Hoodsman: Queens and Widows

by Smith, Skye

  He was quite pleased with his. The mare had a comfy saddle made even more comfy by a sheepskin, and was pleased to walk quickly and surely along without a complaint. Lucy, on the other hand, was constantly fighting with her mare trying to get it to canter or gallop or run in any shape or form.

  "Give up Lucy, lest you break her training,” Raynar called out. "All horses can walk, but it takes long training to perfect that quick step stride. It's as fast as a trot, but the back doesn't bounce."

  "Ray, I've broken and trained more horses than you have ever ridden. Don't your dare tell me the obvious.” She looked around at the sound of mocking laughter. It came from the Bishop's sergeant riding his handsome courser. She really couldn't warm to the man. He was one of those men to whom the glass was always half empty, not half full. Worse, as he always put words to the cynical point of view.

  Lucy was dressed for a hard ride, so more like a man than a woman except that instead of a heavy jerkin she was wearing a woman's smock. Since she was wearing her winter riding cloak, however, it didn't matter what she wore underneath. The cloak was of felted wool of natural colors, oiled against the weather, and with a flowing hood and a flowing trail. Though it looked clumsy when walking about in it, you could drape the trail along the back of the horse and therefore the heat of the horses body kept you and the horse warm under the cloak as you rode.

  The first night they spent at the manor at the village of Stevenage, as the guest of the Abbot of Westminster. The welcome that Lucy received erased all of Raynar's misgivings about bringing her along. Without her, he and the sergeant would have been offered some straw in the stable to sleep on. With her, they were given the use of a small room with feather beds. Lucy of course, was offered the best room in the house and the best bed, which she eagerly accepted as soon as she learned that the Abbot was not in residence.

  The second night they spent at Huntingdon, which was like a second home to Lucy, for it was Maud's home, and she and Maud had grown up like sisters. It was also like a second home to Ray, as he had lived there with Maud's mother Judith off and on for over a decade. They both were kept up so late, with so much wine flowing, and so many friends to speak to, that leaving in the morning was impossible. The next night they made sure that they got to bed at a decent time.

  The extra day did give the two carters Raynar had chosen, time to fill their packs and grease their hubs and retrieve their horses from the winter fields. It also gave Raynar the chance to walk the empty docks and ask about the local ships. When they set out on the fourth day, they were pleased that the empty horse drawn cart with iron hubs easily kept pace with their horses, unless they had to slow for the cobble pot holes in bad stretches of the highway.

  Later that day they stopped for a meal in Bourne at a manor that Lucy had protected from being seized by a Norman knight, by having Ivo, her sheriff husband at the time, claim it for her. It was the manor of Hereward's half brother's family, and the welcome she received there from the family was embarrassingly warm. The only way they could cut short the visit so that they could reach Spalding for the night, was by promising to visit again on their way back south.

  Spalding was Lucy's home, and any daydreams that they may have had of this being an overnight stay were squashed in the first few minutes. Once word got around that the Countess was home, people came from miles around to see her, visit with her, petition her, and hug her. Once word got around the docks that Captain Raynar was at the manor, ships captains and crew clamoured to meet with him, drink with him, and plan the next shipping season with him.

  Lucy was greatly relieved that life was still good for her villagers, while Raynar was even more greatly relieved that the North Sea, and the ships of the Wash and of Flanders, had hardly been effected by the great Saint Lawrence Day storm which had destroyed so many of the ships of the south coast.

  Day after day passed and still they could not leave. There was always one more person to meet with, one last decision to be made, one last smile to return, and one last ale to hoist. It wasn't until the ninth day that they reached Lincoln. Lincoln looked like an ongoing construction project. The sheriff was rebuilding the bailey in stone. The Bishop was adding a tower to the church. The steeply sloping streets were crowded with shops.

  The hardest thing about Lincoln was deciding where to stay. Lucy had an open invitation to stay with Osbert, the current Sheriff of Lincoln, who had been trained in the position by her late husband Ivo when it was obvious that Ivo was dying.

  She also had an open invitation to stay with her step daughter by Ivo, Beatrix, who had married into one of the wealthiest families in England and kept a grand house in Lincoln. Lucy, herself, owned her father's town house here, and though it was rented out, her tenants would welcome her as if she were family.

  The sergeant broke into their discussion of the options and said something unusually wise for him. He wondered why the Bishop had told him to organize an escort back to London for them, without knowing why, when is seemed as if they were going to make their arrival a very public event by staying in any of the places that Lucy had mentioned.

  With the help of the sergeant, and without any introductions, they were offered plain rooms in the Bishop's house, and there was not even a raised eyebrow when they did so.

  * * * * *

  Arcil the Minter was most pleased to discover his old business associate, Raynar of Oudenburg, knocking at his door. His business relationship with Raynar had always been very profitable. It was through this man that he had found trustworthy connections in Brugge, Flanders which had allowed him to grow wealthy from the pilgrimage industry, even while his normal business in Lincoln was suffering under the incompetence and greed of King William Rufus.

  "So Raynar, your visit is unusually timed. There are no ships and no trade with Flanders at this time of year."

  "I've come because of King Magnus,” replied Raynar as he swilled the fruity wine around in his goblet before taking another taste. It was very strong in spirits. Arcil bought it from the Norse, who strengthened normal wine by allowing it to freeze on their coldest days of winter, and then continuously skimming off the ice that floated to the top of the casks.

  "Ahh, so he finally needs his coins,” Arcil said. "Has he been captured and in need of ransom, or is it to pay off his raiders before they disperse for the winter. I have been holding them for a long time now. Umm, four years, almost five."

  "Magnus is dead, Arcil. Ambushed and killed in Ireland. He won't be sending for his coins."

  "Then I must keep them for his heirs,” Arcil stated plainly. "Ray, you aren't here to collect them for yourself are you? That I could not allow. If word of it got around it would be the end of my trade banking business."

  "I am here to collect them, and you will give them to me, and do so happily. It will not effect your business.” Raynar pushed his treasury badge across the table towards him.

  Arcil picked it up and studied it. "This is a jest of course. Captain Raynar of Oudenburg and Huntingdon, an officer of the English treasury. But why aren't you laughing?"

  "I work for the treasury on behalf of the Queen of the English. She has sent me here to secure the Magnus treasure. I am to leave you with a receipt for it, which you may show to the heirs if they ever come to claim the treasure. The treasure is to be held by the Queen in hopes that it's return will hasten a peace treaty between England and Norway."

  "But that is politics. I am a banker. My business must ignore politics, otherwise it must fail from lack of trust."

  "Arcil, you have replaced Lefwine as the Royal minter of Lincoln and that was my doing through a friend of mine at the treasury. A friend who was auditing and cleaning up the minters after Rufus was killed."

  "Ah yes, Lefwine. The poor man."

  "That is not what you used to say about him,” replied Raynar. "The words thief and corruptor come to mind. The queen is asking for your cooperation."

  "What does she need the coins for?” asked Arcil. "Don't look at me li
ke that. She must need them, and need them soon, and need them in secret for her to send you to me."

  "The southern and western shires are in a bad way, Arcil. The August storm destroyed fishing boats and roofs and crops. The king's treasury has been swept clean to pay for the rebuilding of the villages before winter comes. It would be foolish to try to replenish the treasury through levying taxes at this time. That would do more harm than good."

  "So you are here to tax me?” Arcil muttered in such a way that it could have been a question or an accusation.

  "The coins are not yours Arcil, and never were,” replied Raynar softly. "I was here, remember. I saw you paid well in things of gold for those coins, and in advance."

  "But they aren't yours either. Or the king's."

  "I work for the queen. I believe in the queen. Who do you believe in? Your protector, the Bishop of Lincoln? He knows that I am here to collect a treasure. Did he know that you were storing part of the Norse treasury here?"

  Arcil moaned. "So if I don't give them to you they will be taken from me in any case. Thank you very much. I thought you were a friend."

  "We do good business together. That is not friendship, but it is a trust. We have always trusted each other."

  "All right. You may have the Norse shillings, but I want a receipt from the treasury, signed, sealed and witnessed, and it must state clearly that the treasury is taking it into their trust until the succession to Magnus is decided."

  Raynar pulled out a scroll pipe and placed it between them. Ancil unsealed the pipe and emptied the scrolls from inside and read the first copy. "All it needs is our signatures and those of our witnesses. You may choose the witnesses, since the queen herself signed in my presence."

  Arcil called out to his clerk to fetch the notaries from next door.

  "Not yet,” whispered Raynar. "First I want to see the coins counted."

  "We don't count thousands of coins, we weigh them. So be it. Come with me into my vaults.” He stopped to wait for Raynar, who had a surprised look on his face. "Yes I trust you in my vaults. I have no choice since I am not willing to hump a half a ton of silver up the staircase."

  Raynar stood slowly and stretched and sighed. He idly wondered that the fates that could take a boy destined to be a porter in the Peaks of Derbyshire, and interweave his entire life with the problems of king's ransoms and the deaths of kings.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Queens and Widows by Skye Smith

  Chapter 27 - Murdering a king in the New Forest in winter 1080-81

  Cristina, wonderful Cristina, was now delivered. She had walked through the stout gate of the nunnery with nothing but the clothes of a captain's wife, and she had not looked back at him. This humble nunnery would now likely become the richest in the kingdom, simply because she had walked through that gate. He felt angry at a world where rich men as far away as Rome could force women here in England to work hard for free. He left her horse in the care of the stable nun until it could be retrieved, and then rode southwest towards the so called new wilderness, the New Forest.

  Mile after mile he wound through the parishes. All still seemed peaceful in these parishes, though all the folk he spoke to knew that they lived there on borrowed time. On the first day everyone warned him the same. Do not be seen with a bow, for now you could lose your string fingers for just carrying one. He stashed his hunting gear and spare food in a good hide under a giant pine that would also function to let him sleep dry if need be.

  The winter weather of Hampshire was softer than spring in the Peaks, or some summers in the Scottish highlands, so it was nothing to him to explore these parishes in winter. He was mapping as he explored, marking all the cartways and royal hunting lodges, the villages, the inns, and the alehouses. Marking the ridges, the valleys, the thick stands of trees, the streams, and the best hiding places.

  For three weeks he lived in the bush. His early life as a porter had taught him how to live on seemingly nothing and yet stay strong and healthy. Sometimes he sought a roof when the rain was heavy, and sometimes he sought the company of locals at an alehouse so he could listen to the gossip. His wandering and mapmaking was a way of learning the corner of the new wilderness closest to Winchester. On his fourth week he began to learn the game trails and the watering holes. He was shocked at how little game there was, but with his sharpened senses, he found it never the less.

  After the first snow he left the new wilderness, and rode back to the warmth of Marion's home in Winchester, and to the company of friends. The number of friends had thinned, however, as Wylie and Much had gone back to London to begin work on turning the bleak monks quarters at the Temple into an inn that wealthy merchants would frequent. After the cold wet month in the forest, he was content to work on his maps beside a brazier and bounce Acca on his knee.

  It was not until after Candlemas that Judith came to visit John at the stable, that by the way, was still in her name. She was speechless when it was Raynar who answered her knock. She pretended not to know him until she had dismissed her escort from the palace, but then she pushed him back into the shadows and threw her arms around his neck and gave him a long kiss.

  They spent the rest of the day together exchanging news and hugs. When Marion was introduced to her, she recognized her name as the daughter of the lady who had died so violently in Sheffield. When she learned that he had come here as the escort to the Lady of the Bridge, she laughed aloud and said that she should have guessed. They stayed away from discussing Robert for as long as possible, but the subject was inevitable.

  "I don't love him, Ray,” she said, "but he is close to my heart, and we share a history, and we do enjoy each other's company here in Winchester where we are both treated as outcasts. I came to see John for news of you. I receive dispatches regularly from Huntingdon with normal news and little stories about my children from Beatrice, but never news of you."

  "You have not been in a hurry to seek this news,” he replied with sarcasm, "I saw you months ago in Southampton with Robert."

  "How could I come. He keeps me forever near to him, much to his father's displeasure, or perhaps because of it. I could only come today because all the brothers have gone hunting with their father. This is the first time William has felt truly well enough for a long ride, and therefore the first time that the women have been left in peace in the palace."

  "Can you stay the night, then?” he asked.

  "Of course not. I am watched. In truth, I have been here too long already and should leave."

  It was hard for him to mask his eagerness for her to leave, yet not an hour after she left, he was riding towards the New Forest. He rode directly to Romsey and left his horse there, and proceeded on foot in his captains clothes and heavy cloak. His bow and his forest clothes were waiting in his dry hide under the giant pine near to the closest, and largest of the Royal hunting lodges.

  He stayed away from the lodge and all signs of men, and concentrated on finding the game, for if he could find the game, eventually the men would come to him. It took him the rest of the day but he eventually found the game trails that were in heavy use and had fresh spore. They ran down a small valley probably to some copse that was out of the wind and had early spring greens. Darkness fell quickly under heavy clouds and he made his bed in his hide and slept on fresh soft boughs and under his heavy cloak.

  At first light he went directly to the most promising game trail and snuck along it looking for a sturdy bough that could be used to unhorse a rider. When he found one, he threw a line across it so that he could pull it down to rider height. Alan had showed him this type of trap once, when they had to get rid of a knight by accident.

  It was simple enough if you chose your bough well. Pulling on the line would pull the bough lower and catch the rider in the head or neck or chest. The neck was preferable because then the rider was most likely to be hung in the tree with a broken neck or die of strangulation as if hung by a rope.

  He
tried out his trap a few times gauging the place on the taught line which would mean the bough was at rider height. Now all he had to do was to get William to follow this game trail. Since this could take patience he prepared a comfortable hide close to the trap. He was pondering the problem of how to attract hunters when he heard light feet on the trail. He looked up to see a small stag coming towards him. At the same instant the stag saw him, and dived off the trail and into the bushes.

  Now there was the sound of hoofs. He peered hard along the trail for the stag must have been running from hunters. He cocked his ears to hear. If there were men's footfalls he must dive into his hide. If it was just a rider then the tree would give him enough cover. He could hear nothing but hoofs. A rider approached. He could not believe his luck when in the dappled light of the forest he saw a flash of purple. He got behind his tree and pulled the line taught enough for the bough to be still just above the height of a rider and therefore of no interest to hunter or horse.

  He saw the purple flash again, much closer and began counting the hoof beats, readying himself to pull on the line. He didn't pull. The man came into view just beyond the bough, and he was a young man in a purple shirt but mostly covered with a flowing cloak. Not William. He slipped lower to the ground to be invisible to the rider as he passed the tree. Just as well for there was another rider on his tail. His lines were still taught and he got ready to pull them, then he relaxed. It was another young rider, though this one was dressed more appropriate to the hunt and the only flash of color was his red face.

  Raynar was catching his breath and calming his heart when he heard a cry and the sound of horses in panic. Someone was hurt, or perhaps one of the horses. He grabbed his bow and a few arrows and ran low and softly along the game trail to see what had happened. He came around a large tree and a curve in the trail and then saw the two men scuffling on the ground. He then saw the unthinkable. The red faced man used a hunting arrow as a dagger and stabbed the other man in the chest. Clearly an assault most foul.