Thorrington and London Mid-September 1068
Alan shifted his grip on the sword hilt and stepped forward, bashing his shield into his opponent before launching a series of powerful overhand blows which sent the other man reeling. He then stepped back to observe his opponent reposition himself and shouted, “No you stupid bastard! Why are you pointing your sword at the ground? It’s not a fucking shovel! Keep your sword in the proper position! You can't be tired yet as we’ve only been going for five minutes! That footwork isn’t what I showed you. You can’t swing the sword properly if you’re unbalanced. Keep your feet a shoulder-width apart and step with one and then the other foot to keep your balance, instead of jumping around like a bloody hare! Now let's do it again!”
Moments later, after performing several beat-parries to deflect his opponent’s sword, he crashed the hilt of his sword into the face of the young man, making sure that the blow was delivered by his leather-gauntleted fist so as not to smash the youngster’s face. The young man stepped back to clear his head, a spray of blood from his nose as he shook his head. “That's enough of that for the moment. We’ll work on your technique more tomorrow.”
Alan was training six new members of the fyrd in basic sword technique and fighting, and this was the youths’ third half-day of training. He then addressed the whole group. “Fighting in the line is different to what we’ve done so far. You don’t have the room to move to put yourself in a better position or disadvantage your opponent. You are crammed in tight with a man at each side and men behind. Also the footing is usually treacherous, with bodies and equipment lying everywhere. In the line you fight as a unit, not individuals. The men in the line provide mutual support. If you get killed because you can’t handle a sword, that's tragic. If you kill one of your companions because of your mistake, that's unforgivable.
“Udell, you stand there. Eadwold stand to his left. Averil you stand on his right and Wulfhere behind him. Putnam, you stand on my left and Dreogan to my right. Eadgard, you pick a spear from the rack and stand behind me. Wulfhere, you get a spear also. Stand half a pace apart so that you're not crammed in tight. Most of your opponents will be right-handed and have their shield on the left.
“Now we’ll just walk through this. You’re each responsible for the man to your front. If you can provide support to the man on each side, without getting yourself killed, you do that. You have to be aware of what every man within three paces of you is doing, as each one of them can kill you. You can’t fixate your attention on one man. Now Putnam, Dreogan and myself step up. Putnam and Dreogan you push your shields against those of Averil and Wulfhere, but watch what I’m doing. I can step forward to my opponent easily enough, but moving back is difficult because Eadgard is in the way. Udell’s shield is on my sword-side, and mine the same for him as we face each other.” Alan had made a slow wide overhead forehand sweep of his sword, clipping Dreogan, who was standing to his right, on the helmet. He then did the same with an overhead backhand blow, narrowly missing Putnam. “As you just saw, there’s no room for flashy swordplay and you’re more likely to kill your comrades than your opponents. Keep the sword low, hit them with your shield and try to stab them in the guts. You’re fighting a battle, not a duel. If your opponent is put out of the fight, even for a few moments, you can assist the man on your right.
“Udell, you are dead. Step back for moment. Now you can see Eadwold’s unprotected side is open to me. He’s concentrating on Dreogan and I would have a moment or two before the next man steps in front of me to do this.” Here Alan took a diagonal step with his right foot and performed a lung-thrust to Eadwold’s stomach. “Note how I've kept my shield protecting my left side, which my movement has made vulnerable. Also note I’m on Averil’s left and he can't hit me without turning, taking at least half a step and exposing himself to the man on my left. If he tries to hit me without moving, it would be a very weak blow on the backhand, with him being off-balance. The chances of me being injured in this case while killing Dreogan’s man are slight. Unless,” here Alan gestured to Wulfhere with a sharp inward motion of his right hand, “There is a spearman behind either of the three nearest opponents, in which case I'm in trouble. My shield should protect me from a man either standing where Wulfhere is at the moment, or behind Eadwold.” Here Alan waved Wulfhere to stand behind Averil and continued, “But where he's standing now, I’m a dead man.” Wulfhere pushed slowly forward with his spear, gently hitting Alan in the chest as he remained extended in his lunge towards Averil. “I say again, you must be aware of what everybody within three paces is doing and what weapons they have. I may have killed Averil, but that doesn’t console my widow. Keep yourself alive!”
Alan noticed that his steward Faran had come on to the training ground and obviously wanted to speak to him. “That’s enough for today. We’ll do some more mutual-support training tomorrow. Also, tomorrow I’ll show you some ways to deal with a man who is using the two-handed axe. Brand here will help demonstrate. Make sure you wear brown trousers.” Here Alan indicated the massively-built huscarle who was standing watching. “I’ll get Brand to take over now and I'll see what Faren wants. Spend another half an hour in one-to-one swordsmanship and then break for the meal. Brand please take over.
“What is it, Faran?” he asked his steward.
“There’s a young lad presented himself at the Hall. He’s absolutely filthy. He insists on seeing you but won't say what it's about. He says he’s your man.”
Alan frowned in puzzlement, shrugged and walked to the weapons rank, where he replaced the training sword and shield before doffing his helmet, turning his back to Faran and raising his arms for the steward to untie the buckles and leather thongs on the mail hauberk and assist in pulling the forty pounds of metal off over Alan’s head. Wearing his rust-stained and sweat-soaked padded gambeson and a pair of woollen trews he walked into the Hall.
Waiting there was a youth about fourteen years of age. He was small in stature, lean almost to the point of emaciation, dirty and wearing clothes that were little better than rags. But his face looked familiar. Alan stared at him closely, before the lad said, “My name’s Linn, my lord.”
Alan nodded to indicate his recollection and pointed to the door to the left at the end of the Hall. “Go into my office and sit on the bench next to the table,” he instructed. “Faran, get some food and drink for the lad. Some bread, cheese and beer will do for the moment and he can eat with the servants when we have the midday meal shortly.”
A few minutes later Alan was sitting in a chair in his office, with a quart jug of ale in his hand to quench the thirst caused by his morning's exertions, and watched the youth wolf down the simple fare that he had been provided on a wooden platter. “So what did you and the other man, Pierce, find out when fitzWymarc released you last year to act as spies amongst the bandits?” he demanded in an abrupt manner.
The boy spoke through a mouthful of food, “Well, my lord, as you know I sent word that I'd been sent to the south and that Pierce had run as soon as he was freed. I tried to pass on information to the sheriff, but I don't know if it was received nor did I get any response, so I gave up after a while. Sending messages by other people was too damn risky. Now I’ve been sent back with another band, led by a man named Eadwyn. They are eight of them in the forest near Alresford, using the same deserted woodcutter's cottage used by the last band. Two have brought their women and there’s a young lass who they seized in Lexden Hundred who is kept in thrall. She’s about my age. She’s badly used by the men and the other women use her as a servant.”
“How long have they been there?” asked Alan.
“A little less than a week, my lord. They haven’t started waylaying any travellers yet and have restricted themselves to stealing a few pigs from the sties of the local cottars while they get themselves familiar with the area and the boltholes where they can hide. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to slip away, as a leader wants me to steal some wine for him from the tavern.”
Alan spent several minutes questioning the boy about the bandits’ daily routine. “Linn, I’m glad that you remained true to the promise you made when you were released after being caught previously. I’ll lead some men to the woodcutter's cottage and we’ll attack at dawn in two days. Make sure that you and the captive lass stay out of the way when we kick in the door. Now, I’ll get my steward to give you a decent meal, which you look like you could use, and two skins of poor quality wine such as you would expect in a village tavern. I’ll see you at dawn the day after tomorrow.”
It was half an hour before dawn as Alan crouched behind bushes a hundred paces from the abandoned woodcutter’s cottage in a clearing in the forest near Alresford. With him were ten of his own men, including Brand and Edric, and thegn Edward of Alresford with four of his men. It was Edward’s land and Alan had thought it politic to advise him of the situation and invite him to participate in the punitive expedition.
“Remember, there are eight bandits, a lad who’s on our side and three women. One of the women is a captive and she is to be left unharmed. So is the lad, Linn. We don’t know which of the three women is the girl, so don’t hurt any of the women. Several of us saw Linn the other day and we’ll go in first. Myself, Brand, Edric, Aeldrid, Thrydwulf, Redwald and thegn Edward. It’s only a small one room cottage so there’s no space for any more. Four men remain outside the door in case any dash out. You, you, you and you. The others, who are the archers, I want at the edge of the tree-line. These men are bandits and, except for the boy and girl, I don’t care if they survive to see the sun rise. Preferably not, as that would save the trouble of a trial. Right! It’s first light, so let’s kick arse!
The darkness was indeed just relieved by a tinge of grey as Alan stood outside the door of the cottage and nodded to Brand. The huge huscarle raised a booted foot and with one massive kick smashed in the rotten wooden door. The assault party stormed in, all wielding the seax large fighting-knife in preference to a sword- better for use in the confined space. Inside was almost pitch black and the attackers found their targets by stumbling over them as the latter rose groggily and shocked from the vermin-infested straw palliasses on which they had slept.
A hastily-lit torch was carried in by the last of the assault team and provided the required illumination. The bandits had been taken completely by surprise and had little opportunity to resist. Four men and one woman lay dead. Alan had no quarrel with his men about the fate of the woman, as in the darkness any figure standing had been fair game. In a corner Linn was lying atop a woman, holding her down and talking quietly in her ear. The other four men and one woman were quickly bound and thrown outside, where they lay supine and in shock. Alan stepped over to Linn and gave him a hand to rise, before slapping him on the shoulder. Linn in turn helped the girl up. She was thirteen or fourteen and would have been reasonably comely if not covered in filth, wearing dirty rags, with her hair matted and tangled.
“This is Eab? the lass I told you about,” said Linn, as the girl clung to him like a limpet.
Alan nodded. “The cooking place appears to be outside. Is there anything fit to eat here?” he asked prosaically.
“Not much. There’s a part-joint of swine-flesh over there, but not enough for your men,” replied Linn.
“No matter, we brought some rations. Come outside and have some cold smoked meat, bread and cheese. We have a few skins of ale. We’ll take this filth off to Thorrington for trial and hanging. Which one is Eadwyn?” Linn pointed to a corpse lying in a pool of blood. “Pity,” said Alan. “He might have had some information we could use. Never mind! Perhaps the others know something.”
They were back at Thorrington by midday. The captives, including the remaining woman, were placed manacled and under guard in the Tithe Barn. Alan and thegn Edward wanted justice to be swift and messages were sent out for a trial the next day. The idea was to have a fair trial and the captives hanged as soon as possible. Linn and Eab? were instructed to bathe and were provided with fresh clothes, food, drink and a place to rest.
At mid-morning the next day Leofstan, the thegn of Little and Great Holland and the largest land-holder in the Hundred after Alan, called to order the court sitting in the Old Hall at Thorrington. With him on the bench were Brictmer of Great Bromley and Edwold of Alresford, the latter one of the several thegns who held lands in that village. Alan and Edward of Alresford were not on the bench as they were likely to be called as witnesses. Osmund was acting as clerk, providing a written record of the evidence.
The defendants were arraigned and their names and villages of origin ascertained. Leofstan adjudged them as not being oath-worthy, being caught in brigandage. Being from outside the Hundred they had no frithboghs or relatives to speak for them.
The allegations were first put to the four men and they were given the chance to speak, despite not being allowed to give sworn evidence. None admitted the charges, but nor did they have a convincing reason as to why they had been staying at an abandoned cottage in the middle of a forest many leagues from their own villages.
Linn was called, adjudged oath-worthy despite his young age and not having any local relatives, sworn in and gave evidence as to what he knew of the men and their depredations elsewhere, and their theft of livestock locally. Eab? although again not a local lass, was again adjudged oath-worthy and gave evidence as to her abduction and subsequent abuse. The men were allowed the opportunity of rebuttal, again without any convincing statements.
One of the women, Aedilhild, was called and adjudged oath-worthy. She said that she had joined with one of the men several months before and had not participated either in any brigandage nor abuse of Eab?. Leofstan, although usually a very conscientious judge, was just going through the motions of providing justice as this was an ‘open and shut’ case. As lunchtime neared he called an end to proceedings. He wanted to eat a fine meal at the New Hall and be home by dark.
Leofstan, Brictmer and Edwold, together with the clerk Osmund retired to the Judge’s Chamber at the end of the Hall. They were accompanied, in a breach of proper legal procedure, by Alan and Edward.
In the Judge’s Chamber was a table set with pints of ale, two jugs of good French wine, cups and a large platter of nuts, fresh fruit, candied orange, dried dates and cheeses. Each helped themselves as was their inclination.
“Well, it seems straightforward enough,” commented Leofstan. “I move that the four men are guilty of kidnapping, rape, theft and brigandage. All in favour? Well that was easy. Alan, can you arrange the tree, rope and boxes? Now as to the woman Aedilhild, that’s more difficult. She’s probably not, strictly speaking, guilty of any offence as she has the defence of being under the control of her man, although they were not married. However, I don’t think she should go unpunished. What do you think, Brictmer and Edwold?”
Brictmer replied, “I agree. She did participate of her own free will, even if she has a legal defence to the more serious charges. I suggest that she be convicted of assault of the woman Eab? and be ordered to pay bot of twenty shillings and in absence of ability to pay have one ear cut off, with her to abjure the shire. With that she’ll be getting off lightly as she was a willing participant to all that was done.”
The others agreed and they walked back out into the Old Hall, where Leofstan announced the judgment, to the delight of the assembled onlookers, who were looking forward to the entertainment of the hanging.
The official party removed themselves to the New Hall, where they wined and dined in style, and at mid-afternoon the four bandits were hung from the gallows-tree. Hemp ropes were placed about their necks. Each stood on a large box. As a matter of courtesy to the condemned Alan had arranged for each to have their own box on which to stand, so all could be kicked away at the same time and the condemned men swing and twitch together. The villagers had granted themselves a half-holiday to watch the spectacle and were disappointed with Alan’s decision. They preferred to watch the gallows-bait hanging and kicking one by one as they gasped out their lives, and to have the executions carried out in succession rather than together. Having simultaneous hangings made it difficult to keep track of the bets as to how long the victims would each take to die. The villagers sat on the village green, chatting and eating the food and drink that they had brought, laughing and exclaiming as the convicted men twitched and writhed at the end of their ropes.
As the last body was cut down from the tree and bundled with the others to be thrown into a common grave outside the consecrated land of the church graveyard, Alan was unmoved. These men had already wreaked far worse fates on others and would have again done so in the future in the land under his jurisdiction.
Back at the New Hall as they sat at table and ate and supped Alan chatted with the thegns who had attended at the trial. He and Anne then met with Linn and Eab? in the office-room situated off the Hall. Both youths were now clean and dressed in second-hand clothing which Faran had located. Alan noticed with a smile the way that Eab? sat close to Linn and that he put his arm around her shoulders. Eab? was offered a safe return to her own village, which she declined, and both were offered places as servants at the Hall, which they accepted happily.
Satisfied with the results of the last few days Alan and Anne retired to their bedchamber for some well-deserved rest.
Alan was sitting in his office at New Hall Thorrington, looking through the figures for the current Quarter income, taxes and estate estimates provided by his clerk Osmund. It was late afternoon and his headache arose from trying to make sense of the information he had been considering and not from straining his eyes, as the room was well-lit with a large glass window near where he was sitting.
He looked up as his steward knocked on the door and entered.
Faran said, “Excuse me, my lord, but there is a messenger from Jacob the Jew who has ridden from London today. He’s very fatigued and I’ve sat him at the table in the Hall and provided him with food and drink before he falls over.
Alan nodded and instructed, “Fetch Lady Anne and we’ll see what the messenger says.”
Ten minutes later, with a jug of good Bordeaux wine and a platter of fresh bread, dried fruits and nuts and cheese on the table and his wife at his side Alan watched the messenger hurried to the table. He waved a hand at the provender on the table and the messenger was quick to place some food on a wooden plate and start to eat. Alan poured himself and his wife each a cup of wine.
“In your own time and when you are ready,” said Alan impatiently.
The messenger took the hint and stopped stuffing himself. “My lord and lady! Jacob the Jew sends news. He regretfully advises that he has been informed that your house in London has been foully attacked and your butler Aiken has been slain. He urges you to attend to resolve matters.”
A brief questioning ascertained that the London town-house had been robbed the day before and Aiken, who was in charge of that property, killed during the robbery. Aidith his daughter had contacted Anne’s business manager Jacob for assistance.
Alan looked at Anne as he gave instructions to Faran. “Arrange horses and the cart for dawn the day after tomorrow, with food and drink. Two maids for Anne. Ten mounted men-at-arms. I’ll take Osmund and Leof as usual.” Anne nodded her agreement. Alan was unhappy to be leaving at this time, with the Quarter Day of Michaelmas, when taxes and rents were to be received and paid, a little over a week away, but could see no other alternative.
They departed at first light on Tuesday the 23rd September 1068, with Alan wishing to make the 71 mile journey in one day. With 13 hours of daylight he expected to be able to achieve this despite the women, child and servants being in a light horse-drawn carriage, as the road was dry. Firstly they proceeded northwest to Colchester, via Alresford and Wivenhoe, crossed the wooden bridge over the Colne at the city, pausing to pay the pontage fee to the toll-collector as they did so, then turned south-west on the London Road, passing through Stanway and Kelvendon.
Each village had their wooden bridge over a river where again a fee had to be paid. They passed through several other small villages until they reached Chelmsford on the Rivers Can and Chelmer. They’d pushed hard and covered the thirty odd miles in time to eat an early midday meal at a tavern in Chelmsford, forgoing a visit to their nearby manor of Norton. From Chelmsford to London the condition of the road made travel slower, although the lack of recent rain meant that the roadway was firm. Until Chelmsford the road had passed through land that was moderately intensively used, with villages every few miles, each with their area of cultivated land and with an intervening section of waste before the land belonging to the next village. It was a warm and dry late autumn day and throughout the shire the harvest had been gathered. In the fields outside the villages along the way teams of oxen could be seen drawing mould-board ploughs through the soil to perform the autumn ploughing and the fruit trees were being pruned. Outside the granaries in each village men, women and children could be seen threshing and winnowing the harvested grain, with the stooks brought in from the fields standing in piles awaiting attention.
Shortly after leaving Chelmsford the road entered the immense Waltham Forest with its trees of birch, oak, beech and hornbeam. For much of the way the massive trees formed a canopy that provided a leafy roof over the dirt roadway, which was usually about five paces wide. Occasionally animals such as deer, muntjac, squirrels and hares could be seen bounding away from the approaching humans. A plethora of birds winged through the trees, those feeding near the road frequently bursting into flight as the riders approached.
Until they had entered the forest, on the more open sections of road fellow-travelers had been common, mostly on foot. These were villagers going about their business, itinerant tinkers and costermongers festooned with their wares or drawing a small hand-cart, merchants traveling with their goods in ox-drawn carts and the occasional mounted party of the more highly-born. On entering the forest this traffic had dwindled sharply and what travelers there were moved in groups of a dozen or more.
In the late afternoon when they left the confines of the forest near London the road became more crowded than ever and several of the men-at-arms rode ahead to force a swift passage. They entered the city at Aldgate and turned to the right down Cornhill. Alan always disliked this part of the journey- riding hot, tired and sweaty and having to force a passage through streets almost choked with foot-traffic and slow-moving wagons, with bottle-necks caused by stalls displaying a variety of merchandise. He hated the congestion, the stench and the filth of the city, and the frustration at moving at a snail’s-pace through the crowds. He was tempted to ride on ahead and leave the women and servants in the wagon to follow, but reined in his impatience as he knew that Anne would not appreciate being so treated.
The mound of the newly-built wooden royal castle by the river dominated the eastern part of the city to their left and had been visible for several miles as they had approached the walls. Once the travelers were on Cornhill the castle disappeared from view behind the wooden buildings crowded together along the narrow streets and alleys. Shops, factories, warehouses, merchant’s offices, craftsmen’s workshops, taverns, tenements, houses both poor and grand and churches stood shoulder to shoulder, most one or two storeys high but a few of the tenement buildings were as high as four storeys, some leaning drunkenly out over the street. There were occasional patches of clear land, mainly where wooden buildings had been destroyed by fire and the ruins demolished.
Alan always felt almost claustrophobic in the narrow streets, hemmed in by a mass of humanity and hardly able to see the sky. Whether he found the noise or the smells of the city more offensive was a moot point. There was a constant hubbub of noise. Costermongers, stall-holders and touts shouted their wares or services. Beggars stood or sat at busy corners displaying sores and missing or deformed limbs and crying for alms. Gangs of street urchins called and shouted as they ran through the alleys and side-streets. The bellow of oxen; braying of donkeys; the whinnying of horses pulling wagons; the creak and rattle of cartwheels; the clang of church bells from a myriad of churches, many ringing in isolation as their priests and congregations chose to interpret time slightly differently to that announced by the bells of St Paul’s Cathedral when they announced the Vespers service.
Whilst the noise was almost constant, the smells varied. Always present was the smell of unwashed bodies, rotting household rubbish thrown onto the street and human and animal excrement. On passing premises occupied by fullers, tanners or dyers the particular stenches of their occupations became dominant, principally the smell of urine or animal faeces. At the Chepe markets were the smells of rotting fish and vegetables, blood and offal. The road passed north of the square where St Paul’s Cathedral stood, but the spires of the church and the looming bulk of Montfichet Tower and Baynard’s Castle could be glimpsed through gaps in the buildings. Having passed through the city they eventually exited the walls at Newgate, crossed the wooden bridge over the Holebourn stream and a few minutes later were at their London house in Holebourn.
The party dismounted in the yard and stood stretching tired and aching limbs. The stable-boy Tiw hurried out. From his red eyes Alan could tell that the young lad had obviously been crying, but he appeared beside himself at the opportunity to care for the horses of the traveling party. A slightly-built woman of medium height with long black hair, well dressed in an ankle-length gown of brown wool with an embroidered hem, stepped out of the doorway and gave a grave nod of welcome. This was Jemima, Jacob’s wife, who Alan and Anne had met only twice previously. Next to her stood a middle-aged man, by his dress also Jewish. Two burly Englishman also appeared, and then the cook Wilda peered through the doorway.
“Good evening,” said Jemima in her quiet voice. “Welcome to your home. I’ll send somebody to fetch Jacob. This is Tomer, my brother-in-law. You two men, help Tiw with the horses.”
Once inside they saw the maid Aidith, who gave a quick curtsey and disappeared into the Buttery to fetch jugs of ale and food for the weary travelers.
The ten men-at-arms, led by Edric, sat at one table in the Hall, while Alan, Anne and Osmund sat at another and Alan gestured for Jemima and Tomer to be seated. The servants who had traveled from Essex, including Bisgu the wet-nurse who was holding baby Juliana, sat at a third table.
Without being asked Jemima said, “Three days ago, in the evening after dark, a group of thugs forced their way into the house. Aitkin and Aidith were inside. Wilda was in the town and Tiw was sleeping in the stables. They ransacked the house for valuables. Aitkin gave them what money you had left in his care, but they were unsatisfied. They raped Aidith, and when he tried to prevent that Aitkin was stabbed to death. Although she was beside herself with grief, Aidith sent Tiw to Newgate to raise the alarm with the guards and to tell Jacob about what had happened. With Aitkin dead she couldn’t think who else to tell. Jacob asked me to come and care for Aidith and arranged with Gareth for him to lend some men to provide security. Aidith, Wilda and myself tidied up the mess- there was quite a lot of breakage. It would appear that the thieves took about thirty shillings and some gold and silver items. They made quite a mess in the buttery, as they smashed the barrels of what wine and ale they couldn’t carry off and the room was awash.”
“Thank you for your assistance,” said Anne with genuine appreciation that the family of her Jewish business manager would put themselves out in such a way to be of assistance.
Just then a tall thin balding man with a ferret-face and wearing nondescript clothing slipped into the room. It was Gareth, Anne’s spy. Presumably he was trying to show his competence by arriving just after they had and without being summoned.
“Good,” said Anne. “You’ve saved me the trouble of sending for you. What happened?”
“A group of thugs from Chepeside appears to have singled out your house for some reason. Why I can’t say, as there be more worthwhile targets both inside and outside the city walls. I’ve identified who they are. Do you want to question them?” asked the spy in his deep gravelly voice.
“No,” replied Alan. “You ask them whether anybody put them up to this, and then dispose of them all. Make a point that my property and my people are to be left alone. That’ll be cheaper than providing guards here all the time.”
Gareth nodded his understanding of the instruction and rose to leave. “Thank you for your assistance,” said Anne.
“No problem, m’lady. It’ll be on this month’s bill I send to Jacob. I’ll get to work then! I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
Shortly afterwards Wilda the cook emerged from the kitchen and whispered in the ears of the maids Synne and Esme. They left with some reluctance to assist with serving, as they were Anne’s personal maids and not serving-wenches. The hurriedly prepared meal of herbed mutton and vegetable stew with rye-bread was tasty, washed down with the ale that Jemima had bought from a local tavern and wine that Jacob had sent from the business warehouse. Afterwards, with a platter of dried fruit, cheeses and nuts on the table, Anne called in Wilda and spoke to her regarding who she could recommend as a new butler to run the household. After some thought she made several suggestions, which Osmund noted down for further action. Then, weary to the bone, Alan and Anne retired to the bedchamber upstairs.
Next morning Chancellor Regenbald proved that Gareth wasn’t the only person with a good spy network, as a message arrived quite early with an invitation for Alan to lunch with the Englishman at his chambers in Westminster.
The proximity of Westminster Palace was one of the reasons that Alan and Anne had chosen to buy a house outside the city walls and to the west of the city. Rather than bothering to undertake the tack-work required to ride the short distance, Alan chose to walk with two men-at-arms in company.
He was ushered into the Chancellor’s chambers, where Regenbald was sitting on a cushioned chair with his left leg raised and supported by a padded stool. With him was another man, elderly and plump with a hawk-like nose and wearing clerical garb. Regenbald waved Alan to a seat, as he carefully placed a cup of wine on the small table next to him. “Sorry not to greet you properly. Gout!” he said indicating his foot. “Congratulations on your martial efforts this year. William fitzOsbern was impressed- and with his experience and ability he’s not a man who is easily impressed. Firstly, let me introduce Herfast, who is replacing me as Chancellor in a few months. He’s a Norman monk, but not a bad fellow for all that! I invited him over to meet you and have the chance to have an informal chat with you as a member of the king’s Curia and a man with some interesting ideas and ideals, We can go into that shortly. I hear that you have had some problems with your town-house?”
“Yes, but hopefully those will be resolved today,” replied Alan.
Herfast nodded and said, “Yes, Master Gareth is a very capable man and I’m sure that you won’t have any further problems- at least from that gang. Do you think it was motivated by your political foes?”
Alan stroked his small neat beard thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so. My relations with Bishop William, Earl Ralph and Engelric have improved and we seem to have reached a mutual ‘live and let live’ position without harassing each other. If it was politically motivated it would have been directed against me personally. I think it was just one of those things that happen, although I’m in a position to make sure it doesn’t happen twice!”
With a nod of understanding Herfast continued, “You’re probably right. I just wanted to express my sympathy and have a bit of a chat.”
“I hear that it’s been a busy summer for the king and fitzOsbern, but living out in the wilds we haven’t necessarily heard all that has been happening,” observed Alan.
“That’s true,” replied Herfast. “You know that Harold’s bastard sons raided Bristol and Somerset and were driven off back to Ireland, being opposed mainly by the local English fyrd. The Scots have been raiding Mercia and Northumbria in force. The Western Marches have seen raids by the Welsh and Eadric cild- not as bad as last year but still both destructive and distracting. The Northumbrians and Mercians continue to be a problem. Groups of armed men, who they are calling the ‘Wildmen’ or ‘Greenmen’, raid a few manors or villages and kill a few loyal men before disappearing back into the hills or forests when Earl William approaches. Hit and run tactics.
“So all in all, things are a mess at the moment and King William is running about like a blue-arsed fly. That’ll be very frustrating for him as he’s a man who likes to be in control of events, not to be reacting to them. The deteriorating situation in Maine is potentially very damaging, particularly when combined with the activities of Fulk in Anjou. The king is rushing around putting out brush-fires everywhere.
In a change of topic Alan asked Herfast, “You know, one thing that has had me puzzled for years is why Harold fought the way he did at Hastings. Do you know? Was it because of the pope’s anathema and threat of excommunication of any who opposed William? He could have waited another week and raised an extra 10,000 men from the shires that were further away and had Morcar and Edwin provide men from the north. Then, when he did set up at Hastings, it was like his men had taken root. No movement and no maneuver at all.”
Regenbald gave a laugh of genuine amusement. “To answer the first part of the question, you obviously didn’t know Harold and clearly still don’t understand the English- both those of the south and of the north. Neither he nor his men would have cared much about Pope Alexander deciding to favour William without his even hearing Harold’s side of the argument. That was an interesting piece of political skullduggery in itself that may yet come back to haunt William, which I’ll go into in a minute. Harold beat the Norwegians at Stamford Bridge because he moved quickly and took them by surprise, even though they outnumbered him. Again, he didn’t wait to muster his full strength nor did he wait for Morcar and Edwin to bring those of their men who had survived the battle at Fulford Gate. He gathered what men he could on the ride to the north, plus his own huscarles of course. He just went at them like a bull at a gate, killed Harald Hardrada and his own brother Tostig and the forces they had with them that morning, and then beat the Norwegians who came up from the ships- effectively he had two battles that day. Then Harold and his men were celebrating their victory when news of William’s landing arrived.
“He and his remaining thegns and huscarles took horse south to London and left the infantry to straggle down as best they could. I was in London and helped to send out the calls to the thegns and fyrd of the south to rally. It was then, in London, that we heard about the anathema from that French monk that William used as a messenger. It was quite interesting and humorous, the messages and taunts that Harold and William sent back and forth over those few days. They were like two young boys arguing over a toy, with insults and threats. Gyrth was more concerned about the pope than Harold was, and offered to lead the army to avoid the risk that his brother would be excommunicated. Harold wasn’t too bothered as he knew that whoever won the battle would have the last say with the pope. Remember that Archbishop Stigand has been under anathema and excommunicated since 1052, by five successive popes, and that didn’t stop even the pious King Edward keeping him in the position as the most senior prelate in the country- or King William for that matter. It just meant that, to be safe, Harold had Ealdred of York place the crown on his head at his coronation, rather than Stigand- as did William.
“I’m sure that when the banner of St Peter was unfurled on the Norman’s side at Hastings the English rank-and-file wouldn’t have been happy, but neither they nor Harold would have let that stop them, any more than would consideration of what promises may have been made by who in the past. They were fighting for their anointed king and their country against foreign invaders, and Pope Alexander would have been seen as just another foreigner.
“Also remember that when Harold was a ‘guest’ of Duke William he attended at the campaign in Brittany in 1064. Although a lot of that was castle sieges, he saw what heavy cavalry can do in battle and how well William uses that cavalry. At Hastings he had an army composed almost entirely of infantry and knew that if he gave William any room to maneuver his forces that his army would be cut to pieces. He was also getting upset that William and you Normans were burning and ravaging lands that belonged to him personally, but that wasn’t a large factor in his thinking.
“He knew that to beat a force largely composed of heavy cavalry he would either have to take them by surprise or fight on a battlefield that gave his army every advantage. So he took his men quickly and stealthily through the Andreswald, trying to repeat the surprise he achieved at Stamford Bridge. Unfortunately for him William was a better general than Hardrada and had his scouts out, knew Harold was coming and when Harold emerged from the forest the Normans were there.
“As to the battlefield and numbers of men, do you think an extra 10,000 men, mainly untrained, would have made much difference? I’m not surprised that Morcar and Edwin didn’t bring their men south. They didn’t have time to do so and they’d taken huge losses from the Norwegians at Fulford Gate, where they had been beaten like a drum. Even if they hadn’t, being Anglo-Danes they probably wouldn’t have come to the call of the House of Wessex anyway.”
Alan nodded. “You’re right. Another 10,000 men couldn’t have fitted onto the battlefield at Caldbec Hill, but if he had them threatening our flank…”
“How could he have got troops onto the flank in time? You know the lack of roads in the area. Anyway, that may have allowed William the opportunity to defeat the army piecemeal. Remember, Harold didn’t need to win. He just needed to make sure that William didn’t win. It was October. While campaigning in winter is possible, it isn’t easy. The land around Hastings had been stripped bare of food by you Normans. That part of the south would have had lean pickings for provender over the winter and both storms and English longships would have restricted resupply by sea. All Harold had to do was maintain an army in the field and keep the Normans bottled up. And stay alive. Unfortunately for him he didn’t manage to do any of the three requirements.”
Allan nodded his understanding about what he had just been told and then prompted, “And Pope Alexander?”
“As I said, that was an interesting piece of political skullduggery. William sent Bishop Lanfranc to Rome. Have you met Lanfranc? No? A most impressive, learned and intelligent man- and extremely eloquent. He spent some time with the pope and his advisers, firstly going through the usual details of William’s own claim to the throne by way of blood, which we all know existed but wasn’t strong, and the promises made by both King Edward and by Harold including the famous oath-swearing. He derogated Harold’s personality and personal life. All the usual things.
“But what was really important was, and still is, the position of the church here in England. The English church, while it recognises the authority of Rome, does not always follow the direction that Rome wishes. We have bibles and psalters written in the vernacular tongue. Services and prayers are also said in the vernacular and not Latin. We do not follow Rome in all matters of either the liturgy or theology. In the moderately recent past we had the situation of Cnut marrying Aethelred’s widow Emma, who was daughter to Richard Duke of Normandy. This was polygamy by Cnut, who was already married, but an act which the English church consented to- although I understand under the threat of death to the archbishop if he didn’t perform the ceremony. And, of course, we had and still have an archbishop who is excommunicate. All in all that’s not a set of facts that would encourage further tolerance on the part of the pope.
“Rome was more interested in bringing the English church ‘back into the fold’, by force if necessary, than it was with whether the king is English or Norman. Lanfranc played on those concerns wonderfully well. Firm promises of church reform were made and I’m sure will be put in place when King William gets a chance to attend to them. Most particularly, William promised to become the vassal of Rome, at least in respect to England but not his duchy. Of course, William hasn’t gone to Rome to make formal homage for England- and has no intention of doing so. That will be yet another promise regarding the kingship that slowly slips by, but this time by William.
“William’s various claims to the throne, not just by conquest but particularly by papal approval, have apparently been accepted throughout Christendom and have helped to keep Fulk of Anjou from attacking Normandy when William has been busy elsewhere. Apart from the Angevins and dissent in Maine, which William seized by force in ’63, William has been fortunate in the current political situation on the continent. William’s father-in-law is both Count of Flanders and guardian of King Philip of France, although the young king is apparently ‘champing at the bit’ somewhat. The important Norman barons are firmly under control- because William has been so generous in return for their support for the invasion, the fact that most of them are here in England and that William has forged them all into one big family by cross-marriages. There’s the usual situation of the minor barons or fief-holders in Normandy attacking each other when they get bored or feel they’ve been insulted, but the greater lords are keeping a lid on that, more so than is usual.”
“So, all in all everything is bright and sunny!” said Alan with some degree of sarcasm. Both Regenbald and Herfast gave a laugh in reply. “All of Christendom accepts William as king- except the English,” he continued.
Herfast replied, “I was speaking to a monk the other day. He made the comment that ‘the English submitted out of necessity’. Not because they wanted to, but because they saw no other choice. They aren’t happy about the choice that they had to make after Hastings. Some would like to change that choice if they could. That’s not only an English trait- in politics you can’t trust anybody. Anybody who trusts Edwin and Morcar in particular, or any of the Northmen, and Waltheof to a lesser extent, deserves to get the dagger that will be thrust in his back. The Mercians and Northumbrians do not recognise, that they are under the authority of the King of Wessex and never have. Not even when that king was Alfred the Great himself. They threw Tostig out in ’65 after King Edward had appointed him earl and themselves chose and appointed Morcar as earl as his successor. It was a pity for the English that Tostig and Harold fell out, as Tostig was equally as capable as his brother- and, as he showed in his behaviour at Stamford Bridge, more reliable when he had given oath.”
“I don’t agree about that!” objected Alan. “Tostig had Gamal, son of Orm, and Ulf, son of Dolfin, assassinated when they visited him under safe conduct. Hardly in keeping with a man of honour! And capable rulers usually don’t suffer rebellion by people claiming they are being oppressed and misruled!”
Herfast shrugged and changed the topic again. “Leaving that aside, the Grandmesnils are in London at the moment and are putting on a festivity at the Westminster Palace Hall tomorrow night. Adelize has particularly asked me to make sure you and Anne attend as she enjoyed Anne’s poetry evening so much.”
Alan nodded his acquiescence, although he would rather go rolling naked in a field of stinging nettles than attend a social soiree.
That evening when back at the house at Holebourn, Gareth sat opposite Alan and Anne, toying with a cup of wine. “So, I located the individuals and questioned them all most closely. It was a simple robbery with no political involvement. Given how closely they were questioned, I’m quite sure of that. The bodies will be found in a vacant allotment in Friday Street tomorrow and the word will be passed around that any further problems involving you or your servants will meet a similar vigorous response. The salutary lesson should be worth a dozen guards.” Alan and Anne both expressed their thanks and Gareth departed after declining to partake of the evening meal, wanting to be back at his haunts in the City before the Newgate closed at dusk.
The Church of St Edmund the King and Martyr Without Newgate was, despite its very long name, a modest wooden church of Saxon construction and was Anne’s chosen church for attending services when they were London. Apart from the abbey and the cathedral, London had a number of large churches, many of which were built of stone, as well as a myriad of small churches dedicated to virtually every saint in Christendom scattered every few hundred paces throughout the city, with most of the citizens of the city preferring to pray in small congregations with their neighbours. St. Edmunds was such a small church, situated just outside the city walls at Newgate and was barely 200 paces from the town-house at Holebourn.
The priest was a fat and usually jolly man of middling years called Edward, who took his pastoral duties to his small congregation seriously. The building was of post construction, with a nave about thirty paces long by ten wide made of massive oak posts and beams running down each wall and down the central aisle, with strong trusses supporting the gabled roof of timber slats and the walls clad with timber. It had no bell-tower, with its bell being supported by a small external wooden frame outside the main door. The altar was simple and restrained, with a beautifully embroidered altar cloth and brass candlesticks. The golden chalice, pyx and other sacred items were removed by Father Edward to the rectory after each service, as the church was left unlocked.
Anne had in the past stated that the reason for her preference for the church, apart from its convenience, was that she liked both the priest and the members of the congregation, that it remained reasonably warm in winter and most particularly because it was equipped with rows of benches on which the congregation could sit. Both she and Alan found attending services in the church considerably more restful than those at Thorrington or Wivenhoe as they usually could simply be members of the congregation instead of having to play the part of ‘the lord and lady of the manor’.
However, it was no usual occasion when the following morning the whole household attended at the church, along with much of the remainder of the congregation summoned by the slow tolling of the bell. Aitkin, who had been lying wrapped in his shroud near the altar his death, had been placed in a fine wooden coffin, with candles burning at both foot and head. Alan and Anne were sparing little expense to give an appropriate send-off for a valued servant. After a simple but moving service conducted in English by a subdued Father Edward the cortege moved out to the graveyard, where in the autumn sunlight Aitkin was laid to rest. Aidith and Tiw stood with their arms about each others shoulders and sobbed in anguish.
That evening Alan and Anne dressed carefully for the reception at Westminster and rather than walk the short distance in their finery they had arranged to hire a fine carriage for the night. They and two men-at-arms, the latter in their best clothes and each carrying a sword and seax, stepped down from the carriage outside the entrance to the Great Hall. Oil-soaked rush torches lit the entrance, and inside were more torches and many candles attached to sconces. The guards were shown to a separate Hall for servants, while Alan and Anne entered the Grand Hall.
Festivities had already commenced and a stately processional dance was taking place, involving about thirty couples and with a similar number looking on. A band of a dozen musicians was placed along one wall in the middle of the Hall and they were playing with skill and verve. Many of the dancers were less skilled, courtly dances not being high on the list of things usually studied by noble-born Norman warriors. However, clearly some had received some education in that skill, perhaps recently at the insistence of their wives. A number of foppish courtiers showed elegant moves on the dance-floor.
Alan and Anne were conducted to Hugh and Adelize de Grandmesnil. Ladies’ hands were kissed and men’s forearms grasped. Anne wandered off with Beatrice de Builly, the wife of Robert Count of Eu.
Alan, dressed in his usual garb of black linen and silk embroidered with silver, watched his wife, who was dressed in a low-cut dress of russet taffeta, circulate amongst her friends. “A fine turn-out,” he commented to his host Hugh de Grandmesnil.
Hugh snorted and gave a scowl, watching a dance where the men hopped and leaped like hares. “The Hall is full of homosexual pricks, pederasts and sycophants. They can dance and provide attention to the ladies, but are useless ornaments. It’s events like this that make me appreciate the benefits of my otherwise dullard retainers! Let’s go get a cup of wine and drown our sorrows!”
In the intensely political atmosphere of the court favourites there was no such thing as a simple social occasion, and Alan found himself repeatedly included in discussions. One of the main topics of conversation was the political situation in the duchy of Maine, taken by William by force of arms several years before and now with his young son Robert installed as duke. The Manceaux were making their disaffection clear and revolt was expected. What surprised the barons was that William was apparently content to allow matters in Maine to take their course while he was bringing the English to heel.
Unusually for a meal involving the Norman nobility, this was not a sit-down affair involving large amounts of roast meat. Instead side-tables had been placed with a variety of finger-foods. Lorenze pies; sausages baked in bread rolls; small meat pies; spinach tarts; pork doucetty; veal crustade; pork flampoyntes; stuffed mushroom pastries; more meat pastries and cold roasted marinated chicken wings and drumsticks, all with a variety of dipping sauces and chutneys. There were excellent wines from Burgundy and the Loire.
Anne several times prevailed on Alan to take to the floor for several sets of the more restrained dances, principally line and circle dances. They stepped together as the dance and music dictated, now holding hands high and now arming, bowing and circling before sliding, progressing and stepping. After a set of bransels Alan begged off from dancing a set with more complicated steps, standing with several of the younger nobles, including William of Eu, King William’s nephew, and Ivo Taillebois, near the drinks table for some much-needed fortification.