The Hoodsman - Killing Kings Read online

  As the ridge ended, the easy path became multiple game trails through brambles. Raynar pushed through the thorny bushes. He stopped once in a low hollow where the moss on some stones was looking green and fresh. He pushed aside the moss and below was a trickle of fresh water winding between the stones. It took precious moments to fill his skin, but water was a must. He marked the place in his mind for his return journey.

  Scratched and overheated, he at last reached the bridle path. Fresh hoof marks made the trail easy to follow. The bush along the path had thickened and the horses had slowed. After another mile of trotting along the bridle path through low bush, high bush, and large shade trees, he broke into a clearing and pulled back into the shadows immediately. In the center of the clearing the two riders were in discussion, perhaps deciding which of the paths out of the clearing to take.

  Raynar squatted on his heels and tried to catch his wind. Sweat was irritating the bramble scratches and they stung. He searched the fringes of the clearing ahead and to the left. He moved secretly along the edge of the clearing, circling towards a cluster of bent grasses, where there was a path leading out of the clearing.

  He ducked into the deep shadow of a beech tree close to the path, and squatted down onto his heels. He unshouldered and strung the bow and dropped the quiver to the ground, and then stuck three arrows upright into a handy pile of deer shit. He untied his belt and took some heavy lead shot from the pouch on the belt. As a shepherd boy, before he had learned archery, the sling had been his first weapon and to this day he always wore a sling as a belt.

  Raynar looked up at the sound of hooves. The second rider was moving towards the bent grass. He turned in his saddle and yelled something like "here it is" back to Rufus. As the horseman reached the path, Raynar stood in the deep shadows and loaded his sling. The sling whirred once and the lead shot was released. It hit the horse's rump with a smack and the horse assumed it was the rider's signal to charge down this new path. Horse and rider were out of sight in seconds.

  Rufus, the other rider, saw only that his companion's horse had disappeared from the clearing. The growing heat of the day and the brightness of the sun in the clearing were making him regret some of last night's wine. He tapped his heels to hurry his horse out of the clearing and into the shade of the path. The thick bush at the edge of the clearing gave way to the denser shade of the first large tree and he stopped to enjoy the coolness.

  Raynar had his first arrow nocked and he drew the small bow. He dropped his left arm slightly and released the arrow. Rufus wore no armour, and at this range even this small selfbow was true enough and powerful enough. The arrow took Rufus in the chest on the heart side.

  Rufus looked down at the shaft buried in him and froze for a few seconds in shock. Holding the pommel of the saddle he then slid smoothly from the horse and sat on the ground. The horse backed in a circle away from him, looked down at him, then moved forward cautiously with nose to the ground and sniffing. Rufus tried to lift his right hand to the horse, but the arm would not obey. He looked past the horse to a forest man walking slowly towards him with another arrow nocked.

  "Do I know you?" Rufus whispered haltingly.

  "I am of the Brotherhood," Raynar replied. He released the tension from the bow. Rufus was a dead man taking his last breaths. The arrow head was in or touching the heart. A deep breath or a rash movement would stop his heart. "You should know me. You owed me your life a dozen years ago in Normandy when my arrow saved you from a French lance."

  "I remember the lance, but not you," Rufus admitted. "We shared a good day that day, a winning day".

  "Stay alive a few moments more and I will give you your sword." Raynar laid his bow down and made calming noises to the horse as he approached it. He reached into the saddle roll, grasped the hilt of the light sword he knew would be there, and slid it out slowly so as not to startle the horse or Rufus. He then crouched beside Rufus's right hand and folded the weak fingers around the hilt. Rufus's eyes said thank you, though his lips did not move.

  Raynar spoke instead. "And you owed me your inheritance since twenty years, here in this very forest. And now you owe me your entrance to Woden's hall for you will take your fine sword with you to the other side."

  He gently lowered Rufus from sitting to lying, making sure he did not jar the arrow in the chest. Raynar patted down the dying man. He pulled a fancy purse from under the tunic. It was small but heavy, so it must be gold. He poured a dozen small gold coins and a golden seal into his hand. He put the seal back in the purse and tossed it over beside the dying man's left hand, and then continued the pat down. There was an unadorned purse on the belt containing only silver coins. He added the gold coins to it and snugged it under his own tunic.

  Rufus was barely moving his lips. “Twenty years ago. Then my brother Richard? You witnessed that? You knew and did not speak of it?"

  "Yes, Richard was murdered about two miles to the west of here. I made it look like an accident."

  Raynar had to bend close to the mans lips to hear Rufus breath the word, "Why?"

  "Why disguise Richard's murder? Because otherwise your father would have burned every village in this forest. Why kill you? Because this country needs a better king." But the explanation came too late. Rufus was no longer breathing and his eyes were closed. Raynar tugged a scrap of parchment from his own purse and wrapped it around the purse containing the seal before curling Rufus's left had around it. He looked to the sky and chanted a short prayer ending in, "The Valkyries can take him now. He is yours".

  The sound of approaching hooves woke Raynar out of his prayer and he sprang to his feet. He had just enough time to grab his bow and roll into a hollow beneath some bushes and an enormous tree root. "Fool, to waste time answering the questions of a dead man," he chastised himself. "I should have been a mile from here by now."

  The noise of hooves stopped and there was some soft neighing between horses, as if they were discussing how there happened to be a corpse now where there used to be a man. The next sound was a hunter's horn. Loud, insistent, over and over. Rufus's hunting companion was off his horse now and stomping around the corpse muttering; occasionally the muttering would stop and be replaced by the horn.

  Raynar was trapped. There was no way he could back away from the root without digging. To get away he must first move forward into plain view of anyone beside the corpse. 'I am too old for this. I am making foolish mistakes,' he thought. He concentrated on calming his heart and his breathing. He ever so slowly brought his aleskin up to his lips and swallowed the fresh water tainted with the taste of old sour ale. All he could do was stay quiet and listen and hope that the companion went far enough away so that he could break cover and run away.

  Worse, he was feeling mentally and physically drained. Not a healthy state for a warrior's mind. Not after assassinating a king. Not when he had snubbed the fates and thrown away the chance they gave him to escape. Why was he feeling like this now. Was it killing the man? No, of course not. William Rufus deserved to die a hundred thousand times over, for the blood on his hands was an endless river.

  Was it relief that it was finally done. He had been hunting this man off and on for how many years? Ever since he had been crowned. What is that? Thirteen years. Thirteen years of allowing his barons to grind the English people into the mud. No. So long as a Norman sat on the throne, there would be another hunt.

  His hand automatically fingered his crystal while he was engulfed in reflection. It was Leola. He hadn't thought of his sister Leola since he was last with Gwyn, years ago. Now thoughts of her were clouding his senses, dulling his instincts. This was not good. Not now. Not when a wrong move could cost him his life. He must lighten his mood. In his youth with Leola there were good times as well as bad. Think of the good times.

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  THE HOODSMAN - Killing Kings by Skye Smith

  Chapter 4 - Lovers in Hathersage, Derbyshire in June 1064

  Raynar did what an
y sixteen-year-old would do when he told he friend about his good news. He hopped up and down in a clumsy dance of joy. His porter contract with Brother Tucker of Repton Abbey had been renewed. The monk had mentioned how pleased he was with how quickly Raynar was picking up writing skills, and was even more pleased with the higher quality of galena that was being delivered to the carts by the porters.

  Raynar had stopped at the smithy in Hathersage for a bath and to tell John and John's parents about his bright future working for the Abbey. Often when he was forced to wait for the carters to reach Grindel, the furthest up the valley that a cart could travel, he would stay at John's house. The family was Danish. They had always liked Raynar and appreciated his grasp of both Saxon and Danish cultures.

  John's mother Hilde was a large blonde woman with a big voice and a big appetite. This summer Hilde was especially attentive, and Raynar guessed it had something to do with his sister Leola. John had been a bear waiting patiently for Leola to return from the high country. His father Remus would not let him go to her, because last month John had spent a fortnight in the hills, away from the forge, just to visit with her. This was a week longer than expected and yet he had sent no message to ease his mother's worries when he was overdue.

  Raynar was fascinated with the forge and the techniques of working metals. Remus was a good teacher, and was always glad of Raynar's interest. John, having lived everything smithy all his life, was no longer interested enough to learn more. Except that is, for his current interest in arrow points. When John had passed through the glade on his way down from visiting Leola, Raynar had given him his old Welsh bow. Though a long bow, next to John it looked the size of a normal bow. With an hour's instruction John was hitting a target at twenty paces. He was much better now, having hardly set the bow down in the past weeks.

  Today, he and John were to hike the smaller stream that branched off towards Stanage Edge, just north of the smithy. They were in search for ywen staves for John. The first step of making a bow was to cut staves and season them for at least a half year. There was no bowyer in his village, and John thought it would be a good side business at the smithy. At least that is what he told his father. In reality he wanted to make himself a John-sized bow.

  They knew the gorge well. Over the years they had explored the hills and valleys around John's house looking for caves, and especially looking for traces of galena in the caves. More than one valley family had been able to put up a new big house with the profits from a new galena find. They knew that there were ywen trees around the pools half way up the gorge. The stream that fed the gorge pools did not come from the mines, so they were still clean and cool even at this time of year.

  They found a likely ywen tree up the slope from the pools. John saw a dozen likely branches and took his hatchet and started climbing. Raynar had no hatchet, so he wandered off to look for other trees, and as he wandered he heard voices coming from the next pool along the gorge. He walked cautiously towards the next pool to see what was up. What was up was Raynar, as soon has he had a view of the pool.

  Two women sat naked on the rocks. One was washing the other's hair. He sneaked closer, and then closer again, but the third time a branch snapped under his foot and the women covered their bodies as best they could with their hands and ducked down behind the rocks while reaching for their linens. He did not want to panic the women so he moved out into the sunshine and begged their forgiveness.

  "Come closer," said the tall one as she wrapped her linen around herself, "let us see your face."

  She had spoken in Daneglish, so he replied in like. They were most likely local women that would know the smithy. "It's just me, Raynar. I am a friend of John the smithy's son. I live up at the porter's glade up towards Woden Mine. " He walked closer until he was standing in front of them balancing on a boulder.

  "He's just a boy," said the smaller one as she stood up.

  "Older than you think," said the taller one. "Look below his belt."

  "Oh my!" giggled the smaller one. She had beautiful light eyes and they were holding his in a trance. "Were you peeking?"

  Raynar could feel the heat in his cheeks, and elsewhere. "I - I - I heard voices and came to see who it was." He had no experience in judging the ages of naked women, but he guessed that they were both in their mid-twenties, which meant they were married and had children. He started to relax. He was used to being teased by the wives and widows at the glade. It was only when he was teased by Gwyn, Leola and their friends that he got flustered. .

  The taller one pointed to the bulge below his belt and said accusingly, "We know from the size of your lance that you were watching us. Did you come for a bath, or did you see us walking down the path and decide to spy on us?"

  Raynar knew a trick question when he heard one. He stopped himself from answering the question, and said instead, "A bath would be nice. I just carried a load of lead down the valley and I am a bit ripe."

  The women were whispering to each other. Some of it heated whispering.

  "Well, go ahead then. Don't let us stop you. The water is warm enough, and you can borrow our soap," said the taller one reaching down for her soap. As she did so, her linen fell open beneath her waist. Her legs were long and shapely. He heard a stifled laugh from the smaller woman, and he forced himself to stop staring as the linen opened wider.

  Raynar then realized that he had trapped himself. He couldn't undress without showing his now very stiff cock, and there wasn't time left in the sun to dry his clothes if he dove into the water clothed.

  The woman with the soap now stood tall and offered it to him. She looked him in eyes and said softly, "Don't be so shy. You've seen ours, so it is only fair that we see yours."

  He had to force himself to keep eye contact and not drop his eyes to where he wanted to stare. Her body was damp beneath the linen and her nipples were visible through the fine cloth. He took a deep breath and decided, why not. Clumsily he pulled off his boots and then his clothes, all the while determined to get waist deep in the water as quickly as possible.

  "Not so fast," she said as she reached out and pulled him back by the elbow. She looked down and made a soft cooing noise and released his elbow so she could wrap her hand around his cock. He was stopped in his tracks by the pleasure of the touch and could do nothing but take a deep breath. She turned her head and called softly, "Ooh, Sonja come here. It is thick and heavy in my hand."

  Raynar looked from one woman to the other. He had been told that the Danes were not shy of nudity like the Saxons, but he thought it was just porter talk. In his shyness he wanted to walk into the water, but her hand was gently squeezing his shaft just beneath its head. His own hand knew that place well, but it had never felt like this when he played with himself. He was feeling sensations he could never have imagined. Now the other woman was beside him and her linen had slipped so that one of her breasts was shining in the sunlight. Her nipple was large and erect. And then he could not hold back any longer and he felt his cock pumping and his leg muscles cramping.

  "I had forgotten how quick it is with young ones," said the taller woman as she looked down at her own legs, "and how much they come. Look at this mess, I'm all sticky. Now I need another bath. "

  Raynar acted on an impulse and reached out to pull her linen slowly away from her breasts and toss it on top of his own clothes. He reached out with both hands and held her by the elbows and slowly pulled her with him into the pool, saying, "Then we both need a bath."

  Sonja sighed and threw her linen in the same pile and walked slowly into the pool with her back arched and her breast pushed high. Raynar had the pleasant dilemma of not knowing which woman to stare at. Finally he looked into the eyes of the tall one and said, "Thank you, that was amazing. It was as if you were caressing my whole body."

  "Oh my, I think we have stumbled on a virgin, Sonja," the taller woman said and then to him, "go on, deny it and make a fool of yourself."

  He kept quiet and just stared at the idyllic scene of
the green canopy and the shimmer of sun across the ripples of the pool, and the green eyes of this tall shapely woman and the fullness of her lips and of her breasts.

  She moved her lips towards his and then stopped and sniffed. "You weren't jesting, you do need a bath." She started to splash water over his chest and shoulders, and then reached up with a soapy hand and massaged the young hard muscles. Sonja stepped behind him and started washing his back. But it wasn't just her hands he was feeling on the skin of his back. She was also rubbing her breasts up and down his damp skin.

  Sonja reached her hands up to his shoulder and pulled herself close and up to his ear. "Lean backwards into my arms and float and we will wash your hair and feet," she whispered. And he did, and they did. "Look, he's up again already. These young ones are always so ready. "

  They were on either side of his floating body now, supporting his weight with the lightest of touch underneath his bum. He was getting very swollen watching the jiggle of their breasts through the veil of their wet hair. Sonja leaned ever so slightly forward across his waist and rubbed her breasts up and down both sides of his cock. It was so delicious, that he could not hold back and it was pumping again. They both instinctively leaned away, and then both were laughing aloud. The two women caught each other's eyes, and their lips mouthed silent words. And they smirked to each other.