by Smith, Skye
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The Hoodsman - Queens and Widows by Skye Smith
Chapter 15 - Judith's welcome at Huntingdon in September 1079
It was normal for Judith to meet the trading ships at the dock beside the lift bridge, for most of the cargoes were hers and the pilferage tithe was lighter when she attended the unloading at the dock. This particular ship was one of Klaes's out of Spalding, but since all ships of the Wash plied the same routes to Oudenburg and London, this was not unusual. She knew the captain of this ship as they had shared the dining table at Beatrice's manor. He was good company at the table, and good company afterwards with his stories, but she had also learned not to sit too close to his roving hands.
Her daughter Maud was standing with her, hand in hand, and it was Maud who first saw Raynar. It was Maud who ran screaming his name towards the ship and made the entire dock of folk turn to look. A strong hand lifted her above everyone’s heads and then other strong hands passed her from one to another above the crowd of rough big men and placed her gently into Raynar's waiting arms.
Even the dullards in the crowd knew to part and allow the countess to approach the ship un-jostled, and though most knew that she shared her bed with this man, she gave him but one curt hug as welcome in this most public of places. "Captain Raynar,” she said in a formal tone, "we are pleased to have you home and safe again. Come, and you too Captain Mark, for we have much to speak of and this is not the place for such talk."
They walked through the burg and through the bailey gates and into the manor house compound. Only when they had run the gauntlet of large blonde women who each gave Raynar more hug and more kiss than was polite, and only when had come to a large room with a door that could be closed, did Judith take Maud from him and send her to the kitchen with orders to close the door behind her. Then she slapped Raynar as hard as she could across the face.
"You bastard, not a word for months.” she seethed, and then turned to the other man. He winced in expectation of a like slap. "And you, Mark, could you not have sent word if you knew his whereabouts?"
"Mam, he leaped aboard my ship from a sorry old coastal barge when we wus hauling anchor to leave the Humber. We were moving south as fast as any message could have been run.” He looked from one face to the other of the couple, and decided he was better out of this, so he bowed to the countess and backed hurriedly towards the door.
"He speaks true, love,” whispered Raynar while holding his hand to his stinging cheek. "The coast of Northumbria is a ruin. The roads are preyed upon by footpads and taxing knights, and there are few ships plying the coasts for there are no cargoes. I had to go to Scotland to catch a ship, and even then I had to wave down the barge that took me onward to the Humber. I helped man the oars the whole way, which wasn't a bad thing because the strength in my shoulders and back has returned. And Mark, that scoundrel, he..."
"And you couldn't send a message from Lynn to warn me you were here. Look at me, dressed in my working homespun and my hair not washed. I must look a scrag."
"Love, you look like a woman to admire. A woman who is no stranger to the kitchen or a lambing. A woman who can yell orders at rough men and have them jump to it. A woman with a cleavage that I long to kiss despite it being framed in homespun, and with raven hair that I want to release from its ribbons and let fall to your should...” his words were stopped short by a long and sensuous kiss.
* * * * *
They slept little that night. Snatches here and there between sex and stories.
She only interrupted him when he mentioned any woman, and she always wanted to know more about the women. When he came to the part where he was being nursed at the court of Malcolm of Scotland, she interrupted with "nursed by that woman who writes you letters, Cristina."
"Yes, the Princess Cristina and also her sister, Queen Margaret."
"And Cristina has no husband. Just how well did she nurse you?” She sat up and stared him in the face to watch him answer.
"Love, Cristina is older than me, and has lived half her life in the cloisters, and now is the Queen's steward in charge of the convents they are building all over the kingdom. I did not bed her,” He saw the relief in her face, "The fates keep pushing us together, and giving us endless opportunities, and yet we have never enjoyed each other in that way."
She snuggled back into his arms. "Well, I suppose it is natural for a nurse to bed her patient, so even if she had I would have forgiven you.” Last month it had come to her mind that she never gave a thought to Robert of Normandy any more, but she longed after news of Raynar.
The fates had kept spinning the lives of people together while Raynar had been gone. Judith had messages and news from many places. The ships and carts had earned well from the rebuilding of London. John had sent word that he needed coin to turn the mill in Winchester into a forge works, but before Judith could arrange for a safe passage for the coin, another message came from John to say that Wylie had sent him the coin from London.
"The woman he is with,” Judith began.
"Marion, she is the daughter of Lady Britta who was so brutally murdered in Sheffield."
"Yes, well Marion has refused to marry John until her baby is born healthy."
"Is there any word from Sheffield?” he asked, fearful for the response, but needing to hear it.
"Alan of Tideswell brought me the message that you sent to the innkeeper in Sheffield. I have made him steward there until you return. He had a lad with him, a red head,” she reached out with a hand and gently turned Raynar’s face into profile. "Yes, the likeness is unmistakable. And I was not the only one to notice. My Frisian maids sometimes comforted him at night.”
She laughed when he blushed at her words and made a saucy face when she said, "What better gift is there for a thirteen year old boy? I like Alan. There is a quiet determination to him. He has a matter of fact way of looking at problems, and a get-the-job done way of solving them. He reminds me of Beatrice's Thorold. He told me that the murdered woman's sister..."
"Sonja"
"Sonja is safe," Judith told him softly. "She was betrothed by rape, and is legally the wife of the Busli knight, but she has the church's signed agreement for an annulment. The knight is still being held by my cousin the Sheriff of Nottingham, and Alan says that Sonja will not enact the annulment unless he is released. Apparently there are benefits to her of no longer being a widow."
"The man is dangerous, and has Norman friends. I don't like this plan."
"I sent my cousin the sheriff a strong warning that he should hold the knight either until he is tried for the deaths he caused, or until those deaths will no longer be revenged. I warned him that the knight would not live a day if he were released now. The sheriff's clerk wrote back that the sheriff will assign the knight to some duties north of York that will keep him away from Sheffield."
Raynar was still grumbling so she lost her patience and snipped, "Then you go and do something else. For now there is peace in Sheffield. There is peace on my lands and there is peace for Sonja and my other neighbours. The Buslis have been given fair warning that the sheriff is on my side and not theirs, and the earnings from my lands have doubled since Alan has been stewarding my tenants."
He was still grumbling, so she asked, "And how are my lands in Northumbria. You were there. Did you make a difference? Are they now productive?"
Raynar looked glum. "I will tell that story when we visit Beatrice and Thorold, for we will need Thorold's advice in any case. Tell me more about what Allan has achieved in Sheffield."
"Ah, well, apparently for the past several years my tenants had enough men to plant all, but not enough to harvest all. It was my share of the harvest that was being left on the stalk. Allan brought men from the forest, and men with horses and carts and they traveled from estate to estate helping with the harvest, and so this year the entire harvest was brought in."
"Allan is like John, in that he looks for simple solutions for problems
and then acts."
"The forest men earned well this year,” she continued, "for some of the Busli's tenants hired them as well. The forest men were thankful for the earnings, for there has been an edict from Regent Odo that all men are to stop hunting venison in the forests until their numbers recover."
Raynar froze and his heart began to surge. He tried to calm his voice. "What is this edict, then?"
"My uncle, the king, is worried that the forests have been over hunted for too many years and he is asking all men to tread lightly in the forests so that more of the young animals will survive to breed."
"The king has been in Normandy for two years. Has he returned? How would he know the state of the forests?"
"I suppose Odo has told him,” she replied, "for William is still in Normandy. It is a good edict, and both Normans and English alike admit that the forests are being depleted and something must be done."
"Then why doesn't Odo simply stop taking the pork from the table of the folk, and forgive them all taxes for a season. The folk do not hunt the forest for sport. They hunt to fill their children's bellies in the winter."
She looked at him, and saw that he was greatly disturbed. "Why has this news bothered you so much, darling. You must agree that the forests are depleted. You have told me that yourself."
"I agree that we need to let the forests recover, but I mistrust William and Odo. They are your uncles. You know them better than I. Do you trust that this edict is for the good of the forest, or do you sense trickery."
"I took the edict at face value, as everyone has done. It will be harsh medicine for some for a year or two, but it must be done.” She tried to sooth him by stroking him, but she got no response. "I suppose that since it likely came from Odo there will be trickery hidden somewhere that will benefit him. It is his way."
"Has no one taken issue with this edict?” he asked.
"Winchester is far from here, so everyone is assuming that this edict is really for the forests near to there. Thorold is the only one who seems angered by it. He told me that the embassy from Denmark is spreading another edict from Harold of Denmark. It says that the forests have always been held in-common and that all men have a right to use them in the ways of their grandfathers."
"What else did Thorold say?"
"No,” she said in frustration, "this is not the way I want to spend this time in our bed. You can ask him yourself. We will go to Spalding tomorrow."
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The Countess Beatrice of Spalding, having had advance notice that Raynar was back in Huntingdon, was expecting a visit from he and Judith. When they did arrive it was to a warm welcome in a house freshly cleaned and by a woman aging gracefully and looking fabulous in her continental fashions from Brugge.
Judith watch Raynar hug her and swing her around and looked at the neatness and style all about and then Judith looked down at her course riding clothes spattered in mud and blew a loose lock of hair out of her eyes. Beatrice always made everything seem so easy. She put down her youngest child so that he could follow Maud who was running through the manor looking for and calling for Lucy.
"Lucy is off riding with her father,” said Beatrice and the next time Maud ran by she grabbed her and hoisted her onto her hip and gave her a big kiss. The two countesses were often together, and when they weren't, they often minded each others children. Maud was like another daughter to Beatrice, and Lucy was like an older sister to Maud.
Judith turned to go back to her horse to fetch her pack, but Beatrice gave one of her shrill dockside whistles and the stable boy fetched it for her. She disappeared into Beatrice's quarters to change into something less mud splattered. Maud ran to change too, which left Beatrice alone with Raynar.
"You look surprising well for a man who so narrowly escaped death,” Beatrice told him, and then came closer to rub her ample chest against his and kiss him properly. They lingered in the kiss. They had been occasional lovers in the easy Frisian way of sharing life, but Beatrice kept a sharp ear for sounds of the return of the other countess. Judith was still easing her way into the Frisian way of sharing life and lovers.
"Oye,” said one of Beatrice's useful Frisian village women, "leave some for me,” and she pushed herself into the couple's embrace and stole some kisses for herself. "Nice to have you back, love,” she said to Raynar. "We wus all worried when we first heard you wus right poorly, and then we had no word at all. Tried not to think the worst, we did."
Judith came through the door, saw the three of them hugging and kissing, and then stepped back out of sight and made some foot noise to warn them she was coming. When she entered the second time, they were no longer hugging but they were all still hand in hand. Not to be outdone by Beatrice, she had put on her best skirt and a bodice that proved that she was younger than Beatrice. In appreciation Raynar stepped forward, took her hand and twirled her into the center of the room.
The maid pinched his bum and went back to the kitchen to fetch bread and ale, while Beatrice put her arms around Judith. They sat together on a padded bench and left him standing alone until Maud paraded into the room leading her little brother and sister.
That is when they all heard Lucy's voice crying out from the stable yard. Raynar reached the main door just in time to see the two stablehands racing out the gate on bareback horses. Lucy was running towards the house yelling for her mother. When she saw Raynar she leaped into his arms and said "Oh thank god. Come quickly. Father has had an accident."
"Wait while I get my weapons,” he told her. She looked at him like he had two heads.
"No time, come now,” she ran back to her own horse. "Get on, I will ride behind you."
The small mare was strong and fast and even with two aboard it could still gallop. Lucy had been born on a horse and could outride Raynar any day of the week. Though he was in the saddle, it was she that was in control of the mare. They reached the ford at the end of the north cartway within minutes. The stable hands were already there and were shaking Thorold lightly. Lucy slid off the back of the mare before it had stopped and ran to her father's side. Raynar was steps behind her.
"Stop shaking him,” he ordered. "Someone tell me what happened.” All this while he was pulling at the clothing of his old friend to loosen it and to look for any telltale bruises around his waist and back.
A lad stepped forward. "I wus driving me da's ox cart cross the ford and me left wheel slipped off the track and into the mud. The lord was showin' me how to use a long pole to leva the wheel so de ox could right the cart."
Lucy took over impatiently, "We were all pushing and then he stood up and held his chest and gasped and then fell into the stream. At first we thought he was doing one of his jests so that he could splash us, but he just lay there."
"I pulled im to the bank, while Lucy,” the load looked at the girl with longing in his eyes, "went for help."
"Which side of his chest did he hold?” Raynar asked.
The lad pantomimed for a second and then said. "Left."
Raynar could find no life signs. No blood pumping. No shallow breath. He gave Lucy a sad look. She cried out "Nooo” and ran to her father and bent over him. "No, no, no, oh da, wake up da, oh please wake up."
The two stable hands moved to pull her away, but Raynar motioned them to leave her be. "Help the lad free his cart so he can get home.” He kneeled beside her and then raised Thorold's shoulder up onto his thighs so that she could wrap her arms around him and hug him. Soon Beatrice also arrived, with her best gown now mired in brown mud and her best shoes ruined, and then the tears and sobbing began in earnest.
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It was the largest funeral that anyone could remember since the pyre of the Valkyrie Anske that triggered the Ely rebellion. It was held in Peterburgh Abbey as befitted a man who had been Shire Reeve of Lincolnshire for fifteen years before the Normans arrived. Even that grand church could not contain the thousands that came to pay their respects.
Though it had been Edgar Atheling’
s treasure which had paid the cost, it had been Thorold's hand and energy that had spread sacks of seed corn, and herds of sheep across Lincolnshire that spring after the Norman army's Great Harrowing. Many villages of farmers had been saved by Thorold's good works and they all came to pay their respects.
It was on Thorold's instructions that plough teams traveled the shire making sure that every plot was planted and it was from respect for him that local bowmen enforced a peace so that the crops could be harvested. The rich of Lincoln, the landlords of the shire, and even the lowliest of peasants all now made the pilgrimage to Peterburgh Abbey.
Though the Abbot and Thorold had been enemies for years, or perhaps because of it, the Abbot declared a Bishop's peace to ensure that all feuds or vengeances would be set aside while folk traveled to and from the funeral. Those that took no heed of churches and bishops, took heed of the presence of hundreds of tall Frisian and Danish men, oarsmen and forestmen and herdsmen, carrying longbows or axes.
The services were tended by the Prior of Peterburgh and the Abbot of Croyland, not the local abbot. The two countesses and their families sat on the bench beside the casket. When men were asked to come forward and speak at the casket head, they mostly said nothing more than quiet thankyous to the man who had done so much good in the shire.
When Beatrice decided to say some words, and stood and began walking towards the pulpit, three monks stood, and stood in her way, and hissed that it was unseemly and not allowed that a woman speak from the pulpit. The entire crowd came to a sudden hush. The abbot rushed forward from his seat beside the prior, and calmed the monks and ushered her to the speaking platform. He had seen the glint of a hundred daggers, some bejeweled, some well oiled, but most rusted farm knives, when his monks had dared to touch this widow.
She looked out across the massive gathering and called to those standing in the doorway to repeat her words out to the others in the fore court. Then she began. "My husband was a man of the sword, and yet every time he unsheathed it, he considered himself a failure. He was a builder, a mender, and a willing hand at making life better for those around him. He spent much of his life in the saddle riding across this shire searching for things that needed doing, or for things that could be done better. His heart stopped while teaching a farm lad how to use a lever. It was a fitting death for such a man.