by Smith, Skye
"It is a very pretty stone," Anso remarked. "I grew up in peaks and valleys and mines and quarries, and I don't remember a stone like it. It looks like it should be soft and warm to the touch."
"It's stone," replied the captain stubbornly, "so it won't float, so what good is it? I am a green man, not a stone man."
"There is much coin in the business of stone," said Anso, "but I agree, it turns the world into a hard place. I am also a green man."
The assistant port master greeted them at the dock and whistled at the beauty of the two horses. "They are a gift for the Duke," said Edgar in flowery French. "Please arrange an escort to the court for us." The man bowed low and backed away. In fact all the dock workers were groveling to Edgar and Anso as they passed them, dressed as they were in their finery.
"They can't load much cargo from this dock, if courtiers keep arriving," Anso observed. "A man can't work while he is groveling." The crew had unstrapped the horses from their supports and were easing them across wide planks and onto the dock. The crew had just finished cinching the costly Frisian leather saddles, when an escort of men-at-arms arrived.
Edgar and Anso mounted the Frisians and rode towards the man in charge of the escort. Anso introduced Edgar as Prince Edgar of the House of Cerdic, here to make his peace with William, King of the English.
The knight bowed his head slightly, more of a nod than a bow, and said, "We have been expecting you. Please come." He led them through the castle gates and into the large courtyard within. Stable lads raced forward from the shadows to grab their horses, but Edgar told them, "Return to your duties, lads, these mounts are gifts for the Duke. Where is he?"
The lads backed away and one of them pointed to a crenellated battlement twenty feet up the wall of the keep. There, a large man stood and looked down on them. Perhaps he was not as large as he seemed because he was standing beside a very short woman.
Edgar knew Caen and this castle from when he attended the court here with Edwin and Morcar back in '67. "It is forever under construction," he whispered. "It will never be finished. Certainly not the battlement walls." He held Anso's arm to stop him from walking towards the entrance to the keep. "William has seen the horses. Mathilde will not be able to convince him to wait for us to be presented."
Sure enough, the big man came out of the shadows of the entrance with two boys at his heels and he marched directly up to them, never taking his eyes from the horses. One boy was in his early teens, while the other was six or seven. Edgar bowed graciously and yanked Anso’s arm to force him to make some sort of salute. "They are yours, Sire. A matched pair, and ready for breeding."
William did not wait for an invitation, but swung his heavy frame into the saddle of the stallion. Anso handed him the reins and made an adjustment on the stirrups. "They are trained Frisian style. Left hand on the reins, or better still, wrapped in the mane, or no hands using knees. Do you know the style?"
"Well enough," was the gruff reply from the king. "Give Willy a hand up on the mare, and then lift Henry up to me." He impatiently waited until the boy was lifted up in front of him. Without a second thought to the visitors he was leaving in the courtyard, he turned his horse in such a way that also turned Willy's and then immediately began instructing the boy in the Frisian way of controlling a horse.
"They are magic horses, boys. There is no need to saw at them to get them to turn. Use the gentlest of touches. Sometimes they seem to respond to your thoughts before you even move your hand. Tie the reins off, Willy, and grab a big hank of mane with your left hand. That's it. That's what they like. Now try to be one with that horse."
The two visitors just stood and watched as king and princes walked the horses towards the far end of the battlement wall. "Now what?" whispered Anso.
"Mathilde will rescue us," Edgar whispered back, "once she has nutted those guards for letting you anywhere near her men with that bow and that sword." Anso had his aging Byzantine bow strung and across his shoulder, and his thin Syrian sword on his belt.
Mathilde marched up to them with four guards in her wake and both men bowed deeply. "Welcome back, Edgar," she spoke first, "perhaps your escort would like to have my guards hold his weapons. Then we can go inside."
"Perhaps," Anso stared into her eyes, "I should keep my weapons to protect you from your guards, considering the murderous looks they are giving you."
She spun quickly and looked at the faces of her men and they bowed their heads, which just served to make them look like guilty children. Then she caught one of them shooting Anso a hateful look. "All right, then, you may keep your weapons. Besides, they look unique and Eastern, so my husband will wish to see them and hold them and try them."
"No!" yelped Edgar and stepped between Anso and the queen. "It is your custom to take the weapons and we must follow it. Anso, hand your weapons to these men." When Anso made no move, Edgar grabbed both his arms and repeated, "Hand them over." Anso handed his bow and quiver and sword belt to the closest guard and Edgar sighed with relief. He had seen how fast Anso could nock and shoot, and how deadly was his aim. It was only by the grace of God that William had not been spitted when he came out to receive the horses.
Mathilde turned to walk back to the building, and the men took baby steps to walk with the diminutive woman. "This is not the season for Caen," gossiped Mathilde amiably as they walked towards the massive building that served as both palace and keep, "so the court is thinly attended, but no matter. That leaves more time for us to spend with you." She now had one man by each arm. "Anso, you look familiar to me, and I do not quickly forget handsome men or their weapons. Have we met before?"
"My mission is to protect pilgrims. Have you been on pilgrimage recently?"
"Of course not," she dismissed his foolishness. "Pilgrims come to me. The last time I left Normandy was to attend Philippe’s wedding in Paris. Edgar was there. Ah, that must be where I saw you."
"It is possible. I was enforcing the Peace of God along the highways to Paris. I was not invited to the ceremony, however, for I am a simple warrior of God." Anso's mind raced. He had a chance here to measure the worth of William's spies. He stopped and held Mathilde back for just a moment so that he could turn her and watch her face while he asked, "I have a cousin at the French court. One of Queen Bertha's ladies. Perhaps that is the connection. Do you know Gesa?"
A flicker of rage crossed her face. "Gesa the courtesan?"
"That must be another Gesa," he replied. "My cousin is the woman who guards Bertha; with deadly force if necessary. I hear she once held a knife to Count Fulk's prick and only the king could stop her from gelding him."
"A fitting punishment for Fulk. He has ruined too many noble daughters. Philippe should not have stopped her." She got back in step with the men. "Perhaps I have misjudged this Gesa woman."
"If it is the same Gesa, then you must have heard of her as Bertha's healer." Again he stopped and turned to see her reaction. "Once she even saved Philippe from a poisoned blade." He saw nothing in her face, but then, hiding her thoughts would be a skill long mastered by this noblewoman. She had grown up in the court of Flanders.
The conversation was making Edgar nervous. "Anso is oathed to my safety only so far as your court. He and the ship will be leaving Caen immediately." He threw Anso a stern look.
"Not today, surely," she pouted, "it is too late for the ship to reach the sea before dark. Besides, I would hear more of his stories, and my husband will want to discuss horses and weapons with him. For instance, I am in wonder that you travel with an escort of only one knight in these perilous times."
"He is but one, that is true," replied Edgar, "but his mission of protecting pilgrims is supported by the Cluniac Peace of God. Now that your brother Count Robert has joined with the bishops in strong support of Cluny, Anso is empowered to requisition ships and men with a snap of his fingers."
They were now entering the great hall of the palace of fortress Caen, so he hurried his words. "Someone in England did not want me t
o reach Caen and make my peace. I was ambushed many times in the north of England. Anso was sent from Flanders to replace Earl Waltheof as my protector. Since then I have been protected by English bowmen, by Frisian oarsmen, and now by French oarsmen. I have traveled by English boat, by Flemish ship and now in a French ship. Yes, he is one man, but with a snap of his fingers, he is so much more."
"Ah, once again Cluny has taken a role," She was thoughtful for a moment, then, "You see, I was right. He does have stories worth listening to. A monk warrior who protects pilgrims and has access to local help if need be. That is something my husband will want to hear about. What a fabulous, yet simple solution to protecting the routes to the Holy Land. Especially as so many of our injured knights have become monks. Come, I will have a steward introduce you to the court."
The court at Caen was a somber place compared to Brugge and Paris. The customs were of an older generation where the men wore the bright feathers and the women were drab and fully covered as if they were just in from the cloister.
In the hour that lapsed waiting for William's return from his ride, they were introduced to the retainers and the cousins and the daughters that made up the small off season court. They were offered wine and partridge, but were the only ones who ate as the others had eaten earlier.
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The Hoodsman - Courtesans and Exiles by Skye Smith
Chapter 33 - In the house of the enemy in Caen in October 1074
William and his sons led the two shining black Frisians right into the hall. "I have a new best friend," yelled William, and Willy repeated his words in a second yell. "My God, what a horse." He looked directly at Anso. "You must teach me the Frisian commands so that I can guide him with words alone."
Henry, the boy, was riding on William's shoulders and William swung him to the ground. Henry tried to run to his mother, but Willy reached out with a foot and tripped him. He fell hard on the stone floor, and one of his sisters ran to him and brushed off his knees and hid his tears with her skirts.
William walked towards the two guests and poured himself a goblet of wine from their jug and downed it quickly. "Thank you, Edgar. Later we must talk of more serious affairs, but for now," he waved to the guard standing to one side and holding Anso's weapons, "for now let us be warriors well met. This bow, for instance. I have rarely seen a match to the workmanship." He tested the draw. "Tell me about it."
"I have been told that it is from the great horse plains that stretch from the Black Sea to the Chinas," Anso replied. "I won it in battle, and have often tried to copy it, but the mix of the glue that fixes the horn to the wood evades me. It is the bow of the mounted archers who control those vast plains. It is said that they make the best of Frisian riders look clumsy."
"Your courtly manners are weak, knight, but I will waive them while we speak as warriors." William grabbed an arrow from the quiver and checked the point. "This is a fish arrow, but made of iron, not bone." He nocked it, drew, aimed, and loosed in a slow, practiced motion. The arrow bounced off a decorative shield hung on the nearest wall. "Not armour piercing, then."
Anso stood and walked to retrieve the arrow. "That point is fashioned long and tapered with two small barbs on one side as is a fishing point of bone, but it is made of bog iron so that it does not rust when used aboard ships. Being of iron it is heavier and does not shatter. The nails in your ships are made of the same bog iron and in the same forges."
He pulled a small ribbon of metal from a side pocket in the quiver. "This strip of lead makes it armour-piercing." He held the arrow up and away from his body so that everyone could see what he was doing while he twisted the small strip of lead around the shaft just behind the point.
William handed Anso the bow. Edgar sucked in his breath and closed his eyes and prayed that William would not die in the next moment. Anso nocked, drew, spun around, loosed, continued the spin, and handed the bow back to William all in one swift, flowing movement.
Only the clang of the shield told William that the arrow was already loosed though his own hand was again touching the bow. The arrow not only pierced the shield and its wooden frame, but the blunting of the point against the stone wall pushed the shield off its hanger and it fell to the floor with a great crash that had guards running forward from all corners of the hall.
William stared at the fallen shield for a few moments lost in thought. "That explains much," he said in a low voice that only those closest to him could hear. He walked to the guard and swapped the bow for the sword. He drew it and then laughed at its thinness and lack of striking weight. "Ah, so it is just a court sword for decoration. Never mind."
"It is no court sword," spoke Anso. "Is there a sword master present who can help you to test it?"
William motioned to the guard captain to come to him. "Draw your blade in practice, but try not to break this womanly sword."
"He will not break it," Anso said as he walked towards William. "It is of Syrian steel, perhaps from Damascus. It is made from endlessly hammering different steels together so that they become one. The center steel is very hard, like razor steel. It keeps an edge but would shatter in a fight. The outer steels are like those used in normal swords. They will not shatter."
Anso reached for William's hand. "Hold it like this. Tight, yet loose. Fight with your wrist, not with your arm. It is sharp like a razor so you do not need heavy blows, and it is light so you fight with quick movements, not slashes. Because you need no heavy blows you do not need to follow through with the weight of your body. This means you can feint and withdraw and strike and withdraw without your next move being obvious."
The master had come closer to learn of the blade, but Anso pushed him back. "Try it. Slowly at first." The crashes of steel from the test match began, so Anso stepped away from the blades and returned to his seat to finish his wine.
"Thank you," breathed Edgar.
"You dismay me, Edgar, to think I would kill a man in front of his wife and children. That is the very Norman cold-bloodedness that I have been avenging for eight years."
"Thank you," said Mathilde as she sat down beside them. Anso was confused and panicked for a moment thinking that she had heard Raynar's words, until she continued. "My husband has been ill and weak for a month. He needed this distraction." She moaned as William tested the keenness of the blade on a costly drapery. "He is aging quickly, from too many wounds. He must stop leading his army from the front."
William did well against the master, but he tired quickly and finally backed towards their table and sat with a thump on the bench, panting and wheezing. He laid the sword on the table and said, "Come, monk knight, show us how it is done."
"I could show you no better than you yourself have done. I am not a swordsman, I am a bowman. I use the sword only to defend, not to attack. To defend until I can run to make space for the bow." Anso pointed to the master collapsed onto one knee and completely winded. "You have already learned my method. Keep him swinging that giant heavy sword until he tires himself to the ground."
The maid standing behind Mathilde reached forward and poured wine, and William struggled to his feet while grabbing two of the goblets and took one to his captain. "Find us some of those blades. Replace our courtly swords with them." The captain nodded his head in agreement, and then rose and walked with his lord back to the table to inspect the light blade for damage.
"Good enough for the court, Sire," said the captain, "but a cavalryman needs a long and heavy sword for slashing."
"Long, yes," replied William, "but does it need to be wide and heavy? Imagine this sword but two feet longer. We must find other ways to keep our advantage, now that other cavalries are copying our use of stirrups, and now that even monks use armour-piercing arrows."
"I have heard that the great empire of the Chinas," interrupted Anso, "is ruled by small men who ride ponies, and use bows and swords like these, and protect their bodies with silk shirts."
"This is nonsense," replied the c
aptain. "A pilgrim's tale, not to be believed."
"I took these weapons from the corpse of such a man," Anso whispered, "who had traveled from Byzantium with Harald of Norway."
William had now caught his breath. "I knew Harald, and loved him well. He brought all sorts of wondrous weapons and battle knowledge with him when he quit being a Byzantine general to take his throne in Norway. The last time I saw him was right here in the room, back when it had just been completed. See that map of the world painted on the wall? It was copied from one of his Byzantine scrolls. We sat here one week in winter and planned how we would work as brothers and make the world our empire."
Anso stood and took up a bright candle lantern and walked to the wall to inspect the map. William joined him. "You read maps then?"
"I love maps," replied Anso, "they are what drae me to monasteries."
"You see there a plan that would have worked, save that Harald was spitted by an arrow during his battle for Yorkshire. Our first great battle was to defeat the Danes and make Harald the Emperor of the northern seas. With that wealth of gold and men we would then take all the French counties from Normandy to Provence, so that the pope would make me Emperor of Rome. Then with the countless ships of our combined fleets, we would take all the coasts of the Roman sea, and the treasures of the cities of the east."
"It would have worked," stated Anso, "save for one arrow."
"Bah, if not that arrow then something else. Harald had already failed three times to destroy the Danish fleet. His weakness was that he always wanted to capture ships, not sink them. The greatest general in the world, yet that one weakness was always his undoing."
"I have noticed a similar weakness in the English nobles," added Anso. "They always want to capture fine horses, not kill them. It makes them easy prey for cavalry."