Hoodsman: Popes and Emperors Read online

  "Are you day dreaming again, uncle Ray?" asked young Robert. "You promised to show me the plans of your new ship, remember."

  Raynar opened his eyes just in time to steady baby William as Nest plunked him down on his lap. Nest was almost due now and was very rotund, especially for her diminutive height. She was the last of a royal Welsh bloodline, and looked very different from all the others in the room. She had fine, elfin features, with skin so fair that it was like chalk, and red cheeks and jet black hair and eyes.

  "Ugh, yes, ugh, Nest," he stammered as he pushed the baby back towards Nest. "I promised to spend some time with Robert, so you must give Will to someone else.” Nest pulled away and arched her back to make it clear that she couldn't carry the little tike. Juliana rescued Will and swept him away in a twirl.

  The room was filling with women and children. The womenfolk were all dressed like rich nuns, covered head to foot with fine woolens in natural, somber colours. Before the horrendous storm of Saint Lawrence day in August, they would have been dressed more like colorful butterflies, flitting around provocatively in gowns of silk.

  That ferocious wind storm had changed everything. It sank ships and fishing boats. It blew down roofs and buildings. It flattened and then flooded the August crops. The damp since then had sickened the farm animals. Edith had decided that it was not proper for noblewomen to parade their wealth in silk and jewels when so many of her folk, the English folk, were having such a hard winter.

  The devastation of the storm was why Henry, the king, was still in the West Country with his army. They were still bringing to heel all of the minor lords who had sworn fealty to Mortain of Cornwall and Belleme of Shrewsbury, who were both now exiled and in Normandy. This meant occupying the castles and bailey forts. Since the army's men were posted there anyway, they had been set to work helping the folk to rebuild roofs and fishing boats and roads.

  Mortain and Belleme were devilishly cruel, and hated, but very rich, so many of their greater lords had followed them into exile. Others were now locked up, like Jorwerth and his two brothers, who had being ruling, ugh, ruining, Powys in Wales as vassals of Belleme. Raynar cursed at the thought of Jorwerth being nice and safe in a cell. A more fitting punishment would have been to throw them to the Welsh women they had so abused.

  "Uncle," sighed Robert as he shook him. "The plans."

  "Everyone away from my desk," Edith shouted, "especially those with sticky fingers. What are you doing eating honey cakes right before supper. Away from my desk." She stamped her feet in baby stamps and pretended to chase the little ones. "Robert and Uncle Ray need to use it."

  Raynar waited until all the sticky fingers were well away, and then he passed a scroll pipe to young Robert and had him stretch out the contents. They held the corners down with the desk's paper weights. "I will explain it in English, but I will speak slowly," Raynar told him.

  Robert's education had been organized by the Bishop of Lincoln, Robert Bloet, may he rot in hell someday soon. After being the Bishop of English folk for over twenty years, and at times the Lord Chancellor to three kings of the English, he still did not speak much English. Raynar was not trying to teach young Robert about ships, as much as he was trying to teach him English.

  "Oh not English, again," Robert complained in halting English. "Oh, all right. I suppose it is useful to know. Latin so I can read laws. French so I can speak in court. English so I can order my servants about.” He poked Raynar with his finger to signal that he was jesting.

  Raynar accepted it as an apology, but the truth of the boy's words hurt. That the English folk were servants in their own kingdom, was a truly hateful thought. He turned around because someone had stroked his back. Darling Lucy. Or rather, Lucy, Countess of Bolingbroke and Chester. She saw the plans of the ship and her hand stopped stroking his back and she bent over them.

  "What kind of ship is this?" she asked, flipping the pages carefully. The scroll was old and weathered. Having grown up in Spalding, a port on the Wash in the middle of the Fens, she knew ships, and owned a few. "The hull looks like a longship, but the planking is not overlapped. It is all wrong."

  "Aw, Lucy," complained Robert. "This is my time with him."

  "Oh dear, sorry," she said softly. Lucy could do 'softly' if she tried. When she wasn't trying to be soft, she was a tall, strong woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes who had been nursed on the back of a Frisian stallion, and had been taught every weapon that she could lift, swing, or draw. "May I stay if I stand to one side and don't say a word?"

  She backed a step away from the desk and smiled at the boy. He was at that lovely age that boys go through where they want to help with everything and have boundless healthy energy. Too bad that age is so quickly finished and replaced with a smelly, pimply, moody teenager.

  Raynar moved the pillow he had been sitting on, and placed it on Edith's chair and sat at the center of the desk. He looked at Robert's pout, and Lucy's keen interest and told them, "I will send Lucy away if she asks silly questions." Robert nodded. Lucy winked.

  "This is the plans to a Venetian Galley," Raynar saw Robert cross himself, "Not Venus the god. Venice the city state.” He pointed to the hull. "What we call a longship, they call a galley. It is a long low narrow ship designed to be fast under oar, and the longer it is, the more oars it has, and the faster it goes. When I was your age, almost all ships were longships. Now all the newest ones are round ships."

  He thumbed to the last scroll and showed it to the lad. It was the plan of a Frisian Cog. A typical round ship. "See. A round ship is shorter, and fatter and higher and depends on the sail to move it along. The traders all want round ships these days because they hold more cargo, and need fewer crew, and have the advantage of height when attacked at sea."

  "But it has oars too," said Robert.

  "Only a few oars. Just for emergencies, and tight places like harbours. Every oarsman is also an archer. See the platforms fore and aft. Ugh, front and back. Those are called castles, and the archers can stand on them and fire arrows down into any attacking longships."

  "So are you going to build a galley?" asked Robert. "Is that why you have these plans?"

  "Not build one, so much as convert one," he flipped the scrolls back. "See what is built on top of the Venetian longship. A platform like on the roundship, but it goes all the way around the ship, not just the front and the back. The platform on each side sticks out over the water. They are called the outriggers. That is where the oarsmen sit. Up high, rather than down low."

  "So it is a longship made higher," said Robert as he leaned over the drawing. "And the oarsmen don't take up cargo space. I get it."

  "Oh, it will never be used as a cargo ship," Raynar replied. "It will have thirty or forty oarsmen, so carrying cargo would not pay the costs. It will be for carrying warriors. A war ship, or a patrol ship."

  "Why do you need a war ....” began Lucy.

  "Shhh," Raynar interrupted, "later."

  "Well it seems easy enough," said Robert, now looking at the second scroll and following the lines on the pictures that showed the beams that held the outriggers. "Just get one of our longships, and add all this wood on top of it, and you have a galley."

  "That is what I plan to do, but easy, no. If it were easy, then you would see them on the North Sea or the Celtic Sea. They are converting longships to galleys in Venice, but they are the experts. Some of the captains I sailed with in Flanders make a living by buying old unwanted longships in the North Sea, filling them with cargo and pilgrims and sailing them to Venice, where they are turned into outrigger galleys."

  Raynar had the distinct pleasure of having Lucy drape over him to better see the drawings. If she weren't as close to him as a daughter, what the Christians would call a god daughter, he would have given her breasts a polite fondling. He hadn't slept with a woman since Nest had stopped coming to his bed due to the size of her belly.

  Oh well. Explaining these plans was good practice. Edith will force him to convin
ce the captain of the ship that it could be converted into a galley. The ship, the Mora, had been the Conqueror's personal ship. His flagship when he invaded England back in '66. Supposedly given to him by his wife Matilda, Henry's mother, which is why her name 'Mora'. 'Amor', 'Love' with a twist of spelling. The ship was now sitting in Southampton waiting for the Duke of Normandy to return from Cornwall. The Duke who had been back in Normandy for weeks now.

  "A Drekar longship is a grand ship," he said almost to himself. "Over thirty paces long at the waterline, and room for forty oarsmen. It is fast, and seaworthy, but it is an open boat, and now not nearly as useful or as fearsome as it once was, back before the roundships. With the outrigger decks, it would be fearsome once again."

  "So why hasn't anyone already added the outrigger decks?" asked Robert.

  "Seaworthiness," sighed Raynar, and sat back in the chair. "Our seas are rough, and we sometimes sail far from shore. With the extra height, the ship stays drier, but there is more risk of being pushed over by wind and wave."

  * * * * *

  Five days later her was explaining the same things to Captain Thomas FitzStephen of the Mora, but at a much more technical level. The man knew his ship. He had grown up on it. His father, Stephen, had been the first captain of the Mora, but he had retired to his estate in Hampshire after the Conqueror died back in '87.

  "There is nothing I am doing that cannot be undone," Raynar argued.

  "Except drag it back up from a hundred fathoms," sighed the Captain.

  "You could still be the captain, so long as you gave Duke Robert fair warning and oathed to King Henry. That would be expected of you anyway, once Henry claims the ship from Robert."

  "Me, skipper a patrol ship? I'm use to being at the beck and call of a Duke."

  "A Duke, a King. It would be the same. I foresee Henry crossing back and forth to Normandy many times in the near future. If we can make this ship formidable enough, then this is the ship he will use. Fast enough under oar or sail that it need never overnight at sea. Fighting decks high enough to make it undefeatable so long as it carries archers. Enough warriors on board that he can land anywhere in safety. Enough covered space that he can carry precious cargo, or women and children."

  "But look at the hull of this galley," Thomas said pointing to the plan of the galley. "It isn't built the same. The Mora is not built around a skeleton frame like this galley. It has hardly any frame members. The strength is in the careful shaping of the hull planks themselves. The frame was inserted afterwards, after that planks had been shaped and joined."

  "So we add more framing to hold the outriggers. So what. That will just make it stronger."

  "And heavier, and don't tell me that you will use less ballast," argued Thomas. "You will need more ballast to balance the outriggers. Mind you, if it works, it will be the mightiest ship in these seas."

  "So is that a yes?" asked Raynar sleepily. He had been plying the captain with Edith's best wine. The captain could hold his wine better than he could.

  "Where did you say these plans were from?" Thomas asked.

  "Venice," said Raynar in relief. He had him. He could sense it. The captain's body language had changed. His voice had lost its stubborn tone.

  "You've been to Venice?" Thomas asked wistfully. "Is it true that the city is ruled by its sea captains, and that every woman wants to catch herself one?"

  "I've been a few time. The women are very friendly, like the Frisian women. The Venetians are mostly Lombards you know. A long time ago they lived in Frisia. They build their villages and towns on islands in lagoons and swamps, like Fen islands, like Frisian islands. They do everything by boat and ship, just like the Frisians. I call them the Frisians of the Italies."

  "You promise that everything you will do to my ship, you can undo?" Thomas asked. Once Raynar confirmed it, then he nodded. "Then I will tell the queen that I agree, so long as I am allowed to watch, and so long as I am kept on as captain. Now tell me more about Venice."

  "The best way to describe it, is that it is like Brugge," Raynar began, "Well built, and built on islands with many canals and few streets. But Venice is warmer, and not so muddy."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Hoodsman - Popes and Emperors by Skye Smith

  Chapter 2 - With Robert the Frisian in Brugge in March 1081

  "The best way to describe Venice, is it is like Brugge," Robert the Frisian, Count of Flanders told him, "Well built, and built on islands with many canals and few streets. But Venice is warmer, and not so muddy."

  "But why me, and why Venice?" Raynar objected. "I came here in hopes of finding you and Canute planning the invasion of the Danelaw and England. There is nothing much to stop an invasion right now. Sail there, and it is yours. The Normans have mostly moved to the south, or to Normandy, or to Apulia in the Italies. The folk of the Danelaw will welcome you."

  "Where have you been that you are so out of touch?" asked the Count of Flanders. He was not used to been talked to with such informality. Not that he was angry with this Englishman. Raynar had always been like this. A straight talker. No fancy wasted words. No bowing and scraping. True, he would not stand for such informality from anyone other than perhaps another Count, or a Duke, or a King, or a very pretty woman.

  However the truth was that he probably owed his throne to this rude younger man. It had been Raynar and his English wolfpacks who had defeated the Frankish cavalry at the Battle of Cassel. And after he, himself, had been captured during the battle, it had been Raynar and his wolfpacks who had captured the Countess Rachilde to trade for his freedom. Besides, he liked the man, liked him a lot.

  "I've been in Scotland," replied Raynar. "I walked from Winchester to Scotland through Northumbria. That is why I know that the Normans have given up on the North. The Bishop-Princes keep a few garrisons, but nothing more than that."

  "In Scotland? In winter? No wonder you are so out of touch and in such a bad mood."

  The last words shook Raynar. He thought back on the past half hour of this interview. Had he been in a bad mood. Probably. "I'm sorry Robert. I have been so long getting here, and my eagerness is weighed down by my exhaustion. I thought I was bringing urgent news, that would have the generals and the ships captains calling out their men to ready the invasion."

  "They were called out a week ago. Canute is on his first expedition as the King of an army. The Danish army, supported by the army of Flanders, Holland, and Saxony. Emperor Henry is pushing at our borders again to test the new King of the Danes, so Canute went to push back at him."

  "So the invasion of the Danelaw must wait then," Raynar said, not expecting an answer.

  "It certainly can't happen while the Emperor of the Germanies is hounding our borders. What if he marched into Saxony or Flanders while our own men were stuck in England. Now, back to my problem with Venice.” Robert looked at the exhaustion written across the man's face. "No, first you eat and sleep, and then we will talk business. Come, if we hurry we can eat with Gertrude and her women. There is a new lass with breasts out to here.” His hands rose to show the extent.

  Raynar had to smirk. It was good to be back in Flanders, in Brugge, in the company of this old scoundrel, Robert the Frisian. He would sleep in the palace tonight and send word to Hereward's house tomorrow. There would be bridges to be mended with both Hereward and Roas for not stopping in Oudenburg first to see them.

  Robert read his mind. "Hereward is with Canute, in command of the skirmishers, so Roas is staying with us."

  Raynar didn't know if this was better or worse. It meant that he would get no sleep tonight, not with Roas in his bed. Though she was no longer his wife, having shucked him for Hereward, they were still the best of friends and occasional lovers.

  "Um, If it's all right with you, I'll just grab something in the kitchen and eat it in my room. I'm too filthy for a polite table, too hungry for polite food, and too tired for the word games of polite women."

  Robert seemed to do nothing
more than wave a hand, and yet his clerks appeared immediately. They watched his private audiences for security reasons, out of earshot but able to see hand signals. Raynar was led away towards the palace's kitchen.

  * * * * *

  He was fed, clean, and asleep when he felt her warm skin slip under the linens beside him.

  "Let me sleep," he whispered. "Everything else can wait until the morning."

  "Hereward says ..." Roas whispered.

  "Let me sleep."

  "Judith says ..."

  "Let me sleep."

  "Beatrice and Klaes are ..."

  "Sleep."

  She wriggled herself higher up the pillows and then pulled his closed eyes into her breasts. This time he did not complain.

  He did not complain in the morning, either, when she did it again, but in the morning it did not end with him snoring. It ended with both of them gasping and moaning and lying in each others arms hoping that the other did not have reason to jump out of bed, not yet, not until they had more of the same.

  Afterwards, with her cuddled into his side, he looked down the bed at the curves of her body. Roas was a Frisian woman from the English Fens near to Spalding, and so she was long, and blonde, and had honey colored skin. She would be what, almost thirty by now, to his thirty three. They had, off and on, relaxed in each others arms like this for almost fourteen years.

  Before her first child, she had been stunningly beautiful, in the handsome way of Frisian women. The smile on her mouth and in her eyes was more guarded now, and her skin a bit stretched in places, and her hands were rough, but she was still a beauty. A knock at the door interrupted his fond dreams of other times with her, and he pulled more of the feather comforter over them.

  Just in time, because whoever had knocked waited but a second before walking in. This was the heavily guarded family wing of the palace so he never bolted himself in. He did however, reach over with his free arm to the weapons belt hung on the bed post and close his hand on the hilt of his Valkyrie knife. Then he let go and pulled his arm back under the covers. It was Adela.