Hoodsman: Queens and Widows

by Smith, Skye

  Two hours of the mile eating canter of the beige stallion brought him under the gloom of Sherwood's canopy. It was an eerie place and he felt like he was being watched. The horse chose his own drinking places and the place he stopped already had folk, men, women and children, about it. They looked ragged and footsore, and he didn't like the look of the daggers the men had in their belts.

  "Well pilgrim,” one of the men said to him. "I have to ask why a man with such a fine pack is riding a wooden saddle on a plough horse. You wouldn't mind if we had a look in that fine pack of yours, now would ya.” He stepped forward and other men stepped in beside him.

  "He's got a bow, dad,” said a ragged boy standing behind him. "It's on dis side."

  The first man walked sideways to see over the back of the horse. "Boy's right, fuckin' long bow he's got."

  A woman stepped forward, who may have been pretty in her youth, two years ago, but now just looked as worn as any alehouse whore. She said. "My man meant nothin' by that. He was just see'in if he could frighten you into flippin' him a copper. We don't want no trouble."

  Two of the men were moving around out of his easy sight. They had slings.

  "Watcha,” said a voice from the forest. "Use those slings as belts again, lads.” A man with a deep hood and a long bow with arrow nocked stepped out of the shadows.

  All the ragged men backed away from Raynar and joined their women and children. "We don't want no trouble,” the woman said again, "please don't do nothing to us. Life has been cruel enough."

  Raynar turned the beige and walked it towards the hoodsman. "Well met friend. Were you looking for me."

  "Na, just keeping an eye on this lot till they are passed my village. There's more and more refugees coming down from the north. The Scots are raiding again, and it was a hard winter. I wish them well, but somewhere else.” He looked around the horse and yelled to the ragged men, "There's honest work in Nottingham. You'll be there tomorrow. Keep moving."

  Raynar turned back to the hoodsman to say thank you, but he had vanished. He smiled, and rode passed the woman who had spoken and flipped her two coppers. The man now beside her said, "Two is not enough if you want her. Make it three."

  "The coin was not for her, or for you. It is for milk for the children,” he replied and then he turned to the empty forest and yelled out. "They will stop at the next farm to buy milk. There will be no mischief."

  "There will be no mischief,” repeated the woman as Raynar urged the beige up to a canter and was away again through the drizzle.

  He stayed on the forest cartways, safe from Norman patrols until he broke out into the fields and the crossroads at Barlburg. A voice called to him from the alehouse, and a huge head of hair and beard raised itself from ducking under the low eaves. It was John. "Come on in out of the rain,” he yelled.

  Raynar suddenly realized how wet his cloak was. He tied the horse near to the trough and under a shed roof, and followed John back into the alehouse. They were the only ones there save for a toothless man who was pouring another jug.

  "John, you look well."

  "So do you, Ray,” said John without enthusiasm.

  "I got your message and took the first ship across."

  "I noticed,” said John.

  "I was expecting a hug and a grin for an old friend, not this sourness. Is de Bully causing problems."

  "De Bully and his wife Muriel are in Normandy, as are almost all of the nobs. Those that did not answer the call of battle, answered the call that William is ill. They are hoping to be first in line to pick at his bones. No, it's not the Bully who is causing problems this time, it is the wastrel sons of the knights he left in charge."

  "Well, no more. Do you know who the largest land lord is after the Bullies? Judith. And she has made me steward with all powers over her estates here. All I need do is have the local priest and court read the scroll I have brought and file their copy."

  "Oh yes, and what will that accomplish against Norman swagger, and Norman connections, and Norman swords, and Norman cocks."

  "You'll cheer up when you thing it through, John,” he poured more ale for his friend, "it means we can use force without becoming outlaws."

  John leaned forward. "How did Judith come by all this land? Was it bought by you with Flanders coin, but deeded to her, you know, like the stable and mill in Winchester?"

  "No, it was Siward's, passed to Waltheof, passed to Judith. All these years we did not know because she did not know that Scafeld was the same town as Sheffield."

  "You mean all this bloody trouble...” began John.

  "was unnecessary. Now we can hire bowmen as ploughmen on every farm just like we do around the Fens."

  "Well then, let's get this scrap of paper of yours to the priest,” John said with a wide smile.

  "First let me rest a while. My bum has sores and my legs are twisted from the girth of that beast."

  "Well, right then,” John played with an oatcake. "Britta and I are living on Sonja's estate now. There was too much theft happening so we couldn't leave it vacant any longer. I moved my forge and the stable there too. I should have thought of it when I first set up the forge. It's better for me because the gorge trail to Hathersage begins just beyond that manor. Sonja has her brother for protection from the effing knights."

  "How is Britta?"

  "Old as the hills. She's never recovered from being used, you know, at the whorehouse when that other bastard knight abducted her by mistake. I had hoped we could live like man and wife, as a family, but she won't let any man touch her. Something is wrong inside her and she has aged ten years this last winter. I bunk with the carters on the ground floor."

  Now Raynar understood his friend's long face. "And Sonja?"

  "She still looks young. Hard to believed there is but two years between the sisters. 'Course Sonja wasn't , well, you know."

  The hurry had gone from Raynar's mission. There was no longer the risk that John would do something that would get him outlawed. They walked their horses side by side and traded stories of the past year and a half, for that is how long it had been since they last were together. The horses seemed to be chatting as well. They both looked like plough horses but they were both strangers to the plough, one because he was too small and the other too large. John needed a very large horse.

  "The ships and the carts have been earning well,” explained John, "while you were playing nursemaid to Judith's Robert and keeping some French tart warm, London filled our purses. The great fire of London was a bugger for Londoners, but the rest of us did all right out of it."

  Raynar kept the stories of the Battle of Gerberoi and the wounding of the Conqueror short, despite the wounding taking a year of his life to set up. When he told him of the pig shit arrow that he had skewered the Conqueror with, John said "Well that explains why all the bloody nobs have left the kingdom. They truly have gone to pick the bones of that bastard."

  They were close to Sheffield now. and John decided, "The priests will be hiding from work until later in the day. Let's go and show your ugly face to Britta. It may cheer her up a bit.” He had barely made this decision when a man on a lathering cart horse swung around a house and stopped in front of them.

  "John, thank the fates, I was beginning to think we had passed without seeing each other,” the man was red in the face and out of breath. "Britta and Sonja's brother has been killed in a riding accident. The knights are at his manor as we speak."

  "Then let's get there quick before they harm Sonja,” yelled Raynar touching his sword to make sure he still had it.

  "No, no, I was sent by Britta to tell you not to do that. Sonja got the children out of the house and they used their secret paths to reach Britta because they thought John would be there. Britta says come to her. So long as the children are safe, the knights will keep Sonja safe."

  "That makes sense, Ray. If their brother is dead then both Sonja and Britta are widows with estates. Luckily they are living on each other's. Their boys' lives a
re now not worth a copper if the are caught, and wee Marion’s womb is worth a fortune.” John turned his horse and kicked it cruelly to a run, "To Britta in Fulwood."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Queens and Widows by Skye Smith

  Chapter 4 - Save the children in Fulwood, S.Yorkshire in March 1079

  "Go, go, go. Whatever happens do not get caught by the knight's men,” yelled Britta from the doorway. The heads of the three teens bobbed along just visible over the low bush, and then they were hidden by the higher bush that ran along the Edge. She sighed with relief. The three had spent endless summers exploring every path and crag between here and the high meadows of the Peaks where their grandfather kept the sheep in the summer months. They could hide out on the moors forever if need be.

  A man's howl of pain brought Britta back from her love of the children. There was pounding at the main door now, so she barred this back door and ran upstairs to look out from between the shutters. When the original Daneglish longhouse had been converted into a manor, the ground floor had been kept as a great hall, and a second floor had been added for family rooms. The ground floor windows had been narrowed and raised to be above a man's height so that they let light in, but not thieves.

  She made no answer to the pounding, and now heard footsteps crunch on stones as men went around to the back door. Thank goodness the children were away. They had pleaded with her to go with them, but she had refused. She would have slowed them down too much, and besides, here she could stall those that would be searching for them.

  Outside it was still lightly raining. She could not see the door because of the eaves but she could see out to John's forge and stable. There were three bodies on the ground not moving. This morning there had been two carters in the yard, and the two lads who helped John with stable and forge. She had sent one of the carters to find John. The others had come to a bad end, probably from daring to stand in the way of Normans.

  She was weeping and she did not know whether it was from sadness, or fear, or rage. She pulled the weapons down from the wall. An old cross bow, the old lord's sword, and a short stabbing spear. There were four bolts for the crossbow, but she would not have time to reload. It took all of her strength to load it once. She sat at the top of the stairs with the weapons surrounding her and waited.

  She did not have to wait long. There was a crash of splintering wood and the sound of angry men below. Then an axe bit through the door at the bottom of the stairs, and bit through again and this time through the bolt as well. The door jumped open as the axe was kicked free of it. She pointed the crossbow at the doorway and prayed to Freyja that the first man through would be the knight. A man's face peered up and he took the heavy bolt through his mouth.

  The men below were professionals. They knew they could not leave her enough time to reload. They pushed at each other and stumbled up the stairs. She shoved the short spear at them but one man grabbed the shaft and almost pulled her down the stairs before she realized she should let go. The lead man was now near the top and she swung the sword sideways along the floor to decapitate him has his head came up above floor level. He blocked it with a metalled glove.

  The glove grabbed her by the front of her tunic and dragged her down the stairs. "Where's the brats?” spat the man in rough French into her face. She pretended not to understand the language and got a punch in the stomach for her ignorance. "Check upstairs,” he ordered and then dragged her down the rest of the stairs so other men could pass by. She was thrown to the floor.

  "Oye lads,” chuckled one of the men evilly, "look who it is. The serf woman from the whorehouse who swore she was a lady. She was a good fuck, remember.” There were other laughs behind her and she looked around and counted. With two upstairs, and this one and five behind her, that was eight. Britta shuddered, and screamed over and over until she lost her mind. She lost focus and though words came to her through her madness they seemed so far away.

  "No one up here. Shut her up."

  "Then they went out the back way. Go after them and don't stop till you catch them. Kill the boys if you must, but harm one hair of the girl and the boss will have you quartered."

  "Go after them yourself. I want my turn with her first."

  "Well then be quick, else the trail will be cold."

  Britta felt her clothes being cut and ripped from her. She was lifted and bent over the table and then she stopped caring what was happening. She felt nothing. She felt nothing. She felt nothing, from any of them. All of them. As each one finished she heard them clump away and out the back door. When they were all gone, she pushed herself along the table until she could fall first to a bench and then to the straw on the floor.

  "Not yet bitch,” said a voice, "You forget, we have all visited you before. We know you can speak our language. We two haven't had our turn yet, but first you will tell us where your daughter has run to."

  The voices were not real. The pains running up her legs and inside her were real. The men, all the men, had been wearing mail. She could feel that her skin had been rubbed raw by the mail. She could feel the coolness of the draught against the blood on her skin. Then suddenly that pain went away because there was a worse pain, oh such pain, how could there be so much pain. She could not focus her eyes, but her nose could smell. The smell of burning flesh.

  "How was that, bitch,” said a voice. "Painful enough. And that was just coals on your feet. Tell us where she has gone, else I will use the poker, and you know where I will use it."

  She could say nothing. She had no words. Her madness had taken everything away from her except the pain. Endless pain. All she could do was scream. She could not even faint away, for the pain kept her conscious.

  "You fool,” said another voice. You should have waited until we took our turn.

  "You want inside that whore after those other six had done her. You must be mad. I don't need their diseases,” and he turned around and ducked just in time to save getting a splitting axe through his skull. The giant in front of him had such immense strength of arm that he was able to stop the axe in mid flight and turn the blow so that it came down on the Norman's leg.

  He dropped to the ground in agony and watched as the giant bent low to duck the swing of his partner's broad sword and then picked that man up by the legs and swung him around first with two hands and then with one and smashed the man's head off against the central post of the house. The giant was now roaring with rage because he had found the woman and he lifted the smashed man up with one hand and threw him across the hall and into the fire pit. The giant was still roaring and he turned around slowly and looked at him. His face was contorted in rage.

  Raynar came through the doorway with his short sword drawn and in front of him, but he knew from the sequence of noises what to expect. He leaped in front of John and yelled through John's roaring rage, "See to Britta, I must question the other man.” The only man on earth who could have turned his back at that moment to this enraged mountain of a berserker, was his lifelong friend.

  Raynar crouched by the injured man and asked calmly in courtier French, "Tell me where the children are?"

  "Keep him away from me,” pleaded the man.

  "Only if you tell me where the children are."

  "They went out the back way. The woman was alone."

  "What of the carter and the lads near the forge?"

  "They tried to stop us. Us, the master race. They died quickly."

  "How many are chasing the children?"

  "Six"

  "How long ago did you arrive here."

  "Less than an hour,” said the man who was now pissing himself.

  "Raynar,” sobbed John, "come and help Britta."

  Raynar would have ignored the call if it had been a rage, but the rage had turned to sobs so quickly that he swirled around and raced to his friends side. Britta was missing half her skin, and where the skin used to be was now a pulpy mass of blood and flesh. Her feet were black and smelle
d of burned meat. Her eyes were staring sightlessly. She was still breathing but barely.

  There was a sound behind him and he knew without looking that the other Norman had just made a fatal mistake. He was trying to escape. John leaped up beside him, grabbed the ten foot oak bench made shiny by generations of bottoms, and threw it as if it had been a light spear. He looked around and saw the bench hit the Norman in the back at the waste and saw the man fold in two backwards.

  While John's attention was elsewhere Raynar cupped his hand over Britta's nose and mouth and held them tight shut. A tear dripped down his cheek and onto hers and he said "Goodbye love". She didn't fight his hand, she just stopped breathing. He heard John returning and took his hand away from Britta's face. "She is dead, John. Come, we must find the children. They have an hours start."

  John stood to his full height and was strangely silent. The carter who had fetched them came in the door, "all three by the forge are dead. Skulls crushed by swords."

  Raynar took a deep shuddering breath to calm himself so that he could speak again. "The children got away. They will be headed to the high country. They have an hours start. They have six of the bastards that did this, hot on their trail."

  "They will be safe enough,” said John, "They know the back country. Alan has taught them all to hunt. They won't be caught."

  "They are children, they may do something foolish, like double back to save their mothers. Where is Alan?” Raynar asked the carter.

  "Tideswell, hunting, visiting his folk," the carter replied.

  "Ride, ride like the wind to Tideswell. Find Alan or find anyone with a longbow. Tell them what has happened here. Raise the hood. There are six Normans in mail chasing children in the high country. They are to be stopped. The children are to be found and to be hidden."

  The carter looked at the carnage in the room and especially at the blob of bloodied flesh on the floor. "Is that Lady Britta, no, they did that.” He picked up the axe from the floor and swung it around his head and smashed it down on the head of the body that was folded backwards across a bench