The Hoodsman - Killing Kings Page 11

  In marked contrast, the widow had shyly covered her abundant breasts with some linen and seemed to shrink back into the shadows. The older man grabbed Raynar by one hand and pulled him to the center of the room and showed his good breeding by starting formal introductions.

  "Annis my sweet, come here and meet my old friend Raynar. Oh, and bring him that cup of wine, if you so please, for he looks thirsty.... Now, don't be so shy. Raynar may be English, but he lived enough months in my country to enjoy bathing and cleanliness. Perhaps you would be kind enough to wash the grime off him before he gets the rest of us all dirty again."

  As Annis was still meekly hiding in the linen, he pulled Raynar towards the young man in the barrel whose widow was now also hiding her nakedness by hiding behind the young man. "And this vision of the angels is Annis's sister Maida. Oh, come out from behind Risto. Raynar is a gentle man." He took a look at Raynar as he was speaking. "Though I must admit that right now he looks more like a bear from the woods."

  Risto reached out for Raynar's arm and they clenched in the way of warriors, hand to elbow. Risto was also a Greek and unabashed. "I am pleased you have returned, Raynar. Gregos has been grumpy since he was put off by the officials of the Treasury. Hopefully these fair flowers will lighten his mood." He turned in place in the barrel. "Maida dear, please finish rinsing the soap from my hair, my eyes are stinging and I would hate for Raynar the think I was crying with joy at his return."

  Maida and Annis exchanged glances and nods. Annis brought Raynar a cup of wine, and began loosening his clothes. She was hurrying, as if her own embarrassment would be relieved once this new man was as naked as the rest. Maida stood on a stool and slowly poured water over Risto's hair. Her rosy nipples were at the same level as Risto's eyes and each time she swayed to keep her balance, they brushed against his face.

  Raynar replaced Risto in the barrel and Annis stood on the stool with a kettle of water. As he was being bathed and having his face massaged by young breasts, Maida was drying off both of the other men. Gregos was speaking quietly to her and showing her something involving a cup of wine.

  It soon was evident that he was showing her how to sanitize a cock by washing it with wine. In the Mediterranean, this always preceded a sensuous licking. Gregos explained to Raynar's raised eyebrows that neither widow had been willing to risk a pregnancy by them, but they were willing to please them in other ways.

  Over the next hour all three men were very pleased. More important, Maida and Annis were also very pleased, for when they left Mar's house walking happily arm in arm, the each had a fortnight's rent in their purses.

  * * * * *

  The kitchen girl had yet to return from her stay-away errand, so Mar set the table for a simple meal of this morning's meat pies, and a selection of August fruits and berries. When the men returned from waving their fare-thee-wells to the widows, Mar motioned them to sit and she sniffed at Raynar's hair as she walked passed him. "Ah, that is much better. So nice to see men so clean and, um, so well-polished."

  Raynar and Gregos sputtered with chuckles while Risto, whose English was certainly not good enough to understand puns, opened his hands quizzically.

  Gregos smiled at Mar and thanked her for her generous hospitality. "When we are in Cordoba, we forget that other lands have forgotten the graces of the Greek culture. Nothing relieves my homesickness better than a sensuous bath. I thank you."

  Once the four of them were seated at the table and thanks said, Raynar stunned them with his news. "I entered the city by the west gate, and on everyone’s lips was a rumor that King Rufus has been killed. Whether true or not, such news may cause unrest in the streets. Once your house folk have all returned, I think it would be prudent to lock everything up and keep a continuous guard at the gate.

  By morning the truth or falseness of the news will be known. If the king is truly dead, then the streets may become lawless and dangerous." His words had stopped everyone in mid bite. "Mar, when is John due back with his next load of wool?"

  Mar counted on her fingers and replied, "Tomorrow or the next day, depending on the tracks and the carts. John takes all the carts to the furthest village and they distribute that load evenly across all carts. At each village on the way home, the load is heavier but the cartways are better. The effect is that all of the oxen are evenly worked, and the carts all stay together for protection."

  She saw the questioning look on the faces of her guests and explained. "A lone cart piled high with bales of wool would be a profitable target for local thieves. The farmers are loyal to John because his service includes picking up the wool and assuming the risks of delivery." Her eyes widened and she put a hand on Raynar's. "Should I be worried for him? Do you think I should send a man to warn him?"

  Raynar was thinking that this discussion would be much easier if he could just tell them that he knew for sure that the king was dead. "We can leave that decision, most decisions, until the morning when we know the truth."

  Gregos shrugged his shoulders and crossed himself. "Raynar, if the king is dead then is our expedition finished? It has been so frustrating so far. At the Southampton the excise men told us we would need permits from the Treasury if we wished to export sheep, so we came to Winchester. At the Treasury the clerks told us that the minister of trade must issue the permits.

  Since that minister was the king's brother, Henry, it was difficult to set up a meeting. Then that meeting was postponed and it was only through the grease of coins that the clerk told us that Henry had gone riding and hunting with the king in the New Forest."

  Gregos pointed a chunk of bread at Raynar. "Then you, our host in this country, and out guide, suddenly leave us to fulfill some old promise. What now? If the king is dead, then there is no government, there is no minister, there is no one with the authority to write the permits to export sheep. Moreover, now you tell us that the streets may become dangerous. It has taken six weeks to get this far from Cordoba. Has this now become a hopeless quest?"

  Raynar tried to calm the man. He excused himself to Mar for switching to Greek so that Risto could also understand his words. "Gregos, you came to England to buy some long-haired sheep to take back to Al-Andalus for cross-breeding with your Merino sheep. You could have done that as a simple merchant. I have always felt that all this talk of permits was only because you identified yourself as a representative of Al-Andalus. What is to stop us from continuing with the business venture as simple merchants and nothing more?"

  He tugged at Gregos's silk shirt " Leave your fine clothing here with Mar. We will buy you some English clothes and dress you as merchants." He could hear a scrape of the gate below. The house staff must be returning from their various errands. "And don't worry about the safety of the streets. We will play the part of simple merchants, and the sheep we buy will have little value here in England. They will only become valuable when they reach Al-Andalus. The cost of their passage on a ship will make the actual purchase price of the sheep look like, like, turnips."

  He reached for, found, and gently squeezed Mar's hand as he switched back to English. "Do not worry, everything will seem clearer in the morning. Now let us eat before we are interrupted by the kitchen staff."

  It was advise well-heeded, because each of Mar's household arrived in an overflow of excited chatter about the rumour running through the streets of Winchester. While the household replaced them at the table, and ate, Mar organized them to help keep watch throughout the night. Gregos and Risto were excused from the duty as English culture was strange to them and they would not be able to discern what was normal activity and what was not.

  Later, the four of them gathered on the roof for the sunset of this, one of the warmest days of the year. There were no clouds, but there was light fog from the water meadows and the river. They kept their silence and instead, listened to the city.

  The excited people of the city were not leaving the streets to the darkness, as they normally did at this time of night. They were wandering about speakin
g with their neighbors and hoping for more gossip. You could hear gates that were seldom closed, screeching on their dusty pivots.

  You could hear the tread of the night watch and their commands to people to go to their homes. There were extra night watches in the streets tonight. You could hear the tapping of their staves as they reached each corner of their watch. Private watchers, like Mar's downstairs, were all on alert and on their feet and armed. The city was restless and waiting.

  Risto and Gregos grew chilly in the light fog and returned to their room to clean up the last of the disorder from the bathing. Raynar took advantage of the rare privacy and stood behind Mar, put his arms around her and pulled her close to keep her warm. The moon was slowly rising above the trees across the river. Almost full. That was a blessing because it meant the streets would be well lit for the watch.

  Because of the near fullness of the moon there would be summer fetes in the villages across Christendom. With the moon's bright light people could dance and drink until late, and still see their way home afterwards. Raynar whispered softly into her ear, "Mark the beauty of this evening Mar, so you can tell your grandchildren. Tomorrow our world changes."

  There was a bench made from an old strong box behind them, and she led him to it and pulled a blanket out from inside the box. Together they sat on the bench, cuddling under the blanket, holding back the night, and stayed warm while they listened to the night sounds. She enjoyed being tucked up to his warmth. It did not last. He began a gentle snore and her arm and back complained at his slumping weight, so she shook him gently. He stretched his way out of his nap.

  "Ray," she whispered, "about the purse. That is a lot of gold."

  "It is blood gold," Raynar replied in a sleepy mumble. "We would tempt the fates if we profited from it. Your flowers, the ones I brought, didn't you tell me that it cost you almost nothing to help that flower girl buy her barrow and her first bouquets. She is thriving. She looks healthy and happy. It is a good model. My suggestion is that we convert the gold to silver coins, and then use the silver to help local widows set up small businesses."

  "So, no gifts to the convent this time?"

  "No, no more gifts to the convent. Like the rest of the church, they have lost their way. Their earnings are no longer spent on the sick and hungry. It now goes to building grand roofs. The sick need simple roofs, not vaulted ceilings, and food, not stained glass, and medicine, not gilded statues of saints."

  She poked him with a finger. "Stop quoting me as if those were your words." She stroked her hand gently down his cheek and he kissed it. "Now, go to your bed before Risto snuffs the candle." He kissed her cheek and headed down the steps from the roof. She stayed a while longer, all by herself and listened to the restless city until the moon was high.

  This was Raynar’s first night in a week where he was sleeping behind solid walls and doors with a roof and a comfy bed. He expected to fall asleep immediately and sleep in late, but the city sounds like the hollow echo of cart wheels on cobbles kept him restless. The week of sleeping rough had brought the memories of his youth to the front of his mind. Ah well, he would enjoy another dream of his voluptuous Sonja. Instead of dreams of breasts, however, he dreamed of carts.

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  * * * * *

  THE HOODSMAN - Killing Kings by Skye Smith

  Chapter 11 - Searching for Carts, Yorkshire in September 1066

  Young Raynar stretched his neck against the thump line across his forehead, and heaved on the shoulder straps to lift the loaded basket up from where it had settled. One by one all of his porters had adopted this same kind of harness. He was proud of his simple design.

  The carrying basket had a shoulder harness, rather than relying on just the thump line around a standard basket. With it, a porter could carry a load for longer because it was easier to balance the load and it allowed them to relax their necks without stopping.

  He was whistling cheerfully and moving fast enough down the slight grade to kick up dust . He was now passed the first house in Grindel, and cheerful because he was only paces away from unloading the heavy load of galena into the abbey's carts.

  He was always the last porter to reach the carts. As head porter he swept along at the rear of the line of porters, because he was always last to leave the mine. As head porter it was his responsibility to check the tally at the mine, and then make his mark.

  His porters always took a break at the Porters Glade where their small coins would buy good food, and they could drink free water instead of buying ale. Since the glade was Raynar’s home, he was always the last porter to leave.

  There were always hugs from women and children, and last words with Gwyn or her mother. He and Gwyn were both now eighteen. She was still small, but had a fairy-like beauty, and it was a wonder that she had still not accepted a husband. Well, that was the Welsh way. The women would not be forced, and they must always have their say.

  In any case, it was good that he was the sweeper, ploughing along under load at the back of the line of porters, just in case one of his porters misstepped or had a harness problem.

  At Grindel, his porters were lined along the porter bench, which was high enough to rest the baskets upon without bending down. Why hadn't they unloaded yet? The carts must be late. This often happened, but there was something else, something strange this time.

  There were carters walking about talking to the porters. Carters but no carts and the porters were still in harness resting against the bench. He hefted his basket higher on one shoulder and rested his load at the end of the bench, then with practiced ease, slipped out of his harness. For a long moment he stood and stretched and straightened his back.

  This moment when you first stood without the pressing load was a magic time. You felt so light that you were sure that you could float into the air. He floated a few steps towards the other end of the bench while scanning his eyes down the cartway for the dust of inbound carts. There was none. A man in a monk's habit ducked out through the door of the carters' hut. It was Brother Tucker, his boss.

  "Good Brother, I sense a problem. Has a cart broken down?" asked Raynar but waited patiently for an answer until the monk had finished blessing him. Tucker always made a point of blessing him, because he stubbornly resisted the belief in just one God.

  "Would that the fates were so kind, Raynar. The porters will have to carry this load all the way to the smelter," replied Tucker. "King Harold's army has taken our carts. The army is moving fast up Ermyn Street on its way to York, and they have emptied the Abbey's barn of early oats and have carried the sacks away in our best carts."

  "Why is the king's army moving north, I thought he already had a Northern army?"

  "Raynar, you need to pay more attention to the news of the land and less to your women of the glade. The Norse have landed in the North and there are rumours that our Northern army has been slaughtered.

  In any case, our carts have been taken and the flow of ore will now slow even more. First it slowed because a quarter of our porters were called to the fyrd levies by their sworn lords to create the Northern army, and now the remaining porters will have three times the journey for each load." He crossed himself and looked to the heavens. "But I am not complaining, Lord. Thank you for your remaining bounty."

  "Do you think any of our porters were slaughtered?" asked Raynar, hoping for a denial.

  "I hope not," the monk crossed himself and said a prayer. "We must all pray that they were used as porters, and not as warriors."

  Raynar stopped himself from looking to the sky to say his prayer, and instead prayed to his boots, as if he were a Christian. "Well, we had best start walking to the smelter, then," he said softly and turned a foot to return to the line of porters, and to his load of lead ore.

  "Them yes, but not you. See the carters? They took the carts but not the carters."

  "Then who are running the oxen teams?"

  "They left the oxen, too. They have commandeered all the horses along the way so th
at they can move faster with horse-drawn carts. They have no time for the measured pace of the ox. They hitched horses to our best axles and were away," replied Tucker. "I sent Baldric Carter with them to keep track our carts, because I want them back when this is all over. Young Baldric is trustworthy enough but he doesn't know his letters and he has a wife with a newborn at home."

  Raynar turned back to face the good Brother eye to eye, but did not speak. He could guess what was coming.

  "I must ask you to catch up to Baldric and replace him with our carts, and send him home to his wife." Tucker grabbed Raynar softly by the elbow. "There are others I trust to the job, but none with a better chance of success.

  The professional army was moving fast on horseback. The roads will be choked with the fyrdmen moving north and the folk fleeing south. You know the high ridges, you know the tracks, and you know how to survive the Peaks. You can take the high ridges and overtake them before they reach Castleford, and certainly before Tatecastre."