for a theft of opportunity?"
"I don't mean really execute her," she defended, "just pretend, convincingly. As a favour to me, just make sure that those whores are the first in line."
* * * * *
The market was cancelled today so that the square it was usually held in could be used to assemble the procession of carts and horses. This was the second day that the market had been cancelled as the assembly was scheduled for yesterday, but few families were fully ready to leave, so everything had been delayed.
The carts were small and light with fast axles and pulled by a horse rather than by oxen. Each cart had a bed of straw and had been rigged with an awning so that women and children could sleep aboard, and hide from the autumn rain that kept threatening. There was one cart for each family. Besides the chests of possessions that were being taken, each cart carried its own water, food, and ale.
Groups of bowmen were working their way down the line advising those with too many things to lighten the load. Even if the cart made it to Portsmouth, the ship would be too full to take it all. The market folk were roaming near by hoping to buy castoffs cheaply.
The escort was supposed to have been three hundred bowmen, most of whom were being repositioned closer to Winchester. That order was stayed because the Earl of Chester was reporting an increase in raids from Wales. A hundred would have to do for the escort. The escort had pulled their horses to the side of the road and they were keeping the road clear of everything but the carts and families.
Two fat old monks sat on a bench with a large chest in front of them, still empty. They yelled at each family that this was their last chance to turn over the kings treasure, any gold or jewels, before they went through the gate. They made them well aware of the penalty for looting.
The first cart had a bowman as the carter, and the two courtesans were seated on pillows on the bed of straw. Once it stopped at the gate, five bowmen surrounded it and had the women step down. While they were searching the straw and the chests, a very large serving wench took Marique by the arm and yelled, so that those behind in line could well hear, that she was required in the gate house to be searched. The wench had been chosen not for her strength and size, however useful, but because she spoke French. Marique had no choice but to enter the gatehouse.
There were shrieks and screams from the gate house, and then the big woman came out carrying two small purses. She made a point of showing them to the monks before she dropped them in the chest. Then she told them in French, in a voice loud enough for all around to hear, "Jewels. She had them hid in the usual places. She will be executed as a looter."
Two men were now dragging Marique away to the stable behind the gate house and out of sight. Moments later there was a blood curdling scream and then silence. One of the men came back to the cart carrying Marique's fine blouse and handed it to the wench.
The wench held the blouse carefully by only her fingers so that all could see that it was covered in blood. "Here, you," she said in French to the other courtesan. "I suppose this is yours now, along with the rest of her things. Annette went white, and walked backwards, sobbing, towards the monks. She turned her back on them and squatted unceremoniously on the cobblestones. When she stood again she threw two small purses of her own into the chest.
Her carter came to her and steadied her with his arm and led her back to her cart. It pulled away and the next cart made to move forward, but a woman aboard immediately asked for it to stop, while she threw purses into the monks' chest.
And so went the carts, one by one through the gate. Any woman who did not throw something into the monks chest was searched. Any woman who the big wench particularly disliked was searched in any case. In this way the procession of just over fifty carts passed the gate quickly with only a quick shake of each chest to listen for metallic clinking. Only twice more were women dragged to the stable to be made an example of.
Roger stood with Raynar and watched the last cart leave. Raynar sighed. Each time he took a long ride on a horse he regretted it more. Soon he would have to travel in carts or boats or perhaps buy himself one of those quick stepping ponies that were popular with hiring stables and merchants. He sighed again and climbed into the saddle.
"Raynar, this is your procession, but I am sending three commanders with you to command the Royal Archers. They are of Norman blood and speak French and English, and I trust them completely." Roger looked at Raynar's face expecting reluctance or effrontery. There was none. "I suggest that you dress like a bowman at least until you are beyond DeLacy's lands. You will no longer be able to fool the barons by playing the treasury's agent. They know you now for what you are, and those that frequent the palace know you by sight."
Raynar was silent and listening so Roger continued. "The barons need to weaken the influence and power of the queen. The easiest way is to make you, ugh, disappear. Watch your back. If there is trouble on the road, seek help from the sheriffs, not the barons. Especially not the barons of the marches such as DeLacy.
Do not underestimate what the barons have lost because of you. The overwhelming numbers of the fyrd has forced this earl's revolt to end by negotiation, not by slaughter. The king did not need the barons' knights and so he is not beholding to them. The barons gained no lands or honors or ransoms from it. The bishops have also lost much. There was no deviltry or shameful acts so the Bishops have earned no payments in coin or new churches in return for absolution."
"And they blame me," Raynar finished the thought, "They will hate me even more as peace breaks out across this kingdom. Here at Shrewsbury, we have not just ended this revolt. We have ended future revolts. The times of profit by might and of petty battles between nobles are finished. In such a peace, how will the barons justify their private armies. Where will professional warriors find work. How many knights will be forced to learn how to farm?" Raynar began laughing aloud and, after a thoughtful moment, Roger joined in with his own gruff laughter.
"You are welcome in my house anytime, Raynar. When you finish your bu
siness in the south, come back and visit. It promises to be a long winter, and I would enjoy sharing more stories with you."
Raynar saluted him, then made his way to Gysel and Jeanne and gave them each a bear hug. Brunt walked with him to fetch his horse from the stable by the gate house. The stable lad handed him a line that had three horses attached to it. On each horse sat a subdued, tied, and gagged woman, each counting her blessing to still be with the living. He signaled Brunt to cut their hands free so they could take off their own gags and take up the reins. Marique yelled something ugly at him in Flemish, but he ignored her and lashed her horse to get it moving to catch up to the procession.
The two other women looters left his company when they reached their own carts, but since Marique's was the first cart she stayed with him until they reached the front. The three commanders were leading the procession, and he assumed them competent, so there was no need to join them. Instead, he joined the reunited courtesans in the first cart to save his rump from the endlessly bouncing saddle.
"You fucking bastard," Marique spat at him, and slapped him hard across the face. He grabbed her wrist because she was readying another blow. He could see that Annette wanted to slap him as well, but she was in tears and decided instead to hug Marique with both arms. He could hear the carter chuckling. He, of course had been in on it. It was his duty to ensure that neither woman came to grief nor did anything foolish.
"I am not sorry, because it was necessary, and you deserved worse. Will you forgive me?" he asked softly, and then gently pushed Marique's hair out of her face.
"It wasn't you. You could never have such twisted thoughts." her voice hissed with venom, "It was that bitch Gysel, wasn't it? And I'll wager that she personally ordered those horse faced wenches to violate me."
"She has a great future working for whomever becomes sheriff of this shire," he said, "Roger will ensure it,"
"Roger knew about this, and after how we pleasured him. We have been used as whores," something caught her eye at the end of the cart. "My blouse," she exclaimed and punched the carter in his side. "Pull over by the brook. I must wash out the sheep’s blood before the stain sets."
Raynar nodded and the carter pulled over into a small meadow, and waved the cart behind them on. She took her blouse down to the water and began rinsing it. Raynar took the opportunity to swap his treasury clothing for his forest garb, and to tie a white silk scarf around his neck.
By the time she was satisfied with her blouse, every cart had passed them, and every woman in every cart had craned their necks to see what was afoot. To each she yelled "sheep's blood" and every woman nodded knowingly. Every bowman who passed saw Raynar changing clothes and one by one they removed the bright red sash of the Royal Archers, and tied a scarf around their neck.
Marique hung the wet blouse on two of the cart's struts and gave a hard stare at the rear guard as they removed their sashes. She looked at Raynar’s grand tunic now folded in the cart and at the carter's own red sash thrown on top of it. "What just happened here?" she asked speaking slowly.
"Nothing much love, just a slight adjustment to the command structure of the men," explained Raynar.
The carter snickered as he jumped down to help boost Marique up into the cart. "A slight adjustment," he thought, and snickered again. The knight commanders in the lead now commanded nothing. Their Royal Archers had just been reorganized into wolfpacks of bowmen, and they would be the last to know of it.
Raynar lay back on the straw and made himself comfortable. Annette slid close to him and whispered "In the end, what was the value of the monks' chest?"
"Perhaps a thousand pounds, probably much more. It is difficult to tell with jewels." He looked into her dark eyes and knew from her smirk that she was feeling smug. "So the purses you threw to the monks were only a token. Where did you hide those gems most valuable?" Annette suddenly looked as if her heart had stopped. Raynar touched her hand reassuringly and whispered, "You may keep them. You are long past the gate."
"Sewn as weights in the hems of our simplest shifts," she replied, "The monks' chest gathered less than half of what all these women carried. The lesser half."
"Gysel warned me it was nonsense to think I could separate a woman from her jewels. Despite that, I think I did well enough for the king, not that any of it will come to me," he said, "The king frequently offers me estates and manors, but he never offers me treasure." To her questioning look he answered "Because he knows I would accept the treasure, and then I would decide how the treasure would be used, and not he."
"The king offers you honors, and yet you dress like a clerk or a peasant," she said, "Do you have any houses in Winchester or in London?"
"I have no houses anywhere, love," he replied, "I have no wish to be tied down by land and the responsibilities that come with land. I have partners with land, and houses, and ships. That is enough."
"Does Meulan have any houses in London?" she asked.
"He probably has a townhouse near the palace at Westminster, and another such in Winchester."
"He does not have a dozen houses in London, then?" she asked, with a voice a little more shrill.
"I doubt it. He is a steward, and moves to where he is needed. He may have several houses but never more than one in any place, and mostly they will be farming manors."
"That bitch Gysel," she half screamed. "She told us he has houses aplenty in London and he is wont to give them to his mistresses." Her face went fiery red and lost its usual angelic loveliness. "Aye, Aye, Aye, she tricked us into bedding him. Both of us."
"So," Raynar was laughing, "does that make you whores, or victims of rape?" Both women stared daggers at him, but then could not resist his laughter and smiles crossed their lips, and then snickering and finally outrageous laughter. The two men and two women on the cart enjoyed one of those teary, gasping, infectious laughs that winds down slowly in fits, and leaves one exhausted, but shriven of anger.
Raynar used the reins to pull his horse closer to the cart, and unhooked his map pipe from the saddle. The two women looked on in wonder at the maps he spread out. These women were well educated and could read in a few languages including Latin, but maps were something new to them.
"So they did not teach you maps in the convent, then?" he asked.
"How did you know that..."
"Young, educated, well mannered. You obviously spent your life in a convent being groomed for the courts. What happened? Why are you not married to counts?"
"Our fathers backed the wrong man and they lost all," Marique replied, "We had a choice of becoming manor wives or courtesans. I've never regretted our choice."
He gave them a tour of the map of Shropshire. "Call me suspicious, but everyone seems to expect this procession to march south through Ludlow," he moved his finger along the map, "and then east towards Winchester." He moved his finger showing the other way east then south. "Something is wrong. Roger warned me off DeLacy, and Ludlow is his town."
"Perhaps Belleme's allies plan to rescue the families so that they cannot be held for ransom," suggested Marique.
"Those bastards," he said, "are more likely to abduct the families so that they gain any ransom."
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - Revolt of the Earls by Skye Smith
Chapter 35 - The wolfpacks take control before Ludlow in September 1102
Raynar left his maps with the courtesans, pulled his horse close to the cart, and leaped into the saddle. He rode at double the speed of the column stopping occasionally to chat with bowmen along the way. He reached the commanders at the column lead and whistled hard to bring the point scouts back in.
"We turn east at the next cross," he told the commanders and the scouts, "It is a smooth cartway and it will take us to the pass through Wenlock Edge at Huvel Hagen and then to Bridgnorth."
"No," said one of the commanders, "our orders are to march south through Ludlow." He looked at the scouts. "We will not turn."
&nbs
p; "Commander," Raynar told him, "if you have such orders, then please continue on to Ludlow. This procession is under my orders. It is turning east." One of the scouts was Osgar of Hughley. He gave hand signals to the other scouts and they left the discussion abruptly and rode ahead to the cross and turned east. Raynar followed their lead as far as the cross and then stood his horse to block the southern way and waited for the column to catch up.
The commanders reached him first, and one of them grabbed at his reins, presumably to lead him away to the south. He was a young and burly man in mail with a good seat on a big horse. Raynar turned the horse a half turn so that the man's hand was closer to grabbing tail hair than grabbing reins. The lead cart had as the carter a wiry bowman wearing a red scarf. Raynar gave him the hand signal for east and he turned the cart horse when he reached the cross.
The commanders tried to block the way of the first cart, but the carter refused to pull up, and instead gave the cart horse a bit of the lash. One of them came in close to the cart horse and urged his own horse to muscle against the cart horse and change its direction. The saddle horse felt a touch of the carters lash and stepped sideways out of the way.
Up until now, the lead bowmen had been taking no part, but when they saw the commander reach for his scabbard, they kicked their horses ahead and asked the commanders what the problem was. The bowmen were under their command so the commanders barked orders at them in bad English. "The procession is to continue south. Do not allow this turn."
"Sir, our orders are to escort the carts. The carts are under Raynar's command. Knowing him, he probably owns the damn things. If he says the carts turn, then they turn. If the carts turn then we must still escort them. Sorry Sir, them's orders."
The second cart was now making the turn. The commanders pulled off the road to one side alone and began arguing with each other in very French whispers. One of them separated himself from the others and rode southward down the road. Raynar rode over to the other two. "Where is he going?"