Hoodsman: Queens and Widows

by Smith, Skye

  "He was dead already,” whispered John.

  The carter stared back at him, "Yeh, but I feel a lot better now. I'm to Alan.” and he turned and ran.

  John and Raynar ran outside after the carter and saw him riding towards town. "No, come back” roared John. The carter doubled back as John and Raynar mounted their own horses. "Come with us. The children would have used the trail down through the gorge that leads to Hathersage. We will track them that way, but you can use the same trail to cross the valley and then use the bridlepath over the ridge to Tideswell."

  Raynar led, leaning out from his saddle to better see the trail. The Normans were mounted, the children on foot. He said this to the others. A short while later the trail dropped over the edge and down through some shade trees. They descended slowly so that the horses would not loose their footing.

  Without knowing why, he stopped at a traversing game path. He looked down and then at a broken branch. "Here, the children used this game path. They swept their footprints with a branch of that broom bush. John, I haven't walked these trails for years. Does this path lead anywhere?"

  "Aye, Ray, you have found them. That leads to the old cave that you and I dreamed and hoped was a lead mine when we were their age.” John dismounted and began to walk along the path.

  "John, wait, sweep your tracks and come back,” called Raynar "The children doubled back and are now trailing the Normans. They swept their tracks going both ways to keep the cave a secret."

  "What's that you say. Why would they be following the Normans."

  "Cause they've played fox and hound before,” laughed the carter. "Smart lads. The mounted Normans were moving faster than the children could on this trail, so they let them go by. Where ever the Normans fork off this trail, the children will turn the other way."

  "Come on then,” said Raynar, "the good news is that we are now closer to the children than the Normans. The other good news is that their footprints will be on top and easier to follow.” He led off down the trail towards the pools of fresh water at the base of this cliff. Raynar suddenly found himself looking through tears. The pools had been where he had first met the sisters. Now one of them was dead. What a senseless, horrible death for such a wonderful woman and mother.

  Eventually they came to the main fork. One way to Hathersage, the other way along the main river into the high country. "John, do the Normans know that your family is from Hathersage?"

  "Oh, probably. I am not unknown in these parts. Why?"

  "The Normans have taken the fork to Hathersage, all of them. See that one hoof mark. The shoe is broken. It will be easy to follow. They are sure to go to your house to see if the children are there.” John tried to get by on the trail, but Raynar held him back for a moment. "The children took the other fork. They are headed up country."

  He motioned to the carter and pointed to the trail that led straight ahead. "That leads to the porterway up the valley. Go up the porterway about an hour and there is a glade that may have Normans camped in it. Ignore them, or throw them a toll coin if they ask it. On the bend after the glade begins an ancient street. Follow it, and keep bearing left and you will eventually find a steep bridal path that will take you down into Tideswell.” The carter waved and hurried on.

  "John, you take our horses and go to Hathersage to warn your mom. I will track the children up country. When your mom is safe with her neighbors, take the horses up to the mines and leave them there, and then cut over by foot along the ridge to the Tor. Whether I find them or not, I will meet you on the Tor, though perhaps not until tomorrow,” Raynar dismounted and lifted the pack, bow, quiver and sword off the saddle. He watched until John was out of sight with the horses, then he snapped off a branch of broom and dragged it behind him along the trail that the children had taken.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Queens and Widows by Skye Smith

  Chapter 5 - John's mother in Hathersage, Derbyshire in March 1079

  "She doesn't speak French,” said the first man, "try your English."

  "We are looking for three children,” said the man again in both his poor English and some sign language. The huge old woman in front of him just wagged her head. "Bah,” said the man and pushed by the woman and through the doorway of her house. He did not notice the cast iron pot she held at her side, and he did not see her swing it and clobber him in the head.

  The man behind him saw it though and pulled out his dagger and stabbed the old woman in the back.

  A third man moaned, "Oh you stupid pig. Oh my god, what have you done. You've killed John Smith's mom. You've killed us all. Let's get out of here, now. If we ride to the toll booth at the glade, the guards there may protect us, but don't mention a word of this to anyone. It was not us. We were not here."

  They mounted and rode away up hill and at speed, and did not stop until they had reached the glade. They ran their horses right off the porterway and out of sight behind the cliff before they dismounted. The sergeant of the guard walked over to them, and recognized them, and greeted them warmly.

  "The commander has sent us to search for three children who have escaped from his new manor. Two boys and a girl. They are all in their teens. They may come this way, or they may make for the high country or the mines. We are exhausted, but he wants them badly. The girl is not to be harmed in any way, but he is not particular about the boys so long as they do not escape."

  "Teens you say,” said the sergeant, "two boys and a girl. Today you say. No, they haven't passed this way yet, but we will hold them if they come this way."

  "No you bloody won't. We are exhausted, the search must continue. We will take the tolls, while your men search the highlands on the other side of the valley."

  "Up yours,” replied the sergeant, "it will be dark soon. No one goes up those ridges in the dark. Not at this time of year. Storms come over those ridges without warning."

  "Your men are stationed here. They know the land better than we. We would have no chance, but your men will make it look easy."

  "Up yours,” the sergeant repeated, "I don't leave this post unless I have a written order."

  "I am giving you the order, as would the commander if he were standing here. Those children must not escape him."

  "Alright, we will go, but not until first light,” agreed the sergeant. "Meanwhile your men must take the night watch so that my men can all sleep.” With that decision made, he went down the slope to the longhouse to speak to his men.

  "You tricky devil,” said the man who had knifed John's mam. "So that is your plan. We pretend to be the innocent guards, while they walk about looking for the children."

  "Good eh? If men come looking for you, we send them after the sergeant. If the sergeant catches the children, he brings them back here and we get the reward for taking them back to Sheffield. Good eh. Meanwhile all we have to do is eat, sleep, and provide the night picket."

  * * * * *

  When John reached his mother's house, the family from down the road was crowded around it.

  The wife saw him and rushed to him and hugged him. "Oh John, prepare yourself. She is dead."

  John gently lifted her out of his way and gently pushed his way passed the children in the doorway. They had laid her on her bed. He went to her and lifted her forward into his arms and hugged her. Her back was sticky with blood. He felt her clothes until he found the wettest spot and then he felt the cut in her tunic and the cut in her skin. "She has been stabbed in the back. Who would stab an old woman in the back?"

  "Normans rode through the village almost two hours ago,” said the wife. "I found her when I came to gossip and bring her some of my honey cakes. She liked my honey cakes, she did."

  John calmed himself. He did not stand, he did not roar, he did not become a berserker like he had at Britta's house. These folk were good folk, gentle folk, and his neighbours all his life. "I need some time alone. Please go back to your houses and leave me with her.” When they were gone he
carried her body out and laid it gently on top of his father's old forge. It had been cold for some six years.

  He gathered seasoned fire wood and charcoal and built a funeral pyre around her. He pulled down the ratty old roof above the forge so that her spirit could go directly up to the sky, and so the fire would not spread to the rest of the village. He reached under her and pulled at a loose brick and pulled out an old leather purse that contained his mothers life savings. He looked inside. About twenty shillings. A tear trickled down his cheek.

  He went behind the forge and lifted up an old bench that would usually need three normal men to lift. Underneath there was oil cloth wrapped around something long and thin. He pulled it out and put the bench back. He unwrapped it. It was his old bow. His giant killer. The one he used to win long range archery contests. There were a half a dozen very long arrows with it, well over a yard each. One at a time he twisted heavy battle points over the practice points.

  With his weapons shouldered, he walked back to the forge and struck a flint to light the tinder. The flames built and he stared into them.

  "I knew you would do this,” said the neighbour quietly so as not to startle him. He was standing there with his whole family.

  "Do you mind if we send our prayers with her too?” The wife said as she stepped forward and put her arm around John's waist, or at least half way around the great girth. "The last time this forge was fired it was for your father."

  John took his mother's life savings and pressed it into the wife's hands. "She would want you to have this."

  The flames were now lighting the darkening sky and other villagers were arriving. John's mother was not the gentlest person in the world but over the years there was not a soul watching this pyre who had not benefited from knowing her. Porters stopped and sat and mourned with them. Since her husbands death she had often sat beside her doorway and exchanged gossip with them, and offered them hot broth on cold days, and windfall apples in the summer.

  "I did not even know she was ill,” said one porter to one of the villagers.

  "She was murdered. Knifed in the back by Normans.” This news caused a bubble of whispers through the porters and then there was silence again. All men thought the same thought. Someone had signed their own death warrant, and it would not be a pretty death.

  Once the flames were finished, and there was no more smell of burned meat, John hung his weapons over the saddle horn. He went to the lean-to beside the house and led out the two horses he kept there and saddled them. He mounted his own horse and led Raynar's and the other two up the porter way towards the mines.

  "Good hunting, John,” a porter yelled out.

  John stopped his horse and waved the porter towards him. He leaned down to speak to him quietly. "There are three children, two boys and a girl, teens, lost in the high country. If the men that killed my mother find them, they will kill them too. Pass the word to the porters and the miners. If anyone sees the children, they are to hide them and then find any man with a long bow and tell him where they are."

  "Good hunting, John,” repeated the porter. "I will miss yer old mom. She always had a cheery word to keep a tired soul walking.” John turned his head away quickly and kicked the horse forward and up the path. An hour later he passed by the glade. Raynar's glade. Gwen's glade. Now used as a toll booth and a barracks instead of a hospice and healing spa. The night pickets grumbled at him, and he waved to them and did not stop. They never stopped him, for they never asked a toll on the way up. Only on the way down.

  * * * * *

  Raynar saw the glow of a large fire from Hathersage way and wondered who had been careless with their kitchen fire. It was too dark to go on. He settled himself in a carved out cave used by shepherds in some year past. Perhaps some century past. He did not bother with a fire, and ate a dry oatcake and sipped on some ale.

  He must be careful with his ale until he got higher than the mines. The running water below the mines was poisonous. Afterwards he made a bed of soft bushes that he had shaken well to get rid of the excess water. The winter cloak was damp, and heavy, but it was wool and was still warm despite being wet. His pack made a hard pillow. He slept with his sword in his hand.

  It rained heavily in the night and he cursed the fates, and then begged their apology. The children’s trail would be much harder to follow today. He had marked the last footstep last night, but it was now washed away. At least his mark gave him the direction to follow.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Queens and Widows by Skye Smith

  Chapter 6 - Searching for the children in Peaks Arse in March 1079

  "Of course it was John Smith,” said the guard who was manning the toll booth. "Who else is that big. His horse made a battle horse look small, and him in the saddle made the horse look small."

  "Did you talk to him?"

  "I waved him on and pissed myself when it looked like he was going to stop and ask me a question, but he changed his mind and kept going."

  The sergeant walked up to them. "I am taking my six men to the other side of the valley. My plan is to climb to the ridge on the other side, where there is another path, and then spread out and look for tracks in the direction of the Tor. If you find these children, send a messenger to bring us back. And I will want an accounting of all the tolls you take in today."

  They watched the men walk across the porter way and drop down over the edge and into the valley below. "They aren't wearing mail. Stupid buggers."

  "Not so stupid. Climbing the hills in mail is too much like work. They can move faster and carry more warm clothing and an extra cloak in case they are caught by a storm."

  "Well I slept in my mail. I'm not taking any chances."

  "You think that mail will stop one of John's arrows. I saw him in a contest last spring. He put an arrow through a two inch plank of oak. I'm taking mine off."

  "What do you mean. Aren't we staying here to collect tolls."

  "No. You were the one that saw John. He wasn't trailing the children, he was going to cut them off. They have a relative, a grandfather I think, who lives with the sheep near the Tor all summer. There will be a cave there, and food. That is where the children will be headed. We can beat them there by using the porterway to the mine and then head along the ridge on foot."

  "I'm staying here,” said the mother stabber. "Someone has to guard the toll booth and the house else all will be thieved."

  "I'm staying with him,” said the man that the mother had hit with a caste pot. "My head is still ringing."

  "Fine, the rest of you, mount up."

  * * * * *

  John had stayed in the bunkhouse with the Welsh miners. He reached it near to midnight, but there were still men awake. The deepest pits were always as black as night, so many men preferred to work it at night so that they could get sun on their faces above ground in the daytime. Anything to keep them healthier for their unhealthy work. He spoke a greeting in his bad Welsh, but it was good enough that he was made welcome.

  Now, with Welsh porridge under his belt, and the horses sheltered under a roof, he walked out of the mining camp and up the trail towards the Tor. The trail started out steep as it wound up and out of the deep valley. He paced himself. He was a big man and it took a lot of energy for him to climb so steeply. He kept to the steepest path, resting often until he reached the first ridge. Ridges in the Peaks always had three paths. One on one side, one on the other, and one on top. Usually folk walked on one of the lower paths because one or the other of them was out of the wind, and the wind on these ridges was a killer, literally.

  John walked the top path. Each time a wind gust hit him he would stop and plant his feet. It was slow going, but from the top he could see and be seen. Anyone who knew him would recognize him from a mile away just from his size. The children would run to him. Raynar would find him. Even the murdering bastards who killed Britta and his mother may come to him, and he was all right with that too.

 
The Tor was ahead. On the other side would be Hugh the shepherd's summer camp. That is where the children would be making for. That is where Raynar would be making for. If the carter found Alan, that would be the first place Alan would make for. He wondered if any of the Normans knew of the place.

  * * * * *

  It had taken him the first three hours of daylight, but Raynar had found where the children camped for the night. It was another cave like the one that he had stayed in, but a mile further up the slope. There was no sign of them eating, which meant two things. They left their house in a hurry, and they probably did not have any weapons. They did know not to drink stream water, however. He found where they had collected rainwater to drink.

  The poor darlings, he thought. There was no sign of a fire, and they may not even have cloaks. They had all huddled together on soft bushes as he had. Overnight the rain had stopped so now he had a clear trail from this morning to follow. He sped his pace and constantly searched the skyline ahead for them.

  * * * * *

  The sergeant rested on a flat stone and looked back across the valley at the glade. He could just see four horses with riders leave the glade and head up towards the mines. "These children must be important,” he said to the others. "They are continuing the search despite sending us out here. Their plan must be to ride to the mine and then work their way down on this side."

  "Well it might work.” said another guard, "I am glad they have left two behind to guard the camp, else them bloody porters will have pilfered everything."

  "So do you think we are ahead of the children or behind them?"

  "Why don't we just sit on the main path on this side and wait for the children to come and ask us directions?” a man laughed.

  "That is not a bad plan. See there, that knoll. From up there we can see all around, and if we keep our heads down, we will be hard to see. Why don't we go there and keep a lookout until the day warms up and we are sure they have passed us. If we see them, good. If not we can search around and find their tracks."