Hoodsman: Blackstone Edge Read online

  He much preferred the company of a scantily clad beauty to the company of benches of piously belching monks, who smelled of damp wool and last months bath, or to the company of benches of men at arms with their ribald jesting and their barnyard manners. He did not ignore the porter or even scold him. He knew that only good news of import could drive the old man to his presence with such zest.

  "The guards from the ford are approaching and they have many prisoners and many horses," related the porter. The word horses grabbed the abbot's attention. There was a shortage of horses for his men-at-arms. They told him that this was because the local outlaws were skilled horse thieves, but he rather expected that they were fattening their purses by way of the Frisian horse traders that regularly used Ermine street.

  The abbot hurried through the abbey gate and crossed the forecourt to the wall beside the burgh's gate. Most of his remaining men were on the wall, less than thirty of them. They were laughing and cheering. Once he made the top, he looked out at the column of men approaching the open gate.

  From this height and distance it was quite a spectacle. Disarmed axemen tied in rows abreast came first. There were at least fifty of them. Behind them were thirty of his own men at arms, some carrying armloads of weapons. Behind them were at least twenty horses, all still saddled. And behind them a rear guard of more of his men. Excellent.

  His sergeant was limping up the staircase to the top of the wall. The ass had still not healed from his fight with the blonde woman. He finally reached the top and looked out. He stared hard in silence for a minute and then leaped into action. "Shut the gate, Shut the gate damn you. Bar it!" he was yelling and everyone around him was startled. "To arms! To arms!" he was yelling.

  He had noticed, too late, the full beards sticking out from under the helmets. As soon as he gave the command, the ropes dropped from the wrists of the front line of prisoners and they drew short swords from within their clothes and then sprinted towards the gate. There were only two men closing the gate and they were not fast enough.

  By the time more of the abbot's men arrived to help there was a pushing match happening on each side of each gate. The attackers then realized that they only needed to keep one of the gates open and they all moved to the one least closed. They won the pushing war but now had to defend themselves from pole axes and swords. But for only a moment.

  Every man on the cartway had sprinted after the first row of prisoners. Their shear weight smashed both gates fully open and the men trying to close them were thrown backwards and lost their footing and ended on the ground begging for mercy.

  The abbot and the sergeant had realized that the burgh wall was lost, and were rallying the men to race for the abbey gate. They still had twenty men. Enough to hold the abbey wall if they could close the gate. The axemen saw the abbot running for the inner gate and the foot race was on. The slowest runner was the wounded sergeant but even he made it through the gate in good time. He gave the order to close the gate, but his order was ignored. His men were just staring towards the steps that led up to the abbey door.

  There were five archers with five points aimed at them. The sergeant was readying to charge them, but then they were joined by five more. And then five more. He recognized the lead archer. It was Edgar's man. The one who had visited some weeks back, and beside him dressed as a lad was the bitch who had punctured his buttocks.

  The axemen were at the open gate. The abbots men were told to drop their weapons and go back through the abbey gate and start undressing. A cheer went up from the axemen. More mail, more weapons, more purses. The abbot walked towards Raynar in a rage.

  "I told you I would return," said Raynar. "You should have handed me what was Edgar's when you were asked to." He walked up to the abbot and lifted away all his weapons. "A man of god needs no arms."

  Raynar walked to the gate and yelled to the axemen "I want all monks to return to the abbey, and unharmed. I want any prisoners to be tied up but not mistreated. Bring any wounded to the gate. The wounded can enter the abbey but no other warriors." He took a deep breath so he could bellow the last order. "Stay away from the villagers, their houses, and their women. The penalties for worrying them will be severe."

  He returned to the abbot. All of the Hoodsmen had now arrived, and the last five brought with them the two watchers that had done such a poor job of watching the wall that connected the rear of the buildings. They were so busy trying to see what was happening at the gates that they did not see the men using climbing poles to get over the wall. He pointed to the abbot's men. "You are prisoners. Walk out of the abbey gate and hand your weapons to the axemen."

  Raynar looked towards Alan and Rodor and was about to issue them orders, when he suddenly felt foolish. Who was he to issue orders to two men who were better commanders than he would ever be. "Alan, please take charge of the Hoodsmen. They are to protect the Abbey walls. Rodor, please take charge of the axemen and the prisoners."

  He looked up at the sun. "We will all stay overnight so you will need to bring everyone and all animals inside the walls, and arrange for beds and meals and the security of the prisoners. I will deal with the abbot and the monks." Thankfully they both agreed to their tasks and walked away from him to get the men working.

  "We have things to discuss," said Raynar to the abbot. "In the Treasurers quarters please." He pointed to the other two senior abbey officers and motioned them to come. Anske made to follow, but he motioned her to stay with the Hoodsmen, and motioned four of the Hood to accompany him in her place.

  "You impudent nave. I will not be ordered about in my own house!" bellowed the abbot.

  "Prior Aethelwold," asked Raynar. "What is the normal penalty that your order metes out to a monk who lays with females and sodomises boys."

  The Prior looked and sounded like he would die choking. Another monk slapped him on his back, and finally he could speak. "For a first offense likely ten lashes for each case and a month of solitary confinement. For a subsequent case, the same plus six months of hard labour, or to be cast out of the order."

  "Each of us has witnessed this man of these sins. I will swear to it. His solitary confinement will start this instant." He motioned a lay monk to come closer. "You will guide the abbot and these two bowmen to the cell used for punishments. The abbot is to be locked there for no less than a month." The abbot tried to interrupt him. "Hold your tongue sinner, else you will have the lashes before you enter the cell."

  The monk looked to the prior for guidance. He was given a nod and so he led the abbot and his escort away into the bowels of the grand stone building.

  "Prior, I must warn you that the axemen in the forecourt are not my men. I control only the bowmen. This abbey is now under my protection, as Prince Edgar would hold me liable for the safety of your Order. My men are greatly outnumbered by the axemen. It is vital that your monks do not open the abbey gate to anyone, and they must warn any of my men if they see anything strange or anyone who does not belong here."

  "I understand, and I will make it so. May I leave to make the arrangements?"

  "Of course," replied Raynar, "the abbey is in your charge until the abbot has finished his penance."

  "You realize that the penance will not hold. As soon as you leave I must open his cell."

  "His penance may make him a better monk. I would suggest you think of ways to keep it, perhaps through a vote of the Chapter."

  The two senior monks looked at each other and nodded their heads slowly. "We will see," said Prior Aethelwold and he turned and left.

  "Brother," Raynar now turned to the Treasurer, "I want Edgar's treasure. Please take me to it."

  "I will have it brought," replied the Treasurer.

  "No. Leave it safe for now until the axemen have left the burgh. Simply take me to it so that I can be assured that it is intact."

  He followed the good brother through a locked door that led to a staircase down into the cellars of the abbey. He followed through various cool storage rooms and through
two more locked doors, the last of which took them under the very foundations of the abbey and to a series of low, heavy arches that supported the stone floor above. In each cavity created by the arches there were stacks of casks, caskets, and chests.

  "The last two arches contain the chests left on deposit for safe keeping," stated the Treasurer. He remembered the keen mind of this young man from their last meeting so he continued the explanation. "The closest of the two contains chests of coins that the Abbey is permitted to use temporarily while on deposit. The other contains chests of a more private nature. Documents, jewels, ornate gold, relics, and other priceless objects.

  You see, each is sealed and marked with a code. The code matches the entries on my master scroll. Here," he reached for a scroll pipe from a table of such pipes, "is another copy of that scroll." He shook out the curl and unrolled it until he found Edgar's entry. He showed the code to Raynar and then showed him the mark on the two largest coin chests. "Of course I needed no code to find them, as they are by far the largest."

  Raynar walked to the closest and tried to lift it. He could just scrape one corner from the ground. "The rest. They belong to English lords now in exile, or in hiding, or in shallow graves?"

  "Most unfortunate, but mostly true. A few chests have been here for a generation. I suppose they contain deeds and special inheritances. Most were left here in '67 when the families of so many English nobles were fleeing for safety." The Treasurer lit another torch and sat on a casket with an apology to whomever lay inside.

  "This is Paeders Abbey. Very old and very wealthy and with many other houses and fields across Anglia. There are many North Sea ports close by, and boats can punt here directly. We have long filled a need that nobles often have to protect their core wealth while they are away from their own homes. For this reason we have been well protected by nobles of many languages for hundreds of years."

  "And now William wants it all," ventured Raynar.

  "You knew."

  "I knew from my sources. Edgar knew from his."

  "It breaks trust in this house. It may be the end of us."

  "No, brother. You have the Order, you have your brethren, you have your fields and your mills and your craftworks and your mines. Losing your own gold means nothing in comparison. An Order such as yours should not be storing their wealth in gold, but in real things that matter like animals and seed and food and craft metals and tools. Losing the gold entrusted by others is not your shame, but the king's. Even losing your relics will not be the end of your Order. There are many others to be had, now that the Holy Land is being raided by Frankish knights."

  "It will have been done while I was Treasurer," wept the good brother. "I will die in shame."

  "Does your Order not teach you to let go of your self pride. This much shame must surely be the other side of such pride. Come, I am hungry and I have been away from my own brethren far too long."

  * * * * *

  Rodor had made arrangements with the axemen that they could take all of the captured armour and weapons and three days of food when they left in the morning. They were to march south on Ermine street until they made contact with Hereward. They were allowed to take only ten of the abbot's horses for their scouts. Since there were many pole axes amongst the weapons, Rodor had set up a training field and kept them all busy practicing their use in fighting cavalry.

  With the help of the Abbey's Hospitaller, Rodor organized meals and roofs for two hundred. The fifty survivors of the abbot's force, and the hundred and twenty axemen, and the thirty bowmen. The axemen were keeping a watch on the burgh, while the Hoodsmen were keeping a watch on the abbey.

  Raynar and Anske ate with the Prior and the Treasurer in the abbot's quarters, which had now been cleared of the youngsters, who had been sent back to their mothers. Prior Aethelwold listened carefully to Raynar’s news of the situation in the Danelaw, and clucked and groaned at the litany of horrors.

  "So, in your opinion," Aethelwold asked, "will King Sweyn raid this abbey?"

  "Either Sweyn or William will raid it. In either case, the folk of the north that need the coin to start their lives over, will get nothing. The only man who is right now beggaring himself to help the folk is Thorold of Spalding."

  "He is a good man. Lincolnshire prospered greatly from the peace he brought when he was the shire reeve. All for naught."

  "His efforts can be undone very quickly by any of the Norman lords," said Anske. The two clerics were taken aback by the woman speaking in their company. She had conceded to dress as a woman in their presence, but she was still speaking out as if she were a man. It was unseemly.

  "You must forgive Anske. She helped so many refugees in Selby, that she acquired the habit of ordering men about," Raynar chuckled at their silence, "and the convent nuns that helped her, acquired the same habit from her."

  "Most remarkable" Aethelwold mumbled looking at his place so that he would not to stare at this beauteous woman.

  "Not remarkable at all," Anske pointed out. "Things needed doing. So many things. Everyday a thousand new folk, starving, sick, tired, and cold. The men jumped to my orders because the orders made sense." Anske suddenly covered her mouth and smiled at the monks with her eyes. "Oops, sorry, I did it again."

  "The reasons the nobles chose your abbey to be their bank, are the very reasons you are now in the center of the whirlwind of two kingdoms," Raynar pointed out. "Your survival is threatened by both kings, and your salvation can only be through serving your Order and your vows. Hereward will shield you from Sweyn and William as best he can."

  Raynar pulled his map of the Fens from his map pipe and Anske brought the candles close so that the brothers could see the markings clearly. Again they were taken aback by this young peasant. A peasant who could read and write, and transcribe maps.

  "Hereward, for all of his rough talk, wants peace. This kingdom has been torn apart by war for almost four years He is a realist who sees the wealth of this land as based on the wealth of the working folk, not on the wealth of the noble houses. In his view, when the folk are secure and fed and happy, then the nobles are welcome to splash their gold out on big houses and fancy horses, but when the folk are in rags then the nobles should be using their gold to build mills to create clothes."

  "His uncle, the previous abbot Brand, sought the same from the Order. The archbishop was not amused ," added the Treasurer.

  "And Brand, is he now just a monk?" asked Raynar.

  The two monks crossed themselves. "No, he is dead, and he died in suspicious circumstances. Brands brother Godric makes the most of his suspicions and is a thorn in the side of Turoldus. He now resides at Crowland Abbey with Abbot Wulfketel. Abbot Brand had good pupils in his nephews Hereward and Waltheof."

  "Waltheof?" Raynar raised his eyes. "I met an Earl Waltheof in the Northumbrian army camp on the River Aire near York. A very tall man. Long strong arms for swinging axes."

  "It sounds like the same man. Before his father became the Earl of Northumbria back in the fifties sometime, the father was the Lord of Huntingdon, just up the street. Until Waltheof came of age he studied here with Brand, and sometimes he had Hereward as company for his lessons, though Hereward strayed more than he."

  "So while Turoldus does his penance, who will be abbot?" asked Anske, "Oops."

  "As we have said. As soon as you leave, Turoldus will be freed. No one will dare usurp him once he is free," explained the Prior.

  "The abbey at Ely is now within King Sweyn's camp. What if he served his penance in Ely?" asked Raynar.

  The good monks broke into laughter. "Abbot Thurstan in Ely is the most pious of men. He loathes Turoldus's appetites and would make his penance harsh."

  Their meal was interrupted by a gentle knock at the door. A monk entered with Alan on his heels. "There are a dozen riders approaching from the west. They will probably seek shelter for the night."

  Everyone rose and followed him. "Normans or English or Danish?"

  "English we think.
After our own trick today, it would be dangerous to assume."

  Rodor was waiting for them on the burgh wall by the gates. "The watch of axemen I put on the wall were all wearing the abbot's mail and colors. The men approaching will not see a difference from yesterday."

  Raynar yelled out in French, "Halt and be recognized," to the riders who were now before the gates.

  "I carry a message for the abbot from the Bailiff at Huntingdon," yelled the lead man below.

  "Welcome friend, and enter," Raynar replied. Meanwhile Rodor cleared the entry of the axemen who had been awaiting the opening of the gates. The gates were opened only long enough for the men to ride through.

  Prior Aethelwold accompanied Raynar down to meet the riders. He said truthfully that the abbot was indisposed in his cell, and could he be of help. The answer came without more prompting. "Huntingdon is under attack by Hereward and his outlaws. The street is blocked to the south, so we have come to ask for a relief column of the abbot's men."

  "I fear that any men leaving from here will not be a relief to your lord. The abbot's men are prisoners here."

  The knight was quick witted and spun around as he drew his sword but he was too late. Sixty axemen were coming out of the deep shadows of the wall and the buildings towards him. He graciously handed his sword into Raynar's outstretched hand. The axemen were joyous. More armour, more weapons, more horses. The axemen, under Rodor's watchful eye, disarmed the men and led them to join the other prisoners, where they would be stripped of their armour before they were fed.

  Raynar walked beside Rodor and Alan and he said to them, "With your permission, I will take five Hoodsmen and escort the axemen to Huntingdon tomorrow. Would you mind staying here to hold the Abbey and the burgh?"

  "No problem," replied Alan, "After that message from the bailiff at Huntingdon, we expected you to be riding to tell Hereward that we control the abbey, already. What about the prisoners? We can't send them with the axemen. They'll just butcher them as revenge for last year's harrowing. For now we can keep them locked up here, but there are a lot of them. Too many."