The Hoodsman - Killing Kings Page 7

  He handed Raynar a heavy purse. "I assumed you would want the shillings, as with the price of sheep this year, you could buy sixty with the coin. I advise you to stay out of Scafeld for a while, not because of my family, but because a lot of men lost heavily betting against you. It was a one in a thousand shot, and my father truly believes that God struck my brother down."

  The bow staff was leaning against the wall by the door, and he reached out and picked it up. He hefted it to find its balance point, and flexed it against the foot of the wall. "A man in armour or mail is not safe from this bow, is he?"

  "Not when it is guided by God, my lord," Raynar replied.

  "And you are a porter, nothing more?"

  "And a shepherd, trained in sheep by old Hugh. Is he not your man?"

  "He is my father-in-law. He gave his lands to his son early because he refused the liege oath to Edward the Confessor." A slow smile spread on his face, "He said he would rather shovel sheep shit than support that lap dog of the Normans."

  "Then Hugh is a lord."

  "The fairest I ever knew."

  Raynar offered his hand and it was taken. "This is finished, then"

  "Yes, this is finished. Now the mourning can begin."

  The next visitor was the verger wondering what to do with Leona's body. It was long past time to bury it. He took them to the churchyard and showed them an empty plot. The gravediggers were waiting for them. Raynar paid the grave diggers a small coin not to dig, and instead borrowed their spades. He and John wanted to dig the grave themselves as a farewell. He paid the priest not to say a graveside service. Brother Tucker wanted to say the words, as he had been first to the body.

  After filling in the grave over poor Leola, they were given a tour by the stone merchant of his headstones, but none of them were fitting for an innocent virgin shepherdess. He offered to carve a fresh stone, but Raynar did not want to wait the weeks so they took his leave to return to the church.

  The shortest way back to the Pilgrim's shed was around the back of the church where the construction and the wooden fence were. They could see the hole in the fence pole that was caused by digging the arrow out. Below the hole in the pole was a stone block, the mate to the one Garrick had used as a step on the other side of the fence. Brother Tucker said what they were all thinking, that it was the most fitting of gravestones, and so John started rolling the stone towards the grave site.

  As it rolled over, Brother Tucker crossed himself and kneeled in prayer. On the underside of the stone was an ancient carving of a lamb. So Leola had her grave stone, and it spoke louder than any chiseled words.

  They made their goodbyes to the verger and to his kindly wife. Forewarned about the gamblers, the three men snuck down the church street away from the square. They circled back through the quieter streets and made for the path to Hathersage. They were just starting to climb the first ridge, when Alan caught up with them. He had his pack and his bow with him.

  "May I walk with you?" Alan asked politely, "I am on my way to my cottage over in Tideswell in the peak forest."

  "Our pleasure."

  "Did they pay the fifty shillings?" asked Alan.

  "Yes"

  "The old man wasn't going to. Once Garrick was dead, he could no longer be a thrall. I wonder what changed his mind," said Alan.

  "Osgar paid it. He wanted it finished," answered John.

  "It was wise for you to leave quickly and quietly."

  "So we heard. Many men lost money on the shot," said John.

  "They lost it to me and my kin," said Alan matter of factly.

  "You bet on our tragedy?" There was an edge to John's voice.

  "I bet on Raynar's skill with that bastardized bow. At ten to one. I am not popular in town right now, but all my girl cousins now have dowries. I needed some time in the forest anyway. Too much town life corrupts a person."

  "We noticed," chuckled John, despite himself.

  * * * * *

  At the porter's glade, Raynar told the whole story to his Da and promised to take him to visit the grave. When Raynar handed him the purse of fifty silver shillings, the bent old miner threw it to the floor and started to weep. When he could speak again without sobbing he said, "It is not my coin, and it is not your coin. It is her coin. What would she have done with it?"

  "I suppose it would have been her dowry, though she didn't need it. John was ready to ask and with his parents blessing too, without any dowry." Raynar hung his head and looked down at the purse. "I will hide it until we have need of it, or until one of the local widows has need of it. They were, all of them, mothers to her." He picked it up and walked down passed the pools and into the trees.

  His Da died that winter as did most of the other injured miners living in the sanctuary of the porter's glade. Gwyn's mother announced to the hamlet that he had died from a broken heart. Without Leola to cheer him with her smile, he lost the will to live. Quietly and alone, she told Raynar that he and some of the other men had chosen to die using the warriors friend, the poisonous leaf of the ywen tree, rather than to endure more pain.

  In his sixteenth year Raynar had learned to read, lost his virginity, lost his sister, killed his first man, and lost his Da. He was a man with a reputation, and he was alone.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  THE HOODSMAN - Killing Kings by Skye Smith

  Chapter 7 - Mourning Rufus, Ytene Forest, Hampshire in August 1100

  His reminiscing about his sister Leola did not cheer his mood, but it did strengthen his resolve. He refused to die for executing a king who had caused the deaths of so many innocents. He would not die this day, and he certainly would not die for punching an arrow into an evil heart.

  He looked up to the sound of horns. Horns answering Rufus's hunting companions call for help. An acknowledgement and an encouragement to the companion to keep blowing his horn to direct whoever was coming.

  Horses and men were arriving at the corpse and still Raynar was trapped in his den. They seemed to arrive quickly, but Raynar had lost the sense of time. He listened to the noise of arrival and the yelling of the news of the death of the king. Only once the men had dismounted did he dare to shift a large leaf and take a peek. Now beside the corpse, there were five horses, with four well dressed horsemen and one verderer, presumably on foot.

  Henry bent over his dead brother to test for life. There was none. He pointed to the sword in Rufus's hand, as if the others had not noticed. He uncurled the fingers from the parchment, opened it and read it to himself. He looked in the purse at the golden seal and shoved the purse into his own tunic. Only then did he point to the blackened flight of the shaft that had killed his brother, the king.

  Henry handed the parchment to another who read out loud. "Repeal the Forest Law, Leave Wales, the Brotherhood" . The reader dropped low to the ground and moved quickly to his horse. By the time he swung around with his bow and a handful of arrows, the others too had dropped low to the ground and were searching the shadows with their eyes. Then they were all watching the verderer who was standing relaxed leaning against his bow, looking at the dead Rufus.

  "Sire," said the verderer in the low burr of the local English, "if this were a Hoodsman's work, then he will be half way to the next shire by now. It is not like them to hang about once the shot is taken. They shoot only at leaders, and race away to shoot again another day. They barely stop long enough to see if they hit their mark. Mind you, if he were looking for a second target it would be you, sire, and none of the rest of us."

  Henry, who had been slowly standing, ducked down again and asked, "You say IF this were a hoodsman?".

  The verderer bent beside Rufus and looked closely at the fletching of the killing arrow. "Well firstly, this arrow is a hunting arrow, not a war arrow. It was shot from a hunting bow, not a longbow. The fletching is not from dark feathers, but colored with charcoal. Easy enough for anyone to do. And look at the sword. With that heart shot, the poor man would not have had time to draw a swor
d. That was put in his hand by his killer, as was that parchment, and that purse."

  The verderer walked towards Henry who was still crouched low. "It is a strange archer that can write. A local ruffian would have taken his purse, his rings, his torque, and his neck chain. This archer left them all. A hired killer would at least have taken the rings to prove to his master that the job was complete. Aye, the killer is most likely a hoodsman, but was he acting for the cause, or was he hired by your brother's enemies?"

  He reached down and pulled Henry to his feet. "In any case, sire, the killer stalked his prey purposefully, and made no mistake with the shot, and by now is on yon far ridge catching his breath."

  Raynar looked at the faces of the other horsemen. From their blank looks, none spoke English save Henry.

  Henry motioned for them to come close to him. "This was an unfortunate hunting accident," he said in French in a weak voice. The other horsemen laughed. He cleared his throat and using a stronger tone he repeated, "This was an unfortunate hunting accident." The laughter stopped. He continued in the same forceful voice, " You will all swear to me now that this was an unfortunate hunting accident. Swear it. Swear it now." While waiting for the response, he said the same in English to the verderer. They all kneeled to him and so swore it.

  Henry turned to the verderer, motioned for him to stand, and switched to English. "Your name is Fenner, is it not?" The verderer stood to attention and barked, "Fenner Archer of Bradshaw, Sire".

  "Listen carefully, Fenner," Henry continued, "the horns of the other verderers and the dogs are closing on this place. I do not want them here now . Go and cut them off and lead them back to the lodge, staying clear of this place." He paused until Fenner finished nodding. "You must never speak of what you have seen here. No one must hear of this accident from your lips. Not the verderers, nor the folk at the lodge. "

  Henry paused again while he pulled the saddle roll from Rufus's horse and shook out a utilitarian hunter's cloak. Fenner helped him to cover the body with it. Then Henry continued his instructions. "Tell everyone that the king has returned to Winchester on urgent business, and that they are to pack up and go there." A pause and a nod. "Once they are packing up the lodge, you will hire a local cart and carry this body to Winchester Cathedral."

  The cloak was not long enough to cover the corpse so Henry made sure the face was covered. " There is no hurry. Keep the body hidden in the cart and guard him personally until you see me again. If he arrives still clothed and with his sword, then you will be a wealthy man in Winchester. Heed me well, as your life is at stake. Take the cart on a different road from the rest of the lodge folk. Take the other verderers with you as guards and keep them out of inns. Do you understand? Repeat it back to me."

  As Fenner repeated the instructions, Henry started counting out small gold coins for expenses. Fenner broke off his recital and said, "Sire, gold coins are useless to the likes of me. You have already counted out enough to buy me a new house. I would be clapped in chains as soon as I showed it. No one in a village or a market would have enough silver to make change. It is silver that is the true money of this land. Save the gold for Winchester. What I need now is silver to pay the carter and to pay for food and bridge tolls."

  Henry motioned the others to their feet and explained in French his need for small silver coins. Everyone fished in their purses, resulting in a collection of fifteen assorted coins. He handed them to Fenner and asked him to repeat his instructions once more. Fenner recited quickly and well and was then sent on his way to intercept the other verderers.

  The men all watched Fenner move silently through the woods. Someone asked, "Sire, what did the verderer say about a man named Hood?"

  Henry was staring again at the corpse. He had never liked his bully of an older brother and yet he was a part of him, and that part was now gone. "He said that any enemy of ours could have hired this killer. Enemies from here, or from Normandy, or from Wales, or from France, or the Danes. The killer is a woodsman who will not be found."

  He took the paper back from the man who had read it. "The Hood is not one man. It is a brotherhood of English freemen who punish our sheriffs and our bishops for their injustices. The bishops call them the Brotherhood of Robbers. The sheriffs call them the Brotherhood of the Longbow. The English call them the Hoodsmen, or the Robbing Hood, or simply the Hood."

  He read the words once more before stuffing the paper under his tunic. "They are driven men, forest men, who work alone and in secret. I expect they are landless and familyless because of us, and thus their goal is vengeance and nothing else. They are the most dangerous men of all. Men with nothing left to lose. If a Hoodsman did this, he could be a local, or from the next shire, or from the north, or from Wales. We will not find this one. We have better things to do than to look. Besides, we have all just sworn that he does not exist."

  "So," someone added, "he could have been any of the verderers, then. They meet your description. Arrest them all and execute them just to be sure."

  Henry thought and then replied. "No, the verderers from the lodge do not meet the most important point in the description. Our verderers have too much to lose, and therefore they are true to the hand that feeds them."

  When Fenner was completely out of sight Henry motioned to Rufus's hunting companion. "Walter Tirel," Henry's voice was calmer, smoother now. More in control. "Walter, you were with him. Hand me one of your arrows."

  Walter complied in a quick motion of his arm. Henry reached down to the killing arrow with his knife in his hand and snapped the shaft across the blade. He then took the shaft offered by Walter and snapped it in the same place. He handed the flight of the killing arrow and the point of Walter's arrow back to Walter, and placed the flight of Walter's arrow on Rufus's chest. " Now Walter, what is your story of how the tragedy happened? As you tell it to us now, so we all will tell it forever."

  Walter was silent, with his mouth open, and only a stutter on his lips. "What do you ask of me sire? Am I to say that it was my arrow that slew a king? Ordinary men do not kill kings and survive. Only the gods kill kings. What future would I have? My life would be forfeit. My lands and houses also. My family, should they survive, would suffer the poverty of outcasts. What do you ask of me? Why not tell the truth?"

  Henry put a hand on Walter's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "Walter, nobles kill kings all too frequently, but nobles all know that never, never, ever must it be known that common folk can kill a king. If common folk can kill kings, then they can also rise up and throw off the yoke of their lords. We have the right from God and the Pope to rule these English. Rufus led us, but he ruled them. Do you want every yokel with a bow to be thinking he can kill us? For that will be the outcome of the truth."

  He looked Walter straight in the eye. "Walter, I am your king now. You are now my man. No one can touch you. No one can call you false. No one can blame you for an accident. Your lands and family are safe and guarded by my power."

  One of the other horsemen crossed over to Walter and said, "Don't be a fool, Tirel. It is only by Henry's faith in you that you do not stand accused of the murder yourself. The truth is, you allowed the king in your care to be murdered. The easiest believable tale would be that you killed Rufus and we shot you in the back when you tried to escape. Instead Henry has assured your life. Stop stalling, man. It is your neck he is saving."

  Walter looked at the path and the bushes and the clearing and thought a few minutes before speaking. "I heard Rufus call out, a trouble call. I rode hard to his voice and saw him standing here with his sword drawn holding off a ten-point buck. A big bugger he was, with his rack down and ready to charge. I had no time to dismount, so I had to make the shot from horseback, from the brightness of the clearing over there, into the shadows here."

  Walter walked forward pantomiming his tale. "I drew my bow and loosed quickly, thinking that any strike on the buck would serve to turn him away from Rufus. The arrow hit the buck but glanced off his antlers. The buck bolted
as was my plan, and I gave chase to see if I could get a second shot. Only afterward, when I returned to Rufus, did I see that my arrow had glanced off the buck and straight into his chest. He was already dead. I howled in rage and then blew my horn in rage. That my arrow had killed my friend is something that will haunt me to the grave."

  "You have a silver tongue, Walter," Henry said as he looked around at the others, "It makes a good tale, and it is simple. It is believable because you are his closest friend and a fine archer. You were blameless in trying to save him. As for why Rufus was on foot with a sword rather than a bow, leave that for others to speculate. You were not there to see. So be it. Strike it to memory. I declare it true."

  He turned again to Walter. "Walter, the chains, torques, pins and rings that he wears are yours. Take them now, for they will not survive the cart journey to Winchester."