The Butcher of Blackbury

told by George the Bastard

All the new grogs, including me, had just about finished settling in to our new homes at Stranggore. It was crowded! Especially since Brian the Mad took away our day room to make space for Master Caballus's laboratory.

It was about a month after the Feast of the Assumption, still before harvest time. The magi had been preparing for a fortnight for some big wizard's parliament that only comes once every seven years. They talked of nothing else for a week. Then the day finally came and all six of them departed for Salisbury. They even took the girl, Merewen's apprentice. They took a handful of the grogs with them but for some reason they left several of the best fighters behind. That turned out to be lucky -- or maybe it was more than luck.

While the cat is away, the mice will play, as the saying goes. We were on our own with no crates of equipment to lug, no furniture to move, and best of all, no intelligent ravens hovering around watching our every move. So we were taking it easy. I was trying to fix up my own quarters comfortably. Most of the others were out fishing or just drinking ale and watching the clouds go by, which is pretty much the same thing but without the bother of fishing tackle.

Hardly anyone noticed two strangers arriving at the covenant. They were serfs by their shabby clothes and rustic speech. The village of Barstow isn't all that big: I knew most of the folk there already, and these were strangers, so they must have come from further away. They went straight to Junior's cottage so I assumed they had some business with the covenant, taxes or the like, and they wanted to stay away from Brian the Mad.

Before long, the boy, Joseph, came running with a message. Junior wanted to see me right away. I wondered who died and left him boss but I decided I was better off going along for now. Joseph also rounded up a couple more of our better fighters: Ugly Bill and John the Pedlar. John doesn't look like much, but I heard how he once saved Torkel from a half-dozen walking skeletons. He must know how to swing a sword. Now I knew something was afoot.

I took the lead and brought the other two up to Junior's door. I knocked and he called for us to enter. This was the first time I had seen the inside of Junior's quarters. They're big enough for a whole family of course, but very simple and sparsely furnished. It looks like, underneath, Junior really is the plain fighting man he claims to be.

The two strangers were from a village called Blackbury. They said their reeve, Robert, was formerly one of Stranggore's covenfolk, years ago. Junior called him Our Robert. Our Robert was calling for protection against a group of bandits who had robbed the peasants of Blackbury of their harvest last year. If they stole it again this year, the strangers said, there would be starvation in Blackbury. We asked a few more questions.

"How many bandits?" The villagers saw four, and those four said they had more.

"When will they come?" Right after the harvest is brought in and threshed.

"How were they armed?" The peasants' stories conflicted but we could make out they were pretty well armed and had one man on horseback.

Now, on one hand these villagers were strangers to me. I never met "Our" Robert and I couldn't say if he was a good man, or bad. Blackbury has a lord who's supposed to be responsible for its protection. On the other hand, I've never seen a Norman lord who lived up to his end of the bargain. These folk were friends of Junior and kin to Merewen. More than that, I despise those who prey on the poor and helpless. If Stranggore wanted us to drive off a rabble of bandits, I decided to see it done.

Junior simply told the three of us to go and defend the village. He wasn't coming along. He said we had to leave at least some fighters to guard the covenant. I suspect his real reason was that his aching old bones weren't looking forward to the journey. All of a sudden, the three of us against four bandits, one of them on horseback, didn't sound like such good odds. But Ugly Bill is a hard-boiled mercenary -- I could tell by the steel in his eyes -- worth any two bandits in a fight. Besides, I figured the bandits for cowards. If we could take out one or two in the first charge, the rest would surely scatter. I'm not sure Junior had the authority to give us orders, but with no magi around and no talking ravens either, he was the closest thing to a leader we had. Rather than challenge Junior's authority on the spot, I accepted the task, as did we all.

Our first order of business was to arm ourselves and gather provisions. John had his long Saxon knife, probably half as old as the covenant itself, but he doubted it could cut through armor so he wanted a sturdy thrusting dagger to go with it. We knew Stranggore had an armory stocked with enchanted swords and magic coats of mail and who knows what else, but with the magi gone, no one had a key to it. I'm not even sure there still is a key to the armory.

We also knew Brian the Mad has a huge stash of all kinds of furniture, utensils, and whatnot filling up one of the disused laboratories. Being mad, Brian doesn't let anyone else in there. But we know where he keeps his keys. John the Pedlar and I hatched a scheme where we distracted Brian by telling him Torkel had stolen something from his hoard, and while Brian went upstairs and shouted at Torkel, John broke into Brian's hoard. He came staggering out a few minutes later loaded down with loot: the dagger he had gone in looking for, to be sure, but also a double armful of other things, including a coat of mail! I hurried to help him get it all hidden before Brian got back.

Then, seeing that we had some time to spare -- Brian and Torkel were still arguing like an old married couple -- I nipped down to the wine cellar with Brian's keys and filled up the biggest wineskin I could find. We even had time to put Brian's keys back before he noticed anything was amiss. Getting provisions was a lot easier: John just told Bertha we were going on a mission and she filled up a satchel with fresh bread, cheese, even a couple of mutton pies.

John insisted on wearing that coat of mail despite me and Ugly Bill doing our level best to convince him it was too heavy and he should give it to one of us instead. He almost looked like a proper warrior once he put it on.

It was three days' march to Blackbury, and march we did because Stranggore has no horses. Something about the magi spooks them so there is no point in keeping any around. The first night out we camped by the roadside and passed that wineskin around. Those two villagers, Thomas and John I think their names were, told us all about their village. That took about five minutes. Seeing how Bill and I were new to the covenant we all talked about the magi. That's how the subject of Magister Caballus's Gauntlet came up: how Angus and Randolph faced down and ogre with the wizard at their side, Randolph got killed (at least the way I heard it; Randolph later insisted he had been "only mostly dead"), and they rescued a faerie princess and took her back to Faerieland. When they got there, her noble father granted each of her rescuers a wish, and Caballus used his to bring Randolph back from the dead. We all agreed that was mighty generous of Caballus and he was a righteous wizard if ever there was one. And of course Angus used his wish to get his pretty young wife, and we all agreed that was a wish well-spent indeed.

The peasants told us a story about three of their neighbors who one day went hunting and came across a beautiful naked woman in the forest. Of course they followed after her and were never seen again. I didn't have the heart to tell them about my own Highland Holiday, where Edgar the Good and I helped Magister Peregrine defeat just such a faerie witch on the Highland moors. It was then it hit me, we grogs are as powerful and mysterious compared to these peasants as the magi are compared to us. To them, an encounter with a faerie is a terrifying thing, about which they tell stories for generations. For us, it's part of our jobs. I've already done as much in my first few months of service to Magister Peregrine. All of a sudden my heart swelled with pity for these petty little villagers with petty little lives. Now I know why the magi call them "mundanes." Some may complain about a grog's life, but I tell you, these peasants face more hardship and yea, even more danger than we ever do, and when they come to the end of their lives of toil, they've never achieved anything and no one even remembers why they were here. May God grant me anything but that!

The second day we passed through an old and enchanted forest. I can hardly describe the foreboding of the place. The leaf canopy was so thick only a few rays of sunlight reached the forest floor: the rest was everlasting gloom. The thick and tangled undergrowth swallowed up all sound -- except at night, when all manner of unseen creatures gathered outside the light of our camp fire, crawling and slithering and growling and hooting. I spent half the night with my hand on my relic muttering prayers for safety and deliverance. For John and Thomas to have come through that alone, armed only with peasants' walking sticks, their need must be truly great.

I tried to lift everyone's spirits by telling the peasants good King Richard was released from captivity and bound for England in all haste. They were glad to hear it at first, but then Ugly Bill and his bad attitude rained on our parade, so to speak, and we were left huddled silently around the campfire, shivering with more than cold.

On the third day we reached the village, if you can call it a village. Blackbury is a mere hamlet of seven or eight houses. To compare it to a proper village is like comparing London to Constantinople. They do have their own little run-down mill in Blackbury, though. At first the villagers hid from us as if we were the bandits themselves, until John and Thomas fetched Our Robert (now even I am calling him Our Robert) and he coaxed them out of their hovels. How wretched, to live in such fear!

We could see straight away why the bandits found Blackbury such easy pickings. Not only was it tiny and remote, but all the young men were gone, conscripted by the Normans to fight in some war they'll never care about nor understand. Now the good part of that was there were a number of young lasses unattached. Bill took a liking to the miller's daughter, Libby I think her name was. There was another lass, Annie, whom the villagers had a habit of sharing her affections, and I admit I went after her straight away. There was a bit of comedy when John the Pedlar tried to help fix Bill up with Libby but the miller decided John was a better match. Pretty quickly Libby came around to the same way of thinking but John was having none of it.

John, I must add, is going to be rich some day. That man can sell just about anything and make a profit. He brought an armload of old junk from Stranggore -- a pewter pitcher and dishes and such that had just been sitting useless in Brian's hoard -- and traded them to the one man in Blackbury with two coins to rub together, the miller, for something we can actually use back home: three sacks of grain. The miller saw John's talent too, which is why he was so keen to match John up with his daughter, Libby.

We had a few days of fun and games with the maidens (and Annie), but only a few days. The harvest came due soon enough. I had a plan already hatched in my mind, that we would lie in wait near the storage barn and ambush the bandits when they came to collect. As the farmers started bringing in the corn I had a second idea. They must be spying on Blackbury every now and then so they would know when to collect. One of the young boys of the village had overheard the bandits talking as they scouted a week ago, right before they decided to send for us. So I figured they would be sloppy and lazy and come back exactly the same way to scout us a second time.

I knew Bill spent some time as a mercenary, which is the closest thing to a bandit that was ready to hand. Meaning no offense to Bill, I figured he would know how they think. So I sent him out to the woods to scout on the scouts. I'm proud to say this is the one idea I've seen Bill forget to naysay. He even said it was clever. The village boy showed us where he'd seen the bandits a week before, and sure enough on Bill's second patrol their scout came right back to the same spot. He was a ragged-looking fellow with leather armor and a battle-axe. He didn't see Bill but he must have heard something, because he got spooked and fast-marched out of there.

Now we were in a bit of a pickle. If the bandits knew there were warriors in Blackbury, their best move would be to leave and come back weeks later to rob Blackbury after we'd gone. They could just wait us out. We thought about all kinds of tricks to try to draw them out, from pretending to leave to pretending to rob the village ourselves. In the end we figured they now knew the harvest was in, and they'd either come back as soon as possible, or not at all. So I told all the village men to cut themselves quarter-staves and hide them out in the fields. If the bandits came tomorrow, they were to run out into the fields as if fleeing, then arm themselves and come back ready to fight. Remember, we'd heard tell of more bandits besides the first four, and if they called in reinforcements I wanted to have some reinforcements of our own.

As it turned out, the bandits did come back the next day. There were three of them, though we only saw two at the time. We had armed ourselves and hidden in the house next to the storage barn. In fact, we'd been waiting there since dawn's first light, and by mid-morning I was beginning to wonder if they were coming at all. But come they did: swaggering and cursing and shouting for Our Robert to hand over all the peasants' hard-earned harvest. He led them straight to the barn. My plan was for us to all gang up on one of the bandits and bring him down as fast as possible. That way, I figured, the others would lose their stomach for the fight. Most of the villagers were already running for the fields. As soon as Our Robert opened up the barn door, we sprang into action.

The plan went to hell within the first three seconds. Bill gave a big yell and jumped up too early, before the bandits' backs were turned. I suppose the yell was meant to scare them but what it really did was put them on their guard. For all Bill's jibes about me being old and worn-out, I was the first one into the fray by three or four paces at least. I slammed my spear into the nearest bandit but instead of it piercing his heart, his leather breastplate turned my point and it grazed along his ribs. Still, it cut through leather and bone and left an ugly wound.

The next thing I knew, the third bandit caught me by surprise. He was on the other side of the hamlet at the edge of the woods. He put an arrow into the meat of my thigh, and the crusty old armor from Stranggore's antiquity was brittle at that spot and hardly did anything to slow it down. Some storytellers get poetic at this point and describe the pain like burning fire or whatnot, but the fact is I barely felt it at the time. I only noticed because it almost knocked me down and I looked and saw a cloth-yard shaft pinned on me like a tail on a donkey. The burning fire was later, when the arrow came out.

Now Bill came screaming and brandishing his axe. With those burn scars on his face he looked like a demon straight from hell. He brought his axe down on the hapless bandit's shoulder and there was a sickening crunch and a spray of blood. Now John was at my side slashing at my opponent, and good thing too or he might have been on me before I'd recovered my guard.

Things happened fast after that. I was in a rage over being shot in the back and I went after the one who shot me. I couldn't believe it but the fellow stood his ground and tried to shoot me again as I was charging him. My shield works a lot better against attacks from the front, though. Then before I could get to him, he took to his heels and ran off into the forest. I went charging after him.

By that time Bill had hacked his opponent to a bloody pulp. John managed to cut his bandit again and knock him off his feet, after which the villagers came roaring back with their quarter-staves and swarmed all over him.

The archer-bandit was fleeing in a blind panic and I was hard pressed to keep up with him. It crossed my mind that if he ever got far enough ahead to turn and shoot another arrow, that would be the end of me. As he pulled ahead I hurled my spear and hit him in the arm. That put thoughts of turning to fight out of his mind, but I was also worried about him leading me to reinforcements. I decided to turn back and met Bill on the way back. He was covered in gore, but none of it was his own.

Bill pulled out the arrow and dressed my wound. He was so businesslike about it he must have done similar many times before. When I mentioned I could track down the elusive third bandit, Bill got a fire in his eyes and said we should do it right away. So for the first time, I tracked down an enemy. It's just like tracking a wounded boar or stag -- only easier. A half mile down the trail, the archer's trail crossed the tracks the two infantrymen had made on the way in. We followed those instead, knowing they would lead us to the bandit's camp.

The camp was deserted. It looked like there was space for only three men. They were very lean on provisions and equipment. Not very successful bandits, these. Even so, they had things the villagers could use: tarpaulins and an iron cooking pot and a few spare weapons. I wanted to loot the camp, but Bill had a better idea. He wanted to wait there for the third bandit to come back, then finish him off.

I figured Bill was more than a match for a wounded archer and he is better at sneaking and hiding than I am. So I limped back to Blackbury where I found John looting what was left of the bandits' bodies. The two of us wait till evening and then went back to check on Bill, with me singing a merry tune so Bill wouldn't ambush us and hack us to bits by mistake. Apparently the archer-bandit was a cagey fellow, for he had approached the camp while Bill was there but never entered. All we found was a blood trail that died at the edge of a little brook a hundred yards away. So one of them got away. I'll wager he's lost his liking for the bandit's trade, though, what with his two comrades lying in unmarked graves outside of Blackbury. We never did see the horseman. Bill says he probably rode off with the lion's share of the loot months ago, maybe right after the end of last year's pillaging. Maybe he'll assemble a tougher band of cutthroats and come back some day. Maybe he's swinging from a rope at some distant crossroads right now. I can only hope the latter. John is only disappointed we didn't get a chance to capture the fourth bandit's horse.

We returned to Blackbury to a hero's welcome, and later on Annie gave me a hero's reward. There was much singing and dancing and merriment late into the night. That field dressing Bill gave me held up through all the ... festivities.

We left the next morning loaded down with those big sacks of grain John had traded for, plus lots of little gifts from the villagers: a basket of cherries, some smoked salmon, that sort of thing. Even though that sack of grain weighed me down like a bloody millstone and I had a fresh arrow-wound in my thigh, I hobbled with a spring in my step as we headed home. My comrades -- and now I call them comrades -- had stuck together through hardship and battle. John had eased our welcome in Blackbury and helped us get enough supplies to last through the winter. Bill had put his nefarious skills at sneaking and ambushing to good use. And I -- I had hatched plans that actually worked and got men to follow them, more or less, in battle. More than all that, we had saved a bunch of defenseless peasants from robbery and starvation. We had made a difference. And we had done it all without the magi telling us what to do.

Anyway, that's the story of how Bill Forester got his new nickname: Bloody Bill, the Butcher of Blackbury.