Hoodsman: Saving Princesses Read online

  Yes Raynar was feeling a glow of warmth and an inner happiness, but he gave himself another mental shake. He must be very guarded in what he now revealed. "I have not seen Edith for years. Not since her aunt Cristina died. I shared some adventures with Cristina, Margaret and Edgar when we were all in our twenties," grinned Raynar. "I am surprised that Edith even remembers me."

  "There is more. You are quite an enigma to me, Raynar. I have had deadly earnest warnings about you from my barons of Mortain, and yet twice now we have sat like old friends discussing the crown's business and I have never felt more safe in anyone's company." He sipped some of the wine and savoured the flavours. It was a heavy wine and earthy but did not leave a bitterness on the back of your tongue. Every time he came to this Inn he was pleased by how well it was run.

  "Umm, you will be the only commoner attending the wedding by invitation. And there is more. You are to be at Edith's side at the combined wedding coronation. You see, there is only you and her sister Mary to stand for her."

  "There must be some mistake. Please do not burden me with this responsibility. What if I do not accept the invitation?"

  "Now you know why I am here," replied Henry. "Edith told me that you would refuse. That is why she sent me in person to ensure that you do accept."

  "Henry, it would be a mistake. I am a peasant. The barons and their ladies will refuse to sit at the same table with me. It will mar the celebrations."

  "She wants you beside her. She was quite clear that she had been brought up with stories about you. Her exact words were," Henry formed the phrase from his memory. "I want the man who killed Harald of Norway to witness your vows to me." Henry and Raynar looked at each other, in silence. "Did you kill the Hadrada?" Henry asked.

  "I was eighteen. I was on the battlefield by mistake. It was a clean kill, one arrow. I did not even know who he was until after the battle. To me he was simply a tall leader rallying his men. Skirmishers kill leaders. That is what we are trained to do."

  Henry took a deep breath. "So you are a peasant who has killed a king. No wonder my barons warn me to lock you up. What do you think Edith meant by her words? Is it simply that she wants her mother's friend to witness her wedding, or is it something more? A warning? A threat?" Henry continued to stare at him.

  "I have no issue with your marriage of state," replied Raynar. "If it will bring peace to this kingdom, then I welcome it.

  I have no issue with your string of mistresses or all of your children by them. After all, you have never wed and you are in your mid thirties, and quite wealthy, or so I hear. That is a first stone that I am certainly not worthy to throw, though why you have not been yet been stoned by the husbands of all your mistresses, is a true miracle."

  Henry first flushed with anger, but then he saw all the others around him laugh at the words and his anger was gone and he also began to laugh.

  Raynar spoke while the king was still laughing. "I suppose what Edith may have meant is that if you ever harm her, that I may once again become the man who her mother lo... , knew, ugh told her stories of."

  "And who was that man?" asked Henry, suddenly no longer laughing.

  "A man who took terrible vengeance against men who preyed on women."

  "Including kings?" asked Henry.

  "I was trained as a skirmisher," Raynar shrugged. "The one who gave the orders was always my first target.” He immediately regretted saying the words. He wracked his brain for some way to soften the threat. "You once asked me if I had ever been oathed to a king, and I told you no, though I had served some.

  For most of my life I was oathed to a queen, even before she was queen, and even after she died. I was Margaret of Scotland's champion. The last task she ever set for me was to take her three youngest children safely away from Scotland and deliver them to her sister Cristina in Winchester."

  There was silence but for the sounds of the evening traffic in the lane, and the crackle of the brazier. Henry was thinking, and then spoke. "So you are already Edith's man, then. Good. She needs a good man at her side. And Mary's man as well then. Who was the third child you delivered?"

  "Little David. He will be about seventeen by now."

  "Ah yes," replied Henry. "His upbringing was paid for by my brother Rufus, so when Rufus was killed, he went to visit his brother, King Edgar in Scotland."

  "Aye," affirmed Raynar, "I think all good Scots are hoping that England will be torn apart by a civil war between you and your brother Robert. Like all good Scots, they won't be openly friendly to either of you until there is a clear winner."

  "There is a lot of that going on," said Henry with a sigh. "That is why I could not announce my choice of queen until the English bowmen had rallied to me. They hate everything that Rufus and Robert stood for, so they will be more loyal to me than my Norman men.” Henry took a deep breath to calm himself and clear his head, and then reminded himself that he was on this errand for his bride. "Edith wishes to invite you in person. Will you come with me back to the palace?"

  Raynar pursed his lips. "I still think that I should say no. Think of your barons and their ladies."

  "Pahh," blurted Henry. "I will tell the chamberlain to separate the wedding from the coronation. We will have a small wedding the day before, a very small wedding. That will mean that at the coronation you can stand at Mary's side, because I will be at Edith's. My chamberlain will make it work, despite the barons."

  "Hmm, I'm still not convinced," Raynar whispered. "But I will come with you the palace. I will gladly visit with Margaret's daughters."

  "Umm, daughter. Mary has not arrived yet. And be prepared to stay the night. I am sure there will be many stories told." Henry slapped Raynar’s leg happily. He looked at Gregos. "Gregos, please loan Raynar some of your Treasury officer robes. Dress him as if he were you."

  "Of course si... captain," Gregos said as he rose. "I suppose you wish your palace guests to be upset by the return of your financial magi, and not the return of a hoodsman. "

  "Yes to both," Henry replied "there are powerful Normans who will plot against me for taking an English wife. As Edith is the most English of queen's names, she has even agreed to be crowned with my mother's name Mathilde. Being seen with a hoodsman would strengthen the hand of her enemies."

  "She has enemies?" Raynar rose and searched Henry's face. "Is she in danger?"

  Henry shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone at the palace is in danger. We are half way through a regime change away from the corruption and violence of my brother William's reign."

  "Risto," Raynar turned to the man, "please loan me your weapons sheath. The jeweled one you wear at court." He looked back at Henry. "I now begin to understand Edith's quote to you about me. With your permission I would go armed in the royal presence, and I will stay with Edith until she permits me to leave."

  Henry, always a man of action, leaped to his feet, almost spilling the brazier. "Excellent. I have fulfilled the first ever task she set for me. Dress quickly for I have been away from her for too long already. Gregos, we will talk our business on another day."

  Risto rose to steady the brazier, which brought him face to face with Henry. "Should I come too? Raynar freely admits his sword skills are not the best."

  "No," Henry said sharply, and then more gently, "your sword arm would be welcome, but with Raynar gone, I need it here protecting Gregos."

  Raynar took a good look at Henry and the concern for the old man that showed in his face. He was so not his father's son. He was so not the uncaring, brutal William the Conqueror.

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  The Hoodsman - Saving Princesses by Skye Smith Copyright 2010-13

  Chapter 2 - Hunting a king in Warwick in May 1068

  After the humiliation of resigning the battlefield at Warwick to terms that stripped them of armour and horses, the Mercian fyrd were now marching northward and back to their farms. At least they were still alive. They were mostly Saxon English. The Normans would have slaughtered them ha
d they been Danish English. Earl Edwin of Mercia was now the 'guest' of King William and his army.

  Young Raynar still had his mare Abby. She was such an ugly farm nag that the Normans had not stopped her from following him off the battlefield. That he still had a horse meant that he did not need to walk home as did his friends in the humiliated army. They waved at him as he rode away. His closest friends, however, knew that he wasn't going home. He was going to spy on the Norman army.

  His route was across country straight south to find the River Avon. Young Raynar's plan was to keep to the west until he was south of Warwick, and then enter Warwick from the south so that he would not be mistaken for a Mercian of Edwin's fyrd, who should be already a days walk north from the town. If they thought him one of the fyrd, then they would hang him as a horse thief.

  This was a land of rolling hills and sheep commons and by staying on the ridges he eventually found the river. The Avon was deep at this time of year so he rode along its bank until he found a ford. The bottom of the ford still had Roman paving stones and the village was called Streetford because of them.

  The paving stones were a clue that there would be a Roman street on the other bank, and he found it and hoped that it would lead him eastward to the main highway, Fosse Way. He had heard many times about Fosse Way, during his months working as a boatman on the Thames at Wallingford. It was the street that connected the southwest of the kingdom to the streets that ran north.

  For miles before he reached it, he knew he was closing on Fosse Way. There were no longer any sheep, or anything living for that matter. It was the same whenever an army moved across a land. They stole everything for miles along each side of their route. The farmers would have hidden their valuables and then hidden themselves. Those who had enough warning, would have driven their animals far away, or even sold them in a hurry at the closest market.

  When he was within a half mile of Fosse Way, he knew it had been used by William's army to reach Warwick. The smell of huge amounts of horse shit and man piss floated in the breeze. He stopped at a large tree some five hundred paces short of the street, and climbed it to have a good look in all directions. The street seemed to be empty. Certainly there were no mounted men within sight. He did see a hut with an intact roof to the north and the rosy glow of an imminent sunset, so he memorized the landmarks that would take him to the hut, slid down the tree, and rode for the hut.

  There was just enough daylight left to scout the hut. It was well made with a newish roof. It was beside a stream that was upstream from the street and therefore relatively clean. Along the banks of the stream were marks made by a boat, but they were days old. The kitchen was in a lean-to closer to the stream but the stones of the hearth were cold. He did a quick search around hoping for some forgotten scraps. Nothing.

  He hailed the hut but there was no reply. The door swung freely on its pivots. He drew his dagger and walked slowly through the doorway. The inside had been ransacked, but nothing was broken. He righted the table and the bench, and straightened the pallet. He went back outside and led Abby through the doorway. She could sleep inside tonight for both their safety.

  After barring the door, and leaning his weapons up against the wall by the pallet, he chewed on a twist of salt pork from his pack. That was all he had the energy for. He laid down without taking his boots off.

  Raynar enjoyed his own company. That came from being a shepherd as a youth. But there were disadvantages, such as having to sleep without a watcher. Over their year together, Abby had assumed the role of watch dog. She would do this strange popping lip sound when she heard or smelled humans in the night. He fell asleep to the sound and smell of Abby relieving herself.

  It was sunrise when he woke. The pallet was dry and comfortable and he was warm under his cloak. He was enjoying his comfort just a while longer while staring up at the thatched roof when something glinted in the low angle of the sun. He stood up and pushed Abby aside so that he could move the table to the place under the glint. After balancing himself on the rickety table, he pushed his hands up through the thatch.

  It wasn't thatch so much as a thatch mat. He moved it aside and he was looking into the storage area of the hut. This made sense as the hut was on low wet ground so there would be no root cellar here. Inside the storage were dozens of woven strings of onions. He pulled them all down and replaced the mat. In the time it took him to replace the mat, Abby had already chewed up a few prime onions. He pulled them away from her so she would not get sick. As a healer he knew that onions were poisonous to most grass eaters.

  Raynar washed at the stream but decided not to wash too much. A plan was forming in his head to ride into Warwick as a farmer selling onions, in which case he would need to be as dirty as an onion farmer. He ate an onion for breakfast. It was deliciously sweet but his stomach complained about the strong juices.

  Two hours later he was a farmer leading his onion laden horse into Warwick from the south. The smell of onions masked the smell of army rising up from the street. There was a Norman picket at the entrance to the town, and they told Raynar how to find the quartermaster of the army camp. Camp was not the right word, as all the Normans seemed to be billeted in the town.

  The quartermaster was English. That made sense as most of his trade would be with English farmers. He was also a bully. That also made sense as the patrols that were stripping everything edible from the surrounding farms, were working for him. They agreed on a price, which surprised Raynar as armies usually stole most of their food.

  "I have more onions. When can I deliver them?" asked farmer Raynar.

  "You can't," replied the quartermaster.

  "Yes I can. I use my plow horse to carry them."

  "You can't because we won't be here. Tomorrow we move north to Leicester and then Nottingham," growled the busy quartermaster.

  "So, is the new king with you?"

  "Yes," the quartermaster said absently as he compared the weight of two coins and handed the farmer the light one.

  "I've never seen a king before. How do you get to see one?"

  The man laughed at the idea, but then saw the farmer was serious. "He is in the church in the center. If you wait outside the church, you will see him."

  Abby was now emptied of onions, but still stank like one and she kept trying to reach around to grab onions that were no longer there. Raynar stood at the corner of the square and pretended to be resetting the saddle. In reality he was surveying the strength of the guard and the location of streets that lead away from the church.

  He walked slowly around each edge of the square looking down each street. The guards ignored him, because he had already passed through them once when he still had a load of onions while looking for the quartermaster. He tied the horse beside a wall and walked towards the door of the church. A guard stopped him before he even got to the carved Saxon cross that stood in front of the church.

  "I wish to pray before I go back to my farm," Raynar said, but the guard did not understand English. Raynar said it again, this time with pantomimes of him kneeling and praying and pointing to the church door.

  The guard finally understood and told him in French that the nobles were in prayer but were almost finished. Another guard walked over and roughly translated this into English.

  Raynar smiled and looked friendly and pointed and pantomimed that he would wait with his horse. He walked back to Abby and tied her closer to the wall of the next building so that side of her saddle was hidden from the guards. By standing behind the horse he could slide his bow and three heavy arrows from the rolled mat without being seen. It was the same plan that had worked so well in Peterburgh to kill the sheriff, but this time a king would die instead.

  This time he could not shoot while mounted because the guards were too close. The plan would still work though, because the church door was well within killing range. He waited as nervous as a squirrel and twice almost decided to just leave and be on his way to Chester to tell them of the army's planned route
. Hereward's words came to him that this news must reach Chester, and he had just decided to leave, when the church door opened.

  Men were filing out of the church in twos led by a Norman priest and his alter boys. Some of the men were carrying an ancient coffin that was topped with a statue. Probably the coffin of one of the Christian demi-gods. It wobbled precariously. Earl Edwin was one of the bearers on the close side of the coffin, but from this vantage point he could not quite see who was on the other side, but if nobles were on one side, it stood to reason that there would be nobs on the other side as well.

  Raynar moved oh so slowly to push the nock of the bow against a crack in the wall so he could string it. With his arms still hidden behind the horse he nocked an arrow and held it in place with his bow hand while he lifted his head to watch the procession over Abby's back.

  He looked along the faces of the men in procession behind the coffin. The woman directly behind the coffin must be Mathilde but she was not with a man. She was followed by her ladies. He had seen William twice before but both from an arrow shot distance, so he did not truly know the face. He had been hoping for his clothes or a crown or the deference of others to mark his target for him.

  The men now leaving the church were only knights. William must be closer to the front. He looked back along the men but recognized no one but Edwin. The procession turned and he had a quick glimpse of the other side of the coffin. There was a boy, and in front of the boy, a heavy set man wearing a crown.

  Everyone in the square had bowed, either to the religious relic or to William and Mathilde. No one was watching him. The closest street to him, that ran behind the church and then straight out of town, was clear. It would be a clear gallop after the shot. But there was no shot. They were getting further and further away and he had no clear shot. If he had been mounted, the extra height would have been enough, but mounting Abby right now would draw eyes to him.