Hoodsman: Queens and Widows

by Smith, Skye

  "So when the ice melts, and we can leave,” she whispered, "what will we do?"

  "Well you and John cannot stay anywhere near the Peaks. John because even a deaf dumb and blind sheriff will suspect that today’s slaughter was John's doing. You because the Norman knights are targeting you for betrothal."

  "I will not leave my family, not now.” she said.

  "You have no choice. If they capture you and plant a baby in you, then it will be to their advantage to murder your entire family."

  She was silent for a long time. "Are you still awake?” she whispered.

  He knew he should feign sleep and say no more, but that would not be fair. "Yes,” he replied, and then he felt her crawling closer to him and slipping under his cloak. Her hand grabbed his cock and he froze. "This is not the time,” was all he could think of saying.

  "There is no other time,” she whispered softly into his ear. "If they capture me, and they might at any time, then they will fill me with a Norman child. They cannot do that if I am already with child. Put a child in me."

  "No, you are a virgin,” he hissed, "You are the daughter of one of my closest friends. Your brother was my son."

  "There are no English virgins, Raynar. The Normans make sure of it. Please, replace my brother with a son. Do that for me before I am captured."

  "She is right, you know,” whispered John. "If I were her I would be asking the same thing."

  "Then you do it,” hissed Raynar.

  "I, no, ugh, well, I,” John fumbled for words, "I will not fit."

  "Oh thank you John,” she said and crawled over to him. "We will make it fit."

  Raynar smiled, and actually felt himself drifting to sleep. He woke because he felt her soft skin against him again.

  "He won't fit,” she whispered. "He says that I should do you first and then afterwards he will fit.” She wrapped her hand around him and squeezed gently. When he was hard again, she turned over and backed onto him.

  "This is not right,” he hissed.

  She took his hands and put them on her breasts, "And was being chased across the peaks right, and was slaughtering seven men right,” then she thought of her brother, "eight men. You don't have to enjoy it but you must do it. It is your duty.” She ground her hips down against him and finally she felt him respond. "That's better. Oh yes, that is much better."

  John crawled closer to them while they were still embraced. Gwen, the Welsh healer from the glade had long ago told him that the surest way of making a woman pregnant was to have two men bed her at the same time. Marion needed to be pregnant, like she said, in case he and Raynar had messed things up and she wound up in the knight's hands.

  He hadn't had a chance to tell Raynar yet, but when he stayed behind to make sure all of the Normans were dead, for dead men don't swear witness, he had recognized some of them. They were toll men from the glade, not the men from Britta's house. He doubted that they were the same men who had killed Britta, or killed his mother. That meant that the original six killers from Sheffield would still be hunting Marion.

  There were gasps from the coupling next to him and then silence. Marion rolled out of Raynar’s arms and faced him, and began kissing him deeply on the lips. Meanwhile she pushed her hips against John. This time he fit, just.

  * * * * *

  For five days they rarely left the caves. Now that they were dry and could stay dry, they had no trouble staying warm. There was food enough and candles enough and firewood enough. By staying in the domed cave, they were probably the warmest, driest folk in the Peaks. They chatted about how these caves had probably been in use since well before the Romans, and even before the mines were first worked. The ancestors of some of the men at the mines had probably waited out storms here just as they were waiting out this one.

  There was nothing to do but plan and gossip and tell stories and cuddle. It became clear to both Marion and John that they both must flee south, immediately. "We have earning stables and carts in both London and Winchester. Either place is large enough to hide in. You will be safe there,” Raynar suggested.

  "Not London,” replied John.

  "Then Winchester. You can run the carting business from there. You can build a new forge there. We own a mill there already."

  "Marion would have to come with me. Would she be happy in Winchester?” asked John.

  "I cannot be less happy than I am in Loxley, locked in a manor, afraid to walk the streets, chased into the mountains, hiding in a cave. I had a happy childhood there, but since I have become a woman it has been a constant woe. Robin can come with us."

  "No,” Robin sat up. "I am heir to two estates in Loxley. I must stay close in case the ownership is questioned in the courts. If necessary I will live in the forest."

  "Then Robin should live with Alan in Tideswell,” said Marion, "he is a good man, and a skilled forester. He snaps his fingers and men find their Welsh bows and mount their horses."

  "What do you think of that, lad,” asked John, "Could you live with Alan."

  "Easily, he is like a father to me. He taught me to hunt, and to fight, and to ride."

  Raynar turned away from them on hearing these words. He had fathered other men's children often enough, and here was his own son by blood, telling him that he was fathered by another man. He walked to the mouth of the cave and then heard the voice of that very same man.

  "Cooo eeee” came the warning cry from just beyond the caves. "Raynar,” yelled Alan, "Do you have the children?"

  Raynar slipped and stumbled and finally picked up a stick and used it as a staff to inch across the ice to reach Alan. He hugged his old friend, or rather they hugged each other just to stay on their feet and not slide and not fall. "We have the children, but one of the boys was killed,” he purposefully did not mention which one. "Be aware, we have not told them that Britta is dead. Hold that news from Marion until a woman can do the telling."

  "Agreed,” replied Alan, "did John find you? Never mind I see him now."

  "You are a friend indeed to have walked here on this ice."

  "This place and the Tor ridge are the last places with ice left,” Alan said as he waved to Marion and John. "In the valleys it melted yesterday."

  "You came alone?"

  "With ten,” replied Alan, "they are up on the ridge still, dragging the frozen bodies into a sink hole."

  "What frozen bodies?"

  "The Normans who were trailing the children,” replied Raynar, "they must have followed John but then got caught outside by the storm just as they were about to catch you all."

  "Ahh, there are more Normans that were killed by the storm a half a mile east of here,” John pointed, "they got lost in the mist and fell over the escarpment there."

  "They will be the toll guard from the glade. We were wondering what had happened to them. So what now?"

  "We must get John and Marion out of harm's way. They will travel together to Winchester. The boy wants to live with you."

  "He is welcome,” said Alan, "And what of you?"

  "It is time for me to become the steward of Hallamshire,” Raynar said in a false gruff voice while puffing out his chest, but then Marion arrived, "More about that later,” he finished. Alan had drawn back to brace himself for Marion who was flinging herself into his arms.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Queens and Widows by Skye Smith

  Chapter 8 - Shire court in Sheffield, S.Yorkshire in March 1079

  "This is an inquiry, not a court,” bellowed the constable as he banged on the table. "My only purpose is to see what level of court need be convened.” He banged the table again and the room became quiet. "We have endless petitions for tax relief because of the amount of stock that did not survive last week's storm. We have death notices for folks lost to the storm. We have accusations of murder and rape. We have petitions to claim estates with no male heir. We have petitions for betrothal.” He grinned evilly at how those last two items were always read together.
"Is there anything more."

  A tall, well groomed man in foreign clothes of good quality but a local hat, stood and walked towards the table. "I have come to register my name and position with the court and this shire.” He held forward an official looking scroll."

  The constable took it and handed it to the cleric beside him to read. "Tell me what it is about."

  The tall man introduced himself. "I am Raynar Porter once of this shire,” he removed his hat with a flourish and bowed to the audience. "There are men in this hall that will swear to my identity.” This was met with many yays. Some happy, some not. "I have come to fill the position of chief steward to many of the estates that surround Sheffield."

  Raynar saw that many at the front table were ignoring him, so he repeated what he had said in courtly French. Now they sat up and paid attention.

  "The lands in question were those of Siward, Earl of Northumbria, which were inherited by his son Waltheof, Earl of Northumbria, and have now been inherited by his wife Judith, Countess of Huntingdon.” This did not need translating, but the next he said in both English and French.

  "The scroll assigns me all powers over these estates, and I speak with her voice and sign with her name. The countess is our poor sick king's beloved niece. She is the beloved of all of his sons, and the favourite of Robert of Normandy, who may by now be our new king. She is also a cousin to the current Sheriff of Nottingham."

  The Normans sitting at the front table around the constable were whispering frantically to each other. Raynar asked if he may continue, and the constable waved him on.

  "Is Walter of Busli in the court,” Raynar asked. The knight beside the constable stood slightly and then sat again. "Sir, I bear bad tidings for you. My arrival here coincided with a horrific ice storm in the Peaks. As my first duty I sent out men to search for survivors of that storm. They report finding two groups of men frozen to death by the ice, eleven men in all. Apparently they were searching for three children at the time. The children were found alive and have been sent to the homes of their relatives in the south."

  He translated these words into English and the whole of the audience was set to gossiping. Sir Walter made to speak but Raynar held up his hand as a sign that he was not finished. This time he spoke in English first and then French.

  "I have had good men and true swear to me that seven of these men were the toll guard in the Hope Valley. It has also been sworn to me that the other four were part of a gang of men who did murder three stable hands at a local estate, and then murder by rape the good lady of that house, and then did murder in cold blood, an aging widow in the village of Hathersage."

  The English in the audience were so loud, and uncontrollable that Raynar had to move closer to the front table to yell out the French version. The constable could not contain the noise, so Raynar turned to the audience and held up his hand and yelled in English "Sit down, shut up, there is more."

  This time he spoke in French first. "Since all of the men found frozen were under Sir Walter's orders, and since there have been murders most foul, I suggest that the constable put Sir Walter under guard immediately for his own safety until he can be delivered to the sheriff for further questioning."

  "His is a knight. I am a mere constable. I do not have the authority to detain him."

  "But I do,” bellowed Raynar, "I speak with the voice of the countess. You will detain this man immediately and deliver him to Nottingham. It is not safe for him to leave this hall freely. The two women who were murdered were beloved and will be avenged. I do not want a blood feud to erupt in the first week of my stewardship."

  A man behind him in the audience was now translating his words. The English in the audience cheered, jeered, stomped their feet, and began a hundred conversations.

  The constable leaned close to Sir Walter and they ignored everyone while they spoke to each other. The constable banged the table repeatedly until the audience was almost quiet. "Sir Walter, do you hand yourself freely into my care until we can speak to the sheriff."

  "I do so willingly,” said Sir Walter.

  At the words Raynar turned and nodded to four large carters who were leaning against the back wall. They immediately left the hall. Raynar smiled. They would be at Sonja's manor within the hour to guard her.

  The constable hammered on the table and bellowed "This inquiry has been superseded. The sheriff's court will handle all of these matters when it convenes. We stand adjourned."

  Raynar stood in front of the cleric and held his hand out for the return of the scroll. The constable reached forward and stopped the cleric from giving it to him. "We need to hold it for some days to confirm its contents and signatures."

  "Of course, that is to be expected. I will wait while the good cleric copies it and you and he witness the copy as a true copy."

  "That will not be necessary,” replied the constable.

  "Whether necessary or not, I demand it. Let me warn you constable, that the countess is displeased with the small earnings of her estates around Sheffield and by the number of complaints of violence she has received from her good tenants. If you wish to retire a wealthy man then I suggest that you co-operate with a wealthy and powerful countess, and not with some poor and bloodthirsty knight."

  When he was finally given the copy, he turned to see that the hall was still half full. He walked towards the door and immediately a columns of folk formed and the first man in the column held out his hand and introduced himself. Raynar now realized that everyone remaining in the hall would be one of his tenants, and they all wanted to introduce themselves to the new steward.

  Even after men shook his hand they did not leave, but followed him slowly in a clump with their ears turned to hear, until the last man had introduced himself. Raynar turned and looked at them, and asked "Can anyone recommend an alehouse with good ale?” Pandemonium broke out and everyone marched around the corner and across the street to the largest alehouse in the town.

  * * * * *

  It was fully dark now. He had set out to ride to Sonja's manor over an hour ago, but some of the men he had been drinking with lived not a mile from her, on the other side of the highway, and so instead of riding he had led his horse so that he could walk with these good men. They had been telling him horror stories of the, Bully, er, Busli clan, which only strengthened his resolve to be their undoing. When they reached the cross of the cartway that led away to their farms, they stopped and talked for another half hour.

  Raynar was impatient to reach Sonja's manor and ensure that the carters he had sent had secured the estate, the staff, and Sonja herself, however these men could not be stopped from talking without being rude. Finally they took his hand in their big farmers hands and bid him good night, and then stumbled up their cartway in the dark. He turned to his horse and just the turning made him slightly dizzy. The ale had flowed freely and everyone had celebrated the knight's surrender just a little too much.

  Luckily, the beige horse had not been drinking ale, and once Raynar was in the saddle, he set off in an easy swaying walk. Accompanying the tenants had put him less than a half mile out of his way, and he was watching the left side of the highway and trying to find the cartway the tenants had directed him to. The one that would lead him towards Sonja's manor.

  For some reason, perhaps deep guilt, the thought of Sonja made him think of Margaret up in Scotland. The swaying and the ale had him feeling dreamy and he could see Margaret's face clearly. He promised her vision that he would visit her soon. The horse stopped and Raynar awoke to realize he was at the cartway he needed, and he turned the horse into it. Sometimes it was if this nag could read minds. As he turned, the night's darkness became pitch black.

  "Put the knife away, idiot, it's supposed to look like an accident,” said the man as he picked up the large stone again. "Grab the horse and smash it in the leg so it will limp.” He looked down at where the rider had fallen to the ground and began pounding at the mans lower back and lower stomach with the stone."

/>   "There's someone coming,” his partner yelled as he ducked away from horse who had reacted to the pain in his leg with his teeth and a kick.

  The man threw the stone into the bush in case it had blood on it and then followed his partner into the bushes and away.

  * * * * *

  "There's a horse loose on the road,” said the man.

  "Don't change the subject,” said his wife shuffling her feet and hauling back on his arm, "Here we are yet again alone on a dark and dangerous road and no inn in sight. I told you we should have stopped in town. Let's go back."

  "No, the cross with the other highway is just ahead. There is an inn there, and it will be half the price of those town gougers."

  "There are no lights ahead. Let's go back."

  "It is a loose horse,” the man said and he made a low cooing noise to calm the beast. He would never tell his wife, but she was right. He didn't like being out here on such a dark night. Was there an inn at the cross? He couldn't remember. Last night he had saved them some coin by stopping short of an inn when a stable hand offered them some clean straw in his stable, and he was hoping for the same tonight, but there were no lights along this road and darkness had come fast. No moon, no stars, hopefully not another storm like the one last week.

  He grabbed the reins and then stumbled over something in the road. "There's a body. The horse was keeping watch. Stay back."

  "It didn't move when you stepped on it, so it's likely dead,” said the wife and crouched beside the dark thing. Her hands moved across it and did her seeing, for her eyes could see nothing. "It's a man, and he is still breathing. His cloak is fine wool, and he still has his purse, and he stinks of ale."

  "Well, a drunk falling off his horse then."

  "He's badly hurt,” she felt a stickiness in his hair. "Must have hit his head when he fell. His head is bleeding."

  "Take his purse and let's go,” said the man.