Hoodsman: Saving Princesses

by Smith, Skye

  "I begin to agree with young Raynar," Thorold said, "and that frightens me. I owe everything that I am to the structure and hierarchy of nobility, and now I am admitting to myself that it is all false."

  Beatrice was sitting across the hearth from her husband. He looked older and grayer than when she had last seen him only two months ago. "Be careful with your beliefs, my husband, else next you will be entering a monastery."

  "Was it the harvest?" asked Raynar intuitively.

  "Ah, Yes," Thorold replied slowly, "it probably was."

  Beatrice gave them an inquisitive look.

  "The English and the Danes stopped playing at army long enough to help bring in the harvest," said Thorold. "The Normans let it rot in the fields. They were too grand to work the fields."

  "Perhaps the truth is in your choice of words," said Beatrice. "The English and Danes play at army. It is not their real life. To the Normans the army is life itself. They play at running farms, but they do not do the farming."

  "I'm for bed," said Raynar, and the others nodded.

  * * * * *

  Thorold was at Lincoln's headquarters early the next day to listen for more news. Two couriers arrived from York and were rushed through the hall, and into a private room to make their reports. Thorold knew both of the couriers from his time as sheriff. After they had made their reports, he offered them a proper bed and a good meal, so they came home with him from the palace.

  They were exhausted and feverish from living damp and cold for days. Once they were dry and warm and drinking hot spiced ale, they told their own personal stories. "The motte in York was surrounded by the huts of the labourers who were building it. Our commanders were afraid that the English could use the houses as shields or use them as fill to create a bridge across the motte's ditch, so they ordered us to burn the huts. It should have been simple enough, but the wind came up and the fires spread from roof to roof, and into York.

  The English thought we were burning York on purpose. It was not our intent. I swear. We just wanted to burn the huts close to the motte." The man stopped talking for a wet sounding coughing fit that had the others pulling back from him.

  "The English army was angry, but the town folk went mad in the streets. They had been pulling down smouldering thatch from roofs with their pitch forks to stop the fires from spreading, but then they began to run up the mottes with pitchforks of burning thatch. They heaped them along the pale of the bailey and eventually the entire pale wall caught fire. We tried to retreat. We pleaded for terms. York was burning. Lives were burning. They slaughtered us.

  Then the first storm hit with wind and rain. The wind caught the fire and the rain became steam. People were running from the city in a panic and leaping into the river. It was the only chance we had. We joined the panic and ran with them. Wet and without armour we looked like everyone else."

  The second man spoke. "We escaped south by running along the banks of the river. When we looked back, York was smoking and steaming but no longer were flames reaching to the sky. The rain came down so hard that it saved the rest of the city. We got to Castleford just before the Danes could cut us off."

  "How many died?" asked Beatrice softly.

  "There were over two thousand of us in the garrison. Only a few hundred escaped," said the first man. "I don't know how many English axemen died, but not many. A few hundred perhaps. We were trying to retreat, trying to negotiate, not fighting them. As for in the city, I don't know. The fire was hot. It spread quickly. I don't know how many families died in the fire and then in the panic that the fire caused. Perhaps a few hundred, perhaps a few thousand, I don't know."

  "Two thousand of the garrison," speculated Raynar. "That must be half of William's army. A third anyway. He must be finished. Now that York has fallen, Cospatrick and the Earls can move south. The Danes have a foothold on the south bank of the Ouse so they control the Humber. Oh my. Is Lincolnshire next?" It was difficult to contain his joy, but he was very aware that the two guests were William's men.

  Thorold paced the floor. He had taken a chill during the ride from Selby, but with Beatrice's care he was feeling better now. "William has moved most of his men from Escumetorp to Pontefract. The larger ships of the Danish fleet are still in the Humber at the mouth of the Hull river. They could ferry a force across very quickly and be on their way to Lincoln at any time."

  He paced some more. "I wonder. If Sweyn were personally here with his fleet instead of in Denmark, think of how different this could be. Sweyn would tell the Earls to attack William from the north across the River Aire, while he took most of his army across the Humber and through Lincoln and attacked William from the south. I don't know if Jarl Osbard can take that risk without orders from Sweyn, but he would be a fool not to. If they press William now he would have no choice but to retreat all the way to Wessex, and perhaps even to Normandy."

  Each day Thorold would visit the palace to keep up with the news. He was not required for duty, but neither was he dismissed to go home. Perhaps the barons did not want the well connected Danelaw lord at large for fear he would help the Danes. Perhaps they just wanted to keep his company just to calm the other English lords of Lincolnshire.

  Whichever the case Raynar was enjoying the comfort of the town house, and the company of Beatrice and Anske. Meanwhile he listened to each day's news, hoping for news that William was dead, or that William was close enough to make dead.

  After a few days recuperating and resting, their two guests moved on. That day when Thorold returned from headquarters, he entered the house calling for Raynar. He told him to find the other bowmen and bring them to the hall. He was shaking, he was so angry. Once all the bowmen were present he told them why.

  "William and Jarl Osbard have agreed to a Danegeld. Tomorrow the Normans are moving the treasure from Lincoln to Grimsby on the mouth of the Humber. The terms are that all of the Danes and all of their ships must stand offshore at Grimsby before it will be paid. They may shelter in the Clays until the sea is calm, but then they must away, back to Denmark.

  There is more. Listen carefully. There is word that Earl Edgar's ship has foundered outside of the Humber on the coast near to Saltfleet. His men have been spotted in Louth, which is about twenty five miles east of here. My thought is that they were trying a surprise attack on Lincoln. They will not have heard of the Danegeld. Because of the Danegeld, the Lincoln garrison is now free to go and slaughter them. They will be taken by surprise, unless...." Thorold turned and looked at Raynar's bowmen, who were actually Edgar's bowmen.

  "Unless we leave now and beat them to Louth. May we take the horses?" one bowman spoke.

  "Of course, but not the livery. Anske, find them some homespun. Hurry, girl. Nothing must connect them to us."

  Raynar was troubled not to be going with them, but Beatrice held him back by saying that it was their duty and their glory, not his. He chose to accept her words because his own thought was that the task of warning Edgar would lead him further away from William.

  He had trouble saying fare-thee-well to these four brothers in arms. They eaten, slept, camped, rode and shared adventures for three months across two kingdoms and hundreds of miles. He grasped each in a warrior's grip, as did Thorold, who gave them a small purse for expenses. Beatrice was aloof, but Anske gave each a full hug and a deep kiss. Deep enough to stir a bit of resentment in Raynar.

  It was strange to have the communal men's room to himself. He felt suddenly alone. He had slept next to those men for an age, when judged by shared experiences. He knew their breathing and their snoring, their farts and their burps, their chuckles and their secret fears.

  He left the candle burning. It was low anyway and perhaps he would be asleep before it guttered. The door opened and Anske walked through. She stopped in front of him and dropped her cloak. Her skin was honey colored in the candle light and her eyes were deep blue as she looked at him. She pulled back his cloak and slipped under it beside him.

  "I don't think that Beatr
ice would approve," breathed Raynar, as he felt his lust growing. "Wasn't she bent on finding you a wealthy husband amongst all the lords gathered in Lincoln?"

  "She had many offers of purses to buy me as a mistress, but none for marriage. Those Norman lords are handsome, and well mannered, and dress better than the court women, but it is all false, as if they are acting a role. I want a real man, not a man pretending to be real. I want a man to say he loves me because he does, not because he wants to mount me."

  "You didn't answer my question," Raynar whispered. "Does Beatrice know that you have come to me?"

  "She sent me," she whispered, as she rubbed her lovely skin against his, "or rather, I asked her if I could come, and she said yes."

  "Was she angry when she agreed?"

  "No, not angry, but she warned me not to get with child. Not with you. You are not husband material."

  The next few days were stormy, and Raynar and Anske rarely got out of the warmth of their bed. Each day they waited impatiently for Thorold to return from headquarters, in hopes that he would have news of Earl Edgar, and each day there was none. On the third day there was news.

  "The River Aire is still flooded," Thorold had said the same thing each day. "Both armies stare at each other across it. "

  "So nothing has changed," said Beatrice.

  "Something has changed. William had decided that he has better things to do than to wait for a river to go down. He has left the defense of Lincolnshire in the hands of his half-brother, Count Robert Mortain, while he marches towards Shrewsbury. He is riding fast to surprise the Welsh."

  "I have never met Count Robert," said Beatrice.

  "He is as wealthy as a king. He holds hundreds of manors," replied Thorold. "I have heard no nasty gossip about him so he must not be as evil as his brother Odo."

  "You say that William is moving south fast," Raynar said more to himself than to Thorold. "That means he must pass near to Sherwood."

  Thorold heard the words, and decided to change the subject. "The Lincoln garrison has returned from Louth." He watched for the reaction. The two women and Raynar turned to him and were silent. Anske had a hand across her mouth. "They have taken some exiled English lords captive, but not Edgar. He and a few other lords, and all of his bowmen have escaped.

  The Normans really, really hate those longbows of yours, Raynar. It was all they could talk about at headquarters. They lost half their force to arrows.” He did not continue. Beatrice and Anske were hugging Raynar and each other.

  The next morning Raynar rose early and packed without even pausing for their normal sex play. Anske threw her cloak around her shoulders and ran to tell the others. Thorold walked into the room with Beatrice on his heels.

  "Sherwood," Raynar said.

  "You have missed him lad. He will be in Shrewsbury by now."

  He did not try to hide his intent from these two. They had known for months that he had vowed to hunt and kill King William. "If Eadric kills him in Shrewsbury, then I will be happy to have wasted my time. Whatever else happens in Shrewsbury, he must hurry back and will ride through Sherwood. I will be waiting for him." He was dressing in homespun and his brynja.

  "I will ride with you to the start of Fosse Way," offered Thorold.

  "I am walking."

  "No you aren't," said Thorold. "And don't tell me yet again how you must ride a nag. You will take one of my horses as far as the start of Fosse Way. There is a carter's stable there, where you can buy a nag and I will bring my horse back here."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Saving Princesses by Skye Smith Copyright 2010-13

  Chapter 25 - Meeting Duke Robert in Portsmouth, July 1101

  On their way out of Winchester, Raynar and the two Portsmouth tax collectors made a short stop at John's house so that Raynar could grab his pack and his weapons. He was dressed in the same kind of robes as the collectors, complete with badge of office. The badge that everyone in the kingdom feared, that marked a king's tax collector.

  John's wife Mar spilled down the stairs as soon as her gatekeeper yelled out that it was the King's tax collectors. Her look of panic turned to laughter when she finally focused on the faces, but it was nervous laughter. Collectors had that effect on businessmen. All merchants cheated the tax man, some more than others, so they lived in fear of being surprised by a visit from one.

  Raynar left her at the gate with the collectors and raced upstairs and into the back room to grab his things. Mar was not impressed when she saw all his weapons. He gave her a peck on the cheek, and then thought better of it, and gave her a long succulent kiss on the lips, and then he was gone.

  The three of them punished their horses most of the way to Portsmouth. They were riding passed the ruins of a major Roman fort at the heel of Portsmouth Bay when they first encountered a patrol. The patrol initially charged at them with swords forward but they pulled up sharply when Raynar nocked an arrow and took aim at the leader.

  The two tax collectors had welcomed his company, despite his advanced age, because of his bow. Men in their profession lived in constant fear of such bows and it was gratifying to have one at their side for a change.

  The patrol leader came forward from his men and spoke in French. "What business do you have here?"

  Raynar was in good company. The tax men ate lackeys like this one for breakfast. "The true question is, will you choose the gallows or the block for drawing weapons on the King's collectors?” the senior tax man said. He held the badge out so that it was clearly visible.

  The Roman fort must have been garrisoned, as two knights were riding towards them from the walls. Their first words were also to challenge, but the patrol leader anticipated the challenge and interrupted it. "We apologize for not recognizing you, but we were not expecting any collectors. Why are you here?"

  Raynar answered before the senior man could. "We have heard that a huge horse market is to be held in Portsmouth and we have come to collect the taxes due." The senior taxman nodded and smirked at the quick wittedness of this bowman.

  "There is no horse market here. You have been misinformed."

  Raynar pointed to the churned earth on the cartway. "My eyes do not deceive me. Hundreds of horses have passed this way since the last rain. Whose men are you, to lie to a collector?"

  They refused to name their lord.

  "Come now, you are knights," called out the senior collector, "to not name your oath lord is to deny him."

  "We are Mortain's men," one knight said reluctantly.

  "Mortain of Pevensey?"

  "The same," replied the knight.

  "Take us to him."

  "He is in Portsmouth," admitted the knight.

  "Then leave us pass. If you look for us, seek first at the excise counting house in Portsmouth," said the senior taxman. They rode around passed the patrol and the knights. They did not look back for fear of breaking the spell of indecision they had heaped upon the knights.

  Portsmouth was full of men and ships and horses. There was no denying that an army was being staged here. They brushed aside questions from guards by waving their badges. They only halted when they had reached the small stone counting house at the fork in the cartway that led to both main docks.

  There were men inside, behind a heavy barred door, but they opened it when they recognized the senior taxman. The men inside answered many questions, but the answer was always the same. They had not tried to collect any taxes from the increasing number of ships arriving from Normandy. Raynar was introduced as an officer from the Treasury in London, come to ensure no tax was missed.

  "Have you lost your senses?" said one of the excise men. "Don't you understand what is happening here? Duke Robert's army must be about to land."

  "You mean this is not his army?" asked Raynar.

  "No, this lot are only the barons that kneel to him on this side of the Manche."

  "Is Robert here yet?" asked Raynar.

  "He may be. We've been locked in h
ere for two days now. There are some knights in crusader colors walking the docks. They would be the ones to ask."

  They left Raynar's Seljuk bow and their horses with the excise men and walked out towards the crusaders on the dock. By walking calmly alongside other men they were able to tune their hearing to the gossip and chat. The only important things that they heard were that most ships were still a half day away due to the tide, and that the horses were late arriving also. Raynar smiled to himself. The late herds would cause endless hours of alehouse stories for the next month all over this shire.

  They came to the first group of crusader knights, stopped, clicked their heels in salute and asked if they could point out Duke Robert. The knights saw the official badges and the uniform clothes, and pointed to the end of the dock where a very large Cog was tied up. They walked to the Cog and asked again. A man perhaps five years younger that Raynar turned and looked at the mention of his name.

  Raynar decided to fulfill the errand set by Gregos first. "Sire, I am from the Kingdom's Treasury in London, and these men are from the Shire Treasury at Winchester. We have come on behalf of the Chief Treasurer in London to ask you if you are bringing goods to the kingdom that are excisable?"

  The knights around him were angry at the words and move towards them as if to push them off the docks, but Robert held them with a word. The knights backed out of the way and Robert spoke, "You say you are from the Kingdom's Treasury in London."

  "Yes, sire," replied Raynar and bowed quickly and then showed his badge.

  "So the main treasury is in London not in Winchester."

  "Yes sire, King Henry moved it from Winchester to London when he was crowned. There is nothing in Winchester save the coin needed to run the shire."

  Robert turned his back to the collectors and was cursing under his breath. He called towards a man in rich clothing. They stood close and talked for some time. The crusader knights stood to block the collector's line of sight so Raynar had no clue what was being said or of what urgency it was.