Hoodsman: Blackstone Edge

by Smith, Skye

  "Good to know," said John, "someday there will be a use for it."

  Hereward crawled into the room. He took a stub of a church candle from his bag and lit it before the torch went out. The others crawled in after him. They looked at the tiled floor and the domed brick work with awe. It was much bigger inside than it seemed from the outside.

  "I know what I would use it for," said John, "storing corn. It would stay dry, and the bog gas would kill vermin."

  "I never thought of that. You could be right," reflected Hereward, as he touched the walls. "If it had been used as an oven the bricks would be caked in soot."

  John and Alan went back outside and handed the chests one by one through the doorway. Hereward piled them against the inside wall close to the doorway. At Alan's questioning look, Hereward explained. "If someone does open the stone door and survives the gas they will see the empty back wall. The room will look empty."

  The last thing to go in was a scroll pipe containing a copy of the scroll that identified the owners of the chests.

  As Raynar backed out of the room he swept the footprints from the floor with a branch of Scotch Broom. John rolled the stone back into place blocking the doorway and Hereward jammed the boulder under the rounded end to wedge it in place. He then threw handfuls of dust over the top of the stone.

  The roof stone was dressed and fitted very snuggly in one position, so you had to rotate it until you found that position. They backed away from the ruin using broom branches to erase their marks.

  "There," said Hereward, "the treasure of the lords is as safe as we can make it. If we lose against Normans, then we can pick it up by ship and take it to Scotland or Flanders. When we find more we can add to this hide."

  "You are a canny bugger," Raynar said with admiration, "For truly, the bog gas will guard it better than any Romanized monks. What about the abbey's own treasure?"

  "I am a knight of the abbey, Raynar. I will try to protect it where it sits in the abbey."

  "But....."

  "But if I must choose between King Sweyn and King William, I will choose Sweyn. Most of the golden ornaments were gifts from Knut, so the Danes have more claim to Peterburgh's treasure than the Normans, no matter who is king of the English."

  It took them most of the rest of the day to row and pole the boat back to the island village. Their plan was to leave immediately for Spalding and then return to Peterburgh. That plan was made before Anske had been left behind on the island.

  It was summer, and as with most summers Westerbur was an island of women living without men. The Frisian men were all away working for Thorold as guards. Guards for carts, for herds, for plough teams, for migrating folk, and for anything else that needed the guard of tall fair men who were skilled in arms and carried Welsh bows.

  For two days it was impossible to leave. The island women fed them on delicacies and pampered them and bathed them and seduced them. Only the nagging remembrance of tasks left unfinished pried them from that summer paradise.

  John was particularly loath to leave. Anske had warned the women of his huge 'widow pleaser'. Once he was clean and fed, he was led by some of the young mothers to a separate hut, and the other men did not see him again for two days, though many young mothers came and went from that hut, and the giggles and moans were continuous.

  On the morning of their leaving, Hereward was presented with a fine woolen cloak with the multicolored stripes woven into the fabric. It was made from a fabric that this island was known for, but also had a fur collar and a silver chain to clasp it closed. "Now you look like a leader of leaders," said Anske as she smoothed the fabric over his wide shoulders. She finished dressing him with a yellow neck scarf of costly silk. "No one else but you will wear a yellow scarf."

  The village had tried to give him a spirited black Frisian mare with a black flowing mane and a black flag of a tail, but like Raynar, Hereward preferred plainer nags that did not bring to him unwanted attention. Anske rode the mare in any case, thinking that if she left it at Huntingdon or at Peterburgh, that Hereward could use it during any ceremonies when he wore his lavish cloak.

  John was kissed fare-thee-well by a dozen women, all of whom wore smirks and looked sleepy. Alan strolled to his horse with a Frisian beauty on each arm, as did Hereward. Some of the village women had tried to reacquaint themselves with Raynar, but Anske had warned them all to stay away. One woman was not warned off. Her sister Roas, Gerke's wife, brought her young son to play with Raynar, and she did share their bed for one night.

  They had one last errand to complete before returning to Peterburgh, and that required them to detour to Spalding.

  Beatrice was overjoyed to see them, but mostly overjoyed to be with Anske again. She tutted at the boyish disguise and pulled her to the women's quarters to gossip.

  Thorold was waiting for the men. A courier had been sent ahead to ensure he would be in Spalding when they arrived, and not at one of his many other villages. After the warrior embraces were finished, and the ale was poured, they began to exchange news.

  "Has either the sheriff or the bishop in Lincoln repaid you for any of your expenses yet?" asked Raynar. Thorold had beggared himself to buy seed corn and plough teams and breeding animals to distribute to the farmers of Lincolnshire, to replace those that they lost to the starving refugees after the Great Harrowing.

  "Not a farthing" replied Thorold. It was a raw subject right now, because until he was repaid for what he had spent so far, he could not expand the reach of his good works to the banks of the Humber in Lindsey and in the Holderness area of Yorkshire. The promises of repayment from the Norman lords of that land were as empty as Thorold’s purse.

  The four guests all wore smiles that connected ear to ear. Each of them reached under the bench and each lifted a heavy saddle bag onto the table in front of the seasoned Danelaw lord, the old Shirereeve of Lincolnshire.

  Thorold opened the closest bag and reached inside to pull out a handful of silver coins. "Is this all silver. Why there must be ... ten thousand shillings in these bags."

  "Four thousand," corrected Raynar. "We have decided to use Edgar's treasure for it's original purpose. To build an army to defeat William. That means we first need healthy villages with food to spare. This is to replenish your treasury of the coin you have already spent for that purpose. When you need more, we will require a simple accounting of how this first hoard was spent."

  "Well then send me four more bags immediately. This is all spoken for. The moneylenders in Lincoln are charging me interest by the day while I wait for the sheriff's coin. Every Frisian man around the Wash has been working for me for two months for food and a promise of future payment, and meanwhile their ships sit beached during trading season."

  "I told you so," laughed Raynar. "I knew this would not be enough when I asked the price of sheep at the market in Huntingdon."

  Each guest reached under the bench and swung their second saddle bag up and onto the table.

  Thorold's smile now also connected his ears "Oy," he yelled to the serving woman sitting outside the door in the sunshine. "Break out the best wine. Two jugs. And send for the women and my guards." He looked back at his guests. "Come, help me carry these bags to my safe before everyone starts arriving. No, leave three here. I'll not pay another days interest to the guild. I will ride today for Lincoln and settle some debts."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Blackstone Edge by Skye Smith

  Chapter 28 - Sitting with Mary in the palace garden in Winchester in July 1101

  Risto looking towards Mary who was leaning against Raynar's shoulder on garden bench and half dozing in the sun. He straightened in his chair and brushed wrinkles from his clothing and smoothed his hair. He envied Raynar's closeness to her. She was a fine-looking woman, and not stuck up like her sister Edith. "What became of Margaret, Mary's mother? Did you ever tell me." His hope was that by asking about her mother, Mary would smile at him. She had such an inviting smile.<
br />
  Mary opened her eyes and stared at him. "My mother was forced to marry King Malcolm of Scotland. He was a beast. She hated him but she had no choice. It was the price of her family's, our family's safety. As relatives of Malcolm, William could ask, but not demand their return to England. William even conceded the union when Malcolm and William next met to sign a treaty. She had no choice, no choice at all. At least Edith had a choice, whereas I will share my mother's fate."

  Raynar was woken out of his sun soaked daze by the strangeness of these last words. What had she said, 'I will share my mother's fate'. He gave her a hug, and asked her, "You sound troubled? What is it? How can I help?" He had been her mother's champion, and more. Now he was Edith and Mary's champion, and more.

  She did not speak. She nodded towards Risto, and then gave the Andalusian Greek the smile he had been waiting for.

  Raynar motioned gently to Risto to leave them alone for a while, and he obliged by stretching and then rising, and mumbling something about being hungry. When the man was gone, and they were alone, he pulled his head back from hers so that he could see her face. There were tears in the corners of her eyes. The tears make her look more like a little girl than a courtly lady. In truth she was but eighteen.

  "Oh Raynar, what am I to do?" she sniffed. "If I return to Scotland my brother Edgar will marry me off. If I stay in England my brother-in-law Henry will marry me off. Edith wants me away from Henry and his desire for mistresses, so I must leave. Yet I have no house, I have no income. My livelihood is from being Edith's lady-in-waiting. Waiting for a husband. What if I don't want a husband? What if I don't want the husband who they chose for me?"

  "Edith would never force you into a bad marriage," he replied. "She hates that your mother was forced."

  "Edith is full of herself being a queen. She does not think of me as a sister anymore, but as either a willful child or as a property to be traded for gain. Henry is worse. To him I am all that, and mistress material as well."

  "Do you wish me to talk with her, or with him?"

  "Talk with him first. I fear that he has already offered my hand to one of his brother Robert's barons in order to cement the treaty they signed at Alton. Perhaps not officially, and not with Edith's knowledge," she sniffed. "He is always feasting and hunting with his brother. Who knows what men promise when they are in their cups and with no sober women to overrule their drunken boasting?"

  "Do you know anything more certain? A name perhaps."

  "Have you ever met the Earl of Cornwall?" she asked. "He is a pig of a man. Greasy-looking and overweight with a loud voice and a rough manner."

  "I can't say as I have. Would I know him by another name?"

  "He is a Mortain. William Mortain. His father was Robert Mortain and his uncle Odo Mortain, both half brothers to Henry's father, William the First. You mention the Mortains often in your stories, and never without a curse. Especially for Robert and Odo." She looked at him with her teary eyes, hoping for a reaction. As she watched him, his face blanched and then grew red.

  Raynar could not tell Mary of his personal dealings with the Mortain clan. In his vengeance against William the First, his hands had been stained by the blood of many Mortains, including Odo and Robert. Instead he kept to the Mortain they were discussing.

  "I have met the man. He was on the docks at Portsmouth when Robert arrived from Normandy. I did not know him as a Mortain, but as William of Pevensey. Henry was camped at Pevensey at the time, a guest of William, while William was selling him out to Robert. It was his knight that was executed under the eyes of Robert's army at Alton."

  Raynar thought long and hard before speaking again. "This is not logical and I distrust events that have no cause in logic. I suppose that is why I stay away from politics. I would expect Henry to take this man's head, not to offer his precious sister-in-law to him."

  "He is very rich," she said. "Not so rich as his father or uncle were, but perhaps the richest Earl in England today. He or the Earl of Shrewsbury."

  "Wealth would not explain it, dearest," he whispered. "A crown perhaps, but not just wealth. Leave the problem with me. Meanwhile, stay away from Henry. Better still, stop your teasing ways with all men, especially courtiers. At least while I track this down."

  "You're jealous." Her eyes flashed at him and she dropped her hand into his lap and began a stroking motion.

  He breathed in and grabbed her hand in his before her rubbing there could cause him embarrassment. "Stop that. That is exactly the teasing that will get you into trouble. I am old enough to be your .. ugh .. grandfather. What would your mother, or your aunt Cristina have said?"

  * * * * *

  When Raynar needed to speak with Henry, he did not beg an audience. He simply arranged for it with Edith. When he entered the King's chambers, the royal couple were sitting together with arms entwined. They did not bother to release each other on his account. "Come and sit," said Edith, "we don't see enough of you any more, what with all the entertaining of these lords from Normandy."

  "I will stand, thank you Edith. I am angry with Henry and after I say what I came to say he will most likely order me to leave."

  Henry straightened his back and pulled one of his arms back from Edith. "What have I done to anger you? Are my bowmen complaining of their treatment?"

  "On the contrary," Raynar said, "the bowmen are content and their fathers even more so. No, I have a complaint of my own." Henry motioned for him to continue with it. "If you wish me to kill someone, Henry, then just ask it of me. Don't try to manipulate me into doing it."

  "Kill someone?" Henry was truly confused. "But I have schemed no deaths."

  "You have betrothed Mary to a Mortain. I bear no grudge against the man personally, but he will be dead before I would allow a Mortain to bed Mary. Besides, I know he is one of your traitors. One so powerful that it may cost you an army to take him down. Was that not your plan? One of my heavy arrows to save you the cost of marching an army against him?" Raynar fixed Henry in a steely glare.

  "I , uh, I did not mean you to kill the man. I..." Henry stuttered while trying not to look at his wife.

  "You what?" Edith’s voice broke in, "You wanted that pig to wed Mary!" Her voice raised almost to a screech. She leaped to her feet and shook away his hands and put both of hers on her hips.

  Henry looked from Edith to Raynar and back to Edith. He put his hand across his eyes and moaned. To himself he though, 'What was I thinking? There is nothing that I can say now, that won't make this worse than it is'.

  Edith's head maid rushed into the room to investigate her queen's screech. Raynar recognized her as the saucy lass who had slept a night with him while they guarded Edith on her wedding night. He caught her eye and gave her a big wink. "Please hold the door against any interruptions. Do you still carry that little dagger I once gave you? Good, feel free to use it on the chamberlain if he tries to push you aside."

  Both Edith and Henry nodded to her and she withdrew quickly. Over her shoulder she saw Edith grab a large bolster and knock Henry to the floor with it. As she escaped through the doorway she heard the crash of pottery behind her.

  Henry was using the bolster that downed him as a shield against every pot in the room. When Edith reached for the chamber pot he grabbed her by a handful of gown and danced her gently towards the bed and then pushed her down onto it. "I can explain," he lied as he pinned her wrists to the bed while trying to keep her knee from nutting him.

  "So Henry," said Raynar calmly, "do you want Mortain dead, or not?"

  "No. I don't want him dead," Henry replied quickly and then doubled up to protect himself from the renewed vigor of Edith's knees. He heard Raynar noisily clearing his throat. "All right. I wish he would just disappear and stop plaguing me and mine and my England, but not by my order. Believe me, I just did not think the offer of Mary through to its consequences. I was drunk and bragging. I was a fool. I have lived for days with the fear of what would happen when Edith found out, and now she has."
/>   Edith went still on the bed. "Let me go!" she said in a voice that could have frozen sea water.

  Henry eased his grip on her wrists, and she rubbed them as she rolled away from him.

  "So will you withdraw the betrothal, then?" asked Raynar.

  "Well, there could be a problem with that. Mary is quite stunning and she is a royal princess of both Scotland and England. I am to meet with Mortain tomorrow to discuss the terms."

  "Raynar," Edith walked passed her husband and stood between him and the bowman, "your oath to my mother to protect Mary dictates that you kill him. In any case, he is a traitor."

  "No, Edith," interrupted Henry, "it is not your place, nor your duty to give such an order."

  "Henry," she replied, "is William Mortain not the bully from your youth who tormented you? You are a grown man now, and a powerful one. More powerful than he, yet you still fear him. Well I do not. As you said, he is a danger to me and mine. I would be rid of him. I dare say that he will not be the first Mortain that Raynar has sent to the other side."

  "As I said," spoke Raynar quietly, "I bear no grudge against the man, yet. Yes, I have killed Mortains, but for reasons of avenging entire villages. I would prefer a diplomatic solution. Why not just arrange for him to refuse Mary?"

  "That may have been possible if he had never seen her," said Henry. "To see Mary is to lust for Mary." Edith turned to him and slapped him across the face. He did not react. He kept telling himself, 'Keep quiet you fool. Anything you say will just make this worse.'

  "Then I suggest making the dowry unpalatable to him. Is that not why you meet tomorrow? To discuss the dowry? I suggest making Pevensey the dowry." Raynar enjoyed subtlety in planning. It tended to be lest wasteful of men's lives. This subtlety of this strategy was quite intriguing. Almost like planning a battle.

  "But Pevensey is Mortain's already," replied Henry, rejecting the idea as he rubbed his cheek.