Hoodsman: Popes and Emperors

by Smith, Skye

  "Perhaps. What do you think their orders were for the women? Leave alive, or kill?"

  "I don't know Ray. They could have easily killed them with the others. Instead they tied them up. They've raped Magda, at least one of them has. Both women are comely. My best guess is that they would have both been raped repeatedly, maybe for days, but in the end, killed."

  "I'm going forw'd to tell the others," Raynar said over his shoulder as he trotted away from Ned. "Do you want one of the captured swords or would you rather have one of the axes."

  "Axe," Ned called to him. He had been a Danelaw axeman before he had taken up the Welsh bow so that he could ride with Raynar and the wolfpacks of Ely during the rebellion.

  When Raynar reached the cart he climbed in. Both women stared at him in silence as he pulled at the axes and swords and then dropped one of the axes in the wake of the cart for Ned to pick up. As he carried a selection of weapons forward to the others, he saw they were passing the place where they had left their own gear in the trees. Flint had gone to gather their gear.

  There was a warning call from Ned behind the cart. Instinctively Buck drew his arrow and pointed it to cover Ned. He had expected to see more footpads, but all he saw was Magda jumping down from the cart and making for a clump of bushes beside the road. At the sight of drawn arrows she held her hands up and wide apart. She was carrying a wineskin. She pointed to the bushes and Raynar nodded to her.

  "What's up?" Buck called. "Pee break?"

  "That, and to flush out the footpad's seed with the wine. It would be a horror to have a baby by her husbands killer."

  "You mean like the horror of every young widow in England," Buck hissed. His hiss turned into a silence while the men remembered, once again, why they carried Valkyrie knives.

  Raynar exchanged weapons for bedrolls with Flint. Before he returned to the cart, he told them to expect another ambush by assassins. Both men groaned. Nothing was more nerve wracking than expecting an ambush.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Popes and Emperors by Skye Smith

  Chapter 6 - Southwards to Villach in April 1081

  The cartway was becoming steeper. Of course it would be steep. Why else would this cart be drawn by four oxen. As they climbed the temperature dropped below freezing, and snow was whipped off the cliffs by the wind and settled on their cloaks. Not fresh snow, mind you, but old snow. Dry snow. Very dry snow.

  At first they cursed the slow pace of the oxen because the men could not walk fast enough to stay warm. That was at first. Later, as the cartway climbed, they became short of breath and were glad of the sedate pace. They did not stop. They could not stop. To stop would mean their feet would freeze, and worse, the oxen's feet would freeze. Onward and upward. Breath by breath.

  The valley was deep and the view was of cliffsides, not peaks. Raynar promised himself to come back through this valley when the snow was melted and climb up to the ridges so that he could see all of these peaks, all of these Alps. The roof of the world. The tallest things on earth. He felt a sudden desire to stand on the top of the highest one. Then he really would be Raynar of the Peaks.

  Every mile now, there was a mile marker and a crude hut. Emergency shelters. Every mile now there was the sound of thunder, yet there was not a dark cloud in the sky. It was only when they were in the final climb to the pass that they saw the cause of the thunder. Snow slides. Huge snow slides. Slides that swept down the steep slopes carrying trees and rocks with them.

  Maria called to him, "They are called avalanches, and they kill many travelers on this road."

  Raynar ran, well, trotted, well, walked more quickly, forward to join Flint at the point. Flint as point man should be watching for ambushes and avalanches. In truth, Flint was looking at the scenery.

  "They would not wait in ambush this high and this cold," Flint called. "I feel we are safe until the road drops again, and we see spring growth.” He went back to blowing on his hands. They all had the deep hoods pulled forward against the cold and the blowing snow, except for Flint, because as point man he must be able to see all around.

  Finally they reached the pass. They stopped briefly while Buck checked the pivots of the brake leavers and the legs of the oxen. From now on two men would need to ride on the cart, one on each side of the front seat so they could press their boots against the brake leavers. Another man would need to walk beside the wheels carrying the chocks at the ready. Another would have to walk beside the lead ox to control the team. That left no one for the point, but at least the men on the seat would have a good view from that height.

  Height. This place was all about height. Deep breaths were harsh and cold and unrewarding. All around them were snow covered peaks, scraping the sky. Below them the road dropped away between two tortured ridges. Far below they could see green meadows. The women looked out from the front flap, wrapped in cloaks of fur.

  There was no use talking, for the wind roaring up the valley was louder than any words. There was no use lingering unless you wanted your cheeks and fingers and toes to freeze. Buck slapped the haunch of the lead ox to give him a warning that the rest period was over. Raynar took the left brake, and Ned the right, and Flint the chocks, and they were away.

  Again they saw the reason for the four oxen. They hardly had to use the brakes for the oxen could not be pushed faster than they wanted to walk, not even by the heavy cart. Luckily the road was not as step on this side, and the valley not as twisty. The road followed the first gorge until it joined another, and that gorge widened, and then widened again, until there was actually parts of the valley floor that could have been called flat. Sort of.

  The good news was, that since they were going down, they had a good view of the road ahead and of any cover that could be used for ambushes. Eventually they breathed easier, not just because they were lower and lower, but because they had passed the best places for ambushes without being attacked.

  The trickle of the stream that the road followed, became a gush and then a roar of water crashing over rocks, and then became the start of a river that wound through the valley flats far below. There were emergency shelters on this side too, but the first house was not until they passed through a narrowing in the valley and a gorge that opened into a wider valley. This valley had bare green grass for the oxen. It was time to stop and rest.

  The stable-down, rooms-up house had porters sitting outside it. The porters were sharing a rough bench set where it could catch both the sun and the view of the peaks. It was all that Raynar could do to stop himself from joining the porters on the bench. He had spent four years of his life as a porter carrying lead down from the mines of the Derbyshire peaks. He remembered the hard work as some of his fond memories. That was from a time when England was peaceful and productive, a time before the Normans.

  At this house the four English bowmen were not treated as penniless pilgrims, for they were carrying weapons and guarding a good cart and a good team and two fancy women. Maria did all the talking, occasionally translating some of the words into Greek for Raynar to translate to the others.

  Despite the pass, this valley was also governed by the Bishop of Salzburg. The farmer-come-innkeeper who lived here was paid Bishop's coin to keep an eye on the road and the travelers, and to send for help when required. The help of swords or the help of shovels, depending on the need. Once he was told Maria's news of the footpads and the deaths and the bodies, he immediately sent his boy running down the valley to fetch the Bishop's men.

  The porters were waiting overnight at this house because it was too late in the day to start the climb over the pass. As Maria related her tragedy to all these men, they crossed themselves and said prayers for the dead, and kissed some medallions of some Christian demi-god who protected travelers. Afterwards, Maria questioned them about the road, and the pass, and the weather, and the avalanches. Especially the avalanches.

  "They say that we were insane," Maria told Raynar, "to come through the pass af
ter the sun was high. This is avalanche season, and the sun on the snow is what causes avalanches. They say that passes should be crossed in the early morning even if it means starting out before first light."

  "And we would have been through the pass before the high sun, if we had not stopped to save two beautiful women.” He gave her a smile with both his lips and his eyes, and then turned to translate the words to the lads. At one point he glanced back at her to see if she was blushing at his complement, but she was dark haired and dark eyed, and the blush on her cheeks was from the weather, not his words.

  "Where did the farmer send his boy. Was that to a village? How big? How far?" he asked her.

  "This valley ends in a narrow gorge that leads to a wider valley. That is about three miles further on. The wider valley is the Lungau. There are farming villages and a small castle garrisoned by the Bishop's men. The boy went to the castle. There are no towns until Villach, which may be thirty or forty miles south from here."

  "So," he thought aloud, "does madam wish to be left here to wait for the Bishop's men that the boy will surely bring, or does she wish to be taken to the Lungau where we will be warmer and better housed."

  "Lungau tonight." she interrupted his thought with her decisiveness. "I wish to speak to the castellan, not one of his hired men. We should leave as soon as we have eaten."

  "You will need to pay for our food, for as pilgrims we carry no coins."

  "Pilgrims, hah," she replied. "English peasants who speak Greek and defeat professional assassins without breathing hard. Hah. I would wager that you are select Varangians from Constantinople, on some mission for your Emperor."

  "We are pilgrims on our way to an abbey in Venice," he grabbed her arm and squeezed it hard. "Nothing more. Your careless words could cost us our lives. Is that how you would repay us."

  "And just 'what' do you want as payment?" she asked, without struggling in his grasp. She smiled at him coyly with her eyes and her dimples.

  "Some of the paid-for soup. The free stuff is thin gruel."

  She called something to the wife in a loud voice to be heard across the other men's chatter. The wife nodded and curtseyed and hurried into the kitchen shed.

  * * * * *

  The castle controlled the gorge that led to the wide valley of the Lungau. On the way to it, they passed the farmer's boy heading back. He was alone. To Maria's question he replied, "The guardia are in no hurry. They cannot get through the pass until the morning. They are expecting you, watching for you."

  The bowmen were enjoying themselves again. The wider valleys gave them better views of the peaks all around. The air was warm, warmer than on the other side of the pass, and here the spring was in full bloom. There were well built farm houses spread across the valley, and the folk were well clothed and the farm wives were fat. It was clear that the folk were thriving, so did that mean that armies did not use this pass and left it for travelers and traders.

  As they approached the castle, they unstrung their crook-bows, and put the feet back in place over the dagger end, and rolled the arrows into their bed rolls, and threw the axes and swords into the cart. It was better that the castle guards think of them as pilgrims or shepherds or porters, than as dangerous men.

  They spent the night in the pilgrims shed inside the outer wall of the castle, while the women, ugh, ladies, were offered a comfortable room in the large stone manor within the inner walls. Their meals were paid for by Maria, so they ate their fill of roasted fatty meat oozing with hot tasty oils. Even as the oil dripped down their chins, they could feel it doing them good. A pilgrim's diet is thin, and so were they, now, thin.

  In the morning, as they were about to leave, Maria and Magda found them. They thought the women, now much more attractive with clean faces and clean clothes, had come to thank them and wish them well on their way, but they were wrong.

  "Please can you take us with you to Venice?" Maria asked, giving the men her best smile. Even Magda smiled, which was a first for her, though not without good reason.

  "Doesn't the castellan need for you to stay here. Your menfolk are still dead beside the road."

  "I have sworn to and signed a statement. There are no wounded. The criminals died beside those that they killed. The Castellan was most amenable once I gave him the coin to provide a good burial for our men within his churchyard. He knows where to find me in Venice if there are other questions."

  Raynar translated her words to his men, and Ned whispered back out of the corner of his mouth, "Don't get involved. Your rule, Ray, not mine."

  Ned was right of course, but Raynar always had difficulty saying no to a woman, any woman. Worse if she were as pretty as these two. This time, however, there was undeniable logic to his saying no, and he told it. "We are in a hurry to reach Venice, and your oxen are too slow. Besides, your wealth and beauty will attract other footpads, and we do not wish to fight. We are on a pilgrimage."

  She had to think about his words to translate them. This peasant must have learned his Greek without being amongst those who spoke Greek as a mother tongue, for it was clumsy and did not flow and sometimes the grammar was confusing. When she thought of the trouble she was having understanding his Greek, she realized that she must keep her own Greek simple. A long time ago she had been fluent in Greek, but fluency was not what she needed for real communication.

  "In Salzburg we traded two horses for four oxen to take us over the pass," she finally replied, "Now I have traded the oxen back for horses. Horse trading is a good business shared by the castellans at both ends of this pass. With horses, this cart will travel faster than you can walk. I will pay all of your expenses."

  "We don't want any trouble. Fancy women like you are always trouble." Sometimes the simple truth was brutal.

  "True, we have clothes, and coin, and charm, and beauty," she argued. "We have a great many fine things, but we have a greater shortage of useful men that we can trust. If you leave us here, the Castellan will prey on us. If he arranges our guard to Venice, the guard will prey on us. You have already had ample opportunity to prey on us, and you did not. Take us to Venice. Oh please take us to Venice. I beg you. I will go down on my knees if it will convince you."

  While he was deciding he translated her words to the others. Buck was the only one who spoke. Something about how she could go down on her knees in front of him any time. The rest hid their faces from her while they thought about Buck's shameful words.

  Of course he had to say yes. Buck's words had made that clear. If Buck could think such base thoughts about a woman who he had just saved and traveled with, then what would other men, hired men, hired guards be likely to do.

  She knew his answer before he could frame the words, and she kissed him on the cheek, and then kissed the cheek of each of the others. Of course it was more than just a kiss. They were all tall men. Flint was very tall. To reach their cheeks she had to put her hands around their necks and pull her body up theirs for the kiss and then lower her body down theirs. Maria was obviously very skilled at controlling men, and Raynar began to wonder whether she was a trained courtesan.

  * * * * *

  Their departure was delayed because Buck did not approve of the two horses that the Castellan’s stable master had traded Maria for the four oxen. The bargaining was arduous because it included not just Buck and the stable master, but also Maria and Raynar as interpreters. At one point the raised voices made the stable yard sound like a fish market, which caused the Castellan to come to see what the fuss was all about.

  The bargaining was settled between Maria and the Castellan in soft phrases and no mention of horses or oxen. Moments later the stable master was leading forwards some much better horses, two horses that someone else had carefully matched for the very purpose of pulling a fast cart. Buck beamed at the look of the replacement team.

  The road south was in good repair and down hill all the way to Villach, the last of the Bishop of Salzburg's towns. This made for a fast cart, and they made the journey
in one day with them all riding. Life was good. The scenery of the Alps was fantastic. The sun shone and warmed them to the bone so that they could shed their smelly pilgrims cloaks. They ate well at inns and shared the bouncing cart with two bouncing women who somehow always seemed to waft the fragrance of fresh cut flowers.

  It was difference enough to make the men swear off ever walking as pilgrims ever again.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Popes and Emperors by Skye Smith

  Chapter 7 - Arriving in Venice in April 1081

  The main valleys of the Alps to the north of Venice run east/west, but their cart needed to head due south. This meant that their route was a combination of traveling east or west along flat valleys, and cutting through low passes and gorges to gain the next valley to the south of the one they were in. As Ned put it in seaman's terms, that they were tacking the cart southward.

  Once they reached the River Tajamento they stayed to the roads that followed it's west bank until they were on the coastal plain, and then they turned west across the top of the lagoons of the Adriatic Sea to the port of Mestre. Or as Ned put it, the slimy hole called Mestre.

  Mestre had a stone castle and many small docks and some damp houses and that was about all. They had expected to see many ships and boats, but all of those were kept in Venice overnight for security reasons. Each boat was, after all, a gate to the city. Yes indeed Mestre had a busy and colorful waterfront during the daytime, but at night it was an unappealing and dangerous place to wait for the morning boats.

  Unless of course you were traveling with a comely woman who was known to the castellan, and then you were invited inside the castle walls with the other wealthy merchants and travelers for an evening of feasting and entertainment.

  In the morning, the English pilgrims were not forced to make the typical entry into Venice on a ferry topo. Instead they, the women, and the contents of the women's cart, and one of the stiffening beams from underneath the cart, were rowed to the islands in a stylishly painted caorlina.