Hoodsman: Queens and Widows

by Smith, Skye

  "Sitting on that knoll sounds good to me. Lead on, but everyone else keep their heads down and look for tracks."

  * * * * *

  John finally found Hugh's camp. It was well beyond the Tor to the north, and hidden behind a hill that may have been a Tor a long long time ago. He checked all the caves in the camp and found nothing but some rude pictures drawn with charcoal on the walls. It was a natural sun trap and well out of the wind no matter which way it blew. A place like this could save your life in a storm.

  He backtracked a bit to the edge of the hill and sat on the edge despite the cold wind. He wanted to be seen. Every few minutes he searched the horizons looking for anything moving. Not even a sheep. Well there wouldn't be, would there. Not in March. Not up here.

  * * * * *

  The sergeant leaned back against the smooth stone face and looked out across the tumbling terrain. What a bloody place. Crevices, sink holes, mist, ice, wind, icy rocks. He kept scanning, looking for any movement. Behind him on two other sides of this same rock sat two other men doing the same thing in the other directions. In an hour they would change with the men sitting warmly below out of the wind.

  This was the second time they had kept this kind of watch. The first time, this morning, they had seen nothing and after a few hours he had decided that even half crippled children would have passed them by now. They had hurried uphill and found this place. It was higher and had a longer view in all directions.

  "Something moved,” the sergeant called down softly. Two heads popped up below him and he cautioned them not to be seen. "See that dead tree. To the right of it just below the ridge. Smart children. They are low enough so they do not make a skyline. Come on. If we take them this hour, we will be back at the glade before dark."

  They moved cautiously, quietly, but quickly. One man would stay still and keep the children in sight until he was behind the rest, and then whoever was in front would stay still and keep the sighting. In this way they leapfrogged quickly along the rough country without ever loosing sight of their prey. The current spotter called out "They have just gone over the ridge to the other side. We are out of their view. Run to the ridge but keep low when you reach there."

  When the first man reached the ridge he carefully peered over it. When the rest caught up he told them, "They are on the other side trying to stay in the sun and out of this perishing wind. They have made a mistake. They are trapped between us and steep drop down. We can catch up to them by running a few minutes along this side of the ridge and then charging over."

  * * * * *

  Raynar cursed under his breath. There was something wrong. He had counted them twice, and there were seven Normans on the trail of the children. There should only be six. And they aren't in mail. The men that brutalized Britta would have been in mail to rub her skin so raw. He thought hard for a second.

  Did it matter. They were Normans, they were trailing the children and they must have spotted them. Why else would they be using the ridge to hide their movements. He strung his bow and loosened the tie down on his quiver. He nocked the first arrow and held it in place with his bow hand. Staying low he began a low run along the rough ground. A hunter's lope. A hunter of hunters.

  * * * * *

  Alan O'Dale looked at the carter. The man was younger than he but was exhausted by the climb. Too many years riding rather than walking, and riding in valley bottoms rather than walking the hillsides. The other three men were much younger than Alan and were wondering why these old men were resting already.

  The forest men of the dales around Tideswell had split into five groups of five and they had each taken a different trail out of Tideswell and towards the peaks. They would all meet at nightfall at the glade, and then start again tomorrow on the north side of the Hope Valley. Alan's group was backtracking on the old Roman street that the carter had used to find him. Tomorrow they would all leave their horses in the glade and pay the toll guards to watch them while they searched the high country on foot.

  Finally they finished the steep climb out of the dales, and they could mount their horses and ride across the relative flat of the ancient street. It would be less than an hour to the glade so long as none of the horses went lame on the eroded surface of the disused street.

  * * * * *

  Raynar made a decision. If the children were close by then they were in real danger from these seven. If they attacked the children he alone could not save them. He had to give the seven something else to worry about. Something else to chase. Something that would warn the children that they had been spotted. He was now well within range of the seven. The next time he was on solid ground he stood straight and tall, drew, aimed and loosed.

  A first arrow is always wild. There is no telling of the true range or wind or elevation until the first arrow tests them. He was joyous that the first arrow even hit flesh. It sank deeply into a man's thigh. His second arrow meant an instant heart attack for the next closest man to him. His third meant only a shoulder wound because the rest of the men were already diving for cover.

  The sound of the howls of pain from the wounded men will have warned the children. He could see that the men were looking at him. None of them had bows or crossbows. He made some gestures as if he was telling other bowmen to close in on them, then he marched directly towards them with his bow drawn.

  * * * * *

  The sergeant called to his men to see how many were hit. One was dead, one was bleeding to death and one was injured. "Who the fuck are they? How many are there? Any ideas? Anyone. Well Jesus, don't all speak at once."

  "I think it is only one man, but he has a honking big bow,” said the man beside him.

  "Well that one bow has already narrowed the odds. If there are no others, why the hand signals?"

  "Because there are no others. He is trying to keep us away from the children."

  "Then he is trying to save the children. That means if we have them, he will not risk their lives. Everyone. On the count of three, over that ridge out of his sight and race towards the children. When you have any of them in your grasp, shout out to the bowmen that you will kill them if he doesn't drop his bow. Questions?"

  "What about us that are injured?” asked the man working trying to free the arrow in his shoulder.

  "Stay where you are and stop the bleeding. We will come back for you. Now one, two, three."

  As one the four of them jumped up and took one, two, three, four, five strides and then they leaped over the ridge and ducked down, then began to run towards the children.

  The children had seen them. They were running too.

  * * * * *

  "Where is the rest of the guard?” Alan asked of the two men at the toll booth at the glade.

  "Some trouble down the hill. Someone dead or a fire or something."

  "Can we leave our horses with you?” asked Alan in his poor French, but with much nodding and courtesy and smiles. "We are going hunting and the trails are too steep for these nags. It's worth a few coppers to us to have them well guarded so we don't have to hump the meat home on our backs?"

  "Yes, come, I will show you where to tie them.” One guard led the men, the other followed with his hand on his sword. The carter went ahead with the lead. There was a string of horses under a lean-to roof. They were being led to the far end of them. The way was slippery with mud and horse shit so the carter was watching his step carefully. The horse at the far end was leaving prints showing it had a broken shoe.

  "Nice horse,” said the carter in French.

  "She is mine,” said the leader and he turned around with a smile, which turned into a grimace of panic and pain as the carter's dagger was shoved under his mail tunic and then forced up through his testicles and into his lower intestines.

  "That was for the Lady Britta,” hissed the carter.

  Alan saw what he had done and heard the name Britta. He stopped his horse and walked calmly to the saddle and unstrapped his bow and reached for an arrow. The trailing guard final
ly understood the cause of the agonizing sounds from the front, and he turned and began to run down the glade.

  Alan calmly strung his bow and tested the string, then nocked the arrow and drew and took aim. The fool was running directly away from them. Not zigzagging, not running at an angle. What kind of professional soldier would run directly away from a bowman. He loosed and the arrow drove through the mans mail and into the small of his back and knocked him forward off his feet.

  "It was not a killing shot.” said Alan as he began to walk towards the downed man, "Not immediately anyway. Let's go and ask him what he knows about three children."

  The carter yelled to him. "I will ask this one too, but I had better be quick."

  * * * * *

  John was moving as fast as his weight would allow him over a rock formation that was like stepping stones across a stream. He had finally seen movement. Lots of movement. And the glint of steel helmets. Now he was into loose rolling stones and his ankle went over and so did he. He rolled with amazing agility for someone so large, and came up running. He slapped at his weapons making sure he had dropped nothing important in the fall.

  Whoever he could see were running towards him as fast as he was running towards them, thus they were closing the range quickly. Not quick enough. The helmets had caught up with the lead group and now they were all slowing. The helmets must be Normans. They must have caught the children. Finally he was on solid rock. He sped up to the point where he was leaping down the slope. He could feel the jarring in his legs but he refused to slow down.

  * * * * *

  The four Norman men-at-arms stopped to catch their breath. They were more than half way up the climb above the mining camp. "I'm glad you talked us out of our mail,” said the man who had chosen the long straw and therefore got to fuck Britta first. "I'd have never have made it up this slope. The horses would have never made it up here either."

  "Did you never wonder why the women of these hills have such tight little asses. Now you know. Try doing this every day of your life."

  "How much further? We are over an hour out of the mining camp."

  "I can see the first ridge now,” said the man with the black cross on his tunic. "Then it will get easier. Keep going, and stop pushing stones down on us."

  * * * * *

  Raynar leaped onto the ridge seconds after the Normans had leaped over it. He had not got a single shot away because they were moving so quickly sideways, and there was no time to lead the shot. From the top of this ridge, however, he had many targets. The obvious first one was the man leading the race towards the children. He stopped, put his back into the bow to draw it, aimed, loosed. He had purposefully aimed low so he would not hit the children. It hit the man in the calf, and the man fell over and rolled and then began pulling at the arrow.

  He didn't get a second shot because a gust of wind made him lose his balance and he rolled down the back side of the ridge and stopped himself just before falling off the cliff. He stood warily in case there was another gust, but now he was protected from the wind by the ridge. He began to run. There were some higher rocks ahead and from them he would have another shot.

  It was further than he thought to the rocks, and steeper. They were bigger than they looked and instead of scrambling up them, he scrambled around them. The Normans had caught hold of one of the boys. The boy had been trailing Marion as a rear guard, but he kept looking back too often and that had slowed him and made him miss his footing and trip. They had him.

  The man that grabbed the boy, pushed him to the ground and looked up along the ridge back towards the bowman and then yelled. "I have one of the boys, bowman. Drop the bow else he is dead meat."

  Marion and the other red headed boy did not slow their pace. They kept running. So did Raynar. He could see the indecision in the other Norman men's actions. They did not know whether to stay close to the captured boy, or chase the other two children. One kept running. The others drew their swords.

  Raynar was closing on them fast now. He had his next arrow nocked and gripped in his bow hand. He could aim and loose it within the count of three. The man with the boy had his dagger out. He put it to the boy's throat.

  Raynar stopped still and drew the arrow fully. He was less than fifty paces from the boy. The swordsmen were moving towards him carefully and watchfully. "I don't care what you do to the boy. I am after the girl.” He aimed directly at the man's forehead.

  The man flinched and turned to the swordsmen and yelled at them to charge. The boy bit hard down on the hand holding the dagger and squirmed away. The arrow blew out the back of the mans head.

  The boy looked in shock at the grizzly carnage beside him. The swordsmen all began running towards the girl. The girl would save them.

  "Pick up the man's sword lad,” yelled Raynar, "Hold it in two hands and stay where you are. Use it on them if they come near you.” He was running again, but he knew it was hopeless. One man had a hand on Marion, and the other two were almost to them.” The other boy had doubled back to Marion and now was leaping on the man's back and boxing the man's ears. Marion kicked he captor in the shins.

  Raynar's way to Marion was blocked by two swordsmen. He stopped, stepped into his bow, aimed. And the swordsman he was aiming at was suddenly lifted from his feet by an invisible force and pushed over the side of the cliff. He switched his aim to the last swordsman, but then he too was plucked off his feet and carried over the edge. He began running again. The two children and their captor were fighting right on the edge of the cliff, and all three were teetering.

  He passed by the man struggling to get the arrow out of his calf and he kicked him in the face for good measure. Beyond Marion he could now see the reason why the two swordsmen had taken wing. John was running towards Marion from the other direction. As he watch the tangle of bodies on the edge he saw the boy slap Marion across the face, and because of the slap she backed away in shock and lost her footing and fell backwards away from the cliff edge. Her dead weight wrenched her free of the man's grasp. The man lost his balance in the opposite directions, waved his arms for balance, but it was too late. Both the man and the boy who was still riding his back and beating at his head, disappeared over the edge.

  Marion screamed and ran to the edge, and a giant hand picked her up and pulled her back from it. Raynar reached the edge and flattened onto his stomach and looked over. Two broken bodies were contorted into impossible positions a hundred feet below. He looked back towards Marion and John and shook his head. Marion buried her head into John's chest and wept.

  The other boy, dragging the heavy sword, had arrived and he crawled to the edge on his stomach like Raynar had. He looked over and sobbed. He pushed himself back from the edge and sat up and wiped the tears and the dust from his eyes. "Now there is only one red robin in the nest,” he looked around at Marion and sniffed and said kindly. "Don't worry Marion. I will be your brother now. You need a brother more than you need a cousin."

  Raynar pushed himself back from the edge, and sat up and put his arm around the boy. He was Sonja's. He hugged him. John picked up Marion and sat her on Raynar's other side and Raynar put his other arm around her, and pulled her close.

  "Take the children,” said John.

  "Take them where,” asked Raynar. He knew to always take John literally.

  "There is a storm building. Take them to Hugh's camp. I was just there. It has good shelter and there is firewood stacked, and a chest with food.” He looked down at Raynar. "Come on, get going. There are things I must do here that children must never see."

  Raynar stood and pulled the children up with him and put away his last arrow, and shouldered his bow and took the children by the hand and led them over the ridge to the safer pathway on the other side. He heard a horrible scream behind him, but he pretended he hadn’t and he kept the children walking. There were more screams of agony now but they were getting further away.

  He could tell that the children were cold and tired and hungry. The boy was so ti
red he was dragging the sword. Marion was shivering uncontrollably and sobbing between shivers. Raynar kept them moving and increased their pace to keep them warm. They reached Hugh's camp and he pushed them towards the most sheltered cave and immediately began to make a fire inside it underneath a natural chimney up through the stone ceiling.

  John marched in an hour later carrying spare cloaks. He tucked heavy wool cloaks around the children, and handed each a dagger. Then he threw Raynar's pack to him. Raynar gave him a questioning look so he came over and squatted beside him and said, "There were things I had to do."

  "We heard the screams. Did they die hard."

  "They all got lost in a fog and fell from a cliff,” John said with a small smile, "Your arrows are in my pack. It took a while to bury the boy and to arrange the other bodies on the rocks below."

  "Did they die hard?” Raynar repeated.

  John lowered his head. "Yesterday they killed my mother. Stabbed her in the back. What kind of men would stab an old lady in the back?"

  "The same kind that would rape a woman to death. Normans, the chosen race."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Queens and Widows by Skye Smith

  Chapter 7 - An ice storm sweeps across Peaks Arse in March 1079

  The Norman with the black cross on his tunic turned around at the sound. They all turned around. "Ghosts, monsters!” he shuddered. Some huge mouth was howling at them. They kept turning trying to figure out the direction. It was a horrific wailing noise sometimes, and sometimes a howl, and sometimes it sounded like a giant's fart.

  Another man laughed nervously, "It is the wind in the rocks."

  "So you say. I've never heard the wind make noises like that before.” He looked to the south west. "Look at that thunder head. It's like the big lightning storms we get in Normandy in the summer."