Hoodsman: Ely Wakes

by Smith, Skye

  The seer was now standing in a group of just twenty. All old women. They looked around as the mob vanished into the village. "Hereward, you have betrayed us."

  "No love," he said, "I have just saved your folk. They will prosper along the Humber as they could never prosper here. So long as William was attacking your folk, Ely got larger and we got stronger. So long as Norman lords were raiding villages, men came to us and rode with us to take their vengeance, and women came to us for protection and to find husbands. Lincolnshire has been at peace for almost a year now. The folk everywhere have been slowly drifting back to their true lives. Ely is shrinking and we are getting weaker. Eventually William's men will take it."

  "I saw the monk that poisoned the well," she said. "It was the tall one with the twisted arm. The one we see hiding in the bushes and watching the women when they bathe. He's a nasty wanker, that one, but I never thought that anyone could be so evil as to poison a well that so many children drink from."

  Hereward looked at Raynar. Raynar nodded. There had been reports that one of the local monks had been seen a few times in Aldreth. He was reported as having a game left arm. Raynar would arrange for him to be followed and watched.

  Once the seer and her band had left to go back to their gardens, Abbot Thurstan and his prior came forth from the abbey gate to speak with Hereward. "It is always the same women that cause the trouble," Thurstan complained. "They are ignorant savages and should not be allowed a say in village matters."

  "I disagree, abbot. Your Order's convents would be wise to recruit them before the Norman priests burn them all. They are like walking books, because their ancient culture is passed on orally, not in writing. Their minds are not just filled with the history and traditions of their folk, but with knowledge and wisdom. The loss of one is a burden to the others, as they must train more with less help. They have just lost three to the fire in Aldreth and now four to the water sickness. They are frightened of losing more. Burning those three ealders in Aldreth was the equal of you burning three of your chests of books."

  Morcar walked to them. "Thurstan, I have assigned guards to watch your well. Fouling a well is easy to do and some hot head may take vengeance in that way. The price of my watch is the water. Each day the village can draw from it for two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon. Have your prior tell my guards which hours those are to be."

  The prior jumped in with the comment that the best times would be when the monks are at prayer, and he received a warning look from the abbot. The abbot was not one to give anything away, even pure water for children to drink. He looked back at Morcar, but the prior's acceptance had removed his chance to bargain. Morcar was already acting on the priors words.

  "Abbot," Raynar called his attention from Morcar, "be aware that the village folk blame a monk for the fouling of their pure well. That is what stirred the mob. You need Morcar's guards. You also need to keep your monks close to the Abbey. Are any wandering afar at present, perhaps gathering herbs or visiting markets?"

  "None. We have felt the anger of the village for some weeks now, and I cancelled all such aways." The Abbot was always careful to speak the truth to Raynar. He was a good friend to this abbey, but it was well known that he had no respect for churchmen that broke their church oaths. The Abbot at Peterburgh had seen a side of Raynar that he hoped none of his own flock would ever see.

  Raynar nodded a thanks to the abbot but the abbot's heart felt a chill when he saw the look in his eyes. He reminded himself to have the prior make a headcount as soon as they reentered the abbey. Suddenly Raynar's eyes changed. Indeed seemed to change color. Certainly became warmer. He followed his gaze. It was that woman Roas walking towards them. She was more trouble than the seers.

  Whenever she was near, men had impure thoughts. He saw such thoughts now on the face of the prior. She had the same effect on many of his monks. When she walked passed them they would push the folds of their robes forwards to hide their swelling manhood. It was an old trick that all young novitiates learned immediately. He found himself doing so even now.

  He tried not to stare at her, but he enjoyed the staring as much as he enjoyed blossom season or the soaring of a kestrel. It was a hot day and she wore the thinnest of cloth. She must have been watering her garden as she had her skirt rolled high and her bare calves were splashed with mud.

  She saw him stare and she walked tall and straight right up to him without bowing her eyes, never mind her head. "Looking for a new mistress, Thurstan?" she asked. "I am full of men at the moment but I could bring you my cousin." The abbot cooled his anger at the trick question, but could not cool his lust. As a cool answer he raised his hand to bless the woman, but that pulled his robe tight against his body and so he dropped his arm. The effect was that he blessed her breasts rather than her forehead.

  Hereward and Raynar tried not to laugh, but could not stop the smirking and had to turn away. The abbot was left alone next to the sensuous woman. He was rescued by Morcar, "You have a cousin? Does she look like you? He took her arm and pivoted her away from the abbot who nodded his thanks to the earl and marched himself towards the abbey gate with the folds of his robes pushed forward.

  "You must stop teasing him in public Roas," scolded Morcar gently. "He will eventually hate you for it, though I daresay that if you tease him in private you will get a different response."

  "I know, I know," she said, "but it is so easy and so satisfying to tease monks. All the young women do it. We hope that if we do it well enough, they will flee the abbey. We hope to fill them with such lust that they run away from Ely and back to their families, or at least as far as the Norman's whorehouse in Cambridge. Without young men, this Abbey will eventually close."

  She looked at Morcar. Behind the facial scars and the broken nose he was a handsome man. She rubbed her breast against his bare arm. The nipple was like a button through the thin cloth. "I do have a cousin who is prettier than I, but she does not live in Ely. Should I send for her?"

  "Oh please," was his answer.

  * * * * *

  The heat and dry had continued through the summer. The water channels now looked more like brooks and streams than like connected ponds. The biting insects were fierce this year, and the eel harvest poor. Ely had become a small village with many empty roofs. Men of craft, and merchants had left. So had most of the women. Axemen and bowmen had drifted away to prepare for harvest at their far flung villages.

  Morcar still held fifty axemen at Ely, and Hereward a wolfpack. The few English lords that had come to join Earl Morcar had not stayed long. Ely was no longer a center of rebellion. The peace of Lincolnshire had held and had snuffed the zeal.

  Some men had joined some lords in a trip across to Flanders on the trading ships that still ran William's weak blockade of the Wash. No longer could they leave from Lynn however, as William's ships had completely blockaded the mouth of the River Great Ouse. Luckily the ships were too large to ply upstream in the summer shallows. Thus Lynn was also now a much smaller town. Thorold had withdrawn, with his bowmen, and his workers and carters. Since there were no longer any trading ships visiting Lynn, the merchants soon left as well. Spalding benefited greatly from Lynn's misfortune.

  Hereward many times plied the river towards Aldreth in a six man boat. Neither the bridge nor the bailey had been repaired since the burning of Inka. The garrison had been withdrawn to Cambridge when their losses from the water sickness had become heavy. On occasion he would dress as a craftsman and walk the streets of Cambridge, especially if he thought William was in residence. He did it to spy on his enemy with his own eyes and ears. This particular time, however, he was also looking for two men. A monk with a twisted arm, and Raynar.

  Roas had sent him to find Raynar. The wolfpacks were no longer ranging and making Norman manors fearful of every horseman at their gates. John's forges and bow craftworks had been moved to Spalding where Thorold was running them for both the Danelaw and for export earnings to Denmark and Flanders. Ely,
Lynn, and Huntingdon were quiet. In other words, Raynar was bored. Roas feared that he had once again taken up his quest of vengeance. She feared that he was once again hunting William.

  This visit of Hereward to Cambridge had been a long wet walk. He had been warned by a bowman-come-forester that the monk was wandering again. This time Hereward joined the forester in following him. It was obvious what the monk was doing. The land was drying quickly throughout the Fens. This monk was picking out a trail through the newly dry land that would connect to what was left of the abandoned wooden causeway.

  They followed him to the causeway, and then along it to Aldreth. He skirted what was left of the bailey and crossed the Ouse at a ford upstream from the burned bridge that still blocked boat traffic to Huntingdon. He then followed the Car Dyke cartway all the way to Cambridge. Once in Cambridge he made directly for the bailey.

  Hereward had expected for the monk to be downed by one of Raynar's arrows somewhere along the route. He was hoping that was the reason for Raynar's absence, and not the other. No such arrow was ever loosed. Waiting for Raynar's arrow, Hereward had lost his own chance to kill the monk.

  He bounced from alehouse to alehouse on the outskirts of Cambridge where the carters are wont to drink. He knew Raynar's favourite disguises The one he chose when spying was that of a carter. His head was a bit woozy from having three pots at the Golden Crown who had served him the tastiest ale he had drunk for many years. He was just finishing the third when he saw Raynar swaying down the street with a rolled rush mat over his shoulder.

  He glugged the last of the pot of ale, rather than have one of the street boys finish it. It would be wasted on them. He knew that Raynar's mat would conceal a standard Welsh bow rather than his Byzantine one. If he felt at risk he could walk away from the mat without walking away from his irreplaceable Byzantine bow. Raynar had turned hard right at the end of a building. Hereward now heard the sound of marching feet and hoofs behind him and he turned just long enough to see an army marching behind him. He picked up his pace, and again regretted the third pot, and turned at the end of the building to follow Raynar.

  There was no sight of him. He looked behind a stack of firewood, and looked back towards the street. A monk was leading the small army. "Bugger," he whispered to himself, "they make for Ely with the monk as a guide." He kept to the shadows and went behind the building. There was a footpath that ran along behind the buildings following the River Cam. There was no sign of Raynar, but it did not matter. He knew his intent. He would put an arrow through this monk before he could betray the trail to Ely.

  He forced himself to walk so that he did not bring notice to himself. Ahead he could see a bridge across the Cam where his path ended because the last house was built so close to the bank. He tried to look like he was walking normally as he crept around the second last house. He peered around the corner of the house and in the narrow breezeway between the two houses he saw the outline of a man with a bow drawn. He kept silent. This was no time to distract Raynar. He would have but one shot and the breezeway blocked his view of all but six feet of the street. There would be no second shot, because after the first they would have to run like rabbits.

  He held his breath and waited for the shot. How many times had he stood beside Raynar while he made wondrous shots. He watched. He knew the routine. Raynar had stretched the bow to seat the bowstring and to verify the arrow. Now he relaxed the draw and pointed the arrow to the ground. Raynar was too experienced to risk a wayward arrow. As soon as the monk came into view, he would aim the arrow high, step into the bow to fully draw it, lower the point and loose. All of this in one smooth movement.

  He watched as the monk walked passed the street end of the breezeway and Raynar did not move. Something had gone wrong. Had the bowstring snapped. Had he been seen. Were there guards. Hereward could not call to him with the Norman's so close. He crept along the wall staying in the shadows and when close he mocked a tiny bird call and then pulled at Raynar's sleeve. Raynar ignored him. He pulled at the sleeve again. Raynar turned just enough to push him away. To do that he had to break his concentration. Hereward heard Raynar moan.

  Hereward looked up at the street again just as a golden crown disappeared from view. Raynar, meanwhile slumped his back against the wall and hid his bow from street view. He released his breath in the rush of a lungful held too long. He motioned to Hereward to lead him back to the path. Once around the corner of the building he said just one word. The most German sounding of English words, "Fuck".

  Hereward now realized what he had done by bothering Raynar. His heart was throbbing. Raynar's target had not been the monk to stop the attack on Ely, but the king to stop the attack on all England. He mumbled an apology, but how did one apologize for losing a kingdom.

  Raynar slumped to the ground and leaned his back against the wall and Hereward slumped down beside him. They were stuck on this path until the army had crossed the bridge.

  "Ely is lost," stated Raynar with controlled emotion. "There is no way to overtake them and kill either the monk or the king. There is no way to get a message to Ely to warn them. Roas is there still. So is Morcar."

  "And the last of our bowmen," added Hereward.

  "They must disappear into the bush. They must not be caught by surprise. With enough warning there are boats enough for all to escape. "

  The wider consequences of Hereward's friendly tug at Raynar's sleeve were pouring into his mind. Ely would be gone. The last ships and boats would be gone. The Fens would no longer be safe haven for their own men or their Danish allies. William would now move on to crush other rebellions. Hopefully the one in Maine and not others in England. He moaned and felt a rush of mourning for all that he had just cost his folk.

  They waited in a silence broken by an occasional moan from one or the other as some new loss entered their thoughts. The last men were crossing the bridge. Hereward had counted four hundred. Not many. The monk must have given them the number of defenders. Less than eighty. Many less in the middle of the day when the scouts were out.

  Hereward stood and pulled Raynar to his feet. "Roll up your mat while I talk. The bridge at Aldreth is charred and will light easily. I had always planned to burn that bridge to clear the channel of the river for ships. There is always a watcher in our tower at Ely. If we follow William and when he is passed the bailey, then light the bridge, the smoke will cause the watcher to call for others to climb the tower. They will see the army on the causeway."

  He didn't need to finish past, "burn the bridge". Raynar was circling the building to gain the street and the bridge. "Hopefully our men will run and not try to ambush them. The land is too dry to trap them."

  "Morcar will not run. He has told me that already. He has had messages from his cousins that fled to Scotland and Denmark and Flanders and even Byzantium. They have found work as huscarls and mercenaries, but they are no longer treated as lords or nobles. He says that William will lock him away again, but then will relent and perhaps restore some of his holdings as William has done with Waltheof."

  "Fine for Morcar, but all men with calluses on their bow fingers must run for it. They would be killed, or at least loose a hand or their bow fingers."

  "They know that Raynar." Hereward was puffing keeping up to Raynar. "They are not fools. They are skirmishers. They are hoodsmen. When they run they will take the women with them. They will leave none to be raped. Roas will be waiting for me in Burna."

  "Waiting for you?" asked Raynar.

  "Well, yes. She has made a decision. She wants you as a son, but me as a husband, whatever that means."

  "It means she is finally with child. So you will bring her with you?" asked Raynar.

  "What do you mean? Where do we go?"

  "To Spalding to claim our best ships and crews, and then to Surfleet to collect the hoard, and then to Flanders to visit my good friend Robert the Frisian, the new count," replied Raynar.

  "Why Flanders?"

  "You mean beyond having the co
unt as a ally? Many of the exiles who have valuables in the hoard are in Scotland, but if we take it there, they would join together and take it all from us by force. If they must travel to Flanders to claim their valuables, then we will be in control and they will get only what is theirs.

  Besides, I would much rather spend this winter in Flanders than in Scotland." Raynar smiled to himself thinking of the letters he would write to Margaret about her family's valuables. She could pass the word to the other exiles. "Do you think the lordly will offer us a reward for returning something that they thought lost?"

  "Reward," laughed Hereward, "Raynar, you know nothing of banking. We will take any cut that pleases us and they will smile and agree."

  “Stop dreaming and hurry your pace. To give Ely as much time as possible, we must burn the bridge at Aldreth as soon as the Norman’s have crossed it. You’ll have time enough to daydream about becoming a greedy banker while we watch it fill the sky with smoke.”

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Ely Wakes by Skye Smith

  Chapter 33 - On the road to Winchester in October 1101

  "You have been telling your stories since we left Westminster embankment," complained Gregos, "and you still have not answered the one question I keep asking." He smiled and waved to the two young boys who had run up to him beside the road. They must have thought he was a Royal due to his official robe and the well mounted escort in palace tunics. "Do you know of any treasure in this kingdom that is still being stored for English lords in exile? "

  "Oy, lads," Raynar slowed his pony so the escort of young bowmen would catch up and come abreast of him. "Would your moms tell a king's taxman where she's hidden her Michealmas pig?" The men all laughed aloud. The only livestock a taxman was likely to see in any of their villages was the chickens that were constantly under foot. "There is your answer Gregos. They'd think me a fool to tell an ordinary taxman, never mind the king's chief taxman."