by Skye Smith
The serjeant did a hand signal to his men, whose grips stiffened on their pikes, and they all stopped chuckling. Then he looked over towards Hereward and Wylie. "Are the rest of you in on this with this milksop?" he spat.
"Not at all," replied Hereward calmly. "He doesn't need our help. That is Raynar of the Peaks. It was he that slew the berserker on the bridge. You will fall in front of him like wheat before a sickle. Have you ever seen a bow such as his before. It is a magic bow from the Holy Land. It shoots through mail, it shoots through armour. It never misses. It is guided by the Virgin Mary to strike down all rapists."
The guards backed away from their serjeant and the serjeant's face went white as he started backing away with his men.
"You are wise, serjeant," said Raynar in a calmer voice, "and you would be wise to extend your guarding of this street to include the guarding of these women. And when your shift is done, make sure that your replacements also know how important it is that none of these women are molested. Your very life depends on it."
The serjeant moved away to be with his men, and the women they had been pestering joined the other hostages in the grass behind the ridge. If the serjeant had any thoughts of ignoring the lad called Raynar of the Peaks and his holy bow, they disappeared when the aide on the rise yelled, "Are you the Abbot's man, one Raynar? The king asks your presence."
Before Hereward and Raynar climbed the rise, they called the other skirmishers to them. Hereward pointed to Raynar’s bow and said, "Show them your sword as well . I want four of you to stay with the hostages, and the rest to go down to the scavengers at the ford. I want you to collect any bow that look like that and any sword that looks like that, and bring them back here. If you meet any of the others skirmishers, have them search too."
He looked at the exhaustion in the faces, and the disappointment at the thought of combing the bloody fields. "To find the bows, think like an archer. Where would you have stood on that battle ground?"
* * * * *
The marquee on the ridge seemed tranquil and clean after crossing the battlefield. A ring of personal guards were posted around it, but the aide got Hereward and Raynar past them with a simple wave of his hand. He stepped in front of them at the door flap so that they could be properly announced. It was a waste of his manners, for the king was not there. The aid walked them around the other side and out to the crest of the ridge overlooking the valley. The king was sitting on a stool in the sun and seemed to be asleep. The aide coughed discreetly.
The king waved them forward. He was not sleeping, he was fingering something in his lap. He held it up. It was an arrow. "Is this your arrow, Raynar of the Abbey?" Raynar moved closer to see, and confirmed it. The point was one of the eastern bodkins, so it was one of the arrows that was mated to his bow.
"They have found King Harald's body," Harold continued. "This is the arrow that killed him. They have not yet found my brother Tostig's body. Did you kill him too?"
"The only lord I shot was a very tall man. He was leading the Norse that took the high ground. I did not know he was the king," answered Raynar, suddenly afraid. "Tostig has never been pointed out to me so I would not know if I shot at him or not. Where was he in the battle?"
The king turned to him. "His banner spent most of its time half way up the hill, but moved towards the river with the last Norse surge."
"Then I never saw him, Sire, I was busy rescuing prisoners," Raynar replied.
Harold nodded. "Raynar, only we here know that it was your arrow that killed the king. You had best keep it that way. Don't speak of it. The nobility tends to react badly to porters who have balls enough and skill enough to kill heavily-protected nobility. If they fear for their own safety, they may decide to make you disappear. After all, if the rest of England's porters find out that a porter can kill a king, this country may come undone. Do you understand?"
"Keep my mouth shut," replied Raynar.
"Exactly," said Harold, and waved down the aide's voicing his objection to the lack of protocol in Raynar's words.
"Done, uh, Sire," Raynar added.
"The Norse berserker that was holding the bridge, that was your doing too?" asked Harold.
"Yes, Sire"
"I have had a complaint from the lord charged with taking the bridge. He wants you whipped for insubordination and disobeying orders," Harold said matter-of-factly.
"But I - they - I..."
The king held up his hand. "Never mind, I saw it all, and I have had Hereward’s report about why the bridge held us back for so long. You were in the right, and your actions probably saved me a thousand men, and shortened this battle by a day." He looked Raynar in the eye. "I cannot punish the lord now, else he will blame you and have you murdered. I will punish him at some other time."
The sound of battle from below in the valley became slightly louder and Harold turned to see what was happening. "My aide tells me there was trouble with my guards and the women prisoners."
"Not any more, Sire. We have an understanding," answered Raynar.
"Good, those women have suffered enough at the hands of men, and will suffer again come nine month." Harold motioned the aide closer. "Offer these two food and ale from my store and escort them through the guards. Send the captain of my guard to me."
Harold turned towards his two skirmishers. "Remember to hold your tongues. That is an order, not a request."
The king turned back to his view of the battlefield. Hereward followed the aide. Raynar did not.
Harold spoke without turning, "Raynar, you did not leave, I knew you would have more to say. It is a trait of the church's men to always push for more. Well then, say it."
By this time the aide was racing back to his king in embarrassment and began tugging at Raynar's sleeve. Raynar did not budge.
"It's about the wounded, Sire. The wounded should all be moved to the shade above the ford. The soil and the river are clean there and the water sweet and drinkable. Anyone camped in that bloody valley will sicken. It is poisoned with blood and offal, and the flies will spread the poison."
"Anything else?" Harold waited.
"And if you are bargaining a tribute from York, take part of it in care for your wounded. Your army doesn't have the time to properly care for the wounded, but York is rich and close by and they owe these men a blood debt. Let the burden of care be on the folk of York, and also the burden of returning the cripples and the prisoners to their kin." A silence. "Uh, Sire."
Harold turned and stared into Raynar’s eyes. "Are you applying for a position as my hospitaller? No? Then you are dismissed." He switched his stare to his aide. "Have the captain of the guard come to me, and have him bring the Hospitaller with him."
* * * * *
* * * * *
THE HOODSMAN - Killing Kings by Skye Smith
Chapter 22 - Riding to Guildford, in August 1100
After the richness of Winchester, Basingestoches was very rural. Like other Saxon towns, it was smelly and grubby and unplanned. Cena's uncle did make a good choice of location. The stable was where two roads from the west joined, and was close to the market. As they drove up, the uncle was at a farrier's forge. He put down his hammer, and wiped his hands on his leather apron and walked over to the cart. Cena introduced them and told him they were headed for London.
Dunstan wiped his hands some more as he told them the bad news. "I have no pony strings that can take you to London today. The only string still to leave is only going as far as Guildford. That puts you on the main highway to London bridge. There is a string on for tomorrow going to Staines. Once you cross the Thames ferry at Staines, there are a dozen stables that will take you into London. The old Roman street from Staines takes you through Westminster, so if you are lucky you may see some of the coronation."
Gregos stepped forward at the word "coronation" and agreed. "I suppose the morning ponies to Staines will have to do, thank you," and he reached out to shake Dunstan's hand. They had clasped hands before he noticed the missing
middle fingertips. "Ah yes, Cena told us you were in Normandy as an archer, and taken prisoner."
Cena was passing down the packs and saying, "I beg your leave. I have another load to pick up and deliver." The men watched him cluck the horse out of the stable yard and up the street to the market.
Dunstan looked back at Gregos. "We have simple pallets in the bunkhouse behind the stable that you are welcome to use. You can use the smaller of the two rooms. It has a door that can be barred. The grooms all sleep in the big room."
Gregos nodded and went to look at the bunkhouse with Risto. Raynar walked back to the forge with Dunstan. When they were out of earshot Raynar said "You've done well for yourself, old friend."
Dunstan stopped walking and turned slowly to face Raynar. "I saw your signal and it was hard to pretend we were meeting for the first time. How's John and Mar? I haven't seen them since last year's Wool Fair. No, it was the year before that."
"John is still John. Mar is changing from pretty to handsome." They shook hands again. Harder this time.
"Has this pretending to be strangers got anything to do with William Rufus? Was it the Hood?" There was no need to say what 'it' was.
"Yes, but the Normans will never admit it," replied Raynar.
"Will they begin hunting us again?" Asked Dunstan.
"No, but it is not the best of times to admit that you are of the Hood. Do us a favour and spread the word that everyone should lie low, or hide."
Dunstan held up his missing fingertips. "Hard to hide."
"Don't worry. If they begin looking, they will be looking for a desperate young man on the run, not a comfortably aging businessman. Meanwhile, we need to get to London tonight. Do you have any ponies to spare?"
"No, but I can free three up. Three of my Guildford passengers will be angry to be left here, but I can use the coronation as an excuse."
"Then please do so, old friend, while I will tell my companions," said Raynar as he gripped the man's elbow in the way of warriors.
Dunstan rented them three of his ponies free rein. "To return them you need only take them as far as my paddock in Staines," and he gave them detailed directions in how to find that paddock.
He had waved as they took to the road once more, and they waved back. It was over fifty miles to London Bridge, and they would probably not make it all the way this day, but they would get close. It all depended on Gregos, as walking with a pack had taken a toll on his neck and shoulders.
The ponies were everything Cena had promised them. They were easy to manage, surefooted and strong. Their short stride and low back made their quick step-walk easy to endure for long distances. They were smart enough not to overtire themselves and would force rest stops at water holes. The saddles were low and easy to mount, crude but padded, and had a frame behind the seat for strapping bags and rolls.
Their small hooves were protected from the hard road surfaces by iron shoes. The ponies were trained for one-handed control like a cavalry horse, rather than two-handed like other horses. They were polite with people, but they seemed quick to bite and quick to kick at each other. Interestingly, even when they kicked they did not buck, but kicked with one leg only.
Gregos and Risto were quite at home on the ponies, as they had ridden simila- sized horses in all the hot countries of the Mediterranean. Their speculation was that Dunstan had seen the advantages of smaller horses while fighting the French. Raynar, being a head taller, was too large for his horse and felt a bit ridiculous when Normans passed by on full-sized coursers. He wondered if John Wheelwright or his son would touch the ground with their toes astride one of these ponies.
Their route was through Guildford and they did not stop until they reached that important crossroad town. Now that they were riding, they could more easily see over walls and hedgerows. This highway was also lined with serfs hoping to see the new king. Now that they were riding they were accosted by all the local women folk with food or crafts to sell, but at higher prices.
The ponies knew their way to Guildford and took them to Dunstan's paddock there. They must have been part mule, because they refused to move again until they were fed and rested.
There were women walking by on the way to market with baskets on their heads. Risto watched them walk and sighed. "There are no expensive women at Court that have such pleasing posture as market women balancing baskets. I will go and buy something for us to eat."
Gregos and Raynar walked over to a shade tree while rubbing at their kidneys and stretching their legs. The ponies had wanted to walk single file so there had been little conversation since Basingestoches. Raynar took the opportunity to ask, "I assume you will be staying with the ambassador of Al-Andalus while you are in London?"
"Not if I can help it," muttered Gregos. He switched to Greek. "Keep this quiet, but I will soon be replacing our Ambassador with someone new. Though I do wish to ship samples of sheep breeds home, my more important mission here is to learn about England. The current ambassador knows nothing outside the court and a circle of equally ignorant ambassadors from other kingdoms.
He has probably never talked to an Englishman nor walked down a London street. Not that I should single out our ambassador for the problem is the whole Embassy charade. I have never met an ambassador from any kingdom that knows anything real about his host country."
"But there is a coronation. If you stay at the Embassy, you are certain to be invited," observed Raynar.
"If we don't get to London tonight, then I will be too late to be invited. If I am in London, the ambassador must bow to my wishes, even if I must replace his mistress at the abbey. Where do you stay when in London?"
"I stay at the Travelers Domus. It is akin to a monastery for men who frequent London on business," replied Raynar.
"Like a monastery. So you mean that the rooms are like cells?"
"Not at all," replied Raynar, "some of the rooms are quite splendid. You can rent them by the day or by the year if need be. Some of the more splendid rooms have been rented by the same men for years. The overnight guest rooms are plain in comparison, but finer than any room at an Inn."
"I have been told that the rooms of London Inns are quite dismal and depressing."
"Old London, within the walls, is all quite miserable because the houses are densely packed together and the lanes are narrow. The old town reeks in the summer when the rains don't wash the streets every day."
Gregos nodded, "All walled cities are like that. Long walls are expensive, so they tend to crush the people and buildings together."
"The coronation will be in Westminster, a suburb outside the walls named for its abbey. The Normans are building a more spacious and luxurious London at Westminster. Between Westminster and London is Holborn, which was built by the English and is also more spacious. The Travelers Domus is in Holborn.
A hundred years ago a monastic order was given the land of a ruined Roman temple in Holborn as a site for a new and larger monestary. In the way of church projects it was built in fits and starts. When King Knut lived in London he would suffer no more monasteries, so building on it stopped. The builders had restored the quarters of the Roman priests but had not yet begun any church buildings.
The ownership of the land under the Roman Temple is still in dispute, for there are many parties who lay claim to it, but in the meantime a friend of mine is making good coin from running the rebuilt quarters as an Inn. It is a pleasant place, built in the courtyard style of the Mediterranean. The best rooms ring a garden, and the high walls make it secure."
"It sounds pleasant, but will there be rooms available during a coronation?" Gregos asked.
"We are assured one room, for I lease my room by the year. Besides, as I said, it is run by a friend, as dear to me as a brother."
Risto arrived back with some food, a lot of food, and a smirk on his face that probably meant that the market women had been pinched and squeezed to earn the higher prices they would have charged him. He set the food down in the shade, but like hi
s traveling companions, did not sit. Not after so many miles in a saddle.
Gregos let Risto have first choice of the food, and meanwhile said to Raynar, "You stopped your story with you talking to King Harold of England on the ridge above Stamford Bridge. The Norse were all but defeated. What then? Did you become Harold's sworn man?"
"No, though as sworn lords go, Harold Godwinson of Wessex would have been a good choice. He was the King and the wealthiest Earl, being of Wessex. More important, he had the wisdom of age, but allowed younger men their leash. My other choice would have been Earl Edwin, but he was still young and unsure. Harold's family, the Godwinsons, and Earl Edwin's family, the Aelfgarsons, controlled every important barony in England. The two families were even related by marriage for Harold had married Edwin's sister Ealdgyth.