Hoodsman: Popes and Emperors

by Smith, Skye

  On those islands they have kept the inheritance laws of the ancients. Inheritance runs through the daughters, not the sons. As the eldest daughter I must never marry, otherwise a husband from outside of my clan will gain control of my clan's land on Rhodos."

  He ever so slowly pulled the silk down from her shoulders and down her arms. Once it was free of her nipples, the silk shift dropped to the finely woven rug. For a thirty year old woman, Maria had the body of a twenty year old. Her breasts still rode high on her chest and the nipples were still small, and her hips were still narrow and her bum still small and round. It was obvious that not only had she never been married, but that she had never born a child.

  "What if a tall Englishman pleaded with your brothers for your hand?" he whispered. It was exactly the right thing to say. She ravished him, and he her, and they went on moaning and smiling at each other between kisses until the sun was long down and the stars lit up the sky, and hum of the city around them had stilled to an occasional bark of a dog.

  When the candles were guttering, she reached languorously across him to light more. It was not the time for darkness, not with them curled into each others arms while waiting for him to come to attention yet again. He pushed himself up on the pillows hoping that she would take the hint and move down his body with her kisses. A flickering shadow caught his eye and he recognized the false wooden beam from underneath her cart.

  "So what was in that beam from the cart," he asked softly as he stroked her long dark hair, and watched as the candlelight made the skin of her back look warm and silky.

  "What is in that scroll pipe that never leaves your side?" she said moving lower with her kisses ever closer to where she knew he wanted to be kissed.

  "You show me yours and I'll show you mine," he offered.

  "Oh lover, that ship has long ago sailed.” Her words got no response so she stopped kissing him and stood up and brought the clumsy, but now clean, beam over to the bed. She used the end of a knife to dig out some filler, and then pressed at something while she pushed at something else, and pulled the end out of it. It was like a very large scroll pipe, but it was square and made of heavy wood.

  As he watched, she carefully twisted what was inside, in the same way that you would twist a scroll inside a pipe so that it became narrower and could be drawn out of the pipe. She drew out a giant scroll. "There, now show me yours."

  He leaned over her, ever so slowly, making sure that a lot of his skin rubbed against a lot of hers, and grabbed his scroll pipe and put it down in front of her. There were no tricks to opening it, and no tricks to removing the scrolls. He showed her that most were maps, but there were also some letters of introduction from Count Robert of Flanders, and from the abbot in Brugge, and the only other thing was a long list of names, with a number beside each name.

  The list was a copy of only two of the columns from the scroll that was now kept safe by the abbot's treasurer. Just the name, and the number of silver marks that remained in trust for the named man to draw against. He hoped to deliver this list to the English exiles who were now marching towards the Adriatic Sea from Constantinople. It was not critical that he deliver it, but it would be a sensible thing to do, so that the exiles would know the amounts they could draw in Venice.

  She looked eagerly at his papers, and wondered what secrets they would contain, and what code the secrets would be in. Then she turned her attention back to her own giant scroll and unfurled it. The paper was just a wrapper to keep clean what was inside the scroll. She showed him what was inside.

  "It's cloth," he said reaching for it and feeling it between the thumb and finger of his left hand. He was a bowman so anything delicate he did with his left hand because the fingers of his right hand were thick with calluses from the bowstring. "a kind of linen by the feel. I was expecting jewels, or spice, or something else worth a fortune."

  "Tell me the secret's of your scrolls and I will tell you the secrets of my cloth," she said, moving quickly to wrap the roll of cloth back up in it's wrapper to keep it clean. He waited patiently while she hid it again in the beam and then he dragged her back into the bed and decided that now was the time to lift her beyond just sex and into the presence of her inner goddess.

  Afterwards, he blew out the candles and spooned her and ever so gently pushed himself inside her, so he could fall asleep while connected to her inner goddess.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Popes and Emperors by Skye Smith

  Chapter 9 - With Maria at Venice arsenal in April 1081

  Maria rose at first light and put on her kitchen smock and apron, grabbed her purse, and crept down the stairs. Carefully crept down so that she wouldn't waken anyone who did not need to be awake this early. The cook was waiting for her at the main staircase down at ground, ugh, canal level.

  "Nice to have you back ma'm," cook whispered. "Your brother's wife is nice to look at, and a sweet woman, but she doesn't have your 'market' sense."

  One of Maria's duties, besides remaining a spinster, was to control the household purse and keys. This was a clan palacio, which meant that it served as a base for any family members who were visiting in Venice at the time, almost like a clan inn. None of the wives of her brothers controlled the purse or keys unless she was away. So it was, that every morning save Sunday, she followed cook down to the canal side and helped her with the morning's marketing.

  When they reached the canal, the first of the narrow boats, the floating market boats, was already waiting for them. It was selling milk and dairy products. Maria looked over at her neighbour's dock looking for the woman she normally bought from. Yes, she was there waving to her to wait, so she waved this first boat on. As she stepped backwards under the balconies to be out of the mist that was falling like a heavy dew, she bumped into a body, and then felt strong arms wrap around her just under her breasts, and pull her close for warmth.

  "Now this is civilized," Raynar whispered into her ear. "A floating market that comes to you.” He looked along the canal and in all directions and on both sides there were market-stall boats, mostly manned by one woman, or one woman and a girl. Some were a riot of color from the vegetables they carried, but the most remarkable were the ones selling fresh flowers and herbs.

  "Later in the day," she said as she twisted her head to look up at him, and then leaned back into him, "the boats selling hard goods and hardware visit us. At any time of day you can hear the calls from boats telling what they have to sell or want to buy, and all you must do is call them over."

  "So these are just the earliest boats then? Of course. Early so the midday heat won't spoil the food."

  "The earliest, oh heavens no. What wakes me up in good time to be down for these boats are the men collecting the garbage. It has to be collected because if we simply threw it into the canal, the canals would soon be foul.” She giggled as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. "Go back upstairs and get clean. I will be up to pleasure you as soon as the cook is satisfied that she has enough of everything."

  He went back upstairs and dove into the covered-in balcony at the canal corner of the house. This was his favourite room of this palacio, even though it had just small windows for ventilation. It had a bench with a seat with a hole in it, and a rain barrel with a large ladle, and a basin for washing. It was so civilized. He could sit here comfortably each morning and have his morning dump in peace and quiet with no one watching and with a grand view over Venice.

  The true wonder was that when he was finished, he could wash with water ladled from the rain barrel and then flush the shit hole with the basin of wash water. The most amazing thing was that the shit was flushed down a fired brick tile pipe down to the canal, where it was flushed away by the next tide. Even more civilized was that every floor of this manor had such a comfort balcony.

  After thirty odd years of squatting in bushes, or over latrines, or over the gunnels of a ship, this was true luxury. How civilized.

  * * * * *<
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  They spent the whole of the day touching. Not sexually touching, but touching. Walking arm in arm, or hand in hand, or shoulder to shoulder. Sitting always right together. Leaning against each other, reaching out to each other, and hugging, oh the hugging. When ever there was open space enough he would dance with her in his arms, and the men around them thought they were mad because they could not hear the music. The women around them just smiled and said "Ahhh."

  Today when they left the house she was dressed as a boatman, as was he. There was no way she was going to risk one of her gowns to the rigors of touring the shipyards of the arsenal, and if she was to be dressed in something practical like a house maid, then she may as well dress like a man. In the caorlina, he took a turn at an oar out of curiosity and to exercise his shoulders, and so she took a turn as well.

  Venice's Arsenal had it's own harbour east of the Doxe's palace and on the north side of the islands. They were expected and a good looking young man wearing a sword greeted them at the dock, though it took him a few minutes to recognize Cittadina Maria in her boatman’s clothes. He was to give the couple the quick tour of the overall facilities, and then take them to the shipwrights office.

  In all his life around the ports of the North Sea, and places like Portsmouth and Southampton, never had he seen a shipswork like this one. The fundamental difference was that everything was coordinated. They didn't have separate gangs of workers working on individual ships, they had gangs of specialized workers all working on every ship, in the sequence that their particular skills were required.

  There were five war galley's being built at once. The latest one was being framed by a gang of framers. The next was having its hull planked by a gang of ships carpenters. The one closest to being launched was being sealed and painted at the same time as it was being rigged by a gang of riggers. The shipwrights had chosen the best galley built to date, and they were copying it, and copying it quickly, again and again.

  What is more, the works included mills and forges to make every fitting that was required, and in coordination for when it was required. Raynar was stunned at such complete organization. What caught his attention the most was the Norse longship that was laying beside the almost complete galley. He was pulled away from staring at them to go to the office.

  Instead of the head shipwrights being allocated a corner of a works shed, they had a complete house. Complete including kitchen and beds and offices. On the walls of the office were posted pictures and designs and plans of many different shapes and sizes of boats and ships.

  While they waited for the man in charge to spare the time to give them a more detail tour of the galleys, he stared and tried to memorize as much of the information on the walls as he could. It wasn't that there was more knowledge about ships in this room than what was known around the North Sea, but that it was concentrated in one place.

  The head shipwrights were gathering in the house for a meeting, but they were not dressed in smocks and aprons ready for hands on work. Instead they were well dressed as if on their way to greet a noble. Finally the man in charge arrived, and walked towards them with his hands open ready to greet them.

  "You had better first tell him," Raynar told Maria in Greek, "that you must translate Venetian into Greek for me."

  These words started gales of laughter from all of the men in the room. "Ah my friend, forgive our mirth," said the man in charge, "My name is Demetri and I am a Greek, as are all of these men. And you are the expert in Norse galleys that the Doxe has sent to us, yes."

  "And are you, sir, the man responsible for these amazing ship works."

  "Well, we are trying to create ship works, but we still have a long way to go. The building of the basilica is emptying the treasury, and we are the poor relatives with a begging bowl. Ah well, perhaps by the time we are all old men.” He bowed to Maria. "Are you coming with us to crawl under the hulls."

  Maria took Raynar’s hand and said, "The Doxe himself has charged me with his safety. Of course I will come."

  "Then first come and see the plans I have for the Norse galley," said Demetri, and he led them to a working table where men with straight rules and pens were drawing on a large scroll. "You see, we do our planning lines on the table surface with chalk, so we can change our minds until we have it right, and then these scribes copy it to paper. That frees up the table for other plans.

  You see there on the table. We are leaving the hull of the Norse ship as it is, for it is still strong despite it's age. The plans are of how to add the upper decks to make the ship taller and wider above the water. The meeting here today was to discuss whether we leave the square Norse sail, or convert it to a lateen rig, a triangle sail."

  "We don't use the lateen in the North Sea," replied Raynar, "because it makes changing tack too difficult, too dangerous in high seas. The spar must change sides of the mast else the other tack is slow."

  "Of course, but what our captains do is set the spar according to their main course, and then put up with lesser speed on the off tack. Besides, sail cloth is expensive, so when in doubt the captains run out the oars. He turned to the other men and called out, "I have decided. We go with the lateen."

  "My words made your decision?" Raynar asked.

  "No, mine. We want all of our ships to be rigged the same for the sake of the captains and crew, so that they can serve on any of our ships without learning something new. Ships are often lost because critical decisions must be made in a hurry. Come, let us inspect the hulls."

  The new galley and the Norse galley were side by side. Two ships built by two different cultures on two different seas, a thousand miles apart. Two thousand miles by ship. Yet the shapes of the hulls were almost the same. Similar length, similar width, similar height, similar rounding. Amazingly similar.

  "The Norse hull is stronger than ours," Demetri pointed out, "because of the lapping of the planks, and because of the wood of the planking, and because they use nails rather than dowels. See how long and clear the grain on the Norse wood is. That is from old growth forests. Massive trees the likes of which we have not seen around the Adriatic since the time of the Roman Empire. They will have shaped them with heat before nailing them in place on the hull.

  People think that the Venetians build great ships because they lived on islands. Pah. They build great ships because they are the closest port city to the forests of the Alps. I keep telling the Doxe that he must annex the closest tall forests and give this yard first choice of any trees, but he does not listen. He thinks only of stone because he builds that basilica. He will annex land for quarries but not for forests. Yet it is our ships that are paying for the basilica."

  "You say you use dowels rather than nails?"

  "Of course. Nails rust."

  "Not the nails on that Norse longship," Raynar corrected him.

  "Yes, and that frustrates us greatly because we could build these ships faster with nails, and they would be stronger, but we do not know the secret of North Sea nails. Every mix of iron or steel that we try, still rusts in sea water. We have given up trying."

  "I know the secret of the nails," Raynar said softly.

  Both men stared at each other and sized each other up. Maria did not understand the silence, but she knew that this silence was critical.

  "What can I give you in trade for the secret of the nails?" Demetri asked softly.

  "What is it worth?"

  "A house."

  "I have no use for a house," Raynar replied.

  "A ship then," Demetri bargained. There was silence. "Name something. How can we bargain if you do not counter my offers."

  "I want a copy of your plans to turn this Norse longship into a Venetian galley, and I want citizenship to Venice so that I can carry arms in the city and on her ships."

  "Then you will have the plans, and with my blessing. But... but I cannot promise you citizenship. You must understand that every wealthy trading family in the Mediterranean wants to have a son with citizenship, and therefore t
he power to grant it is closely held by a man who is stingy with the granting. Even I only just gained it, and that after ten years of building this yard for the Doxe."

  "He speaks the truth, Ray," Maria said, looking from one man to the other wonder. A nail worth more than ship. A drawing worth more than a ship. This was madness.

  Ray thoughts were quick. The seamen they captured with this ship may also know the secret of the nails. He must finish this bargaining. "Then the plans and an oath that you will try to gain me a citizenship."

  "Done. What is the secret. Do we need to go to the forge and speak with the smiths?"

  "No. I will tell it only to you," Raynar replied, and fuzzed his eyes and gave a short prayer to Thor before he spoke. "The secret of the iron that does not rust is in how the ore is gathered. In the north there are iron bogs, what you would call torbiere. They are not green or brown but red, rusty red in colour. You harvest the bog once in a generation, and you dry it, and then you burn away the plant matter and blow away the ashes and the dust. Then you heat it as you would heat any iron until it is purified by the fires.

  Thus it becomes bog iron, Thor's iron, rustless iron. When you use it, you must not blend it, or hammer it, but just cast it and let it cool slowly. It is the slow cooling that protects it from rust. It is iron born of water, and the iron knows how to protect itself from water if you allow it to be itself.

  In the North, in hard times, the bog iron nails are used instead of coin because they are pure. When a ship is too old, the bog iron nails and fittings are saved and kept carefully aside from other metal things, so that they can be melted again and cast again and be rust proof again.

  When a mighty lord dies and is burned in his ship, all is burned with him, save the bog iron fittings. The nails are sent with the lord to Valhalla, but the fittings are melted and cast again so the fury that was his ship can be passed on to other ships."