The Hostility of Hanno: An Outlaw Chronicles short story by Angus Donald Read Free Book Online

Incarnation eleven hundred and ninety-four, the fifth year of the reign of King Richard,
     and a magnificent spring morning. The fruit trees were still adorned with the remains of their delicate lacy blossom, the
     grass on the verges glowed vivid green, birds called and swooped about the column, men smiled for no particular reason, the
     sky was a deep, innocent blue, with a scattering of plump clouds. The world seemed fresh and new and filled with possibilities;
     and I was on a mission of great import and no little danger for my beloved King.
    Because Robin had been wounded, as had his huge right-hand man ‘Little’ John Nailor, I had been given the honour of leading
     a company of a hundred of Robin’s men to Normandy as part of King Richard’s army. I had never had sole command of such a force
     before, and I have to admit that the feeling was intoxicating: I felt like a mighty warlord of old; the leader of a band of
     brave men riding forth in search of honour and glory.
    The bold Locksley men of my war-band were a mixed force of roughly equal numbers of men-at-arms and archers – all of them
     well mounted. The men-at-arms were lightly armoured but each was the master of a deadly lance twice as long as a man. In addition
     to his lance, each cavalryman had been issued with a protective padded jacket, known as an aketon or gambeson, a steel helmet
     and sword, and a thick cloak of dark green that marked them out as Robin’s men. Many of the men had additional pieces of armour
     that they had provided themselves: old-fashioned kite-shaped or even archaic round shields, iron-reinforced leather gauntlets,
     mail coifs and leggings and the like, scraps of iron, steel and leather, strapped here and there to protect their bodies in
     the mêlée; and many had armed themselves with extra weapons that ranged from long knives and short-handled axes to war hammers
     and nail-studded cudgels.
    The mounted archers were mostly Welshmen who boasted that they could shoot the eye out of a starling on the wing. The bowmen
     had each been issued with a short sword, gambeson, helmet and green cloak, as well as a six-foot-long yew bow, and had two
     full arrow bags, each containing two dozen arrows, close at hand.
    Under a billowing red linen surcoat emblazoned over the chest with a wild boar in black, I was clad in a full suit of mail
     armour – an extremely costly gift from Robin. The mail, made of interlocking links of finely drawn iron, covered me from toe
     to fingertip, saddle seat to skull, in a layer that was very nearly impenetrable to a blade. I had a long, beautifully made
     sword, worth almost as much as the armour, hanging on my left-hand side, and a very serviceable, long triangular-bladed stabbing
     dagger, known as a misericorde, on the right of my belt. A short, flat-topped wood-and-leather shield that tapered to a point
     at the bottom was slung from my back, painted red – or gules, as the heralds would have it – and decorated in black with the
     same image of a walking or
passant
wild boar as adorned my chest, an animal I had long admired for its ferocity in battle and its enduring courage when faced
     with overwhelming odds. I was proud of my new device, which, since I had been knighted – by no lesser personage than King
     Richard himself – I was now entitled to bear, and which I had formally registered with the heralds. A conical steel cap with
     a heavy nose-guard and a long ash lance with a leaf-shaped blade completed my panoply.
    We had sailed from Portsmouth in the middle of May, after a delay of several days due to bad weather, and landed at Barfleur
     to tremendous celebration from the Norman folk, overjoyed at the return of their rightful Duke. On that fine spring day, a
     week later, trotting south-east out of Lisieux on my tar-black stallion Shaitan, I felt the familiar lapping of excitement
     in my belly – I would soon be going into battle for the first time on Norman soil and taking my sword