by Smith, Skye
"Gregory has made many enemies bringing about his reforms," she said softly, "very powerful enemies such as the Emperor. He is even hated by the petty priesthood, for he has cost them a fortune in fees, and the comfort of their mistresses and wives. That is why he must ally himself to Normans like Guiscard."
Anna knew the guards at the gate, or perhaps they 'knew' her, but in either case they were ushered through the gates and into the courtyard of Odo's palace. It was a similar layout to Anna's courtyard house, but on a huge scale. Even the wall's were on a huge scale, at least twelve feet high and of solid stone, with a walkway around the top of them, inside.
He stood in the center of this first big courtyard, the one where horses and carts were allowed, and he slowly turned around taking it all in. This was a fortress pretending to be a palace. From the outside it was a fortress, but from the inside it was luxurious and expensive looking. The walls and floors were tiled in squares of a beautiful light colored stone. The type of stone that the ancient Romans had made columns from.
And the furniture, the furniture was ornately carved, with the seats and backs cushioned and the cushions covered in costly cloth, similar to the finely knotted carpets of the Mussulmen. The only palace he had ever seen that was even remotely as extravagant as this one, was the Doxe's palace in Venice, but Odo's palace was even more so, and much much bigger.
He whistled, long and low.
"I know," Anna replied. "Do you see now why I wanted the excuse of coming here, and officially too, through the front gate." She pointed him towards a group of men. "I think you need to speak to those men over there. They have a clerkly way to them."
They were indeed clerks, and were actually quite polite and helpful once Raynar allowed the shoulder of his monks habit to slip and therefore show a corner of his silk shirt, and once he had used his best courtly French on them, the French that he had learned the last time he was in the palace in Paris. They all winked at him, as if they were sharing a secret.
What these clerks told him was all good news. Master Roland of Bayeux, one of Odo's warrior-priests, was returning to England via France and Normandy, and since he was going by ship as far as Arles in France, pilgrims were being given free passage on the ship.
Raynar, posing as a monk from his old employer, Repton Abbey in Derbyshire, signed on immediately. The clerks, having seen his silk, and his easy way with other people, and having heard his courtly tones, must have assumed that he was an official of that abbey. Despite the knowing winks they carefully marked him down on their list of ship's passengers as a simple monk.
What helped this illusion more than anything, was that he was accompanied by the Courtesan Anna, who was known to them in this palace through her Norman land lord. When her master was in Rome, she often accompanied him on visits. So it was that they were invited to attend tonight’s feast, held in honor of the men leaving tomorrow to Ostia to board the ship to Arles.
* * * * *
Later in the afternoon, when Raynar and Anna returned to the palace for the feast, Raynar kept his monkly disguise. Anna, on the other hand, had spent hours being fussed about by her household women to prepare her hair and face, and her best gown for this feast. He had expected as much, once he had told her that there was an even chance that she was now without a master. That even if alive, her master may not be returning from Illyria any time soon because Guiscard's army was still stranded without ships.
Being a woman with a fine house in Rome that may eventually be claimed by one of her master's sons, and a woman who still had her looks and her figure, she had decided to use tonight’s feast as an opportunity to meet another wealthy man. A man worthy of becoming her new master. In her daytime trollop gown, pulling travelers into the house to rent rooms, she was delicious. In her 'feast with the nobles' gown, she was enchanting. Whichever she was wearing, the vibrant sexuality of this woman always shone through.
In other words, when Raynar walked back to his room at her house, he walked alone. In truth, she had sat with him and kept him company for barely a half an hour after their arrival, but after that she had ignored him completely. For most of the feast she sat between and enchanted two elderly bishops, each of whom also hoped to become the next Bishop of Rome. Her future seemed very secure. A dozen local noblemen were watching her gain favour with these old and powerful men, and their own desires were clearly written on their faces.
* * * * *
Ostia amazed Raynar. Or rather, Ostia harbour amazed him. The inner sanctum was surrounded by man made jetties, of enormous proportions. They had already lasted perhaps six centuries of storms and salt water, and yet they were still intact and functional. He was not alone in his admiration. Odo's priest messenger, Master Roland, a man of keen intellect, joined him in admiring them.
"Those jetties are not made of cut stone, you know," Roland told the monk from Repton in a haughty voice, "The Romans knew how to create stone from sand. It meant that they could form the stones in the exact shapes that they needed."
"Ah, like bricks then, but made of sand rather than clay," Raynar replied, encouraging the priest to say more. Despite his being an obnoxious Norman priest, the man was very knowledgeable. Perhaps not wise, but definitely knowledgeable.
"Not at all like bricks. Bricks need to be fired to cure them. These jetties were made in place, and they cured even under the water."
"So how is that possible?" asked Raynar.
"No one knows, but the masons who built my bishop's palace used a type of mortar between the stones that is similar, " the priest told him in a lowered voice. "I am close to rediscovering the Roman's secret, and once I know that, then my wealth will grow without bounds."
Raynar's thoughts about this he kept to himself. If a mason could form stones in place using sand, then there would be even more castles built to protect vicious men.
The pilgrims were being herded onto the galley now, and Raynar went to join them. Since this galley had been chartered by this priest, Roland would be the last to board. Everyone would await his pleasure before the ship set sail. The ship was very similar to a Venetian galley, but it was Genoese. Just as the Venetians ran most of the ships on the east coast of the Italian Peninsula, the Genoese ran most of the ships on the west coast.
For a small galley, they certainly packed a lot of pilgrims aboard. The priest and his two guards had their own quarters, separate from the rest, so Raynar rarely saw him during the voyage, but two days later, as they were rowing up the River Rhone towards the port of Arles, Roland came and stood next to him at the gunnels and they both watched out over the low flat marshy lands of the Rhone delta.
"Since we are both holy men on our way to England," said Roland, "perhaps we should travel together. I have two armed guards accompanying me, and we plan on buying horses at Arles for the journey across France."
"You say that you will ride with armed guards," Raynar said, staring at the priest. "That is very courageous of you. I travel as a pilgrim for my own safety. Pilgrims are protected by the Peace of Cluny. Food and shelter are given to them, so that they need not carry anything worth stealing. The guards and the horses will mark you, Master Roland, as a man of wealth. Every footpad and robber baron along the way will notice you."
"Do you take me for a fool. Of course it would be safer to go as a pilgrim, but that would be too slow. That is why I carry a passport signed by the Pope himself. The passport will protect me from any robber barons, so the guards need only protect me from footpads. Two should be enough. Footpads will let us pass and seek easier prey. Besides, we will not travel in fine clothes, or show fine weapons, and we will buy ordinary horses. If you would come with us, you dressed as a poor country monk, the footpads are more likely to ignore us."
This all sounded too easy, which made Raynar suspicious. There was something else behind this priest's words. "Why choose me? You invited many pilgrims to share your ship. Any of them would serve your purpose."
"Because they are not fit, not strong. They a
re on their way home after a long pilgrimage which has robbed them of their strength. You are fit enough to ride hard and for long hours. Besides, you have a sharp mind, and a quick wit. I have enjoyed our conversations, whereas, the guards I travel with are dullards."
"Forgive my caution, but why do I feel that you carry some great treasure, a treasure worth guarding, a treasure that may serve up the death of all of us."
"I carry no treasure," replied the priest. "I will use most of my remaining coin to buy horses in Arles. Once we reach Normandy everything else we need will be provided for, including our passage to England."
"That scroll pipe of yours never leaves your side," said Raynar tapping a finger at the scroll pipe hung over Roland's shoulder. "Prove to me that it does not contain jewels."
"You knave," the priest laughed. "You are one to talk. You also carry a scroll pipe, always. Fine then, we will show each other what we carry. You go first."
Raynar removed the fitted top from the pipe and pulled out some maps of France. They were rolled around an un-dyed piece of cloth. A piece of Maria's cloth. Half linen, half cotton. The priest laughed. Since he did not understand the weaving business, to his eyes the pipe was worth more than the contents. Now he opened his pipe and pulled out letters and lists.
"You see. These two are letters for my lord bishop, one from the Pope and one from Duke Guiscard. This one is the Pope's passport which states that any Christian helping me will have his blessing, and that any one daring to hurt me will be excommunicated. These thick ones are accounting lists. My Bishop has been using pilgrims to transport church treasures to his palace in Rome. This is my list of what arrived and with whom. We will match it to his list of what he sent, and that will tell us which of the pilgrims have been unfaithful."
"Ah, then that explains the wonderful palace your bishop has built in Rome. Built from the treasure of English churches then."
"Fool. The cost of the palace was a pittance compared to what we have used to bribe the other bishops to accept Odo as their next Pope. We have funneled even more treasures, and many longships, to Guiscard to keep him friendly to Odo's desires. My guess is that only a tenth of the pilgrims did not arrive with their treasures, but the value of what that tenth carried is worth a county."
Was he exaggerating to pump up his own self importance. Norman's usually did. Still, for so much treasure to have reached Rome from England while carried by pilgrims, there must have been hundreds, perhaps thousands of pilgrims involved. Odo must have been collecting the treasures from the English churches for years. Well, at least since he began building his palace. What had Anna told him about the palace? Four. Yes, the cornerstone was laid four years ago.
Raynar didn't really want the company of this Norman priest. Not only was he one of Odo's henchmen, but he was a hateful weasel of a man. However, it would be an easier and faster way of reaching England than walking with any of the pilgrim groups. It would be more comfortable than trusting the fates to provide for a pilgrim. He accepted the offer graciously and once the ship docked he joined the priest and his two guards on solid ground.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - Popes and Emperors by Skye Smith
Chapter 24 - Ambushed in the Camargue in November 1081
The center of Arles was built inside a circular wall, despite having other buildings that ran along the river port. It was another Roman city where the ruins dwarfed the size of the new town. The circular walls were not like those of a castle, but more like the circular walls of one of the ruins in Rome, a place they called the Coliseum.
If left to himself, Raynar would have explored this smaller version of Rome, but there was no opportunity. The priest was in a hurry and his two guards quickly bought four horses from the stable next to the river dock. They seemed more than willing to pay too much for horses, in the interest of pressing on quickly and leaving Arles as soon as possible.
The land surrounding Arles was low and wet and wild. It was the northern edge of the delta of the River Rhone, and to Raynar it seemed as large as the delta of the River Rhine in Flanders. Arles was located here because of the river, not because of the wetlands. In the gray of this November day, it could have been the Fens of Lincolnshire. Raynar smiled as he thought that even the name of the region, Camarch, would mean water field in Welsh. It made him wonder if the people here were related to the Bretons who lived to the south of Normandy, who were related to the Welsh.
Raynar's mare was small and looked gray, but that was the effect of her dark skin covered with her white hair. Small as she was, she was tough and strong and very much not sedate. The cheapest horses in this Camarch region were not big clumsy farm horses, but the half trained wild horses that roamed free in these wild wetlands.
Between making peace with his mare, and comparing the differences and similarities between the Camarch and the Fens, Raynar was quite enjoying his ride through these damp trails, despite his company. The three Normans were not pleased to be riding small horses. To a Norman a fine tall horse was like a fine cloak. It screamed out that you were important.
As soon as they were away from the river, they were into wilderness. It came to Raynar that this was not a well traveled road. One of the ways that Arles was like Rome was that it was a small city built within the ruins of an ancient great city. Leading to such a city there would have been Roman Vias, which would still be used as main highways. He kicked his mare to catch up to the lead guard.
"I think you made a wrong turn," he told the guard. "The main highway will be north of here. We should back track a mile to the last fork."
The priest rode forward and told the guard to pull up at the next dry place and they would discuss it. It sounded like a reasonable plan but the next dry place was a quarter mile further on. When they reached there, Raynar looked around suspiciously, as if expecting to see footpads. This was a very wild place. He took his crook-staff with him when he dismounted, just in case. While his small mare grazed on the grass, he found the driest place to sit where he could unroll his poor maps of this region of France.
"Look here Roland," Raynar called out. "My map clearly shows a highway, and we are angling away from its course." He looked up. The two guards were standing about him with their swords drawn. His immediate thought was footpads, so he pushed himself to standing with his staff, and wondered if he should string it. That was a risk, because he really didn't want these Normans to find out that his strange looking shepherds staff could be strung and used as a bow.
"What's happening?" he asked, looking from face to face.
"Fool," Roland hissed. "Do you think I do not recognize you. Because of you I was beaten by the women of Bedford in '70. I saw you again in Winchester in '76 when you brought Countess Judith to claim her husband Waltheof's corpse. I was standing right beside Odo when you threatened him. You are Raynar Wolfshead, and Odo will make me a bishop for taking your head to him."
The priest waved a hand to his two guards. "Kill him, take his head, and then sink his body in this accursed swamp."
One of the guards stepped forward and slashed at Raynar with his sword. Raynar blocked the swing with the foot of his crook-bow, but the blade lodged itself into the hard wood and when the sword was pulled back by the guard, it took the foot with it. The guard looked at his blade to see why a hand's length of staff was still stuck on his blade. Then he looked, with great surprise at the dagger blade that had replaced the wooden foot of the staff. The blade that now punched through his eye and into his brain.
The second guard circled Raynar testing the range of his sword by tapping at the dagger end of the staff. The priest pulled the other sword out of the dead man's hand and swung it with some expertise to gauge it's weight and balance. Raynar knew that they would not be defeated by the dagger end of his staff, not now that they knew it existed. He backed slowly away from them, keeping the dagger end pointed towards the guard while he loosened and then freed his belt.
His belt was made fro
m braided strips of linen and was actually a sling. At one end was a finger loop, while at the other end was a pouch containing a few spare lead shot, and in the center was a widening in the braiding that formed the launching pocket. It was over five feet long when not doubled, and the weight of the lead shot stretched it to its full length as he swung it around over his head.
The guard easily raised his sword to block the arch of the sling, but Raynar was expecting that and thrust low with the dagger end of his staff. The guard was fast, and brought the sword down and easily blocked the thrust, but that meant that the in the next swirl, the lead balls of the sling hit him in the temple. He grabbed at the braided linen and snatched a hold of the weighted end, but while his attention was diverted the dagger blade was jabbed hard into his throat.
And then there was a searing pain across Raynar’s side and back. Roland had slashed him with a sword from behind. He turned in time to raise his staff to block the priest's next slash, but the twisting to do this sent him into agony. He tried twirling his sling again, just to make Roland keep his distance, but that movement was also agony. It was a fight just to keep standing, to keep his eyes open.
Roland was backing away, while looking down at the two dead guards, his two professional killers. His face showed his intention. Run away and come back once this Wolfshead had bled to death. He was quickly away from Raynar and grabbing at the reins of his horse. The horse had other plans and was not cooperating. The half wild beast had watched the fight and smelled the blood and wanted nothing to do with this man carrying a blooded sword.
Raynar didn't have the strength to chase the priest. He took the lead shot out of the pouch in the end of the sling, and put one in the launch pocket. Luckily the priest had been trying for his heart with the sword, so the slash was under his left arm, not his right. He pressed his left arm down hard against his side to keep the wound closed.