The Hoodsman - Killing Kings Read online

  Walter bent over the body and slowly collected the gold and jewels. Meanwhile, Henry translated the orders he had given to Fenner for the benefit of the rest. When he next looked back at the body, Walter was holding forth Rufus's large signet ring.

  Henry did not take it. Instead he grabbed Walter's wrist and pulled him to his feet. "Walter, stand up. You are to Normandy, to Rouen today. Go now and go directly. Your words, your story, must be the first that they hear of this. Take the fastest ship in the harbour. As soon as you land, spread the word officially in my name of this tragic accident. Tell Normandy that I have been crowned here with no opposition. Use that ring to seal your words as true."

  Henry paused and thought, hoping for suggestions from the others. None came so he continued. "Aubigny is in Rouen this summer with his sons. Tell them to ensure the castles and forts are in friendly hands. If they are unsure of the loyalty of a garrison, then they are to order those men to the French border as reserves in case Philip decides to take advantage of our tragedy here." He looked around again at the others. "Anything else that Walter can do across the Manche?"

  "And your brother Robert?" Walter asked.

  Henry replied after a pause, "Robert is still on crusade. His knowledge of my crowning will be delayed, but once he knows he will make directly for France to get Phillip's help in enforcing his own claim to the throne via the Accession Treaty that both he and Rufus signed."

  Everyone else waited for him to continue. They were awaiting orders from their new king. "Communications are slow. Ships are slower. He will be too late. The rest of us ride now to Winchester to secure the treasury. While Robert was crusading, he was dependant on Rufus for coin. I will stop those payments and keep it all until his intentions are clear. And if you, Walter, ensure the main castles are friendly to me, then I would think that Robert will see the sense of resuming his crusade in the Holy Lands. But first I must secure England. With England secure, then I can decide on what to do in Normandy."

  Again Walter had a question. "And what of Wales, and the marches, and what of this brotherhood? This brotherhood has killed the king. Is this the start of a plague of rebellions?"

  Raynar stilled himself to hear every word of the answer.

  Henry had tried before to gain power by strategy and intrigue, only to be foiled by his brothers. He was now on the edge of total power, and his mind was launching down paths of strategy, as in a game of chess. He felt a surge of power as he stood above his brother's corpse.

  "My father had a plan to bring the Hood to heel, but his barons rejected the plan as an affront to chivalry. The power of Wales and of the Hood is the power of their longbows. Their bodkins pierce the finest armour. A freeman costing me a silver penny a week is a match for any knight with a hundred crowns invested in horse and armour and supporting retainers."

  "Agreed," concurred Walter, "these peasant bows are a threat to chivalry. They nullify the heavy cavalry that keeps us in power."

  "My father once hired some bowmen and sent them to the French border. They did great harm to the French knights at their will, until in the name of chivalry our Norman knights refused to protect them and left them be slaughtered. I mean to hire every bowman who will taste my salt and send them to Scotland, and to France. I will protect them with shieldmen and pikemen and they will deliver to me victory upon victory without beggaring my purse. If they are a plague on the Scots and the French, then they will no longer be here to plague me."

  Raynar's brain hummed. He knew the truth of Henry's words. He had lived it. But how would Henry's plan unfold?. Was this good or bad for his England of villages and folk? For his brotherhood? For their kin? Should he leap up now and loose a shaft though Henry's heart? He would only get one shot before he himself was cut down. He lay back frustrated by his own indecision. He well knew that indecision was also a decision. He cleared he mind and tried to think clearly. Cause and effect. Short term, Long term. By closing his eyes and forcing his mind to be still, he could better hear and translate the French words.

  It was Henry's voice again. "Walter, mount up and be gone. Wherever I am I will organize daily messengers to you in Rouen so that we both know all that happens on both sides of the Manche. God speed." The sound of hooves marked Walter's departure. There were no more words until the sound of Walter's hooves were distant.

  Someone said, "So did he kill Rufus, and if so, for whom?"

  Someone else said. "Can you doubt it Breteuil, of course he did. His wife's father is Fitz Gilbert who was with Odo de Bayeux in the rebellion of '87 against Rufus. He is Robert's man. I would wager that Robert is already back from the Holy land and in France, and this is part of a plan for him to claim the throne under the Accession Treaty."

  Henry's voice was easier to translate. "You may be right, fitzHaimo. Walter had the opportunity and the skill to do it, though I think it more likely that it was the Hood. I watched Walter's face and there was no guile there, only fear. The Hood hated Rufus as much as they hated my father. At the lodge we were a small party by design. We wanted to be able to talk freely of Robert's return. Rufus would not have invited Walter if he were Robert's man. Our being a small party gave the Hood the opportunity, and they made good on it."

  Henry paused. No one else spoke, so Henry continued. "However, whether Walter did it or no, my wager would be that he stays in Normandy only so long as it takes him to cross it, to his lands in Poix, in France. In any case, he is a pawn, and not worth worrying about. I have given him leave to do what he would have done in any case, and flee across the Manche. If he is true with me, then good. If not, then it will go badly for him. Come, mount up. We must be away to Winchester with all speed. Control of the treasury is vital. With it I can buy the loyalty of London, and buy a bishop's blessing while he crowns me."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  THE HOODSMAN - Killing Kings by Skye Smith

  Chapter 8 - Getting Away With It, Ytene (New) Forest in August 1100

  Raynar listened to the horsemen saddle up and hurry on their way, and then silence. He rolled out of his hidey hole and sat up facing the corpse. They were quite alone. He cursed softly. They had left so quickly that he had no chance to kill Henry. He was now convinced that his indecision had been an error. His life for Henry's would have been a good trade. Good for the villages and for the folk. An overwhelming sadness was pressing on his chest.

  Sadness not for William Rufus the king, who richly deserved death many times over, countless times over, due to the famines caused by his taxes, and the executions caused by his crushing laws. How many children had starved so he could buy Normandy from his brother, or so his brother Robert could wave his sword at the Mussulmen?

  Sadness not for William Rufus the man, as he had lived a full and licentious life, unlike his subject folk who knew nothing other than endless hungry toil in the fields.

  And not for William Rufus the warrior with whom he once stood shoulder to shoulder, facing a charge, because for a warrior to die is normal and he had outlived most of the thousands that fought under his banners.

  He was sad because taking this life had not changed anything. Henry had instantly replaced him and he would be equally burdensome to the common folk of this land. The "manor born" class would continue to bleed the folk to pay for their fine houses and fine clothes and fine weapons. The children would still be hungry while slogging to bring in the good harvests, and they would still die when the harvests were bad.

  "No, that is not true!" Raynar yelled at the corpse. and then quieted "There is a difference. Rufus, you were evil and foolish and getting worse every year. Henry's reign cannot be worse. Perhaps he learned something today that will make him rebalance his rule and rebalance the food. Perhaps his accession will be contested due to the treaty, because of it the Normans will destroy each other in Normandy and leave the rest of us alone. Perhaps he will use English bowmen to slaughter Robert's Norman knights and thereby lighten the yoke of taxes that keep Robert's army in the Holy Land.
"

  He should not be sad, he should be relieved. This day was not unfolding as expected. By now, whether his arrow had hit or missed, he expected to be a man on the run. A man chased by professional hunters and soldiers and perhaps even hounds. By now he should have been fleeing through dense thickets where horsemen could not go, and along the creek beds in order to hide his scent from the dogs.

  He had planned for two days' hiding on the northern edge of the forest before making his way back to his stash of city clothing down near the Romsey road. He had expected that the direct roads from here to Winchester would be watched, so he had planned on traveling at night only, and for two days northward into the comparatively empty downs of Wiltshire, before turning South and East to Winchester.

  Instead he was alone with a still corpse in a still forest. No hue and cry, no howling dogs. No one cared about Rufus the corpse, who yesterday was the most important man in the land. No one was seeking vengeance. No one was applying the law. Instead of now being in a panic and in a hurry, he was the only one who wasn't. Tirel was in a hurry to get to the continent. Henry was in a hurry to secure the treasury. They were in a race against the news of the king's death reaching the people.

  He moved to the corpse and pulled back the cloak. He picked up the broken shaft with multicolored fletching and threw it into the bushes. He returned to his hide hole and reached in to retrieve his bow and quiver. On a thought he patted his clothing for the purses and found none. He dove back under the bushes and pulled out the purses laughing to himself. "Purses don't stay in place without a belt."

  After striding over to where he had made his stand, he picked up and fastened the sling as a belt. He found the unused lead shot and pulled the remaining arrow from the deer shit. He scored an arrow shaft with his knife and snapped it in two, and then snapped off the point for use on a new arrow. Back at the corpse he laid the black arrow shaft on the body and pulled the cloak back into place. From his purse he retrieved a second parchment, the same as the first but a messy first draft, and put it into Rufus's now empty left hand.

  He shouldered his gear, stowed his purses and looked over the area to ensure he hadn't left anything. "That black arrow should get the verderers' tongues wagging, and the carters', and the priests' at the cathedral as well," he thought. "I will spread the word at inns along the way to help the news travel." He imagined the scene of a town crier yelling out the news, "Hear ye, Hear ye: The Norman king William Rufus has been killed like a dog by an English bowman, a Hoodsman."

  Finished, he started his hike back to the tree on the ridge. He was thinking hard as he walked. "Everything that Henry had said indeed made sense. The news that the Hood had killed the king must get out. Such news will make an immediate difference to the folk. All the Normans in this land and in Normandy will be keeping to their castles and manors for protection. Times of succession are risky times for them. Times when they won't sleep at night. Times when they will stay home instead of riding out to badger the real folk. The real folk may even be left in peace and allowed some happiness."

  He kept his mind busy pondering the other changes, both immediate and for the rest of the year, that might result from his deed today. Thoughts such as, "What if the Forest Law is repealed or at least partially repealed? What if peace comes to the Welsh border and marches? What if the rule of folk-right came back, along with folkmoots and shiremoots as the legal courts for local law?"

  The more Raynar thought, the wider he realized were the implications of his deed. Everything became surreal as if he was walking in a dream. He had just killed one of the most powerful men in Christendom. "What if the balance of power of Christendom was changed, would there be invasions and major wars?" He began to feel dizzy and unwell.

  Only five days had passed since the morning in Winchester when he had accidentally learned that the tyrant Rufus was going on a hunting trip without his normal retainers and guards. Five days of a simple plan based on his patience, his woodcraft, and his skill with a bow. The simple plan had worked better than he had ever expected. Rufus was dead and the Norman world had been turned on its head.

  His own head was buzzing and he was shaking all over, and he was forced to lean against a tree and retch. After washing his mouth out with the last of his water,he felt much better. He left the shadows and stood in the warm sunlight until he stopped shaking.

  His mind started filling with thoughts again. "Henry won't dare enter the forests for fear of an arrow, a hundred arrows, a thousand. " He wondered how many thousands of bowmen now knew the creed of the brotherhood.

  * Hunt alone.

  * Strike a leader.

  * Vanish.

  * Never tell.

  * Gold buys chains.

  As for today's deed, he was now up to Vanish, and Never Tell. He automatically patted his purse. Never telling was always the hardest to do, because that task was never ending. Never telling was forever. It was so hard to keep quiet, especially for Raynar, who enjoyed his skills as a story teller.

  Although he had cursed himself for not vanishing immediately after he shot the arrow, he now realized how much better off he was to have overheard Henry's plans. It not only told him that he would not be pursued, but it also gave him a direct insight into the problems that Henry and all Normans now faced.

  The creed was designed to keep alive an ongoing independent resistance to the Norman invasion. A resistance that did not need leaders or armies or costly weapons and armour. A resistance that would survive because it could be joined by anyone.

  It was kept alive by those who refused to just suffer the invaders. As he walked along he wondered how many of the Hood knew when, and where, and by whom the creed was created. He knew. He was there at the beginning. Most of the others from that time and place were now dead.

  It was back in '66, after the fyrd had been ordered to disband, rather than finish off the Normans. Oh, and yes the fyrd could have finished Duke William off. By then the tactics of fighting heavy cavalry had been figured out and they had been training themselves in how to drag those Norman knights down off their coursers and slaughter them. Ah, but then the politics of the Pope's bishops took a hand, and they favoured the Normans, and the fyrd had been dispersed so that the Normans could ravage the South.

  The original brotherhood was formed between the scouts of the English army. They were the skirmishers who were already using hit and run tactics to weaken the enemy, and their main target was to kill their leaders. When the orders came to disperse, they had created the brotherhood and with it, the oath that would keep what they had seen and learned forever fresh in their minds.

  There had been many versions of the creed in the early days, but the longer versions slowly became simplified. Rules such as "never harm women and children" and "Take from the rich and give to the poor" were dropped as the creed evolved. After all, women and children would not be the leaders so therefore under the simplified creed they would not be targets.

  Then there was the last point of the creed. Gold buys chains. This was a warning that if you suddenly showed a lot of wealth, you would be noticed and caught. It was better to give the wealth away to those in need, than to be caught because of it.

  Gold buys chains. Over the years it was that last point that had been used to sound out strangers to find out if they were of the Hood. A simple pun or a jest or a side remark that used the three words was a clue, a lure that you could cast to see if the stranger knew the creed.

  Raynar chuckled to himself. Of course, and he of all people had missed it just now. That old verderer Fenner had put 'gold buys chains' into his discussion with Henry. Was Fenner another Hoodsman? Was he warning me because he knew I was still there? Was he mocking me for not being miles away? He certainly did me a good deed by telling Henry that I was long gone and that they would never catch me.

  He was suddenly feeling much better. The uneasiness and surrealness had left him. He stepped up the pace and even started to whistle. He stopped mid-tune as soon as he realiz
ed that he had been whistling and he ducked off the path and into the shadows to watch and listen. Fool.

  He chuckled again and remembered how when he was in Constantinople, his whistling would gather odd looks from the myriad of cultures in the markets of that mother of all cities. It was as if only the English whistled tunes. Other cultures only whistled warnings.

  His mind was so filled with new ideas and old memories that he missed the game trail that would lead him to the toe of his ridge. He had no choice but to back track. Even then it took him three tries before he found the game trail that led him to the mossy trickle of drinking water. By the time he was trotting along the ridge path and peering down at the hunting lodge, the heat of the day was full upon him.

  The tents were down and there was a lot of activity. There was no cart and no sign of verderers or men at arms. He kept out of sight and walked onward to the giant oak where he had spent the night. His cloak and bundle were still in the bushes by the ancient tree. Shading his eyes, he looked to the northeast to pick out landmarks that would lead him back to the Romsey cartway. Before he started down he took note of the angle of his shadow.

  By the time he found the trail to the main cartway, the heat of the day was finished and the shade was cooling down. The trail joined the cartway near a ford and footbridge over some unnamed brook. Upstream and around a bend from the ford there was a pool where the water was slower and deeper, and beside the pool was the hollow tree where he had stashed his traveler's pack and his city clothes.