Hoodsman: Courtesans and Exiles

by Smith, Skye

  There was no one. He stepped back outside but he caught a glint in the corner of his eye. The shine of something metal from over in the stable. "You in the stable! You come out too." One of the almost-nuns in front of him yelled at them too. Three armed men stepped into the yard from the stable, but when they saw three nocked arrows swing towards their chests, they shrugged and dropped their weapons belts to the ground.

  Half of the bowmen shouldered their bows and moved quickly between the folk and then in and out of all the buildings looking for weapons or other surprises. They carried all the weapons that they found and created a pile of them in the center of the yard. One man pushed two kitchen girls ahead of him to join the others of the household.

  * * * * *

  "But what else could we do?" Raynar apologized to the three nunly women, yet again, over the hearty meal that the kitchen had provided. "The guide told us that you were Earl Odo's women and vicious. The manor was fortified. We were a small force. I could not risk the lives of the count and countess."

  "The local men think that we are lepers because we always wear our veils," replied the older of the women. "It is not true, of course, but I refuse to show my face just to put down the gossip of fishwives."

  Mary was not satisfied with the terse answers given by these three women, but she held her own questions until all of the men had gone back to their duties. The crew to build a temporary wharf, the bowmen to explore and secure the hamlet of Favreshant, and the women’s men, back to their work in the fields and animal pens.

  When the only men left at the table were Eustace and Raynar, Mary told the women, "Remove your veils. I would see the faces of my tenants."

  Two of the women removed their veils immediately. They revealed faces that were stunning in their beauty. Dark hair, olive skin, light green eyes, and a delicacy of nose and cheek that made them look like they were smiling even when they were not. The third woman, their mother, did not move.

  "I insist that you bare your face to me," Mary told her.

  Again the older woman did not move. She reached a hand across to squeeze Eustace's arm and a quiet voice pleaded, "Allow me my veil."

  Eustace looked from the nunly woman, to her gorgeous daughters and back to his new wife, while he made his decision. "I must never come between my countess and her women. She is not just a countess, but a princess of Scotland and England. Do as she asks."

  The woman dropped her veil, and the two men at the table both gasped and immediately looked away. Mary also gasped but was not so cruel as to look away. The woman must have been every bit as beautiful as her daughters, before someone had cruelly and savagely carved her face with a knife.

  "Odo did this to me," the woman said as she fingered the material of her veil hoping that she would be allowed to put it back in place. "I would not let him sex my daughters, so he did this to me instead, out of anger and spite."

  Mary said softly, "Arrange your veil so that I can still see your eyes. When you are in my company or the company of the count, you must always show your eyes, but nothing more."

  When the woman's privacy was restored, the men looked up at her again. Her eyes were bewitching, not green like her daughters but violet, and with flecks of gold. "Odo has been dead for four years," Raynar said softly and slowly, "but he has not been the Earl of Kent since King Rufus stripped him of the honor for supporting Robert of Normandy against him. That was in..."

  "In 1088," replied the scarred woman, "when my daughters were five and six. I remember the year well. It was the year I ceased being Theodora the Courtesan, the darling of courts from Constantinople to Winchester, and became Theodora the leper. I light candles every night to bring luck to the man who finally rid this earth of Odo Mortain and sent him to eternal damnation."

  She was suddenly glad to have her eyes uncovered, because the peasant bowman sitting beside the countess had eyes that told many stories. They had brightened and had become friendly when she mentioned the candles. The man was saying something to her but she was so entranced by his eyes that she almost missed his words, "Then you are Greek". There was something strange about how he said the words. Of course. He had said them in Greek. Her daughters had noticed too.

  "Yes, I am a Greek," she whispered, "and you, did you learn the mother tongue of religion and learning in the Holy Land?" The man laughed at her question and his bewitching eyes danced.

  "I learned it one long winter," replied Raynar, "when I was trapped with the countess's mother Margaret by the storms of Northumbria. Have you taught it to your daughters?"

  "But of course. I have raised them as courtesans to take my place. Greek is only one of their tongues. And they can write it, too."

  "Can they sing it?"

  The two young women stood, and the men's eyes were given a treat as they removed their long dark cloaks to reveal the sumptuous, though slightly outdated, gowns of the Paris style. The gowns draped and twirled fetchingly as they moved away from the table. One of them reached every so gracefully for a lute that was hung in a collection of musical instruments on the wall. On the very wall where in other manors, there would have been displayed a collection of swords or battle axes.

  With voice and lute, they charmed their audience. The words and melodies were Greek but you did not need to understand the language to know that the song was about love and springtime, and birds and flowers. While one played the eastern instrument, the other did a slow and graceful dance, not just with her body, but more with her arms, wrists, and fingers. They sang to each other in perfect harmony.

  After four more spirited songs, the mother signaled them and the next was softer and slower and allowed the others to speak without raising their voices, yet still be heard. "Countess," Theodora said earnestly, "please take my daughters with you away from this muddy hamlet. They will go to waste here. There is no longer an Earl of Kent, and the new Bishop in Canterbury is Anselm, who is too pious to have women attend his court.

  They are prime and ready to entertain at court, and their beauty will never be greater than it is now. Please take them to one of your courts, or better still, allow them to travel with you between courts. I beg you." There were tears glistening in her violet eyes.

  Mary looked at the young women, and thought about them while they strummed and sang to her. "Girls," was the word she used to call them to her side, though they were the same age as her. "You are well trained, but will you be loyal?"

  Eustace replied instead of the girls. "Theodora, the Mortains are the lap dogs of the Bellemes. Have you ever, uh, met any of the others of those clans?"

  "All of them," she said and she lifted her veil so that she could spit some choice Greek curses to the ground, and then she ground them into the dust with her shoe. "If they were peasants they would have been gallows bait before they were teens, and the world would be rid of them by now. Since they are nobles, they send worthy and moral men to the gallows in their place. They breed demons in their minds and in their wives. They do the most dreadful of things at a whim, and then feel no remorse at all about it afterwards."

  "So how do you come to live in this manor, and for over a dozen years at that? This has never been Odo's estate."

  "We came here after Odo had been exiled," she replied. "The Bishop of Canterbury sent his own men to secure Odo's estates across Kent. He took pity on me and allowed me to live here so long as I kept up the old inn at the cross for the use of pilgrims."

  "And does the inn still thrive?"

  "In the season, yes," she replied, "but now it is winter so there are no pilgrims, and all others are mounted, so it is easier for them to continue on to Canterbury, and not linger here."

  Raynar then asked, "When you trained your daughters as courtesans, were they trained in light arms and poisons in the way of the Italian courtesans?"

  Theodora stared at him, trying to fathom from his eyes why he was asking such a loaded question. His eyes gave her no clues. "Yes, of course. Courts are dangerous places filled with intrigue and bl
ackmail. To teach them how to protect themselves from such things, meant teaching them how they are used."

  "Is your hatred of Odo," Raynar asked softly, "an Italian style vendetta? If your daughters meet with a Mortain, would they kill him to fulfill some family vengeance?"

  Theodora kept her silence and stared at the man. Whatever she answered could well cheat her daughters of a chance to go with the countess. It was best not to answer until she understood where the questions were leading. He was watching her, also keeping his silence. He broke it first.

  "Mary, when you leave for Boulogne, I suggest that you stop here to pick up the daughters. You will need the company of non-Boulonnais women for a while, until your mother-in-law Ida trusts you to take over the household. These two would be a very good choice, so long as you take a blood oath from them."

  "What blood oath?" asked Mary and Theodora almost at the same time.

  "A simple oath," replied Raynar, "but one they each should think hard and long about before making. They must never bed or harm someone without your permission, but they must bed or harm someone when you so order it. If they break this oath then they must expect to share their mother's fate."

  There were gasps from the four women in the room. The two daughters stopped their soft song and danced over to stand beside their mother in case she needed to whisper to them.

  "Oh excellent, Ray," said Eustace. "They are to be courtesans then, and not ladies-in-waiting. And dangerous courtesans at that. Agents of Mary's will, er... or won't. Yes, I will agree to this." He shot a glance to their mother. Her eyes were dancing with joy. "And you, madam, may stay here in Favreshant for as long as you wish under the same arrangement as with the Bishop."

  "No," Mary cried out. "Not quite the same as for the Bishop. I want your pilgrim's inn to become a haven for women. In this kingdom, when a woman runs from men she has only two choices. For the wealthy the nunneries, for the poor the whorehouses. I want to give women another choice. A haven where they will be safe from men while they decide what is to be done."

  "I like this idea, your grace. I like it well," said Theodora as she sat forward to better see Mary's eyes. "But who will pay?"

  There was a pregnant pause while Mary waited for Eustace to offer to pay. When it did not come she blurted out, "I will pay for it. And if it is as successful as my mother's havens in Scotland, then I will press my sister to create more like it all over the kingdom, and in our mother's name."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Courtesans and Exiles by Skye Smith

  Chapter 5 - With the countess in Spalding, Lincolnshire in July 1072

  Raynar watched the sun set from where he was hidden across the river from the countess's fortified manor. There was enough light to see any movement, but he saw none except the normal coming and going of the local folk. Once dark, he poled his borrowed punt across the river and then pushed it through the river gate in the pale wall that existed for just that purpose.

  The countess was waiting for him in her quarters. Her manor was the simplest form of fortified manor. The walls were for the most part the walls of the three long houses and the barn that formed a square yard between them. It was built inland from the village on the banks of the river, but on a mound of higher ground that was, in all likelihood, the remains of some ancient building. There was a circular ditch that connected to the river and thus on every moon tide the manor was surrounded by water.

  A young Frisian maid came to him while he was barring the river gate, and then led him to Beatrice's personal quarters. She pushed him through the door and told him that she was off to bring him food and ale. While his eyes adjusted to the candlelight, Beatrice crossed the room to him, reached up, and gave him a long lingering kiss.

  "Oh Raynar," she whispered, "I am so glad you are safe. The blockade stopped us from trading with Flanders for months and so we had no news about whether you had arrived there safely or not."

  "I suffered the same for not knowing what was happening here," replied Raynar. "I asked at every ship coming to Brugge from England for news of the Fens, and there was none. Is all well with the babe you carry? Is Lucy still willful? Can Thorold still ride and hunt?"

  "We are all fine, Raynar. Life has calmed. Lucy is staying with a friend in the village so that she can be nearer Klaes and the ships, so yes she is still willful. Thorold is Thorold. He is a fixer. He lives to make things work whether that be fixing a plough, or a mill, or a shire. So long as he is busy he stays younger than his years."

  "And you?" he asked gently, "you look overtired, even weak. I am used to a more vibrant Beatrice."

  She put a hand to her belly. "This new baby saps my energy. I am moody and grumpy and cannot stay awake throughout a meal. I am not young anymore. I am twenty-eight now, and I worry if I am too old to bear children. I lost my last one at this same moon count."

  "You lost your last one because you were working all hours of the day trying to save other women's children." He brushed his lips against hers. "This time you are at home and surrounded by people who care for you.

  As for your age, you are still young because you have kept yourself young. You are not a homeless widow, ancient at thirty from giving all her food to her children and having the latest brats suck her life away through her tits." She froze and he cursed his tongue. "Forgive my words, love, they were not meant to be mean, or to refresh harsh memories. All I meant was that you should not compare yourself to other women, not in these hungry times."

  Her mouth softened again and she whispered, "No forgiveness is necessary."

  He decided to change the subject. "Hereward would have me ask how his brother fares."

  "Hereward and his brother must live charmed lives. Despite the abbot's urgings for disembowelment, William did not hurt nor imprison any of his kin and did not claim their lands in Burna," she explained. "They can thank Morcar for that. Morcar convinced the king that Hereward was Edwin's oath man and he was holding the Fens on Edwin's orders. William respects such loyalty, and has set aside any decisions about Hereward until he sees how he behaves now that Edwin is dead and Morcar is in chains.

  Poor Morcar. I fear he will never be free again. He is the last earl of that noble family who still lives, and therefore so long as he lives, no one else can claim their estates. So long as he is William's prisoner, all those lands are in trust to William. It is a mean life for such a loyal young man. Well, loyal to the English nobles in any case."

  "I always liked Morcar," comforted Raynar. "To think that instead of pleading and bargaining his own case, he used his words to save Hereward from the king's wrath."

  "Perhaps it was his intent all along. When his brother Edwin was so foully murdered by Odo's agents, he searched out Hereward, and at the end he demanded to be the rear guard for the retreat from Ely. I did not see him after Ely, but my husband did. Morcar expects to be sent back to Mathilde's court. Thorold thinks him delusional. William now has another pet English Earl in his court to give the illusion that he rules England with the acceptance of the English nobles."

  "Waltheof?" asked Raynar.

  "The same," she confirmed. "He becomes more of a lapdog every day. He has ridden with William to Scotland and has even taken some of your bowmen with him."

  "Hah," Raynar laughed with the good news, "oh how I hope he asked for volunteers to go with him. One in ten of my bowmen have the skill and the wisdom and blood reasons enough to murder William. Oh, how I hope they are given the chance!"

  Beatrice was silent, a long silence. Roas had used the same silence with him just three days ago in Flanders. "I am tired of war and armies and lawlessness and viciousness, Raynar," she whispered. "Please do not wish those times back."

  "I have only ever wanted one man dead," he whispered and touched her cheek ever so gently. "The man who caused all of this anguish and horror."

  "And yet, if it weren't for William you would still be a porter struggling under loads of lead ore on the paths of the De
rbyshire Peaks."

  He wanted to say so many things to her. That if it wasn't for William, two hundred thousand folk would still be alive, that the women of an entire kingdom would not have known rape and sorrow, and that the folk of an entire kingdom would not now be starved into slavery. He held his tongue, and he held this woman, and the silence continued.

  He shuddered at a passing thought. Was she beaten? In her own mind was Beatrice so tired of living in fear and in sorrow, that it had finally beaten her? He had helped Beatrice and Anske tend to the thousands of folk who had crossed the River Ouse on the ferry at Selby to flee the Harrowing of Yorkshire They had experienced many lifetimes of sorrow in those few short months.

  He shuddered again. If Beatrice, a strong and commanding woman, was beaten, then what did that say of all the other women of this kingdom? Were they beaten too? Were they now ready to just bow their heads and behave themselves as serfs, and bear the beastiality that any Norman was allowed to force upon them?

  The maid returned with food and ale. She had changed into her best shift and had combed her hair and reddened her lips. Beatrice gave her one look and smiled softly. The young women from her villages were always eager to enter her personal service as a way to meet men of husband material. She would have to warn this one off Raynar. While he looked young, he had a soul that was ancient.

  The maid expected to be motioned to leave, but Beatrice had her sit with them. Having someone less worldly at the table would keep the gossip light and about Klaes's village rather than about kings and earls and armies.

  He was more than happy to listen to the maid chatter away about the village folk. Whenever there was silence he gave her another name of a villager and the chatter would begin again. While the maid sat on the bench facing him, Beatrice shared his, so instead of facing each other across the table, they sat with thighs and shoulders touching.