December 1067-January 1068
Sir Alan of Thorrington rode north from Winchester on Thursday the 27th December in the Year of Our Lord 1067, on the Feast of St John the Apostle, having participated in the Christmas Feast overseen by King William of England. With him was a large party; his wife Anne of Wivenhoe and her maid Synne, both riding in a light cart being pulled by a horse; his newly-appointed seneschal Robert de Aumale; Brand, the leader of Alan’s huscarles; Osmund the scribe; Alan’s servant Leof and nine huscarles, the latter professional English warriors. The cart also contained several chests of belongings and the rolled up chain-mail armour of the warriors, wrapped in oiled leather bags.
Alan was a tall and slim but physically powerful young man of just twenty years with red hair and brown eyes, his hair and a small beard now growing long in accordance with the wishes of his wife. He was originally from Gauville in Normandy, had fought at Hastings with his friend Robert- and he had saved Duke William’s life during the battle. The previous year he’d received as a reward from William six manors in the Tendring Hundred in Essex.
Within the last few days he had received a further four manors on the Welsh border as reward for his largely unsuccessful attempt to assist the English against abuses being perpetuated by those royal officers responsible to administer the Heriot land-tax, or Relief tax, imposed against the land of all those in England who had not supported William at Hastings. This attempt by Alan had earned him the enmity of Bishop William of London, Ralph the Staller, who was the earl of East Anglia, and the influential priest Engelric, together with their minion Robert fitzWymarc, the part-Breton sheriff of Essex who had came to England before the Conquest and had received advancement from first King Edward and then King William. Bishop William and Earl Ralph were appointees of Edward the Confessor from before the Norman invasion, the former a Norman and the latter half English.
Alan had married Anne in the summer of that year. Unusually, it was a love match, she being the young and much-abused widow of Aelfric, the former thegn of Wivenhoe who had died at the battle of Stamford Bridge. The daughter of Orvin, a wealthy merchant from Ipswich, she was now eighteen years of age. Short at just over five feet in height, petite, with long auburn hair and large brown eyes, Anne was an extremely intelligent and astute woman who had taken the proceeds obtained from Alan’s victory over of a large Danish raiding force and in a short time transformed it into a small financial empire. This allowed Alan the finance to do as he wished in the areas that interested him. These were raising, equipping and training a significant force of men-at-arms, scholasticism and tinkering in his workshop building engines of war. For a knight Alan was most unusual, being well educated, erudite and cultured with a fine understanding of the arts. This was all a result of a failed attempt to join a Benedictine monastery in his youth.
Usually Anne rode ahorse and traveled well. It was unusual for her to decide to ride in the cart with her maid, but she was feeling ill.
It was raining and cold with a vicious north wind. The men rode soaked and chilled, while the women sat partially sheltered by a large oiled cloth over the cart.
From Winchester to Gloucester is a journey of 85 miles and they took two days, resting overnight at Chiseldon in Wiltshire. Hereford was a further forty miles beyond Gloucester, with their destination of Staunton a further nine miles again beyond that. As Anne was not feeling well, and with no immediate urgency in their travel, Alan had suggested that they break their journey at Gloucester for several days, partly as none of the party had visited that city before.
They entered through the East Gate, where Alan enquired of the guard captain as to whether he could recommend an inn frequented by wealthy merchants. At his suggestion they proceeded up the aptly named Eastgate Street to the ‘Bear and Bull’ Inn.
With the city’s history back to Roman times, the main thoroughfares were paved with stone, although piles of refuse and excrement littered the roadways. The rain had not been heavy enough to wash the rubbish away and it lay wet and slippery, ready to catch the unwary. It was late afternoon, about an hour before Vespers, and the dull sky presaged an even earlier than usual fall of darkness this wintery day. Most of the hawkers and street vendors had departed to their homes, the shop-keepers were closing their premises, moving display goods inside and closing the wooden shutters of the poky little shops.
A number of houses in the south-west corner of the town had been demolished and the motte of a new castle was being built, with piles of earth, stone and rubble standing in what would become the bailey. The building site was currently deserted due to the poor weather and late hour. Within the confines of the town walls houses, halls, shops, inns, taverns, churches, workshops and factories were crammed together. The large mass of St Peter’s Abbey dominated the northern part of the town, towering over the one and two storey buildings that made up the majority of the buildings in the town.
The air was foul with the stench of excrement, rotting waste, the contents of the vats which the tanners and dyers had emptied onto the street at the end of their working day, the smoke of hundreds of chimneys and the fumes from the iron foundries that were the main industry of the town. On the other side of the town, beyond West Gate, lay the docks and the River Severn, with the wooden bridge over the river barely visible in the failing light and the light drizzle that was falling.
“What is it about towns that makes everybody use the streets as a midden?” asked Osmund rhetorically.
“It’s because nobody’s in charge,” replied Brand. “In a village if you don’t use the common midden and just dump your rubbish anywhere, your neighbours soon let you know they’re unhappy- and the muck makes good fertiliser in the fields! Here nobody cares. Ah! Judging by that hanging sign it looks as if we’ve found our lodging place.”
Once inside the inn Anne checked the quality of the rooms while Alan enquired as to the board of fare that evening. Both were satisfied, and three rooms were taken at two pence a person a night, including food. The huscarles would sleep in the Commons near the fire, at a penny each. As darkness fell the men drank mulled ale in the common room by the light of smoking rush torches and the blazing fire. Alan, Anne, Robert and Osmund sat at a table near the fire sipping warmed wine. Being Saturday there was no restriction on the provender available and after the usual vegetable pottage they ate rabbit and veal stew, pork pies and spiced roast lamb. Alan, something of an aficionado of fine cheese, declined to partake of the lack-luster cheese-board offered, instructing the taverner that he should obtain a more suitable offering for the following night.
The next day was Sunday. Sunrise wasn’t until shortly before half past eight and the weary travelers slept late before breaking their fast on pottage and day-old bread. Anne missed breakfast, being ill in her room and attended by her maid Synne, the only one of her four maids to accompany her on this journey. Eventually Anne appeared downstairs and spoke for a while to the wife of the taverner. The drizzle had turned to heavy rain, but despite this Anne asked for the services of one of the huscarles as an escort when she ventured outside. She declined both of Alan’s suggestions that she either stay warm inside or that he walk with her. Well rugged up against the weather she left together with Synne and the huscarle, returning damp and bedraggled an hour or so later. Alan and Robert were playing a game of ‘Fox and Geese’ with a wooden playing board and pegs. Robert’s Fox had cornered nearly all of Alan’s Geese. Anne bullied them, together with Osmund and Leof, into changing their clothes to attend the noon Mass at Sext at the nearby abbey, only a few hundred paces away.
The vast stone nave of the abbey, with its huge columns and high vaulted ceiling, was chillingly cold. The Benedictine monks sitting in the massive wooden Choir had their breath freeze before them as they sang and they hid their hands inside the sleeves of their black woolen habits. Despite the weather several hundred of the town’s 2,000 residents were in attendance, including those sufficiently well-dressed as to clearly be the leading burgesses of the town. The singing and chanting of the monks was a thing of beauty. However the abbot, who was a tall man of spare build wearing rich vestments, was the only person in the church with a chair or a cushion on which to kneel. The hour and a half taken to cleanse their souls, alternately standing or kneeling on the cold stone, were a trial to the congregation. “By St Peter’s toenails, it’s as cold as a witch’s teat in here. What have we done to deserve having to pay such a strong penance for our sins?” Alan whispered to Anne. She replied with an elbow in his ribs.
After the parting benediction they hurried back through the heavy rain to the ‘Bear and Bull’, quickly quaffing a warming drink on their arrival and gathered close to the fire, rubbing their hands by the flames while their cloaks were dried in the kitchen. Washed clean of sin, either by attending Mass or by the rain, they felt uplifted and comfortable.
The huscarles passed the time by either sitting near the fire and playing knucklebones for small wagers or outside in the stables tossing horseshoes at a stake driven into the ground. Alan was about to resume his interrupted game of ‘Fox and Geese’ with Robert when Anne asked him to come upstairs to their bedroom. The room was not large, little bigger than the bed with its down mattress and quilted counterpane, and had a small brazier in one corner to take the winter chill from the room. Anne sat on the bed and indicated with a pat for Alan to do the same.
“I have good news, my husband,” she said. “You’ve probably guessed by now, but after seeing a midwife of this town this morning I can confirm I’m with child,” she continued quietly but proudly.
“Praise be to God!” replied Alan fervently, his face suffused with emotion as he hugged her to him. “We’ll get this business dealt with in Herefordshire and get off back home to Thorrington. Are you able to travel?”
Anne laughed delightedly and said, “I’m pregnant, not sick. Pregnant women travel all the time. I’ll just take it easy and travel in the cart instead of riding. The child isn’t due until early August, so it’ll be May before I’m much restricted.”
After another hug and kiss they went downstairs, Alan keen to share the good news with his friends. It was nearly dark outside, the abbey bells having just tolled for the None service at three in the afternoon. The men who had been outside had come into the warmth cast by the roaring fire in the inn’s Commons. The fire, smoking rush torches, the usual smells of stale ale and stale rushes that identified any inn, together with the sour smell of unwashed bodies, made the air thick and noisome.
After making the announcement to his close associates Robert, Osmund and Brand, the news was quickly passed to the rest of the party and Alan found himself having to pay for celebratory mugs of ale and listen to the often ribald words of congratulation from his Anglo-Saxon troopers. Not least amongst the things causing Alan to be in good spirits was the genuine enthusiasm with which his retinue had received the news, showing that the Norman knight and his Anglo-Danish wife had indeed been fully accepted by the parochial men from Essex in the year or so that he had been lord of Thorrington and the somewhat lesser time that Anne had been its lady.
The next morning the weather had improved to a slight drizzle, but still with a bitingly cold wind howling from the north. Accompanied at her insistence by Anne, and with the youth Leof in tow, they went to Cornhill to negotiate for a cartload of flour- wheat and rye. All the lands on the Welsh border had been devastated by invasion barely six months ago and Alan had no doubt that even basic food items such as bread would be at a premium on the border. For that reason he was buying at Gloucester, rather than Hereford, as at this distance from the ravaged area prices should still be reasonable. Anne handled the negotiations, first checking the quality of the goods on offer and then negotiating a good price, with delivery to Staunton-on-Wye and the wagon to leave on the morrow. The muddy dirt tracks that passed for roads would be in such poor condition after the rain that delivery was expected to take at least two to three days after leaving Gloucester.
Next they passed out of North Gate and entered the Monastery of St Oswald, located next to the river just outside the town walls. The monastery was not as large or as prosperous as St Peter’s Abbey and the Sext Mass which they attended at noon was conducted in a small chapel rather than at the main altar. The service was conducted in Latin by a Canon and proceeded expeditiously, the small congregation gathered presumably not being adjudged worth the effort of a sermon or more than basic bible readings. Afterwards Alan approached an acolyte and obtained an invitation to dine in the refectory before seeing Brother Brunwin, the librarian. The fare provided at the table in the refectory was plain, basic and relatively meager.
Alan had a project in conjunction with Brother Leanian, the librarian at St Botolph’s Priory at Colchester, in which as Alan moved around the country he sought out various books on Brother Leanian’s ‘wanted’ list. In return, when the books were copied in exchange for books held at Colchester, Alan also received a copy. He had built up a considerable personal library of over two dozen books, including medical and military texts, poetry and classical works from the Greeks and Romans, as well as a number of books of English poetry.
On being ushered into the small dark room that was the library, Alan cast an eye at the small collection of books that lined one wall and immediately reached the conclusion that it was unlikely there would be anything of interest either to himself or to Brother Leanian. After a brief discussion Brother Brunwin took Alan’s list and then stood to read it in the light cast by the sole window of the room. Nearby were two monks sitting at small tables copying and illuminating basic religious texts. Alan’s expectations were fulfilled, in that Brother Brunwin would have wished to obtain many of the works on Brother Leanian’s ‘available’ list, but had nothing to offer in return.
Leaving St Oswald’s they walked the short distance to St Peter’s where they entered the larger and more brightly lit library overseen by Brother Alwin. This library was of obvious learning and industry. There were over a dozen small oak desks each with a wooden book-holder. Half a dozen monks in black habits were studying and making notes on wax tablets- even scraps of parchment were valuable and any important notes would be copied out later.
“Several of these Brothers are our scholars and teachers,” explained Brother Alwin. “We have something of a reputation as to the abilities of the scholars who live amongst us.” Half the adjoining large workroom was taken up by a dozen wooden desks and work-benches, each with a copy stand; each was occupied by a monk, all with the utmost care copying ancient tomes onto sheets of parchment or vellum. Three were undertaking what appeared to be commercial works, copying Psalters or Books of Hours for sale.
Here Alan was more successful and an agreement was reached to exchange three books between the abbeys. Two were medical works by Hippocrates and Galen, in Greek, and one an early English religious text from the seventh century. The copying would only take two months or so as the books were not large and Brother Leanian had specified he did not want ornate illumination. Alan would then receive his own copies in due course from Colchester Priory.
The following day the rain stopped, although the wind was still bitterly cold. Well protected by warm clothes and cloaks, and with Anne and her maid Synne sitting wrapped in blankets on the light cart, they departed out of West Gate, rode across the wooden bridges over the River Wye after paying the pontage fee and headed north to Hereford.
Before departing from Winchester Alan had sent word to his manor at Thorrington in Essex for more men to meet them at Hereford. He expected the arrival of Normans Baldwin, a trained man-at-arms, and Warren, an archer; also the Anglo-Saxon huscarle officer Leofwin and a force of five huscarles and ten Anglo-Saxon mounted men-at-arms from the company that Alan called his ‘Wolves’. Although they had further to travel, the slow progress of Alan’s party meant that the men from Essex should have covered the greater distance in less time.
Normally Alan would have expected the 37 miles from Gloucester to Hereford to be accomplished in half a day, as even with a horse-drawn light cart he would have expected to achieve seven miles to the hour. Instead it was nearly dark as they rode over the wooden bridge over the River Wye outside the gates of Hereford, again pausing to pay the toll fee, and then passed into the town which lay on the north side of the river. The road from Gloucester had been turned by the rain into a track of thick mud. The horsemen had walked their beasts at the side of the road on more firm ground, but even so each step taken by man or beast had taken effort as the soaked ground sucked at their feet.
The poor horse pulling the light four-wheeled cart had endured the worse of the journey, being forced to remain in the morass that the road had become and to strain to drag the cart, which often had its wheels mired almost to the axle. Several times the cart had become stuck in the mud and the men and horses had to strain to pull it clear. As they rode towards the town gate Alan noted the town walls looked as if they were newly repaired or improved. The town was one of the few in England to have had a castle before the arrival of the Normans and the bulk of that structure dominated the city to the east of the bridge, being located on the north bank of the river.
At the South Gate of the town Alan found that word had been left for him by Baldwin that they had arrived the day before and had taken lodging at the ‘Three Sheaves’ inn. The Captain of the guard suggested that Alan may wish to consider patronising the ‘Lion’, as he felt that the ‘Three Sheaves’ was probably a too rough for ladies of quality. The Lion was on Broad Street and not far from the Three Sheaves which was on Castle Street, the two streets being separated by the cathedral and its square.
Alan took the advice offered and they proceeded along Wyebridge Street, turned right into Middle Row and then left into Broad Street. The Lion was easily identified by its painted hanging sign and was just a little way up Broad Street. The inn was inspected and found satisfactory, catering mainly to well-to-do travelers, and two rooms were taken at a two silver pennies each for the night, with board for the room occupants included. Alan, Brand and Robert walked the short distance to the Three Sheaves. It catered, as the Captain had indicated, to a rougher clientele, mainly soldiers and carters. Baldwin, Warren and Leofwin, together with fifteen men, had taken two large dormitory-style rooms. Alan negotiated for another similar room and board for ten men and stabling for all the horses at a cost at this cheaper establishment of an extra five silver pennies a day for the room and three pennies for the stabling.
They returned to the Lion, where Alan instructed his men to take the horses to the Three Sheaves’ stable. He wanted to arrange the transfer of all ten of his huscarle escort, but Robert and Brand demurred- they remembered all too well the attempt on Alan’s life during a hunt just days before at London and the powerful enemies that he’d made by opposing the earl of East Anglia and the bishop of London in their extortion from the people of East Anglia in the absence of King William over the summer. In the end it was agreed that four huscarles, the youth Leof and the maid Synne would remain with Alan and Anne. Synne would sleep on a straw mattress on the floor in the room occupied by Alan and Anne, to protect the maid from any unwanted attentions- Alan and Anne being too tired to require privacy. One huscarle would stand guard outside Alan’s bedroom each night.
Dinner that evening was the inevitable pottage, a thick vegetable soup flavoured with a little meat which for most people in the country was their main meal, a re-heated roast of lamb cooked the day before, beef pie and vegetables braised in stock, accompanied by wine, mead or ale depending on individual preference.
Over the meal Alan and Anne heard what Baldwin, Warren and Leofwin had learned locally. They had not ridden to the manor at Staunton, but on their approach to Hereford from the east had passed through damaged and burnt villages and manors. Little damage had been noticed by Alan and his party on their journey north from Colchester, but it soon became clear that the land north and east of the River Wye had suffered severely- although apparently not as much as that to the west, where Alan’s manors were located. Alan agreed with Anne that next day she could accompany them on the nine mile ride to the west to the manor of Staunton, but specified that she would return that night to Hereford as there was little likelihood that suitable accommodation would have survived in any of his manors. Synne would remain in Hereford.
Next morning they rose early and were finishing a substantial breakfast when they heard the noise of the others of the party arriving outside. Anne was feeling better that day and rode ahorse, although side-saddle rather than astride. They had to wait several minutes by the gate before it was opened at first light and then they rode west on the road that ran on the north side of the River Wye. Swainshill, Bridge Sollers and Byford were, if not devastated, certainly still significantly damaged even six months after the invasion.
After a ride of nine miles they reached Staunton, which was a little over a mile away from the river. The village of Monnington lay on the north bank of the River Wye. Bobury was to the south-west and Norton Canon to the north-east. The former was about two miles away and also on the river, the latter about three miles distant, and the four villages comprised the land which Alan had recently received from the king’s hand.
Alan’s party was nearly thirty strong, the huscarles and Wolves wearing their armour, and engendered considerable concern as they halted in the centre of the village. A number of villagers were looking on and Alan called to a nearby gebur, a freeman of low station, to fetch the village headman and elders. He then he dismounted and assisted Anne from her horse. Baldwin barked several sharp commands in Anglo-Saxon English and four pairs of Wolves, each in their distinctive green-dyed wolf-pelt cloak, moved slightly away into defensive positions, looking about alertly.
Alan and Anne stood next to the rouncey Alan had been riding, a chestnut stallion called Fayne, and Anne’s white palfrey Misty. Both lord and lady had hands on hips and were looking about them. Staunton had, or rather until recently had once had, forty or so cottages around a large village green. Of these some fourteen were burnt-out shells and most of the others showed signs of damage and hasty repair. White-washed wattle-and-daub walls were smoke-blackened; roofs were recently re-thatched; those sheds and outbuildings that remained either bore scorch-marks or were missing walls or roofs. Some buildings, such as the tavern, had been repaired more thoroughly. Only very few, such as the small white-painted wooden church, showed no damage. Most of the cottages had pig-sties or chicken runs, or both, behind them. Barely half had any livestock in them.
The manor Hall, behind a wooden palisade, was a burnt-out ruin. “A good call by you on my sleeping arrangements,” commented Anne quietly.
Alan grunted in reply, “There’s damn-all left here,” he agreed.
Several cheorls, freemen of moderate means, approached, dressed in rough and plain tunics and trews. “God Hael, gum?eod! I am Alan of Thorrington. This manor, and several others nearby, have been given into my hands.”
The village headman introduced himself. He was a dark-haired man called Siric, above middle years but not yet elderly. He was large but not corpulent, perhaps because of lack of food in recent times. He named the other men with him and they then quickly showed Alan and the others around the village and before conducting them to Norton Canon, Monnington and Bobury. The damage to the two latter villages, which were on the river, included the ruination of their watermills, with the water-wheels being smashed and the buildings burnt. ‘At least the water-races and the mill-stones themselves still exist,’ mused Alan. They were back at Staunton by early afternoon, bringing with them the headman and elders of each village. They crowded into the tavern at Staunton as the Moot-Hall was still under repair.
“Hlaford! You clearly have had a difficult time over the last six months or so,” began Alan as he addressed them. “You’ve lost loved ones and valuable members of your communities. The previous lords died fighting to protect what was theirs, and King William has now given these manors into my hand. I hold directly from the king.” That comment caused some raised eyebrows and mutters. “I speak to you in Anglo-Saxon English, a language with which I am familiar. I hold other lands in East Anglia. My wife Anne is Anglo-Saxon, or at least Anglo-Danish,” here Alan gestured in her direction. “So are most of my warriors. Sir Robert de Aumale is my good friend and I have appointed him seneschal of these manors.
“Because of the damage to these lands the king’s taxes have been remitted for three years. Other than obligations to provide customary labour and also food for my men, any obligation owed by the villages to me as lord are waived until Christmastide, and possibly longer. There will be twenty armed men in my employ here at Staunton under Sir Robert to protect you. I expect every fit freeman, irrespective of whether or not they have military obligations, to train and be a worthy member of the fyrd. Every man. You live in the shadow of the Welsh mountains and the men who ride east from them. You know from what happened just a few short months ago the need to protect your own village. I will provide the weapons and my men will provide the training.
“A fort will be built here at Staunton. This will be not to oppress you, but to protect you. All will contribute labour to its building and all will be entitled in time of war to seek its shelter. This labour will be the traditional burgh-bot given to make or maintain fortifications for the village. Workers will be provided food and drink as is usual on each day of labour.
“I acknowledge the difficulty with food. The Welsh carried off all the milled flour and burnt what they could not carry away- even your seed stock for the spring planting. I’ll bring in seed for you to sow and provide it to you at no cost. Some of your oxen were hidden and can still pull a plough. Others were stolen or killed. The ploughs were burnt, but the village smiths can make new ones within a few weeks- the plough-shares themselves remain. Men may need to plough the land by hand come springtime, but I will provide what assistance I can. Your dairy cattle were taken. Probably half of your swine remain, as you were quick enough to drive them into the woodland, where taking them was difficult for the Welsh. Similarly with your cattle.
“I advise regarding the lord’s rights, that for this year only until Christmastide, I waive the traditional lord’s rights regarding taking boar, deer and wild cattle in the woodlands, for the own use of each man and his family. On an on-going basis, I waive the right to take fish by hook and line in the river, hare and fox in the fields, and pigeons. This should put meat in every pot every night.
“One wagon of flour should arrive tomorrow or the next day. I’ll send several others over the next few months. That will be rationed out and distributed free of charge to those in need.
“I’m not, generally speaking, a generous lord. But I recognise that these are difficult times and that those who have a call on my generosity are in need. You are my people; we have mutual obligations. When your villages are in a better position, should I then be in need, I would expect your support- as I now support you.” Alan nodded and sat down.
After several short speeches of appreciation from the village headmen, Alan, Anne and Robert walked over to the site of the former manor Hall, walking through its blackened walls and collapsed roof.
“It’ll be easier to start again,” commented Robert.
Alan grunted agreement. “Where?” he asked.
Robert pointed. “Probably just over there. This time a ditch and rampart, plus the palisade. Do we need a motte?”
“It’s not really worth the effort involved,” replied Alan. “The Welsh don’t go in for prolonged sieges and you couldn’t get all the people into the small tower for safety anyway. It should be sufficient to have a nine or ten foot deep trench, with spoil on the defensive side, and properly made embankment with a palisade on top; the old timber can be reused. That should be nearly impossible to breach quickly. You won’t be burnt out of house and home again, with the Grace of God, and some basic precautions.”
“So let us go and smite the Philistines on the other side of the border, for the Lord our God is with us!” commented Robert.
Alan clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s just kick arse and let God worry about the rest!” he replied with a laugh.
Appropriately, at that time the parish priest Father Siward walked into the village. The small thin man wore a brown habit and with a straggly moustache, he looked for all the world like an anxious mouse. Siward had been visiting his congregation at Byford and had his rectory nearby at Monnington. He ushered Alan and Anne into a small annex off the church sanctuary, the vestry where he changed his vestments before celebrating Mass. Siward urged them to sit at the stools while he perched himself on a small table after he had offered what hospitality he could, a cup of sour communion wine.
“What of your parishioners’ spiritual needs?” asked Anne.
Siward showed himself to be both quick-witted and compassionate with his reply. “The last six months have been a difficult time for the parish, and indeed the shire. The Welsh swept in like… not a plague of locusts as they were much more violent and dangerous than that, but you know what I mean. They stole everything they could and what they couldn’t steal they deliberately spoiled. The standing crops were burnt and the spare seedstock ruined. There are many still without the shelter of their own homes. Food is scarce and bellies empty. Fortunately, the river provides us with fish for meat and we were able to harvest some vegetables. There’s no grain for bread, or even to ferment to make ale! The dairy cattle and milking-goats were stolen, so there’s no milk and no cheese. The worst is the loss of the oxen. Without them we’ll be unable to plant more than a small amount of crops, even if we are able to procure any seed to sow. Most of the other cattle, sheep and swine were driven off into the forest and many were saved, but it’s been a struggle to keep them alive in the winter with most of the fodder gone. However, we’ve enough livestock to breed back to former levels, given time. Let us pray to God that the remainder of the winter is not harsh and that God gives a bountiful harvest in the autumn.
“The hardship of the body has affected the spirit of the people. Perhaps worst of all is the loss of loved ones. My parish lost 57 men killed and 16 women, together with some lytlings. Another 11 men and 21 women taken captive, for whom their families also grieve but without the knowledge of their fate. Lytlings are left orphaned, or with but one parent who struggles to provide for them. May Mary, mother of God, give them comfort.”
“I share your wishes for God’s future bounty and will include these lands in my prayers each day,” said Alan piously. “Bleddyn has followed one of the principals of Vegetius. ‘The main and principal point in war is to secure plenty of provisions for oneself and to destroy the enemy by famine. Famine is more terrible than the sword’,” he quoted. “I understand that the English, under Harold and before, have treated the Welshmen roughly. I’m sure that in the time since fitzOsbern has been on the border that he’s done nothing to endear himself to the Welsh. They raid us, we use heavy-handed punitive measures against them.”
“Christian kindness has been lacking on both sides of the border,” confirmed Siward.
“I’ll have twenty men-at-arms stationed here at Staunton under Sir Robert de Aumale, mainly Englishmen but led by Normans We will build a… not ‘castle’ as such, but a strong defensive position where all the people can take refuge. Generally the people don’t take this well. How do you think the people of these manors will react?”
“After last year, they will react very favorably. You could fill the castle with Moors, and as long as they were here to defend them the people of your villages wouldn’t care! Safety is the most important thing to them now,” replied Siward. “If you can protect them they wouldn’t care if you were Lucifer himself.”
“And would they train and fight?” enquired Alan.
“They fought last summer. Many died wielding pitchfork and spade supporting the local lords of Staunton and Monnington and their few retainers. If you equip them, train them and lead, yes they’ll fight,” replied Siward.
Alan cast an eye on the gathering darkness outside the small window in the vestry. “Father, I thank you for our discussion. I must away to Hereford with Lady Anne, but we’ll return on the morrow and talk further. Hopefully tomorrow a wagon should arrive from Colchester with flour and we’ll arrange for some sacks of barley to be brought to make ale- such a lack will not be acceptable to my men!”
Anne added, “Can you please arrange for me tomorrow to meet with a delegation of the womenfolk from the villages, including the wives of each of the head-cheorls?”
Siward nodded acquiescence. “Certainly! I’ll have them here and you can conduct your meeting in the church nave,” he replied.
“And can you conduct Mass for all at Terce or a little after, depending on when we can arrive? Perhaps a suitable homily from the pulpit to help us in our efforts and build a good relationship with the locals?” asked Anne.
Siward nodded his agreement and Alan and Anne took their leave after a parting benediction from the priest, mounting to ride back to Hereford with an escort of four men-at-arms.
After a ride of a little over an hour they arrived back at Hereford just as full dark was falling and the guards on the West Gate were struggling to push the heavy gates closed, narrowly avoiding having to pay a bribe to have the gates opened after nightfall.
Even though it was only a little before four in the afternoon, in the gathering darkness the street vendors were packing away their wares and the merchants were closing their shops. Alan and Anne proceeded immediately to the warehouses of the grain merchants, hoping to find them still open. After a few minutes in the first grain store Anne shook her head and led the way out, sure that the merchant was seeking to take advantage of them. However, the prices in the second store were similar- five times the price that they had paid at Gloucester. They limited their purchase to four bushels of barley. The next stop was a brewery. Given their new-found knowledge of the cost of the raw materials used in the brewing process they were not surprised to have to pay top price for a brew of quite moderate quality. Alan purchased seven hogsheads of ale, each of 54 gallons.
They arrived back at the Lion inn just as dinner was being served. Menjoire soup, herbelade pork pies, spinach tarte and mustard lentils. This wasn’t an overly rich meal, but one Alan and Anne were sure would be considerably better than whatever Robert and the others were eating at Staunton that evening.
After dining they spoke to the inn-keeper and had his pot-boy show Leof the way to the house of Moses the Jew on St Owen’s Street, to deliver a message. Leof returned not long afterwards and advised that Moses was at his counting-house and disposed to meet them.
Again with the assistance of the pot-boy they set out with an escort of two huscarles carrying rush torches to light the way in the dark. The boy needed no such assistance and within a few minutes indicated a door set in an otherwise blank wall. On knocking they were admitted. The boy, Leof and the huscarles remained in the entry foyer as Alan and Anne were ushered further inside by a young man. When they entered his chamber Moses rose from the chair at a table where he had been sitting and gestured them towards chairs placed opposite. He was relatively old at about 45, tall and thin with a lean face and prominent hawk-nose. He was dressed in traditional black robes and head-covering, and his long hair, in ringlets at the side, had streaks of grey.
His eyes took in the good quality but understated nature of the clothing of his guests as Alan peeled off his leather gloves and tucked them in his belt. “Good evening, my lord and lady. How may I be of assistance?” he asked.
“Good evening to you also,” replied Alan, pulling a small roll of parchment from his pouch. “This is from Malachi in London and I think will act as suitable introduction, although I do not read Hebrew.” He paused while Moses quickly perused the document and nodded once respectfully. Alan continued, “I am Alan of Thorrington and this is my wife, Anne of Wivenhoe. I have four manors to the west and I’ve appointed Sir Robert de Aumale as seneschal of my lands. Unfortunately, they’ve suffered some depredation and will require some financial support from me. I wish to open an account here, transferring?100 of the funds I have on deposit with Malachi. I understand that you arrange that by Note of Hand. If you wish to have the relevant documentation drawn for me to sign? Myself, Lady Anne and also Sir Robert will be able to draw on these funds as required.”
Moses half-bowed. “Certainly, my lord. If you would care to wait a moment, I’ll have wine and sweetmeats served while the documents are prepared.”
Moments after the Jew left the room a servant appeared with a flask of very good Angevin wine and a plate of candied ginger, dried fruit and nuts. Moses returned shortly afterwards and they chatted about general matters for fifteen minutes or so until an assistant hurried in with the paperwork, which he placed on the table. Moses carefully read the two documents and then turned them for Alan and Anne to peruse. The documents were written in Latin; one was a request to Malachi to transfer the nominated amount, and the other dealt with instructions authorising withdrawals. Alan and Anne swapped documents to read and then signed each with the quill and ink provided.
Business transacted, they then left and returned to the Lion, retiring upstairs to bed nearly immediately.
Next morning they ate a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs and bread, knowing that Staunton would not be able to offer much in the way of fare for the mid-day meal, before taking to the road. On the way they passed both the wagons from Gloucester and Hereford carrying supplies.
On arrival Alan asked Robert, “Did you have a good night’s sleep?”
“Probably not as good as you, but the villagers have taken us into their homes and are providing what food and accommodation they can. Nobody can ask for more than that. They can’t give you what they don’t have!” replied Robert with a shrug. “By the way, this is David, the steward. He was off in Hereford yesterday trying to barter dried fish for flour.”
Alan nodded to the stocky dark-haired man at Robert’s side. “God Hael, David! I have good news. In about an hour two wagons will be arriving. One is from Gloucester, carrying sixty bushels of rye and wheat flour and the other is from Hereford with four bushels of barley for the taverner to use to make ale, and seven hogsheads of brewed ale. I’ll arrange for further supplies from Gloucester; they can come up the river by boat to Monnington. Anne, if you’d like to get the ladies baking when the supplies arrive, we can have something of a celebration.”
“The men went out this morning and took some deer,” said Robert. “I’ll send them back out again and see if we can get some boar and more deer, maybe some wild cattle. There are quite thick patches of forest a little closer to the border. The men will appreciate having ale to drink- drinking water is too damn dangerous!”
While the hunters headed out, Alan conducted Robert, Osmund, Father Siward, Siric, David and the head-cheorls of Norton Canon, Monnington, and Bobury- by name Aella, Bearn and Defan respectively- to the selected site on a slight rise just to the west of the village. “Hlaford!” he began. “Here we’re going to build a fortified bailey. Or burgh, where the people of your villages can take shelter in time of trouble. All the villagers owe traditional burgh-bot labour for fortifications.”
They paced out an oblong 100 paces by 70, Alan marking the site to show the ditch and rampart, the towers at each corner and each side of the gate on the eastern side; then the position of the Hall, kitchen, stables, armoury and granary- Alan intended that the food supplies for the village also be secured.
“Build the stable first, followed by the Hall. Then the ditch, rampart, palisade and towers. Next, build the armoury and finally the granary, which won’t be needed until late summer. Also dig a well.” Alan showed them the sketch plans he had drawn the night before. “I want you to have all available labour engaged. You have a couple of months until the harvest is due to be sown. These plans aren’t grandiose and the facilities will be fairly basic. Half-timber construction with wooden frames and wattle and daub walls. Slate stone floors. Wooden shingles for roofing- not thatch. You have recently learned how easily thatch burns! Shingles burn, but not so easily or quickly. The workers, men and women, will be given food and drink each day. After that’s done we can repair the Moothall and the mills, and also the fish-farms at Monnington and Bobury.
“Do we need to invite men and women to come and live in these villages to replace those who were killed or taken?” continued Alan. “Yes? Very well, David I want you to have the word spread in Gloucestershire that we are looking for suitable people and that land will be granted to them in laen- but wait until we’ve sufficient food available to feed them!
“Siric, Aella, Bearn and Defan, have your blacksmiths as quickly as they can make new ploughs as replacements for those destroyed, and repair those damaged in the raid. They’ll be needed in a few weeks. When they have spare moments they can make spearheads and arrowheads. Robert, arrange for a supply of steel bars from Gloucester and also two wagons of grain each week. It’s so much cheaper there than in Hereford that it’s worth the cost of transport. I’ll provide the funds and I’ll send swords from Gloucester- that would be the best source as they have ample foundries and a suitable supply of iron, coal and charcoal from the Forest of Dean. David, do you have two or three reliable men we can send by ship to Cardiff to buy Welsh bows? Good.”
“This all promises to be a most expensive exercise,” commented Robert.
“True, but we need to rebuild what was here so we can all prosper in the future, and for them be in a position to defend it so it’s not all destroyed again next year. I expect each village to provide ten bowmen and twenty to thirty fyrdmen. Then you can be in a position to mount an effective defence. I’ve given instructions to Moses the Jew that you’re to be provided with what funds you reasonably require- but you’ll need to provide proper accounts,” replied Alan briskly. “Now, let’s see how matters are progressing in the village.”
In fact matters were progressing well. The supply wagons had arrived and been emptied. The smell of baking bread wafted over the village for the first time in months. The fish-traps at Monnington had been emptied and cleaned fish lay waiting to be baked or fried. The deer and other game caught earlier were cooking over open fires and the hunters were returning with further catches that would shortly be roasting or boiling with vegetables. The inhabitants of Norton Canon, Monnington and Bobury were drifting in to join the villagers of Staunton in partaking of their new lord’s largess. The gathering was convivial and Alan, Anne and Robert circulated and chatted with the villagers, ascertaining needs and receiving thanks for the provender they had supplied.
Two days later Alan, Anne, Synne, Osmund, Brand, Leof and an escort of four men rode east towards Essex and home.