Thorrington October 1069
Late in the evening two days later, on Thursday the 29th October, Alan and Leof rode through the village of Thorrington. The heavy rain and cold wind was keeping most folk indoors, but the few men and women they saw shouted a warm welcome. The blacksmith paused in his labour at the anvil near the open door of the smithy to gave an abrupt wave of welcome and sent one of his young sons, a lad of about seven, scurrying down the muddy track to the New Hall to announce their home-coming. The rounceys walked with a plodding gait, heads down and exhaustedly lifting each foot from the sticky soil. They’d ridden 81 miles from Lincoln to Huntingdon the day before, spending the night in a flea-ridden tavern before riding a similar distance from Huntingdon that day.
The exhausted pace of the horses meant that the lad had plenty of time to reach the New Hall ahead of them. Although absent a motte, the fortified structure of the New Hall dominated the east side of the village, with a ten-foot high curtain-wall embankment topped by a further ten foot high wooden palisade. Six wooden towers rose a further ten feet, each with a large piece of oiled canvas covering the shape of a ballista. There were four men on guard, one in each of the corner towers of the square fortifications. The nearest two each raised a hand in greeting, while the other two ostentatiously kept their backs to Alan, ensuring he could see that they were scanning their area of responsibility. The high-pitched roofs of the three double-storey buildings in the complex, the Hall and two barracks blocks, could just be seen peeping over the curtain-wall. Alan was happy to see wood smoke rising both from the chimney of the Hall and from the location of the not yet visible kitchen building, ensuring a genuinely warm welcome.
They rode across the drawbridge over the ten-foot deep ditch and through the gateway and the rest of the complex came into view; large stables, the armoury building with its attached covered weapons-practice area, the granary, the barn where the hay was stored and the storehouses and workshops, including the shed where Alan whiled away hours in constructing ever more efficient siege weapons.
The servants hurried out of the Hall to welcome their lord home, although Alan was glad to see that Anne had not come outside. Alan waved a hand gloved in soggy leather and shouted, “Thank you all! Please get inside out of the rain, except for a couple of grooms to take the horses. The poor bastards are just about all in.” After stiffly dismounting and handing the reins to a stable boy, Alan turned in time to catch Leof as he collapsed with leg-cramps. “You’ve got to get used to riding a horse, boy! It’s a damn sight better than walking. Go and sit by the fire and I’ll get Otha to get you some dry clothes. When I’ve finished with the hot-tub, have a long soak and get one of the younger girls to massage your legs. I’ve noticed Inga has been making eyes at you, so I’m sure she’ll help out if you offer to share the tub. Which reminds me, we need to get you a room of your own in the barracks. You’re old enough that you can’t keep on sleeping in the Hall, with no damned privacy. I’ll mention it to Steward Faran.”
After giving Leof a hand to the door and then letting somebody else take him over- Alan gave a chuckle when he saw it was Inga- he shed his water-logged cloak and gloves and approached the fire gratefully. “Some mulled wine, for the love of God!” shouted Alan to Otha. “And dry clothes for Leof. And get the hot-tub ready. And I want some damned food!” Just then he saw the diminutive shape of his wife sitting in a high-backed armchair near the fire and could see why she hadn’t hurried outside. As she struggled to her feet, using the arms on the chair for leverage, Alan notice that not only had she a grossly swollen belly, but that the baby had dropped. “Sweet Jesu! It’s good to see you again!” he said after he helped her to rise and caught her in a hug, her head barely coming up to his chest. “It appears you’re carrying a giant and that he’s due any moment! How do you get up the stairs to the bedchamber?”
“With difficulty, my lord- slowly and with assistance. Using a chamber pot is an inconvenience, but better than a journey downstairs to the privy when I’m being kicked in the bladder! And I pray to God that it is a boy. Dear God, Alan! It’s good to see you again! Have you finished your work up north? Why ride in and not bring the ships home?”
Alan put a finger on her lips. “We’ll talk about that later,” he said. “For now, let me get warm, some dry clothes, have some hot food and drink and we can take a soak in the hot-tub. Me for my sore legs and you no doubt for a sore back.”
After a meal of herbed mutton stew and fresh bread which the hungry travelers wolfed down ravenously, Alan and Anne retired to the hot-tub to soak. The tub was an unusual creation and was comprised part of a tun barrel about three feet high and five feet across, sawn horizontally, with two small wooden benches of differing heights bolted to the inside to accommodate people of different sizes. The barrel was set slightly above the ground to allow periodic drainage and cleaning. There was a set of steps on the outside and a short ladder of four steps on the inside to assist people entering or leaving. The water, slightly less than the hundred gallon capacity of the part-barrel as it wasn’t filled to the brim, flowed through the water supply system Alan had created which drew water from a spring on a nearby low hill along pipes and into the New Hall complex. This also supplied the kitchen, stables, filled a cistern that would be able to be used in times of siege and also flushed out the latrines that Alan had built in the Roman style from plans he’d seen on an ancient scroll. The bath water was heated by passing through lead pipes above and behind the fire in the adjoining kitchen and furnace rooms and then flowed into one side of the tub in a steady but small stream. Excess water was extracted by a pipe on the other side of the barrel and flowed out as waste water, at about one gallon a minute.
Anne arrived shortly afterwards, wearing a thick robe and leather-soled slippers against the ten-pace journey along the paved path of the covered walkway between the Hall and the building that combined the kitchen, the bathing room and the furnace used to heat the air that passed through the hypocaust heating system used to warm the Hall. Anne had her gown and slippers removed by two of her maids, Synne and Esme, and stepped naked onto the large unbleached rug made of sheepskins that covered the floor near the bath steps. She was assisted up the outside steps by her maids and Alan rose to assist her down the steps on the inside, his nakedness emphasised by a giant erection that drew admiring glances from the two maids and a small smile from Anne, who reached to give the rampant member a squeeze as she turned and sat down on a ledge in the tub about six inches from the bottom.
Synne and Esme retired to the adjoining kitchen to await a call for their assistance and Alan settled back into the hot-tub, sitting on the carefully sanded floor next to Anne, so that his face was nearly level with Anne’s breasts, the nipples of which were bobbing on the surface as the breasts were supported by the water. Anne gave a sigh and rubbed her back, before returning one hand to stroke the underside of Alan’s member. “It appears you’ve been a long time without feminine company, which is just as well!” she commented.
“The mermaids are all well and good,” he replied, “but being fish from the waist down…” After several minutes of ministrations he gave a sigh of relief.
“And how was the north?” asked Anne, now that one job was out of the way.
“It was a strange existence, really. We found a cave that’s nice and dry and cosy and set up quarters there. The cave keeps the weather off and hides us. We’ve set it up with pots and pans for the cooking fire, straw mattresses and the like. The previous occupants had carved sleeping places and chairs out of the soft chalk. It’s a pirate’s cave. There’s fresh water from where a nearby spring runs down the cliff face. The food’s good. We catch some fish and have lobster pots in the sea outside the cave, and bring in fresh and preserved meat, vegetables, fruit and bread every time we voyage to Hartlepool or York. And ale by the barrel- everybody knows that drinking water is bad for you.
“Each ship takes it in turn to venture out, which usually means one day of sailing or two days of rowing either going or coming. There’s two days a week fairly intensive work manning the ship, and an anxious day ashore meeting the spies. The remainder of the week are pretty boring sitting in the cave in semi-darkness. I get the men to work on the boats, mainly to have something to do. We do some weapons training for the swordsmen- the bowmen can’t practice. The men sit around playing dice, knucklebones, eating and sleeping. Sometimes they go fishing in the sea or the sky- they use nets to catch birds in flight. It’s probably not that much different to acting as garrison of some remote village, but all the work is compressed into two or three days a week. The main problem is boredom, but it’s a lot less dangerous and a lot more comfortable than being on campaign.”
Anne gave a sigh as she sank a little lower in the warm water. “I’ve nearly lived in here in the hot-tub for the past month. The hot water is good for my back and floating in the water makes me feel less heavy and fat. How progresses the campaign? You haven’t mentioned anything about seeing the king or what he’s doing about the situation in Northumbria.”
With a start Alan realised that word of the current political and military situation hadn’t reached this remote part of East Anglia. “That’s because the king and his army aren’t there. York remains in the hands of the Aetheling’s men. There’s been a series of revolts in the south. Exeter was attacked and the last I heard Montacute was under siege with Count Robert of Mortain’s family trapped inside. More importantly the Mercians and Welsh have joined forces again and sacked Shrewsbury, although Roger de Montgomerie and his family were safe in the castle. The king and William fitzOsbern are busy in the west trying to catch the Welsh and drive them back over the border, which will be no easy task. Once that’s all attended to he can shift his attention north. At the moment Count Robert of Mortain and Count Robert of Eu are at Lincoln and holding the Danes and Northumbrians in place. When the king has overcome those problems he’ll march north. Other than the Welsh and the Danes, what’s been happening is mainly local squabbles that have been going on for years, shire against shire, and the fact that the English hate castles and want to tear them down. It’s not by chance that what I’ve built here is a fort, not a castle. It’s very similar to the traditional Saxon fortified burg. There is no motte to draw attention and nearly all the garrison is English.”
After an hour’s soak Alan called for Synne and Esme to assist their mistress out of the tub and then stepped out himself, drying himself with a rough towel before dressing in clean clothing. On entering the Hall he beckoned Leof over and said, “The hot-tub is all yours. Soak the pain out of your legs. I’ll arrange with Faran for your things to be put in a private room upstairs in the barracks, along with a mattress and some blankets.” Seeing Inga standing close by and listening closely Alan continued, “You! I have a pot of goose-grease with oil of wintergreen, which will need to be rubbed into the lad’s sore muscles after he’s soaked. You attend to it,” he instructed, with a wink to Leof.
Two days later Alan was surprised to receive a visit from Bishop William’s men Geoffrey of Rouen and the Frenchman Bernard of Nantes, the latter having replaced the Fleming Albyn of Bruges after his death fighting the Danish raiders. They were seeking news of the outside world and Alan repeated the information he’d given to Anne, although omitting any reference to spying or his own travels and actions. The two men had arrived together in the late morning, soaked and cold from the wet ride from their own halls. Alan had their cloaks drying in the kitchen as they sat at table near the roaring fire in the Hall.
“It always seems so warm and pleasant here, not like my own cold Hall,” commented Bernard, eying the fresh rushes on the floor strewn with sprays of rosemary. The rare glass windows were closed against the bitter wind, but still allowed sufficient light not to require torches or lamps to be lit, unless one wished to read. Cene, the wolfhound who had been a gift from Anne to Alan, lifted his large head from its position on Alan’s boot and scratched himself behind the ear.
“I had the advantage of building from new and with the substantial funds that the king’s favour had given me,” replied Alan, with apparent modesty but less than complete honesty, deliberately failing to mention that most of the large cost had been funded by the financial empire that Anne had built, as mercantile activity was not popular with the ‘noble classes’ and their financial success was hidden behind a series of ‘front-men’.
“So the kingdom is in jeopardy?” asked Geoffrey.
“Not really. There’ve been a series of small revolts in the south and south-west. The main problems are the Welsh and the Danes. If Edgar had planned it properly, if indeed it’s been planned at all, there would have been a general uprising in the south-west with a large army being raised, properly led and marching on London. The Welsh would have attacked Gloucester while the Mercians attacked Shrewsbury and Stafford, which they have done, and the Danes and Northumbrian marched south on Lincoln and then London. If they’d done their work properly they could have cut the kingdom and King William’s forces into pieces, gathered a huge army and crushed us Normans.
“Instead, their disorganised approach and the inactivity in the north is letting King William put out the fires one by one. I’m sure that he’ll have things under control and have retaken York before Christmas, depending on what the Danes do. If they leave their ships and march south in force, along with 7,000 Englishmen, then the king has a real fight on his hands. So far the situation has been controllable- barely. Indeed the activities by the rebels haven’t met with favour by most people south of York. The people of Exeter joined with the Norman garrison to fight off the rebels attacking the town.”
“We haven’t seen much dissent locally,” commented Geoffrey.
“There are probably several reasons,” replied Anne, to the surprise of the guests, who weren’t used to erudite political comments by women. “Locally, the controlling hand has been of iron, but covered by a velvet glove. In Tendring Hundred at least, relatively few thegns were able to travel to Hastings in time to die, so there hasn’t been a large change in local politics. Yes, there are Normans, French and Flemings present, but the changes haven’t been great. The local landholding system remains unchanged and the Hundred Court still dispenses justice based on traditional West Saxon law. The Heriot charged by the king for the local thegns to retain their land was largely able to be paid.” Anne didn’t mention that this had in some part been due to the loans made by her and Alan to help pay this significant financial impost. “Most of all, based on their recent experiences, the locals see the Danes as being their enemies, not the Normans- or at least more of a direct threat as the Normans don’t kill, torture and rape indiscriminately.”
“No, we are discriminate in our killing, torture and rape,” commented Alan, as food and wine was placed on the table.
Bernard took a sip of the wine and said, “Wonderful.”
“Life’s too short to drink bad wine if you don’t have to,” replied Alan as he cut up a roasted chicken on the bread trencher he shared with Anne.
“You’ve done well for yourself, my lord,” commented Geoffrey.
“God helps those who help themselves,” said Alan, with a pause before he continued. “I was fortunate enough to assist the king on the battlefield at Hastings, which drew me to his attention and provided significant reward. I’ve since provided him with further assistance, which the king has also seen fit to reward. Not all of the assistance has been entirely conventional, but it has worked.”
“Tell us how you saved the king’s life,” urged Geoffrey.
Alan waved a hand, holding a chicken drumstick, in negation. “No. Somebody else can do that. I don’t blow my own horn. I just happened to be standing in the right place at the right time and hit a few people with a sword. I’d have done the same for anybody, as would you. In fact it wasn’t until he extracted himself from under the horse, with some assistance from others standing near, that I even knew it was the duke.”
After the visitors had departed Alan commented to Anne, “That was surprisingly… genial, considering past problems.”
“They’re coming to realise who is important and that pursuing Bishop William’s political campaign against you may not be in their own best long-term interests,” replied Anne.
In the early hours of Tuesday 2nd of November, All Souls’ Day, Anne nudged a snoring Alan in the ribs. “It’s time,” she announced calmly.
Alan grunted and came awake with a start. “Why is it always in the middle of the night? Is it because the baby’s bored because you’re lying there doing nothing? Synne! Rouse the household! My lady’s time is come! Send somebody to fetch that incompetent old bat of a midwife from the village!”
Because of the problems associated with Anne’s first labour, on this occasion there was no question of his being excluded from the birthing-room. What was apparently a well-practiced procedure was followed by the midwife, encouraging Anne to stand and walk about slowly for several hours until she was fully dilated, when she was instructed to lie down with legs apart and to push and breathe deeply with each contraction. The baby’s head crowned and over the next hour was satisfactorily delivered with no complications and no unusual blood loss. The midwife tied off the umbilical cord, turned the child upside down and gave it a slap on the bottom to make it cry, sucking air into the lungs. As she gave the child a quick wipe with a clean wet cloth she commented, “Congratulations on the birth of your son, my lord and my lady. A fine strapping lad of about seven pounds,” before handing the now swaddled bundle to his mother.
The placenta was delivered without tearing and without problems about fifteen minutes later. The midwife was dismissed and left carrying a small but heavy purse of silver for her efforts. It was nearly dawn and Alan went into the next room to collect their daughter Juliana from her nursery and to introduce her to her brother.
After the bed linen had been changed and all except Synne dismissed, Alan lay on the bed next to Anne, with little Juliana lying between them and gurgling happily while her brother took suck. The bells of the village church began to toll, not in celebration of the event, but for the morning service of All Souls. Alan hoped that the birthday would not prove inauspicious, being the day of the Feast of the Dead when the village folk would attend at the graveyard to pray at the graves of departed relatives and leave food at their tables for them.
“I didn’t want to tempt providence and discuss names before,” commented Anne. “But do you have any thoughts on a name for our son and heir?”
“I thought a name that is common in both English and French,” replied Alan. “Certainly not William, Roger or Robert. The Lord knows that there are enough men of those names about! I thought either Gilbert or Simon”
“Hmm…” mused Anne. “What do they mean?”
“Gilbert means ‘Trusted’ in English, and ‘Bright lad’ in French. Simon means ‘Listens’.”
“Well, I’d hope that our son would have all those qualities. Let’s think about it for a day or so. I’d thought perhaps Gerald, which means ‘Ruling Spear’, but all three are good names. Who do we ask to be god-parents? I’d though Roger and Alice Bigod again, and possibly my brother Garrett.”
“I agree with Roger and Alice. They would care for him, and as sheriff of Sussex Roger is a very influential man. Garrett would certainly care and love him, but… perhaps somebody with greater influence would assist him later in life. Perhaps thegn Thorkel of Arden, who owns enough land as tenant-in-chief directly from the king to qualify as an earl and is sheriff of Warwickshire.”
“Thorkel is a nice, trustworthy and God-fearing man, and not too old,” agreed Anne. “Again, let’s think on it. In the meantime let’s all get some sleep. Oh! Make sure we get a better wet-nurse this time, even if we have to get somebody all the way from Ipswich. I’m not going to put up with such a dirty, surly and bad-mannered bitch as last time. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. I’ll give suck in the meantime!”
Over the next few days a suitable young girl from Dovercourt, who had lost her own child, was chosen by Anne as the child’s wet-nurse and by mutual agreement the name ‘Simon’ was chosen. Messages were dispatched asking Roger and Thorkell to be godfathers. With the military campaigns underway it was likely to be some time before all the required people could gather for the baptism.
Being November the activity associated with harvest was over and the autumn ploughing complete. The harvested grain was stored safely in the granaries and the sacks of salt from the salt-pans was in the salt-houses awaiting later processing and sale. Fruit and vegetables had been gathered and either stored in barrels or preserved by drying, pickling or made into jams. The small barrels of honey from those villages with bee-hives had been dispatched to the towns for sale. The annual sale or killing of animals that would not be able to be cared for by the villagers over the winter had commenced. Cattle and swine were driven off to the market at Colchester. The small sheep, little more than knee high, were less susceptible to the rigours of winter due to their wool fleeces and would require only the provision of hay over the winter. Beef and pork was smoked, salt-cured or pickled for use over the winter, either as joints stored in barrels or as sausages hung from the roofs of store-rooms to keep the rats at bay.
Anne ensured that the poultry pens belonging to the Hall, containing chickens, geese, ducks, quail and pheasant, were ready to protect their inhabitants both from the winter weather and from hungry foxes. Firewood was cut and stacked under cover to provide winter warmth. Acorns were gathered from the forests to ensure that the swine in their pens in all the villages for the winter could use the bounty of the forest before it disappeared under snow. The fisherman plied their nets in the shallow waters of the Colne estuary with any surplus catch being dried, smoked or salted for the winter.