The Hoodsman - Killing Kings

by Skye Smith

  "Not assassins, because they do not work for pay. There is no word in English. In Greek they would be called vigilantes. They exist because the rule of law has failed. Their sign is a blackened arrow. Only violent men who are above the law need fear them."

  "So they work for a folk court, or are they both judge and executioner?" asked Gregos.

  "The folkmoots were dissolved by the Normans. There are only Norman courts now, where a Norman judge dictates the sentence and has no need of evidence unless the defendant is a Norman."

  "So judge and executioner, then," said Gregos. "Where does the name come from? Do they wear an executioner's hood?"

  "Hoodsman is not the real name. The true name is the Brotherhood of the Arrow and it was like a warrior's guild but for folk archers. It was originally formed amongst the skirmishers of the English army, the army that was beaten by William the Conqueror. The Norman knights hated those skirmishers, because a trained skirmisher, a mere peasant with simple weapons, could kill them and make it look easy."

  "Archers win the battles and swordsmen take the glory. It is the same everywhere," said Risto.

  "Here as well," said Raynar, "though after the English Earls lost all and the armies were disbanded and sent home, the brotherhood became the defenders of their villages, and eventually they became vigilantes. They often wear hoods to hide their faces, but hood is actually just short for brotherhood. As in the Hood, or Hoodsmen, or the Robbing Hood."

  "Are you a hoodsman?" Risto asked, watching his face carefully.

  "I was there when the brotherhood was created. I was a skirmisher when we beat Harald of Norway outside of York back in '66. Once a hoodsman, always a hoodsman, I suppose. And before you ask, yes, I think the king was killed by a hoodsman.

  Oh, and just so you know, it is dangerous to ask someone if they are a hoodsman, especially if there are Norman ears close by." Raynar pointed ahead. "Looks like some farmers' wives have a fruit stall up ahead under that big elm. A good place to rest a while."

  They sat in the shade and ate some plums. It seemed like a whole village was sitting there in the shade with them. "What is happening? Is it a wedding or a funeral?" Raynar asked of the good wife who was selling him some plums.

  "They are waiting to see kings and princes ride by," she replied, "and why not, with the lords not bullying them on this warm summer's day. Would you need a better excuse to relax in the shade?" She handed him the plums. "We saw one group of well-dressed nobs ride by yesterday while we were setting up, but most of these folk weren't here with us at the time."

  Raynar toasted her with a sweet and juicy plum, and said, "Then the others missed the new king, Henry. Did you give him a plum?"

  "No." She looked down the dusty road towards London. "No, they were riding like the wind. They'd have trampled me if I'd run out to show them my plums. Do us a favor. Don't tell the rest that they've already missed the new king. Let them enjoy being lazy. Besides I still have more plums to sell."

  They walked a few more miles past throngs of serf folk who were resting by the road side wherever there was shade. Gregos shuddered. "These people are not well, and have not been well for some time. Look how the bellies stick out, and how the shoulders have no meat on them and their teeth are rotten and their eyes are dull. Is there a plague in this area? Perhaps we should travel by a different route?"

  "There is a plague on these people. The carter told you so. Their Norman lords are the plague." Raynar waved his hands in a sweeping motion to the fields of crops extending to the horizon. "This is some of the richest growing land in England with the longest growing year. Wait until you see the serfs that till the stony frosty fields of the North.

  The folk here live surrounded by plenty, and yet they are hungry, and the constant hunger makes them weaken to sicknesses. Too many years of bad food or not enough food. You can smell that they have the water sickness, which means they are drinking bad water. Take a good look at one or two of them. They have turned out in their best clothes to see the new king ride by, and yet their best clothes are filthy rags. Look at the children. They are runts and will never be as tall as their grandfathers. If they were in a slave market, no one would buy them."

  Two young horsemen passed by. Raynar pointed to them. "See the difference between the folk and those two manor-born cockerels? They have never been hungry. Their clothes are new and city bought. They care well for their horses, and care nothing for these folk who create the wealth in their purses. Each of you have traveled to many lands. Have you ever seen the richest of the peasants look so weak and ill-kept in any other land than this?"

  "Everywhere there are peasants and in some places the peasants are as sickly as these, like in the highlands of Al-Andalus," answered Risto.

  "I have seen famine before. More than a few times. Crops fail, peasants starve, that is life," answered Gregos.

  "Ah, but in England it is not just some peasants, but all peasants, and this is no famine, for look at the lushness of the crops around us. This is madness. The madness of greed and the folly of misused power and wealth. The lords purposefully keep these folk hungry to keep them weak so they will not rebel. I pray that the new king has seen the like of these wretches on his trip to London, for normally you would never see the folk along the highway like they are today."

  "You will have no arguement from me," mumbled Gregos. "As you say, this is madness for this is not just bad government, it is bad business. If the lords had purchased these slaves with gold, then they would be destroying their own investment. In Al-Andalus slaves are expensive, and are treated well because they are valuable."

  Raynar's reply had to wait while he shooed away some children who were asking to be given something, anything. They gave them nothing, so the children went back to laughing and playing.

  "Before the Normans, there was no such thing as serfdom in this land. It was an idea that they brought from Normandy but I think the idea first came from the Papal lands in Lombardy."

  "I know what serfdom is," replied Gregos, "for I have been many times to France and to Lombardy. A slave belongs to a man, whereas a serf belongs to a measure of land. The lord of that land is granted a lease by his ruler, but he does not own it. The reasoning is that the men who work the land should never be allowed to walk away from that work, no matter how the ruler juggles the lords."

  With growing crowds of folk now lining the street, they were faced with a dilemma. If they walked on the shady side of the road, they must pass close to the serfs and their stench and the begging. But it was a hot day to walk in the sun, and the sunny side was in use by faster moving horses and slower moving carts, and therefore there was much dung and dust.

  The line of serfs would end each time they walked past a woodland area, and then start again when there were more fields. Eventually as the day heated up, they had no choice but to walk on the shady side of the road and endure the stench and the closeness of the serfs.

  "This pack is chaffing at my neck," Gregos eventually complained.

  Raynar stepped behind him and adjusted the pack and suggested he take another rest soon so he could repack it to move every heavy item to the bottom. He then stepped behind Risto and did a similar adjustment. A mile further and there was a wife selling ale and cooked duck eggs, and so they stopped.

  Once they had chased off the curious children, they ate a surprisingly filling snack of ale and egg. They did a complete repack to lighten Gregos’s load. The damage was already done to Gregos's old back, however. He had a knot in his neck and between his shoulders, and you could see that he was uncomfortable shouldering his pack even after they took his heaviest items and transferred them to the other packs.

  A small horse-drawn cart pulled up into the shade. Raynar walked over to buy the carter an ale and chat. The carter was young and in a good mood. He was on his way back to Basingestoches after making a delivery, and he had been allowed a horse instead of an ox so that he could be back before dark.

  For the price of another
ale and a few coppers the young carter welcomed them onto his cart. The horse walked fivefold the speed of an ox. This was not all a good thing, as at that speed the cart bounced and jarred through the potholes. Though they used their packs to cushion themselves, they were bruised and white with chalky dust within a mile.

  The driver was not a carter, but a young groom by the name of Cena. He did not have the hungry look of the field serfs and his easy smile showed strong white teeth. When he heard that the reason these merchants were walking to London rather than riding, he became all smiles.

  "Then it is my uncle Dunstan you will be wanting in Basingestoches. He runs strings of passenger ponies to all the towns around, and as far as the River Thames."

  "Ponies? Ponies for children?" Risto asked.

  "Not children’s ponies. They are not ponies so much as small strong horses. They are surefooted and patient and have a quick step walk that shakes your teeth, but not your back. They are cheaper to buy and cheaper to keep and cheaper to saddle but bring in the same price per ride as a horse." Cena held up his hand to stop Risto from interrupting. "But the true wisdom of choosing ponies is that Normans sneer at them, so they never take them for themselves."

  Raynar and Gregos both smiled at the lad. Both admired commercial wit. "Then please drop us at your uncle's stables lad, for he sounds like a man worth meeting," Gregos said.

  "Your uncle," asked Raynar, "how will we know him?"

  "Aye, well that's not hard. Just after I was born, he and my father crossed to Normandy with William the Bastard in a band of archers. They proved their worth quickly, but were eventually captured. My father did not survive the capture. They cut off the bowstring fingers at the knuckle from my uncle's right hand. So just look for the tall fair man with mutilated fingers on his right hand."

  Cena shared his insights on the Normans his uncle dealt with. "Most of them are as useless as tits on a bull around their estates. Their idea of useful is useful in battle, and for sure, there have been battles enough these past few years. On the estate, though, they don't lift a hand to accomplish anything that is everyday useful. It is as if owning something useful, or doing something useful will embarrass them in front of their friends."

  The miles shook and rattled by in happy talk. For all his local knowledge and his ability to speak Norman, Cena had no other education. No reading, writing, sums, or geography. Risto gave up trying to explain to him where Al-Andalus was. The young groom had never seen a lake, never mind the sea, and he thought that the Manche was just a wide river that you crossed to get to the southern shire of Normandy.

  The lad's chatter finally wound down, and Gregos turned his questions back to Raynar to dig out more knowledge of England. "So I am wondering why the Norman lords are so fearful of losing their land, just because there is a new king. Don't they have written leases or deeds to prove their right to it?"

  Raynar sighed. Gregos' simple questions were always the most difficult to answer. "Knut the Great created an Empire out of the kingdoms that bordered the North Sea. He took what was common across most kingdoms and declared those things 'in common' and 'right' across his Empire. Thus the people's day-to-day lives became ruled by Common Law. It was therefore not a law for the commoners, but tested and sound laws for everyone.

  This rule by law was judged by folkmoots where judgements were made by a council of elders, usually a dozen of them. Since most evidence was oral, there were harsh penalties for perjury. Once William the Conqueror became king he replaced rule by law with rule by king, and judges were appointed by the Norman lords."

  "Yes, yes, you always start with what was. I want to know about now," said Gregos.

  "If I told you only that, you would not know why. Haven't you always told me that knowing 'Why' is the difference between learned and wise? Be more patient, " growled Raynar. "The Normans may have gained the throne of England with their swords, but they took possession of the land with their cocks."

  Risto was immediately paying attention. Raynar took the aleskin from him and wet his throat which was parched from talking while breathing the swirls of white dust kicked up from the dry roadbed.

  "From slaughtering the English lords the Normans had created a lot of wealthy widows. Those widows were betrothed by rape by the new lords, the Normans. Once the widow produced a half Norman child, any other sons had fatal 'accidents' so that the new Norman lord could claim the land through his child on behalf of King William. Thus, the king became the largest land owner and King William's will replaced Knut's rule of law."

  "Ah," said Gregos. "So when the king dies, there is no more law and no more rights to land other than the natural law of possession. Yes, I can see why the Norman land lords are in a panic."

  "Bah, too much law and politics," Risto interrupted. "It taxes my English. Go back to telling us stories of skirmishers and archers. Those I understand."

  * * * * *

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  THE HOODSMAN - Killing Kings by Skye Smith

  Chapter 19 - Scouting Near Stamford, Yorkshire in September 1066

  Hereward's thirty skirmishers rode hard all the way to a deserted village about three miles north of Stamford and a mile west of the Derwent River. They followed a Yorkshire man who kept them out of sight of the walls of York, and kept them off cartways and away from villages. Including the detours, they had ridden about twenty miles from Tatecastre and had done it in less than four hours. Raynar was saddle sore and back sore and teeth sore and thigh sore, and was glad when the Yorkie pulled into a dense copse outside a village and dismounted.

  Of the thirty, Hereward sent twenty off in twos on foot in every direction to spy the land and report back. Meanwhile the ten left in the copse set up a camp. The thickness of the bush was because there was a shallow pool fed by underground water. The trees were mostly ancient fruit trees that had grown too high to harvest. The younger men were sent up them to pick fruit. A lookout was sent up the highest tree, a walnut, and was told to keep in deep cover so he would not be spotted.

  The twenty soon returned and they all reported desolation. There were no folk, no trace of folk, no livestock, no food, no valuables. However, nothing had been burned, the roofs were intact, and the crops were nicely ripening, to the joy of the crows.

  "Good," said Hereward, "then there is nothing to come back for, save the harvest. This will be our advanced camp. When you leave here take your bearings on the walnut tree so that you can find your way back. Ten men will stay here with the horses. We are within a few miles of the Norse, so all scouting must be on foot. Stay away from the banks of the river, lest you be seen. Stay out of the corn fields for the same reason.

  Osmund, you take nine men and scout directly east from here about five miles. This means crossing the river, so be careful. Then turn south until you reach the Roman street. Don't cross the Street unless there is absolutely no chance of being seen. Streets have a straight line of sight for long distances, so the watch has an easy job. Make note of the traffic on the street. We need to know who is using the street and for what reason and how many. Then get back here. As soon as you get back here, send two messengers back to the army with the information, but the rest wait here.

  Meanwhile, I will take nine men south down this side of the Derwent and scout as far as Stamford. We need to spy out the road and river traffic moving down the Derwent from Stamford. If we can't see from high trees, then we will have to find a way to cross the Street. We need to know the size of the camp, the size of the boats, and how many boats and carts are on the move to and from the south. As soon as we return here, we will send two messengers back to the army with the information, and then wait here.

  Now, pay attention you lot. Our mission is to get information to the army. If the information does not get there, then all we have done is for naught. If you take a message to the army, then stay with the army. Everyone else, I want reassembled here just after sunrise tomorrow at the latest. We will ride back to the army together. Hopefully by that time it will
be on the move and already beyond York.

  The army needs to know this information quickly so they can plan their attack. If you see something important, like a large number of Norse warriors or an army on the move or the King, then send two runners back here early, so that message can get to our army quickly.

  Don't get side tracked by fighting, fucking, or theft. Run away, stay hidden, vanish, use your skirmisher skills and stay alive. If some of us are killed or wounded, the mission must continue, otherwise it was for nothing. If you are taken prisoner you will be questioned. If you must tell them something to stop the pain, then tell them that the army is planning an attack, but do not tell them that Harold's army has arrived. Your very presence will tell them that an attack is being planned, so they will know you speak true."

  Hereward looked around and men began asking questions.

  "I have drawn a large-size map in the mud by the pond. Let me show it to you before you ask questions." They moved to the mud map and Hereward explained the terrain twice. There were almost no questions, so Raynar held his. The others were experience skirmishers and knew what to do. "Anyone who can't swim, stay here with the horses. Raynar, Wylie, you are with me. The rest of you can choose which unit to scout with. "