THORRINGTON FEBRUARY 1067
It was midday on a clear crisp winter day in late February when Alan was out with four local thegns, Edward, Alric, Edwold and Ketel who he had invited hawking for a ‘get to know you day’. Together with half a dozen servants they were in a forest near Alresford in the north of Alan’s demesne. All of his companions were Saxons and like them he wore a padded jerkin and thick breeches against the cold, leather gloves on his hands and a close fitting knitted cap on his head. As usual he was dressed in black and dark brown and wore no armour- having decided on his first day in the manor that if he had to wear armour to protect him from his own people he might as well give up and go home. Respect, not fear, was what he strove for in both man and beast.
Alan enjoyed falconry. This was a quiet morning’s ride with a small group of friends seeking their quarry in the forest clearings and open spaces where the birds which falcons and hawks usually sought as prey could be found and the occasional hare could be started, although most falcons and hawks would rarely chase ground-based prey.
Alan disliked the larger and more formal hunts for boar and deer, as he enjoyed pitting his wits against his foe. A well-shot arrow in a stalk through the forest was worth a dozen deer driven to the bowmen by beaters, and Alan had to admit he was at best an indifferent hand with the bow. Boar-hunting was more… exciting, with an angry 200 pound beast with sharp tusks charging at short-range in the semi-darkness of deep forest. Alan had in the past used stout boar-spears to kill what he felt was his fair share of boar in hunts arranged by his father in the woodlands near his ancestral home and felt no need to test his courage and fortitude on a regular basis. He adamantly refused to hunt animals that couldn’t be eaten, such as bear and wolves, unless they were causing undue depredation amongst the local livestock.
Benoic, Alan’s Falconer, rode behind him and carried the long-wing female peregrine falcon that was the excuse for today’s outing. She was a beautifully marked bird of white with brown speckles and dark-brown head currently covered by a soft leather hood. Alan been content to watch those two of his companions with hawks flying them against quarry, as they were riding through a stand of dense forest and the long-winged birds wouldn’t be able to be flown until they came to a large open area.
In reality, after a week of bad weather and judicial duties keeping him indoors, Alan was simply out for some exercise and fresh air. He was riding Odin, to also give him some exercise, although the large and bad-tempered destrier was hardly the most suitable horse for a hunting expedition. In stables or gentle riding the horse was difficult. He bit and kicked in the stables, and fidgeted and pranced in riding. Alan was prepared to put up with that behaviour as the French-trained war-horse responded to him in battle or practice as if they shared a single mind.
The path through the forest was a narrow and winding dirt track, the canopy of leafless oak and elm overhead letting light into the under-storey of bushes and shrubs that crowded the sides of the pathway. There had been no snow for over a week but the dirt path remained frozen solid.
Hearing a faint cry up ahead Alan cocked his head and used a gloved hand to move the knitted wool cap and uncover his ear. There was another shout, followed by the unmistakable ringing sound of steel on steel.
While Alan wore no armour, like all men of station he carried a sword hanging at his hip. The path ahead curved to the left and Alan spurred Odin into a gallop, bending low in the saddle to avoid the branches whipping by overhead. The sound of galloping hooves behind indicated that his Saxon companions were following.
After riding around the curve the path broadened, with the trees and undergrowth falling back to a distance of some ten paces on either side. Alan sat upright in his saddle and drew his sword Blue Fire, a well-balanced and superbly forged and acid-etched one-and-a-half-hand masterpiece some thirty-one inches in length, which he had literally picked up at Caldbec Hill.
Thirty yards ahead an unpleasant vignette was being played out. About a dozen roughly-dressed men were standing in a small clearing perhaps thirty yards across; several other people, including two women, were lying on the ground. Six horses were milling around in confusion, threatening to trample people underfoot as they cavorted and reared.
As Alan watched, one on the roughly-dressed men used a long knife to slit the throat of a man who was lying helpless on the ground. Two other men lay crumpled and still near the pathway, each with several arrows protruding from their chests. Two men were near each of the two women lying on the ground.
One woman wearing rich clothes was lying unmoving like a broken doll, while the men rifled through her clothing for valuables and removed the rings from her fingers. The other, by her clothing a maid, had her dress ripped open at the bodice and also pulled up to her waist. One man, with his pants around his ankles, was thrusting himself between her legs, with another awaiting his turn.
A man armed with a spear stood on the roadway just ahead of Alan. Rather than paying attention to his duties as a look-out, he had turned to face the clearing- obviously looking forward to his turn with the women. Before the man could gather his wits, Odin swerved towards him without any command by Alan. The horse smashed his massive chest into the bandit, throwing the man backwards onto the pathway. Odin paid particular attention to stamp each of his steel-shod feet on the body below him as he swept over, making sure to give a parting backwards kick which caught the man full on the head, smashing it open with a sound like a ripe melon bursting.
Another man ran in front of them, brandishing a rusty sword. Odin reared onto his hind-legs, making Alan to have to lean forward to maintain his seat as the horse lashed out with its iron-shod fore-hooves. The man’s face disappeared in a spray of blood as he reeled backwards and again the horse rode him down.
The slight pause had given Alan’s Saxon companions a chance to catch up, and after having felt a little like a passenger for the last few moments Alan took Odin in hand with a wrench of the reins, directing him towards the two men who were near the inert body of the noblewoman.
The two bandits started to rise to their feet, abandoning their preoccupation with robbery, with fear written clearly on their faces. As Alan reined Odin to an abrupt halt, the horse was almost standing on the woman. Without needing instruction, and with surprising adroitness and control, the animal carefully placed his feet so as not to crush the woman.
Alan gave a backhanded slash with his sword at the bandit to his right. The blade cleaved through the man’s right shoulder next to neck while the man was still fumbling with his own sword and trying to come to grips with the rapidly changed situation. The almost horizontal cut nearly severed the man’s head and he dropped in a shower of blood from severed arteries with a look of surprise still on his face.
Alan twitched Odin’s reins to make him move to the right and then launched himself out of the saddle towards the bandit on the left, who by now had recovered from his surprise sufficiently to draw his own sword from its scabbard and raise it to an ‘en garde’ position. Alan stumbled on landing and his opponent sought to take advantage by making a wild swing with the sword at his head. Alan immediately performed a passata-sotto, dropping down with his left hand to the ground and lowering his body below his opponent’s blade as it whistled overhead. Springing upright Alan performed an advance and a simple riposte lunge, running six inches of steel into his opponent’s chest before the latter could recover his balance. Remembering his teaching that ‘the damage is done by the first three inches of the blade, not the last three’ he was able to easily withdraw his blade as his opponent toppled over backwards.
With a quick glance around to make sure he was momentarily clear of further attack, Alan then kicked the his victim’s blade clear of his twitching hand. Looking around he saw that the thegns had finished off the two men who had been ravaging the maid. One, now a headless corpse, still lay on her, drenching her with his blood. One thegn was approaching the last bandit still standing in the clearing. Alan could see movement in the trees as two or three survivors fled into the forest.
“Hold on! We want a prisoner!” shouted Alan- unfortunately just too late as the thegn performed a beat-parry, striking the bandit’s incoming blade aside before using a thrust to the throat. “Ah, well! Too late! Alric, get one of the men to catch the horses then help me. Edward, you and a couple of the servants stand guard in case those vermin return. Ketel, can you look to the maid?” The last was in response to the hysterical screams coming from underneath the headless corpse. “Edwold, check the bodies of both sides. See if any are still breathing.”
As Ketel heaved to one side the corpse atop the maid, the screams from the blood-drenched woman subsided into heart-rending sobs. After carefully wiping his blade clean on the filthy and ragged clothes of one the bandits and then sliding it back into its leather scabbard, Alan hurried over to the still motionless form of the well-dressed woman lying near the pathway.
He turned her head and checked her tongue to ensure she would not choke and gave her a cursory examination. He knelt at her right side, while Alric knelt on her left, his face looking anxious. “Do you know her?” asked Alan. Alric shook his head, his long blonde hair swinging from side to side. “Definitely a broken leg,” continued Alan. “This is a nasty cut to the thigh, and…” gently sounding her ribs with his fingertips, “I think some broken ribs. There’s no way we can put her on a horse and this path is too narrow for a cart or wagon. Get a couple of cloaks from her dead retainers and cover her while I check the others.”
Edwold had found that one of the retainers was still breathing and had rolled him onto his back. Alan knelt beside them and noted the blood from a wound to the chest and the pink frothy blood on the man’s lips. Edwold, who had seen enough killing wounds to know what that meant, pulled a wry face to Alan and shook his head sadly.
Alan gave a slight nod of agreement. “We can’t put him on a horse either. Alresford is your demesne isn’t it? Right! Come with me and we’ll get some more horses and get some litters made. We are, what… two miles away?” Raising his voice he continued, calling to the eldest of the thegns. “Alric! Edwold and I will be back in about an hour. Keep these two warm. Don’t move them. And keep a watch out, as there may be other bandits.”
Three men rode back to Alresford, Alan, Edwold and the falconer Benoic, who had retrieved all four of the birds that the party had been flying and had extracted a promise from Edwold to be able to place them in his mews until the excitement was over. Alan saw Benoic’s devotion to the birds, in the face of the calamity they had come across, as being if not quite humorous at least interestingly single-minded. The man had his job, his job was hawks and that was all he was interested in.
As they rode towards Alresford at a brisk canter Alan issued instructions to Edwold. “The injured are about half a mile into the forest. We’ll need stretchers or litters to bring them out. It’ll probably be easier to carry them out by hand rather than using litters. Can you have a light cart brought to the edge of the forest so we can get them here as soon as possible? Fortunately they’re both unconscious at the moment.”
Edwold largely ignored the flow of ideas and words from Alan’s lips. He knew perfectly well how to make a litter and didn’t need any instruction, least of all from an outlander. As they rode though the gate of the palisade that surrounded his Hall Edwold was shouting for attention. Within minutes stretchers were being made, horses brought, a cart requisitioned and provided with a draft horse, and the village Wise Woman sought (she was not immediately available, being out in the forest picking herbs, but a boy was left on her doorstep with instructions to bring her to the Hall the moment she returned).
It was more than two hours later that they returned to the clearing in the forest with a multitude of helpers and horses. All of the dead, including the bandits, were thrown onto the back of packhorses, two or three to a horse. As they were loaded the horses sidled nervously, eyes wide and nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. There had been little change in the condition of the wounded man and woman. If anything the man was breathing more clearly than Alan would have expected. Placing his ear against his chest he could hear the rattle of air being drawn through blood. Alan grimaced as he sat back, well aware that the unidentified servant was slowly drowning in his own blood and there was nothing anybody could do about it other than pray for his immortal soul.
Alan directed that stout sheets of cloth be slid under the two injured people, and then used to lift them and place them onto the stretchers. They had brought with them two women and a firkin of water. The women went to work on the maid, who was now in a catatonic state sitting on a fallen tree trunk, washing away the blood that had clotted on her face, hair and arms and providing her with a change of clothing. She and the other women would be given a place on the cart for the journey back to Alresford.
“Anything else you think we have missed?” Alan asked Edwold.
“No, but I don’t understand why you want the bodies, and the one loose head, of the footpads,” replied Edwold.
“I intend to display them at all the villages around here,” replied Alan. “Perhaps somebody will recognise them and be able to give us some information. Can you lend me a wagon and a couple of intelligent men tomorrow to start the rounds? It’ll probably take a week to visit all the villages, and by that time they’d hardly be recognisable anyway. You’d need some men with strong stomachs for the job. Also, can you get your steward to call all the hunters and the poachers together for a meeting tomorrow? They can look at the bodies and you can ask them what they’ve been seeing in the forest. Any leads they have about where the outlaw’s hide-out may be, with no more questions asked and twelve shillings from me to the man who can locate their camp if we can catch them still in residence. Your people know you and will trust you more than me. One thing I’ve found is that no peasant, and few freemen, will talk to the local lord, and here we need the help of those that are… let’s say on the edge of the law.”
“I’ll have to tell them that it is your money!” said Edwold with a grin. “They know that I don’t have two shillings to rub together!”
Alan snorted with amusement. “Me neither, but I can find it if I have to.”
“By the way,” commented Edwold “I’ve never seen a horse behave like yours. He was a weapon all on his own.”
“He is a mean and vicious bastard, just like his owner. He’s very intelligent in his way. We get on well, although we frequently have disagreements about who’s in charge on any one day,” laughed Alan. “He was specially trained, like most destriers. That’s why they cost so much. The only problem is he’s pretty much a one-use animal, not like your rouncey over there that you can use for anything from a cavalry charge to a pack-horse to teaching your children how to ride.”
By this time everything and everybody was packed away and the party started out in the late afternoon towards Alresford. When they arrived and the cart was driven through the Hall gate the village Wise Woman Dona was waiting and climbed onto the cart immediately. Alan nodded to her respectfully and said, “Welcome! Edwold tells me that your name is Dona.” Alan though that the name ‘Mother Goddess’ was particularly suitable for a village Wise Woman. Dona gave a long thoughtful look as the rescued maid was handed down from the cart, noting the frozen expression of her face, and then turned to the two patients lying in the back.
Alan said, “Before I forget, you noticed that girl is badly affected by her experience today. May I suggest a strong sedative and constant supervision?” Dona tilted her head to the side and nodded, not committing herself but acknowledging the advice given. “Now as to this one,” Alan continued pointing to the injured man, and then waited while Dona performed a quick appraisal.
“I hope that you don’t expect a cure from me” said Dona in a nasal tone.
Alan pulled a wry face and replied, “No. This man, whoever he is, has his soul in God’s hands. And God will take it shortly. All I ask is that you ease his passing. I’ll send word for the priest to come and shrive him. Do what you can, and here is a price for your efforts,” pulling out his purse and extracting a dozen silver pennies.
Dona snorted. “More than I have been paid for many a year,” she commented.
“The workman, or woman, is worthy of his hire, and I can see that you are experienced and capable,” replied Alan. “Do what you can with both the man and the maid. I feel the woman will be the bigger problem and take more effort, as the man won’t be with us for long. I don’t feel that I’ve overpaid you. If you later feel that more payment is needed, come and see me.”
Dona’s lips twitched. “Although you speak English well, I can tell by your accent that you are not a native. I presume that you are our new Norman lord, come to enslave us all?” As Alan laughed heartily she continued, “And the lady?” with an indication of her hand to the other stretcher in the cart.
Alan glanced up to the sky. He estimated it was about three in the afternoon. Two miles to Thorrington. Half an hour, perhaps three-quarters if they had to slow down in the dark. “I’ll take her with me to Thorrington. She has some broken bones that need setting and then will need to rest for some time.” Edwold made several men available, including a cart driver and a couple of warriors. Alric and Edward decided to accompany Alan back to Thorrington for the night. Benoic was to follow with Alan’s hawk the next day.
They arrived at Thorrington just as full dark was falling. The journey had not been difficult but had been restricted by the pace of the horse and cart. “At least we didn’t use an ox,” mused Alan in impatience. “Lynn!” he shouted as they entered through the gateway of the wooden palisade around the Hall. The housekeeper appeared moments later in the light of the rush torches being held aloft by servants. “Lynn. Provide food and ale for my friends Alric and Edward and their servants. Set a brazier in my bedchamber and heat some water. I want as many candles, lamps and rushes alight in the bedchamber as possible. You four men! Unhook the stretcher on the cart, gently, and bring it inside. Lynn, is Brother Aldwyn still here? If so, please get him up here quickly. I want the lady bathed with warm wet cloths and ready for me to tend to her in fifteen minutes.”
The housekeeper was quite old, about thirty, portly and naturally slow-moving and slow-thinking, quite ugly with a wizened face and several large warts. “You want the lady naked on your bed?” she asked, with both eyebrows disappearing into her grey and sparse hairline.
“In fifteen minutes. I’m in a hurry.” Alan paused and then laughed aloud at her expression of concern. “Don’t worry, she is safe from any carnal intentions, but she needs urgent medical treatment. I don’t usually take advantage of unconscious noble ladies! Err… I suggest that it would be easiest if most of her clothes were cut from her. There’s no need to injure her further to save a few pieces of cloth.”
Just then Brother Aldwyn, the Infirmarer of St Botolph’s Priory at Colchester entered the room carrying a bag.
“Ah, Brother Aldwyn! I’m glad that you are still here. It’s fortunate that you were visiting. The lady here appears sore hurt and I would ask that you tend her.”
The middle-aged cleric nodded his willingness and then stepped outside to allow the ladies privacy as they stripped and washed the injured woman. He had visited because in a previous discussion Alan had indicated that he had several medical texts which the cleric had been keen to peruse.
After an abbreviated fulfilling of his obligations as host to Alric and Edward, and a careful washing of his hands and a change of clothes (the latter performed in the corner of the bedchamber, while the women looked demurely away) Alan stood over the bed on which the unknown lady was lying.
Brother Aldwyn stood at his side. The injured woman had, as instructed, been stripped naked and Alan had to admit to himself a certain interest. She had long rich dark auburn hair, tangled and disarrayed with the events of the day. Alan reached out and brushed loose hairs away from her face. She was petite, perhaps just over five feet in height, slim-built with a narrow waist and wide hips. Her breasts were small but firm, each about the size of a man’s hand. Lynn’s ministrations had cleaned most of the dried blood away from the large and ragged cut to the thigh. Brother Aldwyn cleaned the area thoroughly, applied an antiseptic unguent of garlic and alcohol into the wound before carefully stitching it closed and then applying a poultice of yarrow, marigold and ivy.
The cleric then carefully sounded her ribs, and decided that at least three or four on the left middle side of the ribcage were broken. He took Alan’s hand in his own and demonstrated to him the affected areas and how the broken ribs moved when compared to those which were unaffected. He instructed Dona and the housemaid Synne to lift the woman into a sitting position and then bound the ribs with bandages of linen. “Now for the difficult part,” he said as he gestured for Donna and Synne to allow the woman to again lie flat on the bed. Thirty minutes later he used the sleeve of his habit to wipe the sweat from his brow, even though it was still cold in the chamber, and swallowed a cup of wine which Alan proffered. “Praise be to the Lord that the lady was unconscious while I reduced the broken leg,” he said. “That didn’t go as well as I would have wished. Still the job is done, and I think properly done.”
Alan instructed the women, “Cover her up with the quilt and skins. Keep the brazier burning to keep the chill off the air. One maid to attend her at all times. I’ll sleep on a mattress in the office next door. Lynn, can you get some spare blankets for me? Brother Aldwyn, my thanks for your assistance. Praise be to God that you were here. Can you stay for a few days?”
“Nay! I must return to the priory tomorrow as there are many there who require my assistance.”
“Well my thanks go with you, and my prayers of gratitude. Perhaps I can do something to show my appreciation?” asked Alan
The cleric replied, “Well, there’s those medical parchments that you have- several aren’t included in our collection at the priory and I would ask that our librarian be able to copy them. We can also provide you in return with a copy of those tests that we have that are not amongst your collection. I’ll have prayers said for the lady’s recovery at Mass each day at the priory.”
Alan smiled and nodded, more than happy to oblige the cleric’s request.
Alan was standing naked before two buckets of what had been hot, now tepid, water on a side-table in the bedchamber. After a vigorous session of sword practice he was soaping the sweat away and examining several new bruises, preparatory to rinsing himself off. Willa the housemaid was sitting quietly in the corner, supposedly with her eyes demurely lowered to the sewing on her lap but in reality spending much or the time surreptitiously eyeing Alan’s tall, wiry frame with its muscular shoulders and arms and broad hairy chest.
He suddenly felt another person watching him and turned to see a pair of the greenest eyes he had ever seen peeping out over the top of the down quilt on the bed, showing a considerable degree of confusion and concern. Somewhat embarrassed at his semi-tumescent state, he turned away and finished rinsing himself off before drying himself and slipping on first a pair of underpants and then a pair of breeches.
“Sorry about that,” said Alan somewhat sheepishly “But it is my bed-chamber and it’s the warmest place in the whole damn building. There’s a blizzard outside, the washing-house water is frozen solid and there was no way I was going to wash out there! How are you feeling?” he asked in Anglo-Saxon.
After a moment a quiet husky voice answered, “Well enough… To be truthful, I feel terrible. I’m painful all over.”
Alan slipped on a shirt as he approached the bed and took her hand, feeling the pulse in the wrist. “Headache, sore chest and a left leg that feels it is on fire?” he asked in a professional manner. The auburn-haired head gave a small nod. “Not surprising, given your injuries. Now what is your name and where are you from?”
“Anne of Wivenhoe. Who are you? Where am I and what happened to my people?”
Alan sat easily on the edge of the bed. “A nice name,” he commented. “I’m Alan of Thorrington, which is where you are- in my Hall. We came across your party being attacked in the forest by footpads. I’m afraid we were too late to save three of your men. The fourth was sore wounded when we left him at Alresford last night. He’s receiving what attention they can give but I’m doubtful of the outcome. We pray for his recovery.”
“And my maid, Bathhilda?”
“So that is her name? She seemed well enough in body, although much troubled and distressed, when we left. She’d not spoken and seemed in a trance. She had been badly used before we arrived- and the circumstances of her rescue would not have helped. With God’s good grace both she and your servant will recover, although to be honest the servant is in God’s hands.”
Anne went to raise her hand to cross herself and then realised she was naked under the coverlet. “Is this part of your normal courtesy to guests?” she enquired with asperity.
Alan smiled easily. “No. Willa and Synne have been sitting protecting your virtue and reputation. You had bled badly and your clothes were ruined, although you may be able to salvage something from your fur-lined cloak. We had to cut off your clothing when we treated you.”
“You? You treated me?” asked Anne gently feeling first her ribs, then her bandaged thigh before touching the top of the splint that held her leg straight.
“It was mainly Brother Aldwyn from Colchester Priory. Myself and the serving women just helped. Now I presume that you’ll need to use the necessarium? Willa, if you could give Lady Anne a shift to wear and her cloak, I’ll fetch thegn Alric and we’ll carry you to the facility. Willa, bring a stool also.”
Alan pulled on socks and boots and a warm woollen jerkin, sitting on the bed to do so, before striding to the door and calling for Alric. Turning back he caught a brief glimpse of breasts as the dress was pulled over Anne’s head. Pulling back the coverlet he instructed, “Roll to your right. I’ll support your left leg, then roll into a sitting position. Put your right foot to the floor. Willa, some slippers please. Thank you. Alric if you could take Lady Anne’s right arm, and as she stands we’ll cross hands under her buttocks and lift.”
In an aside to Anne Alan commented, “I asked for Alric because he’s so old that a flash of a lady’s thigh is unlikely to cause him irresistible urges, and he’s noble enough to make me control my youthful urges. Also he’s about my height, which makes carrying easier.” A few minutes later they were in the bitter cold outside. “The privy is too narrow for us to carry you in, so we’ll put you down standing facing in the correct direction and I’ll help you hop backwards. God, a frozen latrine stinks something awful! My new residence will be much better when I eventually get it built, if it doesn’t bankrupt me first. Now, I’ll retire and Willa will help you sit, place the stool for your leg and then assist you to clean yourself. Alric and I will be outside.”
Standing with their backs to the privy house, breath steaming in the cold air and rubbing their hands together for warmth Alric commented, “A very nice souvenir for you.”
“That is Lady Anne of Wivenhoe. Perhaps a little more than a souvenir,” replied Alan.
Alric nodded gravely. “I have heard of her. She has a large estate and is recently widowed. Her husband, about my age, was Aelfric. He marched north with King Harold to Stamford Bridge.”
Alan inclined his head. “And like many others, did not march back. A common enough story with three major battles within six months. How many dead altogether? Six thousand, eight thousand? And as usual they would have been the best the country had to offer.”
Alric pursed his lips. “Perhaps the events before Hastings were beneficial to you Normans. However, not all of the fallen were good and noble. From what I heard the people of Wivenhoe are well rid of Aelfric. A hard-drinking man- nothing wrong with that, we all do that. But with a violent and abusive temper when drunk. Lady Anne had been married to him for a couple of years and may not be lamenting his loss over much. I know that if I was younger and single, I would be pressing my suit for such a desirable catch. My wife Hilda, of course, would cut my balls off if she thought I was even considering it.” he concluded with the wry smile of a happily married man.
“Isn’t Hilda fifteen years younger than you?” asked Alan with a smile.
“And I feel it every morning when I get up after trying to satisfy her,” agreed Alric with a smirk. “How are you and Edyth getting on?”
“Well enough,” replied Alan shortly. Alric nodded and walked a few paces away before unbuttoning his trousers and relieving himself in a stream of steaming liquid against a fence-post. As the whole Hundred knew, Edyth was a very good looking young woman, reputed to be a handful between the sheets, but as a miller’s daughter and as brainless as a brick she was hardly suitable marriage material for a wealthy lord. Nonetheless, she was a suitable plaything for any man.
A gentle call from within the privy from Willa and Alan returned to open the door, helped Anne hop out and then he and Alric carried her inside back to the bedroom. They carefully sat her on the bed and Alan instructed her how to roll into a comfortable position while supporting the splinted leg. Extra pillows were placed to allow Anne to sit semi-reclined.
“After such a little effort I feel strangely tired,” commented Anne.
“Not surprising at all,” commented Alan. “I’ll have some food sent in. A meat-broth and fresh bread. If you can keep that down you can have something more substantial this evening. Willa, it’s probably Synne’s turn to sit in, if you’d go and fetch her.”
With a look at Anne’s drawn features and pursed lips he continued “My lady, with your leave I’ll provide some medicine for the pain. The leg in particular will be a problem for some time. Let me know if you feel the bandages on the leg are too tight.” He removed the coverlet. “Wiggle your toes. Good. No! I didn’t say move your foot up and down! That’ll take a few minutes to stop hurting. Just do what I tell you, or ask before you experiment yourself.”
A few minutes later he said, “Here’s your food. Synne help Lady Anne to eat. Good. Now that’s finished you probably want more, but let us wait. A cup of water and then take this potion which will put you to sleep for several hours.”
“What about notifying my people about where I am?” asked Anne wearily.
“Good point. I intended to send a rider to your Hall when the weather breaks to let them know where you are. Now, we know the name of your maid Bathilda, but the other chap at Alresford is about twenty-five, medium height, short blond hair, bad teeth and a brown and green tunic. Who’s he?”
“That would be Bebeodan,” said Anne as she drifted into sleep.
“Well, I’ll get the rider to call in at Alresford and find out is he is still alive and also let them know that at Wivenhoe,” said Alan, suddenly aware that he was talking to a person asleep.
The next few days passed in a similar manner. Alan only dispensed poppy juice when really required and then only in small amounts, preferring to use an infusion of chamomile and willow-bark. Alric had returned home and Alan used several different male servants to help carry Anne to the latrine. Anne objected to the daily sponge bath provided by the elderly and authoritative Lynn, but acquiesced when her objections were abruptly overridden by the forceful comments of the housekeeper. “Lord Alan has directed that this is what is to happen, and by God’s breath those are instructions I intend to follow,” she said very firmly. “He said if I didn’t do it he would!”
Alan kept out of the way at those times. However, he did insist on treating the wound to her thigh every day, with the pulling up of the dress to reveal the groin being an issue every time. Finally he had enough and said abruptly, “Lady, you don’t have anything that I’ve not already seen when I’ve been treating you- or otherwise when I have been with other women. Stop your complaining. The wound itches. That’s good and means it is healing. There’s no inflammation or puss, which frankly given the state the wound was in when it was worked on it is a minor miracle and can only be by God’s good grace- there was dirt and cloth fibres and everything in there. I assure you that my seeing a bit of your thigh will not harm your immortal soul or mine. That is why there are these ladies here to assist and watch, and preserve your reputation. Stop fussing and let me work. Lynn, please hold this end of the bandage while I wind the rest in place, and Synne, please support the leg up so I can slip the bandage underneath.” A few minutes later, and after a deep breath Alan continued. “Now for the ribs. It’s several days since I looked at them, so please remove the dress.”
Much to Alan’s surprise all hell broke loose. Anne hid under the bedclothes, shouting various imprecations that Alan had trouble hearing because they were muffled, the ladies gathered about the bed showed clear disapproval in their pursed lips and narrowed eyes. Alan impatiently pulled the quilt down, revealing a crouched-down Anne and shouted, “God’s blood! What is the matter? I’ve seen your breasts before. It’s not as if they are fantastic. Edyth’s are much better.”
That apparently was not the correct thing to say. While Lynn covered a laugh with a cough, and there was a giggle from the doorway behind, where Alan was reasonably sure that Edyth was watching, Anne went absolutely hysterical. “Bastard! Whore-son! Murderer! Pervert! Pederast!” she shouted, showing her versatility by using three languages.
Recognising an argument that he could not win, even if he was successful, Alan stepped back and raised his hands. “Very well, ladies, if it means so much I’ll step outside and you can arrange Anne’s clothes so I can inspect her ribs while whatever she wants remains covered. Lynn, you have the hot water?”
“Well it was hot, probably tepid by now,” replied Lynn as she pulled up Anne’s dress at the back.
“Doesn’t bother me if it is frozen,” muttered Alan as he waited outside, being given a few interested looks and smirks from the men sitting around the fire in the Hall, who had heard the ruckus. A few moments later he returned and penetrated the protective circle around Anne. Anne was sitting up on the bed, with Lynne carefully using a wet cloth to clean her chest where the bandages had bound tightly for the last few days.
As Alan expected her chest was not a pretty picture, a hand-sized patch of dark purple bruising on the left side of her rib cage surrounded by an area the size of a dinner-plate that was bruised various shades of yellow and brown. Anne looked somewhat subdued at seeing the extent of her injury. “Tell me if this hurts,” said Alan, starting gently pressing with his fingertips along the ribs on her back. A couple of minutes later he asked, “No pain from that? Good! Now this is going to hurt.”
He first sounded the ribs on her right hand side and then very gently those on the left. At each touch near the bruised area Anne unconsciously flinched and gasped. “It appears you received a glancing blow from a kick by a horse. These ribs are broken here, here, and here. This one seems to be broken in two places, here and here. I’ll need to bind you up tightly again. Brother Aldwyn put the ribs into alignment before your chest was bound the night you were injured. They seem to be progressing well and a callus is forming on the point of each break, but if there’s any movement they are likely to puncture your lung, so we have to keep them from moving.”
Anne gasped as new bindings were applied. “I can hardly breathe!” she complained.
“Good, I’ve got them tight enough then,” replied Alan laconically. “And that will help keep you quiet”. Anne shot him a look containing daggers. “Now, I’ll need to change the chest bandages every three or four days, mainly for cleanliness. You’ll need them for about three to four weeks. The re-binding of your leg wound stays at once a day, and the stitches will need removal in a couple more days. The weather is better today and I sent a rider early this morning to your manor to let them know where you are and to bring some clothes and a couple of your own servants.”
“Excellent. I’ll be able to thank you for your help and be off your hands then,” replied Anne eagerly.
Alan laughed easily. “I’m afraid not. Brother Aldwyn says you’ll have that splint on your leg for at least eight weeks and it’ll be at least four weeks before you can even travel in a cart. Unless you want to walk like a cripple for the rest of your life you’ll just have to put up with our company for a while yet!”
Just before dark Alan was sitting by the fire in the Hall chatting and drinking ale with some of the local thegns and some of the wealthier freemen when there was a commotion of horses arriving outside. Alan sent his steward Kendrick to see what was amiss, while the Norman sergeant Hugh stirred half a dozen Saxon guards to wakefulness.
Ten men, four better dressed than the others, and two women were ushered into the Hall by Kendrick- who indicated to the men that they should remove their swords according to custom and place them with the others in a rack near the door. Each visitor was well-rugged up against the cold in cloaks and furs, but their faces were pinched and red from being bitten by the wind. The eldest of the thegns said, “I’m Wulfgar. This is Aelfhare, Aethelwulf and Esmund. Your man tells us that our Lady Anne rests here. We have come, by your leave, to spend the night and take her home on the morrow.”
Alan leaned across and whispered in the ear of the cheorl Godfrith, with whom he had been dining, “What is it with you English and the elves? Judging by the names, half the male population seems to be related to elves.” He then he spoke up. “I’m Alan, lord of this demesne. My other guests tonight are thegns Eadwold and Brctsi and cheorl Godfrith. Kendrick! Have Lynn provide our guests with mulled ale and food and show them a place by the fire. Welcome you are, but if you wait to take your lady home, you will have a long wait. It’ll be four weeks before she’s fit to travel as she was sore hurt by her encounter in the forest. If a dozen of you stay the month in this Hall I dare say you may wear out your welcome, but I am sure we can find room for the two maids and a couple of men, and that Lady Anne will be pleased to have some of her own folk tend her.”
Wulfgar frowned as he unclipped his cloak and shook off the dampness before setting it by the fire to dry. “And where is our lady?” he asked, looking around the Hall, barely illuminated by the light of the fire and half a dozen rush torches.
Alan replied’ “In the bed-chamber.” He received a threatening glance from Wulfgar. “I told you she’s sore hurt and she needs bed-rest. She’s probably asleep by now, but you and the two maids… what are your names? Udelle and Esme? Fine! You may enter and see her to reassure your minds. One of the girls can sit with the lady instead of Synne, whose turn it was tonight.”
Wulfgar returned a few minutes, quite apologetic. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know how badly she was injured. We thank you for your care of her and indeed for her rescue. What happened?” Alan waited until Wulfgar and the others had taken a seat by the fire and started to eat and drink before he gave an abbreviated version of events. “It’s fortunate you happened along,” said Wulfgar. “These footpads are a curse on the countryside and are worse on the byways now that the Normans at Colchester are regularly patrolling the main roads, forcing the bandits onto the by-ways.”
“I intend to do something about those in that forest. The bodies of the bandits we killed have been shown about and the local hunters and poachers questioned We think we know who they are, and where may be their several hiding places. I intend to root them out in a few days time and to decorate the hanging-tree at Alresford.”
Wolfgar nodded his agreement and then changed the subject. “Lady Anne asks if she can have some more of that potion that you have that takes away pain?”
Alan shook his head. “I’m afraid not. The priests tell us a little pain is good for the soul, but the main reason is that the poppy juice quickly takes a hold of a man, or woman, and he gets a craving for it that destroys his mind and body. It can only be used for severe pain and then just for a few days, or to relieve the suffering of those who are dying. Talking about priests, Brother Godwine will be visiting us tomorrow and holding Mass in the village church at Terce, an hour or so after sun-up. You’ll hear the bell ringing. I’ll have him come here afterwards and shrive Anne and give her the Sacrament. Your people are welcome to attend the service at the church.”
Next morning Alan was standing in the front row of the small church, which was packed to the rafters with both the villagers and Anne’s people for the weekly Mass. Mass was conducted in the Anglo-Saxon tongue without prayer books or hymnbooks, the mainly illiterate congregation chanting the few responses and the hymns from memory. The semi-literate priest, short and portly with a tonsured head and slightly grubby white vestments, went through the liturgy mechanically and without enthusiasm.
Still not used to a service performed in the vernacular, rather than Latin, Alan missed most of the responses and stood quietly during the hymn singing, while the remainder of the congregation joined in with gusto but little harmony. After taking the sacrament he moved to the back to allow room for the other worshippers and at the conclusion of the service he slipped out to wait for Wulfgar and the rest of the Wivenhoe contingent to emerge.
After grasping forearms with Wulfgar Alan stood and watched as he and his men rode north towards home. Wulfgar had promised to collect the maid Bathilde as they passed through Alresford on the way home. He left behind two male servants and the two maids to look after Anne’s needs, as well as a bundle of clothes.
After conducting Brother Godwine to the Hall to minister to Anne’s spiritual needs, Alan retired to the Solar to sit at the small table that he used as his office and which was covered in piles and rolls of parchment. He studied the demesne accounts and was soon rubbing his eyes from peering in the dim light at the small poorly formed script on the sheets in front of him. As he did so he could hear Anne and Godwine conversing quietly in Latin on the other side of the lath dividing wall.
After Godwine had left Alan put the papers aside with a sigh. He was sure that Kendrick was cheating him, but the coins in the strongbox, normally kept in the bed-chamber but now kept here in the Solar, balanced near enough and he was frustrated that he couldn’t identify any discrepancies in the accounts.
After Brother Godwine had departed back to the rectory Alan went up to share the main meal of the day with Anne shortly after noon. Anne had for several days been on a full diet of roast meats, vegetables, bread and preserved fruits (today pears with fresh cream) washed down with a mediocre red wine that was the best that Alan could purchase at Colchester but which had not travelled well from France. This was followed by nuts and mead. Anne was still not talking to Alan and studiously ignored him as he sat at the table near her bed while she ate from a tray placed on her lap while sitting up in bed.
Alan was distracted and picked at his food instead of eating with his usual gusto. “I couldn’t help but notice that you were speaking in Latin with Brother Godwine, and speaking it a good deal better than he. Do you also read and write?”
Anne replied shortly, “It would be a poor daughter of a merchant who could not read and write, and tally also.”
Alan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Daughter of a merchant?” he queried.
With a laugh Anne replied, “Yes, Frenchman. Things are different here in England. My father, Orvin, is a wealthy merchant in Ipswich and owns two trading cogs that travel to Scandinavia and Denmark. Here in England they appreciate merchants. A merchant who finances three trading passages overseas is deemed of thegn-rank. My father does that every month! Aelfric seemed to my father a good choice as a husband for me. He was middle aged, wealthy and with a large estate. It was a pity that my father didn’t send anybody down here to ask about him.
“I came at fourteen years of age with a good dowry. He was fat and drank excessively. He had a vicious temperament and a violent temper even when sober. When he was drunk, as he was every night…. The frequent physical beatings were one thing. His taking a different woman to his bed-chamber most nights, with me sleeping by the hall-fire was another, although that at least spared me from matrimonial rape every night. The disgrace I had to face with the members of the household was another. I must admit that I was not devastated with grief when he and his men failed to return from Stamford Bridge. The last four months or so since he left have been a period of grace and I’ve enjoyed starting to exercise some authority for the first time.”
Alan reached across and lightly squeezed Anne’s hand in sympathy.
After a moment he said, “To change the topic, I’ll be leaving shortly with most of the warriors and returning to the forest at Alresford. We intend to take the rest of the outlaws in that forest. Do you want their heads bringing back here for you to inspect?”
With his growing insight into Lady Anne, Alan was not surprised at the fierce answer. “Yes! Kill them all and bring their heads here for me to see!” Alan raised a cup of mead in a silent salute.
Late that afternoon Alan, Hugh, Baldwin and the his now twenty Saxon men-at-arms rode out towards Alresford, together with the archers Roger and Warren and their twenty archer proteges. There they met Alric, Edwold, Aelfric, Godwin, Alstan, Harold, Edward, Leofstan, Withgar, Ketal, Ednoth and Leofson- the senior thegns of the Hundred. Each thegn had brought at least half a dozen men. Alan intended the manhunt the next day to go well and had no intention of waiting until the next Hundred court in two weeks time to mete out justice.
Edwold had questioned all the swine-herders who took their beasts into the forest to eat the fallen acorns, the hunters and the poachers. They had indicated five places as being bases for the outlaws. There were close on 100 men ready to hunt early the next morning.
There was a bright moon shining when the men set out at three in the morning to all be in position at first light. The men wore no armour other than the padded jerkins of the archers. Alan felt that a body of men moving through the forest in full armour would make too much noise and alert their targets. Based on his previous experience of the brigand’s lack of ability with arms and the fact that they expected to achieve total surprise, Alan felt that armour was superfluous.
He had chosen what he felt was one of the more promising locations, which was also one of the closest. It was an abandoned and derelict woodcutter’s hut a little over a mile into the forest and he was shown the way by one of the swine-herders. They arrived well before time and surrounded the hut, although as the swine-herder commented it appeared they were wasting their time as there was no smoke rising from a fire within and no signs of recent habitation. They sat huddled in their cloaks, their breath freezing before their faces in the bitterly cold night.
At first light Alan waved to the ten-strong assault party. They rushed forward and Hugh kicked in the door- although Alan was sure that it would have opened to a more conventional approach. After a few moments Alan slipped his sword back into its scabbard and lit a rush torch to have a look around. Clearly the hut had been used recently by a number of men, but not for the last few days. After a few moments debate with himself he decided not to burn the hut down but leave it there in case the brigands returned at some time in the future. This was one place that they could come back to check again if needed in the future.
They were the first troop back at Alresford, and were sitting close to an open fire in the yard outside the Hall eating a second breakfast of cold meat, fresh bread and cheese washed down with ale when Edwold returned with a coffle of four prisoners chained together at the ankles. These prisoners had been taken at a cave to which Edwold had been directed by a poacher. Edward’s party returned empty-handed, but Alric finally arrived with five prisoners from a rough cabin on the far side of the forest, and told of another three who had been shot down and killed by the archers as they tried to flee.
Alan clasped each of the thegns by the arm. “A job well done!” he enthused. “Nine decorations for your gallows tree, Edwold. After you’ve eaten and drunk, let us give them a quick and fair trial. Then we can hang them and be on the way home by noon. Oh! By the way, I’ll need the heads for Lady Anne. Do you still have the heads from last week? Good!”
The trial was held in the tithe-barn, a door placed horizontally on boxes acting as the judges’ bench. Alan was sitting as Chief-Judge, with all the twelve local thegns present to give judgment. The barn was nearly empty of produce with just a few sacks of grain and bundles of hay sitting on the dirt floor, but was packed with every one of the villagers. The smell of unwashed bodies hit Alan in the face as he walked in and saw the nine prisoners, filthy and in tattered clothing, lined up against the far wall with their hands and ankles manacled.
This was an easy case. The accused had been apprehended living in the forest clearly as outlaws and in each location there had been items that were clearly stolen. Most of the men were already resigned to their fate and stood apathetically, many failing even to give their names when questioned. Edwold and Alric gave sworn evidence about finding the men, the location of the hideouts and the goods recovered. When asked, none of the accused had any witnesses to call and Alan ruled that in the circumstances none were oath-worthy. One, a small thin boy of about twelve, with a dirty face and lousy torn clothes, was sobbing quietly.
“You, boy!” demanded Alan gruffly. “What are you doing here with these men?”
“Please, master,” came the hesitant reply in a thin voice. “My father brought me to the forest when he joined these men before Christmastide.”
“Which one is he?” asked Alan.
“He went out and didn’t return a week or so ago, along with a number of other men from our camp. Three returned and said the others had been killed in an attack.”
“Are those three here?” said Alan continuing the interrogation.
“Those two,” said the boy pointing. “The other one died this morning when he tried to run away.”
Alan laughed. “He was good at that, but not good enough this time when we were ready for him! Now did you ever take part in any robbery?”
“No, master! I was just used as a camp servant,” said the boy.
“Do any of you others gainsay what the boy has said? No? Well, perhaps you won’t hang with the others, but your case is difficult. You have no kin to give frankpledge on your behalf. The law permits me only to execute, fine or mutilate felons. Now, the twelve ealdormen, how say you on the guilt of the accused?”
Each of the thegns replied in turn, “Guilty!”
“Even the boy?” asked Alan.
All twelve nodded and Alric replied, “Even the boy.”
“I’m not supposed to pass sentence of death on any person not yet sixteen years of age,” said Alan thoughtfully.
“Well, that’s why you have your job as judge and I say you’re welcome to it,” replied Alric. “It’s your problem, not mine. You can always just cut off his right hand and tell him to abjure the county.”
“Excuse me, Sir” said one of the prisoners, who had been looking quietly confident during the proceedings. “May I have a private word with you before you pass sentence?” Alan noted that the man’s voice was somewhat less rustic than the churlish tones of the others and that he was slightly better dressed. “No, but you may speak before sentence is carried out. Now, I sentence each of you, except the boy…” Alan looked at the list in front of him “…Linn… to hang by the neck until dead, and to be buried in unconsecrated ground. Those of you who give your names to Edwold may be shriven by the priest. You have twenty minutes to make your peace with God. Now clear the Hall except for the ealdormen, Linn- and I think your name is Pearce, is it not?” The prisoner nodded.
The barn emptied quickly and Alan said to Pearce, “Speak quickly! You have an appointment with the hangman in a few minutes.”
Pearce inclined his head. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. This is not just a simple matter of a band of outlaws. Atelic, the leader who you killed last week, was given this area as his own, just as you were given your demesne. You’ve cleaned out the forest for now, but another band will be here within a few months. There’s a man from up Lexden way who is coordinating the outlaws. You’ll have noticed an increase in attacks in your Hundred. In Lexden Hundred they’re already starting to attack and sack villages. I can provide you or the sheriff with information that is well worth my life, and perhaps more.”
“Edwold, have these two manacled to the wall and set a man as guard. We’ll see the others hang and then discuss this further,” instructed Alan.
At the edge of the village was an oak tree with a particularly long horizontal branch- the hanging tree. When Alan and the ealdormen walked slowly up to the tree each of the seven men to be executed had a noose about their neck attached to a length of rope. Each stood in turn on a wooden box, which was then kicked away leaving the victim swinging in the air. There was only one box, so the process took some time. The hangman had not done a good job and only two of the seven died of a broken neck. The others hung gasping, legs thrashing as they slowly strangled. The villagers laughed and pointed, and some were taking bets on how long it would take individuals to die. The last took more than 45 minutes.
“Well, a good day’s hunting!” said Alan to the ealdormen as the crowd dispersed. “Edwold, I have to go to Colchester tomorrow to collect a new hauberk being made for me. Keep the two felons here tonight and I’ll take them to the sheriff tomorrow.”
Edwold was disappointed that Alan remembered he wanted the felons’ heads, which meant that he couldn’t leave the bodies hanging on the tree as a salutary lesson.
With the journey slowed by the cart it was nearly dark when they arrived back at Alan’s Hall in Thorrington. Alan had Anne carried out to the cart. As she looked at the pile of heads in the back of the cart a savage gleam came to her eyes. “How many?”
“Fourteen, including the seven we killed when we rescued you. We left another three dead in the forest and two will go to the sheriff for his decision,” replied Alan.
“And that is all of them?” she insisted.
“Every last motherless son,” said Alan with conviction.
Anne stood on tip-toe to kiss Alan’s stubbled cheek and said, “That is the best present anybody has ever given me.”
‘God save me from vengeful women’ thought Alan before replying, considering Anne’s apparent affinity with Boadicea. “The Lord said, ‘Justice is mine’. But I believe that we need to give him a hand whenever we can,” he said. “What do you want to do with them?”
“Put them on stakes at the northern entrance to the forest. Perhaps that will deter others,” instructed Anne.
Back in the Hall Alan had a chair and foot-stool set up for Anne by the fire and a substantial meal prepared. It had been a long day.
“I’ll be going to Colchester tomorrow and will pass through Wivenhoe. Is there anything that you want bringing back?” asked Alan. Anne rattled off a short list of clothes and the like. “You’ve been hereabouts for several years,” continued Alan.” Do you know anybody who may be able to act as a scribe for me? I have the Hundred court once a month and I can’t conduct the court and take notes at the same time. Preferably somebody with some knowledge of West Saxon law, but at least able to read English. I inherited copies of the Dooms setting out the local laws when I took over my fief, but I can barely read English.”
Anne pondered for a few moments and then said, “There’s a man who teaches in the priory school at Colchester. Osmund is his name. He’s young, about twenty,” Anne smiled as both she and Alan were younger than that. “His father was a priest, so he learned his letters while young. He wasn’t accepted for the priesthood himself because he asks too many difficult questions.”
Alan nodded his thanks and then asked. “Given that you can read, would you like me to borrow some books from the priory library?”
“You can do that?” queried Anne.
“As long as it’s nothing too fancy. No illuminations or anything like that. I’m sure I can talk my way around the librarian. English? Latin? Greek?”
“No Greek,” replied Anne. “My scholarship didn’t stretch that far. Yes, certainly anything to read would help pass the time, as does being allowed to come out of isolation in the bedchamber and spend time in the Hall.”
“Your condition is improving and you’re regaining your strength. You lost a lot of blood. If you wait just a moment, I have something that might interest you,” said Alan, carefully clearing the table near Anne and wiping it clean, before disappearing into the Solar. He was back in a couple of minutes carrying a large and very thick leather-bound book, which he placed on the table. “This is only on loan to pass the time,” he said as Anne opened the cover.
“A Bible!” she exclaimed. “A real Latin Bible! Not even our parish church has one!” She turned the pages carefully. “It’s beautiful!”
“Thank you,” replied Alan. “That’s actually half of the Bible, the other half is still in the Solar. I hope you can read it. My writing improved as I went along.”
“You wrote it yourself?” said Anne in a tone of disbelief.
“I copied it. It was my writing exercise for four hours a day over four years. I finished it just before I left the monastery at Rouen. It’s plain and un-illuminated, but a fair copy nonetheless. I read sections myself most evenings, or when I am troubled. I had it brought over from Normandy with some of my other things after I took up residence. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lady, I’ve been up since three this morning and walked and ridden many miles. I think that it’s time I retired for the night. When you’re ready, call Kendrick for assistance- don’t try to get back to the bedchamber by yourself. And take the Bible with you.”
As she idly turned the pages Anne considered her host. A warrior and leader of men. Undoubtedly brave, yet literate, thoughtful, careful of his obligations and lacking in arrogance. His treatment of even his slaves showed care and common courtesy. Judging by the brief look that she had so far had at the books of account, he was a wealthy man who owned or controlled much of Tendring Hundred. And he was a good-looking young man. All in all, the man was a most unusual combination.
Alan and his small party of four Saxon men-at-arms set out on horseback for Colchester early next morning, with two additional horses, being the price that Alan had agreed with the armourer for his new hauberk. They collected the outlaws Linn and Pearce, who rode the spare horses- in Linn’s case poorly as he had never been trained to ride.
As they rode through the southern gate of the old stone Roman wall that surrounded the town, kept in reasonable condition because the town was on the River Colne and over the years had been subject to frequent attack from raiders from the Eastern Seas, the priory bell was tolling for Nones at mid-afternoon. They stopped briefly at an inn, ‘The Three Hounds’, which was nearly in the middle of the town. Alan to dropped off his overnight bag and booked a room- his men would sleep by the fire in the Commons- and arranged for the horses to be stabled before he took the short walk to the newly-built castle to see the sheriff. They soon found that Robert fitzWymarc was away and not expected back for a week, but his deputy Roger saw them promptly enough and heard Pearce’s story with a cynicism similar to that of Alan himself.
“What do you think, Sir Alan?” asked the Deputy-Sheriff.
“I don’t know,” replied Alan thoughtfully, sipping at a cup of wine with which he had been provided. “The story doesn’t get any more convincing the second time you hear it. Still, there may be truth in it and it may be worth paying attention to what he says. I think it’s just a story to save his life- but it’s a very good story. Whether it’s good enough for him to avoid getting his neck stretched, I’ll leave to Sir Robert. The boy I’d just let go, but a week in the cells awaiting the sheriff’s pleasure won’t do him any harm. I’d appreciate it if you let me know what happens eventually.” With an abrupt change of topic Alan continued, “Has the warrant arrived as to when the campaign to occupy the north is intended to start, when we muster and where?”
“Yes indeed. Word was received several days ago. We muster a week after the Feast of the Annunciation, on the 2nd of April at Alan of Brittany’s castle in Cambridge. That’s in three weeks time. You’ll be aware that King William intends to return to Normandy shortly? No? Well, he’ll be leaving any day and his half-brother Bishop Odo of Bayeux and his cousin William fitzOsbern will be left in charge here in England.
“FitzOsbern will be leading the expedition north. Odo is busy in Kent with various disturbances down there. The English and their new Norman neighbours are having some differences that they’re sorting out with the sword. I think that it’s probably some upstart Normans stepping on sensitive English toes.” Alan remembered that fitzWymarc was a part-Breton, and presumably some of his men such as Roger had come to England at the request of Edward the Confessor a dozen or more years before. They probably viewed themselves almost as locals. Roger continued, “If needed, there’ll be a second muster six weeks later at Nottingham to replace those who have completed their forty days service. You have your men recruited?” Alan nodded. “Good. Sir Robert will be marching with our first contingent on the 30th March, six days after The Annunciation Day of the Lord, if you would care to join us on the journey?” Alan agreed readily and then took his leave as it was getting late.
After a walk to the priory in the gathering darkness Alan knocked on the wooden door in the stone wall surrounding the priory buildings. He was permitted entry, received directions to the school and was told that Osmund was currently teaching a class. In fact two classes were in progress when Alan walked into the cold and dimly-lit teaching-hall. A group of youngsters were being taught letters by an elderly monk, each student peering closely at the page in front of them as they worked. A younger man was teaching a small group of youths the principals of rhetoric. Just then the bell for Vespers began to toll, ending work for the day. The students quickly packed up their school-things before attending the service.
As he strode over to intercept the younger teacher Alan noted that he was thin, of middling height with lank dark hair almost to his shoulders and had a face dominated by a large nose. His tunic and breeches had once been of reasonable quality but were now thread-bare, but he proudly wore the traditional seax long-knife of the freeman at his belt.
“Excuse me!” called Alan in Latin. “Are you Osmund the scribe?”
“I suppose that is as good a description as any- that or lareow, or teacher. Yes, I’m Osmund,” came the reply in the same language, in a surprisingly deep and firm voice. Osmund studied the tall, well dressed but not ostentatious noble striding towards him, sword and scabbard swinging slightly from his baldric as he hurried. “What service may I be to my lord?”
“I’m Alan of Thorrington and I have need of an honest and skilled scribe. Lady Anne of Wivenhoe has recommended you to me as being pr?ttig and anfeald, a man both astute and honest. May we talk?”
Osmund hesitated as Alan reached him and stood a pace away. “Certainly, my lord. Perhaps if we off to the refectory where they are about to serve the evening meal we can sit and talk at our leisure.”
With a flash of insight Alan realised that the free meal that Osmund received as part of his teaching stipend was probably all that was keeping body and soul together. Having extensive experience himself with the poor fare and small meals provided at a priory he reached forward and clapped Osmund on the shoulder and exclaimed, “We can do better than that. I’m staying at ‘The Three Hounds’ and they have a good board. Come and eat with me.”
They walked through the darkened streets of the town, Osmund with the confidence of a man with an empty purse and the knowledge he had nothing worth stealing, Alan with the watchfulness that a warrior shows in any circumstances, automatically examining each dark alley as they passed.
‘The Three Hounds’ was a high-class inn, catering for merchants, guildsmen and the well-to-do. The Commons was warm and dimly lit by rush torches attached to the walls and posts by sconces. The room was slightly smoky, with the smoke from the fire in the central hearth drifting through the air before slowly finding its way out of the small hole left in the roof. There was a quiet buzz of conversation as the dozen or so customers conversed in quiet tones over the small tables scattered around the room. Alan’s escort of four warriors looked quite out of place, playing dice together in a corner. Alan chose an unoccupied table a little distance from the fire and relaxed as he sat down, using one foot to drag a spare stool opposite him and then putting both booted feet up as he leaned back. Osmund sat carefully upright on his own chair. The inn-keeper, a big fat middle-aged man with a bald head, hurried across, wiping his hands clean on his apron as he did so.
“What can I get you, Masters?” he asked in a gravelly tone.
“Two quart pitchers of your best ale. What food do you have tonight?” demanded Alan.
“Pottage, of course, flavoured with nice fat bacon. We also have a good leek soup. Leverpostej- Danish pork-liver paste on dark rye bread with pickled beet, onions and cucumber. Goat stew with onions and herbs. Very nice! Pork rissoles with sage, shallots and parsley. Buttered vegetables and roast gourd. The oven is still lit, so we can whip up a nice steak and kidney pie or chicken pie. For dessert an apple pie, fresh fruit or cheeses. We have some fine Gorgonzola, Camembert, Emmenthal and an unusual very hard but piquant cheese that we get from a local cheese-maker- he ages it for several years,” replied the inn-keeper.
Alan paused for a moment. “Leek soup, Leverpostej with wortes and with a dash of dark vinegar. Then the goat stew with gourd. While we’re eating those, cook a steak and kidney pie for two, which we’ll have with the buttered vegetables. Apple pie and a cheese platter. Plenty of fresh bread. Keep the ale coming.”
After a nod the inn-keeper walked off towards the kitchen, shouting to the serving-wench behind the counter to bring the ale. The good-looking blonde-haired lass turned to the firkin behind her and adroitly drew two quart pitchers before walking with swaying hips across the tavern to the table and placing the pitchers before the two diners.
“Much better than eating at the refectory, don’t you think?’ asked Alan as he saw Osmund carefully studying the well-filled low-cut front of the serving-wench’s dress. Osmund grunted a reply.
Soup and bread arrived promptly and for the next hour the two men worked their way through the various courses as they arrived. As they ate Alan sounded Osmund out, firstly as to his abilities as a clerk. Osmund said that he was skilled in scribing in Latin and English and was reasonably capable in Norman French. He expressed a capability to read, but not write, Attic Greek, and to be able to make himself understood in verbal Celtic, French, Flemish, Danish and Norse. Given that Norse, English and Danish had a close relationship and most people who could speak one language could make himself understood in another if using simple words, this was perhaps not quite as great a list of achievements as it may at first have appeared.
Alan had one of his guards fetch parchment, ink and quill from his room, and Osmund showed that he was capable of taking verbatim dictation at reasonable speed, despite his consumption of ale. He also showed that he was able to quickly and accurately figure sums.
“That’s only the rough draft, of course,” said Osmund referring to his transcription. “Usually I’d re-write it properly later.”
Alan had not noticed any appreciable problems with style and form and was quite happy to accept Osmund’s ‘rough draft’ as the final copy. He asked Osmund about his past.
“Well, my father was a priest. It’s not unusual for priests in England to be married, of course. He and my mother taught me my basic letters and when I was nine I was sent to the abbey school at Cambridge. I learned there under a number of teachers. You’ll be familiar with Cambridge’s reputation for scholarship? I was an oblate and then a novice. Err… I proved somewhat precocious and asked too many difficult questions and the abbot decided I should not become a monk. I was seventeen then. I was fortunate that the abbot here in Colchester, who is a friend of my father’s, offered me a position as a teacher and I’ve been here for the last three years, apart from a year when I travelled with an entertaining troupe to France, Normandy, Flanders, Denmark, Norway and Scandinavia. I sing,” he added.
Given the similarity of their backgrounds Alan felt a strong fellow-feeling towards Osmund and also felt that he was honest and to be trusted. “As I mentioned, I’m looking for a clerk to record the details of the Hundred court and my Manor court and to keep my books of account. I have a steward who I suspect of cheating me and who needs close supervision. The pay would be two shillings a week and your board in my Hall. Would you be interested in the position?” asked Alan as he ate a hunk of fresh buttered bread with Gorgonzola cheese.
Osmund nearly dropped his pitcher of ale. Two shillings a week was as much as a huscarle earned, far more than the few pence he received for teaching, which barely paid for the cost of the vermin-infested garret that he called home. Osmund stammered his thanks and acceptance. Alan tossed a leather purse on the table, landing with a heavy thud. “Usually pay is monthly in arrears, but you may have some debts you need to clear before you leave, so here is two weeks pay in advance. When can you start?”
Osmund assured Alan that he would present himself at Thorrington in four days time. Given the late hour and Osmund’s consumption of a large quantity of ale, Alan suggested that Osmund sleep by the fire in the Commons with his own troops. Just then the serving wench bustled up to clear the table and with a direct look at Alan asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?” The lass had grown prettier with each passing pitcher of ale and Alan was tempted, but after a moment declined. After all, on the morrow he would be back at home with Edyth.
Next morning was market day. After breaking his fast with bread and cheese, Alan went to the armourer’s workshop, having one of his escort lead the two horses that were to form the payment. Alan chatted with Gimm, one of the armourer’s young apprentices, while he was being fitted into his armour and Gimm’s master was outside inspecting the horses. Apparently business was slow and the apprentices had been told that one of them was to be put off, but not which one of the three. Gimm was close to completing his apprenticeship and, thinking how convenient it would be to have an armourer in his fort, Alan made another job offer that was quickly accepted. Alan told Gimm to travel to Thorrington with Osmund and to draw up a list of the tools, equipment and supplies he’d need. Just then the Master Armourer reappeared and expressed himself happy with the horses.
The hauberk required a few minor alterations and with a wink at Gimm Alan arranged to return after mid-day to collect the armour. Then to the market, where Alan tracked down the cheese-maker that supplied ‘The Three Hounds’ and ordered two dozen rounds of various cheeses to be collected by a cart from Thorrington in a few days, with payment to be two for one weight for weight with wheat flour. Next he went to the wine merchant to buy half a dozen firkins of Bordeaux, with payment to be by sacks of flour and barrels of salted fish.
It was mid-day when Alan walked up the hill to the priory, accompanied by the warrior who had previously led the horses. Osmund had told Alan that the librarian was Brother Leanian, an elderly monk who apparently guarded the tomes in his care as closely as if they were virgins. Deliberately arriving half an hour before the service for the noon hour of Sext, which was followed by the main meal of the day, Alan had a quick look around the library before he approached its master. The librarian had been observing him since arrival, the priest noting the simple but rich clothing and air of authority of the noble. “Brother Leanian,” said Alan in Latin, “You have quite an impressive collection! Not as extensive as Rouen where I studied, or the University of Paris where I visited a few times, but nevertheless still quite good. Now tell me do you have….”
Half an hour later Alan walked out with a carefully wrapped parcel containing three books. He declined the offer of his warrior, who had been waiting outside, to carry the books and they took the short walk to the armourer’s workshop. This fitting showed that the hauberk was now a perfect fit, and after slipping Gimm a silver penny they walked back to ‘The Three Hounds’. This time Alan let his escort carry the forty-pound weight of the rolled up hauberk, now wrapped in oiled cloth.
Alan was keen to be back at Thorrington by dark, so after a quick meal and settling up with the innkeeper they were on their way out of the East Gate, paid their toll to cross the wooden bridge over river Colne and trotted their way back home.
They arrived at Thorrington at dusk, dismounting stiffly outside the Hall and let the two grooms take the horses away to be rubbed down and fed. Alan stretched his sore legs and stamped his feet as he walked into the dimly lit Hall. He saw Anne sitting on her chair on one side of the fire with her leg supported by a foot-stool, with a pile of parchments and two candles on the bench before her. Edyth was sitting on the other side of the fire. Alan was carrying two parcels. One he placed on a side-table, and then he approached Edyth with the other. She rose and greeted him with a long kiss, before taking her parcel with a squeal of delight. Moments later she had it unwrapped and was holding a long length of deep red velvet cloth against herself, swirling this way and that, before hurrying off to the bedchamber to look at herself in the polished metal mirror.
Alan called for a pint of ale to wash the road dust from his throat, then a jug of wine and food, before sitting next to Anne at the table. After a glance at the parcel on the side-table Anne asked, “And how was your journey to Colchester?”
“Well enough, thank you. I transacted the business I needed to do and met Osmund. I’m grateful for your introduction. He seems an excellent and honest man and just what I need. He’ll be joining us here in a few days, together with a young armourer who was looking for work. The two outlaws are still in the sheriff’s gaol. Robert fitzWymarc is away and his deputy wasn’t prepared to make a decision in his absence. And how was your time?”
Anne switched to speaking Latin, certain that nobody in the Hall but herself and Alan would be able to understand what she said, “I think I’ve found what your steward is up to, or at least some of it,” with a tap on the pile of parchment. “The financial records are very sketchy. The steward says that is because he can’t read or write and the records are only written when Brother Godwine happens to be available. There are months with no records at all and the rest is all very patchy. Some specifics are that you own a mill here and others elsewhere. I own a mill myself, so I have some experience. You send your own grain there to be ground, of course. The number of sacks of flour you receive back is too low. I expect that he also takes a portion of your one-tenth charge for the others in your lands to grind their grain in your mill.”
“That means that the miller must be in on it too!” exclaimed Alan, also in Latin.
“Not necessarily. They won’t keep written records and wouldn’t know what happens to the sacks after they’re loaded on the wagon. Also, the number of pigs you receive as pannage for the right of your geburs to feed their swine in the forest and eat the acorns does not tally with the number of pigs the tax rolls show that they have. The payment for estovers for gathering wood don’t equal the number of cartloads of firewood you receive. I don’t know anything about salt-pans, but I expect that the barrels of salt you receive both from the salt-pans in your own demesne and the others up on the north coast of the Hundred are lower than they should be. Salt is a very expensive item. The barrels of fish you actually receive from your fishermen is less than the rent they are due to pay. You’d expect a few inconsistencies and errors, but this appears to be embezzlement pretty well ‘across the board’.”
As the list had progressed Alan’s face had become first red and then puce with anger. “How much do you think he has stolen from me?” he asked in a low voice that trembled slightly with the effort of controlling his temper.
“My guess is about one penny in the shilling. And he’s been doing it for years, even under Estan, who was illiterate and would have been easy to fool.”
“I’ll hang the bastard!” exclaimed Alan, reverting to Norman French in his anger.
“No you won’t,” said Anne calmly, still in Latin. “You’ll have to prosecute him in the Hundred court and get a conviction. That probably shouldn’t be too hard. But as a free man all he has to do is pay you his wergild, his blood money, of 200 shillings. He must now be a very wealthy man and would have no trouble in making that payment. What you will do,” she instructed severely, “is continue to employ him. Firstly, you don’t have the time to do the job yourself and you don’t have anybody to replace him with just now. Secondly, you’ll shortly have to leave to perform your military obligations. Having a corrupt steward who takes part of your income is better than having no steward and no income at all. Remember that the Quarter Day for payment of rents and taxes is just over two weeks away. What you will do is have Osmund follow Kendrick everywhere, take notes of every transaction and ask every cheorl, gebur, sokeman, cottar, fisherman, miller- everybody- what their obligations are, how much they have paid for the last few Quarter Days and how much they are paying this time. That’ll give you the evidence to convict Kenrick and at least get 200 shillings back. It’ll also give you enough information to allow another steward to take over.”
With an effort Alan unclenched his fists, nodded and then with a smile leaned over and kissed Anne on the cheek. He downed a cup of wine and poured another for himself and Anne and said, “Thank you for your efforts. Now as a reward…” he rose and fetched the parcel from the side-table and unwrapped it himself. He handed Anne a large book, with a somewhat knocked-about leather cover and some torn and stained pages. “Book 1 of Ovid’s Amores. Amores is a collection of 3 books, but I could only get one. It has 15 poems.” He pulled out two others, both in similar condition. “Ars Amatoria, Book 2 of 3 in the series. In Latin, of course. And Solomon and Saturn, an English work in alliterative verse, but the author is unknown. When is your birthday?”
“The fifth of December,” said Anne in confusion. “You mean that you convinced Brother Leanian to lend you these three books?”
“Better. He gave them to me. They are the poorer copies of what he had in the library, as you can tell by their condition. And now they are yours, although I would ask for the opportunity to copy the two Ovid books.”
“But these are a gift beyond price! I can’t accept them. What did you have to do to get them? Pledge your soul to the Devil?” asked Anne breathlessly.
Alan laughed and said, “Nothing so drastic. The priory prides itself on its hospital, but has only eight of the volumes of Hippocrates’ Corpus, which is a set of textbooks, lectures, research, notes and case studies from the ancient Greeks. They’re written in Ionian Greek, which is a real nuisance because that’s as different from Attic Greek as Norman French is from French. I have three volumes, none of which they have. On Fractures, Of Internal Affections and Of Diseases. I’ve agreed to lend those volumes for them to copy. In return they’ll give me a copy of the eight books they have- The Prognostics, On Regimen in Acute Diseases, On the Instruments of Reduction, Of the Pneuma, On Fleshes, On the Diseases of Women, On the Excision of the Foetus, and On Anatomy. And the librarian gave me these three books. He also asked me to look around for copies of the other volumes and if I arrange an exchange for copying, I’ll get a copy of the additional books myself.”
“Bibles, medical treatises. What other wonders do you have hidden in that room?” asked Anne in wonderment.
“Some copies of military treatises, mainly Roman. How to build bridges under fire, how to build and operate siege weapons- everything down to how to ambush or how to divert streams and poison waterholes. I’m very proud of my copies of Vegetius’ Epitome of Military Science and De Re Militari and my Frontinius.”
“Well, I suppose for a warrior it couldn’t all be poetry and medicine,” said Anne, quite bemused. “But I really can’t accept these books. They’re much too valuable.”
“Then consider them on loan and return them if you ever tire of reading them,” compromised Alan, who had by now finished his jug of wine and was mopping up the last of the gravy on his wooden plate from the re-heated mutton and herb stew that had been the main meal of the day for the household. “It’s been a long day and I have to be up early for weapons training with the men shortly after dawn.”
“Why do you do so much training?” queried Anne.
“I’m a professional soldier. I have to be good at my trade. I’m used to two hours a day practice myself, either with sword or lance, and I’m training twenty mounted cavalry. Hugh does some of it and I do some. It’s our responsibility to make sure they are competent when we lead them out. A well-trained warrior with well-practiced skills stands a better chance of surviving on the battlefield. One of Vegetius’ maxims was ‘Men must be sufficiently tried before they are led against the enemy’- although nothing much will help if you get hit by somebody from behind or get hit by an arrow, or run over by a bolting horse for that matter. I’m a damn good swordsman, but if I put my head over the rim of my shield at the wrong time, nothing will stop an arrow hitting me in the throat if that is what God wills. However, I will tell you that facing those two-handed battle-axes loosens my bowels somewhat.”
Edyth had been much taken by Alan’s casual gift of a few shillings worth of cloth and he was still tired when he rose next morning after a strenuous night. The morning was spent of the Fallow Field, drilling the men to ride as a team and to act instinctively to the movements of their leader. Alan spent a considerable part of the day crouched on his haunches drawing pictures of manoeuvres and formations in the dirt and then mounting to lead the men through the manoeuvres firstly at a walk and then at increasing speed.
Dismissing the men just before noon, he instructed them to be at the field in full harness the next day and each subsequent day.
Back in the Solar at the Hall Alan stripped off and bathed off the sweat and dust of the morning’s exertions with a basin of warm water, helped (or hindered) by Edyth. When she had finished drying him Edyth placed his hands on her breasts and pulled him gently in the direction of the straw-filled mattress on the floor.
As a consequence the mid-day meal was served late, a fact that seemed to concern nobody except Anne, who correctly interpreted Edyth’s flushed face and unmistakable aroma. Brother Godwine was visiting and although Alan usually only observed Fridays as a non-meat day, today was Wednesday and therefore a day that was only arguably a non-meat day. As it was Lent and Alan had instructed the cook Otha to prepare a noon-day meal of fish. This was fried flounder with garlic and mustard sauce, individual fish pies (Alan’s pie contained capon but otherwise looked identical) and sauteed scallops in white wine sauce. Pipefarces and cryspes pancakes with jam and cream. Anne sat on Alan’s right, with Brother Godwine beyond her and Edyth to Alan’s left.
“It is kind of you and your cifes harlot to join us at table,” said Anne in Latin, presumably to maintain some degree of privacy.
“I think that the correct word would be nydh?mestre, or mistress, as Edyth is my leman,” replied Alan coldly, with some surprise at the sudden argument. Although he had some experience, of a basic sort, with women, he had not yet experienced jealousy and was accordingly not able to recognise it.
“Whatever,” replied Anne. “Her scamleast shamelessness last night would have made it hard for any to sleep in the Hall, given the amount of noise.”
“I hardly see what it has to do you anybody as I am not married and am not committing adultery- and least of all what it has to do with you. What I do with my mistress, when, where and how often is between her and me,” replied Alan with some asperity. “You seem to be acting like a gebur’s wife who has found her husband rutting in the hayloft with the milk-maid, or perhaps in the barn with one of the sheep!”
Anne coloured at that image. Although the others, even Brother Godwine who could read some Latin but could speak little of the language other than the incantations of the various prayers, could not understand the full content of their conversation, the use of the few English words and the tone of the conversation gave them a hint at what was being discussed. While Alan could not recognise jealousy, Edyth could and smiled quietly to herself.
“And now I hear that you are to march north with the your ‘Bastard’ king’s army to enslave more good Englishmen,” continued Anne heatedly, now in Anglo-Saxon. A hush fell over the Hall.
“What do you mean?” asked Alan with restraint.
“Well, you foreigners come here, invade, kill thousands of Englishmen, dispossess us of our lands and want to turn all our people into slaves,” shouted Anne.
Alan sat back, washed his hands in a herb-scented finger-bowl and considered for a moment. “Firstly, I will accompany William fitzOsbern on his journey north in about three weeks. We leave just after the Feast of the Annunciation and we’ll escort the Hundred’s taxes to Colchester on the way. I’ll take five Englishmen with me. I will also return you to your own manor at that time and arrange for the Infirmarer at the priory to come and visit you two weeks later to check your leg and remove the splints. It’s probably safe for you to start walking with the use of two crutches now.
“Secondly, William of Normandy’s parents were not married, so it is true he is a bastard. It is not a description that I would recommend that you use. He has in the past had removed all four limbs of thirty odd people at Alencon who made jest at his birth, It’s not that he does not acknowledge it, but that as a powerful lord he is not prepared to accept insult.
“Thirdly, he is not just my king, he is yours, and that of every other Englishman. He was anointed by Archbishop Ealdred of York, an Englishman, on Christmas Day just past. What right has he to be king? The same right as Cnut fifty years ago- the right of conquest. The Norwegians and Danes have come and conquered this land many times and been accepted as legitimate kings. Harald Hardrada invaded in early September last year. Had he been successful the king’s court would now be speaking Danish instead of Norman French.
He took a sip of wine and continued, “Incidentally, I would recommend that you learn Norman French as soon as possible, as you’ll need to converse with Normans who do not speak English and you should never rely on an interpreter you don’t know. To return to the issue you raised, what defeated England was its inability to deal with three invasions, including that of Harold Godwinson’s own brother Tostig, and four hard battles in six months. You should be relieved Harald Hardrada and his Vikings aren’t in control of the land. Normans are constantly quarrelling and fighting, but do so for a reason- usually for land or money. Norsemen do it just because they’re bored. Hardrada was a pagan barbarian, only nominally Christian since he had two wives. He was unpopular even with his own people because his cruelty, was dishonest and capricious. He was cunning and clever- but with a joy of bloodshed. To be trusted by nobody, as shown by his actions while in the employ of the Byzantine Empress.
“Fourthly, as far as I am aware no Englishman has so far been dispossessed of lands he lawfully owns. William made promises of land and riches to those who followed him. He has been able to keep those promises from the lands resumed from Harold and his brothers Gyrth and Leofwine. The Godwinsons controlled nearly half of England in their earldoms. They used the land for their own enrichment and advancement.
“Edgar the Aetheling, together with Archbishop Stigand and many others submitted at Berkhampstead. Edwin of Mercia and Morcar of Northumbria submitted shortly after the coronation. So also did Thorkel of Arden, Copsi and many others. Edgar Aetheling, the man the Witengemot elected king after Harold’s death, has been treated as a kinsman and endowed with additional lands, not killed or chased into exile as happened in Cnut’s time. Edward’s wife has been treated well and confirmed in her lands and her dower. There has been no massacre such as Cnut instigated at Christmas 1017, when he had many Eadwig, the then Aetheling, and other high ranking nobles of Mercia murdered. The English royal family has not had to have itself and its heirs smuggled overseas to avoid assassins as it did in Cnut’s day. Englishmen are being confirmed in their lands, and in most of their offices- at a price of course. William never does something for nothing and he has a large amount of mercenaries in his army that he has to pay.
“You made a point about enslavement. Frankly, the biggest embarrassment I have is the fact that I now own fourteen men and their families, my theows. They are Christians. In Normandy we don’t own men, women and children, able to sell them at whim. I know that for most that status is only temporarily, usually for not being able to pay debts or fines, except for the war captives. How many do you own yourself? I really don’t know what to do with them. They’ve been useful for the last few months in working to build my new fort, along with the labour from the cottars and the sokemen, but what do I do with them in the longer term? Owning people and being able to sell them is distasteful to me. I could emancipate them and make them cottars, freemen who work for me three days a week in return for the rent on their cottage. That would accord with traditional English custom.
“You English have a highly stratified society. You have the nobles, the earls. The earls comprised just four families, those of Godwin, Leofric, Siward and Bamburgh. The Kings Thegns were several hundred men. The lesser thegns amounted to probably 5,000- now after the four battles of last year perhaps 2,000. The cheorls, the sokeman and the cottars are all free, but many live in poverty. And there are the slaves. I understand that one man in five in England is a slave. Fortunately I have many less. A villein is almost free, in that he is tied to the land and he passes with the sale of the land, but he is usually a wealthy peasant. He would be given land and a plough and oxen at my cost. He would owe me three days a week of labour and the use of his plough and team and ploughing time and extra labour at harvest time. How is he worse off than a freeman, a sokeman who owes three days a week in labour but has to provide his own plough and oxen? To be fair, a cheorl or sokeman can sell what land he has, which a villein cannot, but other than that there is little practical difference.
“I’m perfectly content with the people I have and intend to make no changes, other than to manumit my slaves. Thegns, cheorls, sokeman and cottars will remain unaffected. The only thing that I can see that will change the very generous way that King William has treated his former enemies is if they plot or revolt against him. If that happens, then his wrath will be terrible to behold and there’ll be devastation and slaughter on a large scale. He rewards loyalty, and punishes disloyalty with utmost severity.
“Do you intend to free your slaves? William and the new Norman lords have sworn to keep to the laws of the Confessor. I, and I expect, our king, will do so. A few recently arrived Normans may not. But again that will be no different to the past and when this comes to William’s attention he will deal with it if necessary.” Alan wiped his hands on the table-cloth. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have lost my appetite and will go about my duties.” He did, however, slip the capon pie into his pocket and carry a quart jug of ale out with him.
Alan spent the early afternoon with Kendrick the steward making the arrangements for the ploughing of the demesne fields. It was the end of the first week in March and the ground was no longer frozen hard. Alan had divided his own demesne into thirds and intended to implement the three-field system. The first of the sokeman had started to plough their own fields and it was time for Alan to insist on his rights of priority. With the coming of the ploughing season and the start of sowing early the following month, work on the fort, which had been proceeding slowly in any event, would have to cease. The cutting down of many hundreds of trees for making the palisades for the fort had been used as an opportunity to astart part of the forest, the first step in turning it into grazing land or plough-land. An area of perhaps twenty acres had been cleared and added to Alan’s personal demesne. The back-breaking work of clearing the tree stumps and roots would begin in May and would be a job that would probably take several years.
Later Alan rode through the sunny afternoon with an escort of four men to Ramsey both to visit his horse stud and to meet with Alric the thegn whose Hall was on the outskirts of the Tendring. Alan visited the stud first, knowing that a visit to Alric’s Hall would take many hours, as the thegn was an excellent host. The stud was located on grazing land about a mile from the village of Ramsey. There was a cluster of eight cottages, a barn and the stable with a large number of stalls formed into a “U” shape. Nearby was the fenced training-yard. The land was fenced into ten paddocks. Four of these contained mares, nearly all with foals at foot. Two contained yearlings and two contained stallions and mares of two years of age. Two much smaller paddocks each contained a single stallion. The grass had only just started to grow and each paddock had a pile of hay and a trough of oats, as well as a trough of water. The horses still had their winter coats of hair and looked quite rough.
Alan was met by the stud-master Roweson, an elderly thickset white-haired cheorl who had been Kemp’s stud-master for ten years or so.
“God Hael, Roweson!” said Alan as he swung his leg to dismount.
“God Hael, Ealdor!” replied Roweson easily, despite only having met Alan on his one previous visit to the stud shortly after he assumed the manor. After a few moments two young lads ran up carrying pitchers of ale for the five visitors, which they quickly quaffed to settle the dust in their throats.
“How goes the herd?” asked Alan, wiping beer froth from his upper lip.
“Much the same as when I saw you last two months ago,” replied Roweson in his slow and deliberate speech. “Thirty-four breeding mares. We lost one during the winter. Twenty-nine foals, twelve colts and seventeen fillies. Thirty-two yearlings. eighteen mares and fourteen males- all now gelded as you instructed. Ten two-year olds, after you took those twenty horses several months back, all mares. And the two stallions of course.”
“The mares will be coming on heat over the next month or so. Are any on heat at the moment?” asked Alan.
“Six of them, down in that paddock there,” replied Roweson with a nod of his head.
“You’ve been breeding rounceys, and doing an excellent job of it I must say. But as I said to you on my last visit, times are changing and we need horses for our men to fight mounted. Two of those mares down there, the larger ones, I want bred to Odin here. I’ll leave him here to enjoy himself for two weeks. Have him cover any of the other larger mares that come in heat in that time. When I was in London I arranged to buy a charger stallion, a good strong solid beast with a good temperament. He should be arriving in the next few days. Have him cover all the other mares, except the two year-olds which you can have one or both of the rouncey stallions cover.
“I want bigger and stronger horses. I’ll have some of the woodland over there astarted so you can have more grazing. But I also need the horses not just broken to the saddle when I get them, but also trained for war. The English, of course, have never fought on horseback and I don’t expect you to know how to train them. I’ll arrange for a horse-trainer from Normandy to come and take responsibility for that. You’ll continue to be responsible for the breeding as always, but he’ll be responsible to train them for war. I want twenty warhorses, both chargers and destriers, and twenty rounceys a year. Do you have enough people to do that?”
Roweson looked unhappy about having to share responsibility for the final product of the stud, but at the same time was intrigued by the challenges in the change in the breeding program and the increased output needed. “I have six assistants at the moment. Four men and two lads. I’d probably need another two men and four lads, or maybe a couple of lasses, to carry water and food.”
“Let me know what you need and what extra provisions you require,” said Alan. “Now, if you will have one of your lads take off Odin’s tack and provide me with a rouncey, you can set Odin to work and I’ll go back to the manor.”
A few minutes later Alan and his men rode up to the gate at Ramsey, to be greeted by the staff. Although evening was drawing in, the steward Durand was still out in the fields supervising the ploughing and spreading of manure, and his wife Aerlene invited them in. Aerlene soon had them seated by the fire with a mug of mead in hand and was chatting amiably when Durand hurried in, hot, sweaty and dirty from his day in the fields. After greeting his guests Durand retired briefly to clean himself and shift his clothes before returning to sit with Alan at the head-table.
Because most of the men had been out for the day the cook had arranged the main meal for the evening. After the inevitable pottage, this time of beans in beef broth, the main course was brought out. Durand appeared to favour simpler foods than Alan and the meal consisted of boiled beef with boiled vegetables and a simple gravy, accompanied by copious amounts of mead and ale.
Durand had a travelling storyteller staying at the Hall and after dinner the bard began to recite from memory the Seafarer, a first-person story of exile and solitude in which Christian and Pagan beliefs were contrasted, with the storyteller confiding his preference for a life of hardship on the sea rather than the security of the land. The storyteller was a master, having the audience enthralled with his cadence and changes of tone and volume, at times speaking so low that the audience strained to hear and at other times shouting aloud. The performance took nearly two hours and when the bard had finished, to thunderous applause, Durand presented him with a small purse. By then it was late and all the men were considerably affected by the alcohol they had consumed. Alan declined the offer of Durand’s own bed and insisted on sleeping on the rush-strewn floor together with Durand’s cheorls and servants.
Next morning, feeling somewhat under the weather with a headache and bilious stomach, Alan mounted his horse for the ride back to Thorrington, arriving back at mid-morning. He first called at the village carpenter and instructed him to come to the Hall to measure Anne for crutches, which he did immediately and promised to have them ready and delivered the next morning. Anne was delighted at her pending improvement in mobility and the simple mid-day meal of pottage and mutton stew that Otha had prepared passed without incident.
Osmund arrived with Gimm at mid-afternoon and both men accompanied Alan to visit Toland, the village head-man. As he expected Toland to be out working on ploughing, Alan had sent a message that he would meet him at the tithe-barn and allowed him time to arrive before they walked the short distance down the dirt road between the village houses.
“God Hael!” called Toland as Alan and the others approached. Alan introduced the two newcomers and instructed Toland that he would need two cottages and an armourer’s workshop built, the latter to be next to the blacksmith’s workshop. Sites were chosen, paced out and marked with sticks. Toland attempted to get the work deferred until after ploughing. Alan agreed that he would give the villagers two weeks to complete the work, but that it had to commence next day. A rather disgruntled cheorl walked back angrily towards the other workers in the fields.
As they walked back to the Hall Alan asked Grimm whether he had a list of tools and items he required. Grimm replied that he had some tools and had dictated a list to Osmund for the remainder. Some of the tools could be shared with Aethelhard the blacksmith, as could the blacksmith’s apprentice.
Back at the Hall Anne greeted Osmund with delight and wanted to sit down and chat with him, but Alan brusquely over-ruled that, arranging an immediate meeting with Kendrick in the Solar. While waiting Alan filled Osmund in on Anne’s findings from the books of account. Anne had marked the relevant pages with slips of parchment and Osmund found it easy enough to identify the suspect entries.
When Kendrick arrived after a few minutes he entered to find Alan and Osmund sitting at the table with the piles of parchment in front of them. He entered the room happy enough, but frowned as soon as he saw the paperwork on the desk, realizing that he may be in trouble.
“Kendrick, this is Osmund, who is my new clerk. He’ll be keeping the records for the Hundred Courts,” Kendrick brightened perceptibly. “And he’ll also oversee the manor accounts.” Darkness fell again on Kendrick’s face. “As you know the manor accounts have not been properly kept in the past.” Alan raised a hand to still Kendrick’s reply. “I know that’s not your fault, as you cannot write or figure, but rather the fault of Estan and myself in not giving you the support you needed. Now, Osmund here will accompany you on your rounds and record all the dealings properly, so we can make sure that everybody pays what they should pay and renders the services that they should. In large part his work will be to record what has only been verbal agreements to date. This timing is most opportune as the rents are due on Annunciation Day in two weeks, so Osmund will be able to start helping you immediately. I want you to spend each morning until Annunciation Day, except next Monday when we have the Hundred court, going through the books and explaining what tenants have what obligations and answering any questions he may have. Now, I’m sure you are busy at this time of the year, so we won’t delay you any longer.”
Osmund’s face had been growing redder and redder during the short conversation and when Kendrick had slunk out of the Solar and the door closed he gave into his hard-controlled mirth, still keeping his comments quiet because of the thin walls. “God’s breath! That was masterful!” he wheezed, strangling off a full-bodied laugh. “He didn’t know whether to piss himself or shit! We’ll see what happens in the next day or so.”
“What do you expect?” asked Alan with interest.
“A visit tonight or tomorrow to discuss financial arrangements, but we’ll see,” replied the worldly Osmund.
Next morning Osmund sat with Alan and Anne at the breakfast table, eating bread, cheese and smoked herring while supping a cup of mead. Edyth was still abed, as the hour was early. “I was correct,” he said in Latin, to keep the conversation private from the servants around them. “I was invited to his cottage and met his wife Sunniva.”
“He’s not married,” interjected Anne.
“Well, that’s another person who can be charged with unlawful co-habitation in the Hundred court on Monday then!” continued Osmund with a sly look and a smile at his master, who they all knew was just as guilty as Kendrick in that regard. “We drank a couple of jugs of very nice French wine, no doubt from your cellar, and he made me an offer. I get one third, he gets two thirds.”
“What did you say?” asked Anne with indignation.
“I accepted, of course,” replied Osmund. In response to Anne’s incredulous look he continued, “How else can I find out the true amount that he’s stealing- and even more importantly the true obligations that each freeman has on my lord’s lands? Don’t worry, I’ll include it in the accounts as ‘gratuities received’ and it can be deducted from my pay, although I suspect the gratuities will far exceed what Sir Alan has generously offered me.” Osmund sighed. “It’s a pity I’m honest. I could have made a fortune here in a couple of years, just like Kendrick has.”
As Osmund finished his meal and, with a bow to his lord, took his leave, Alan commented to Anne, “Thank you for the recommendation. It looks as if I’m a long way towards rectifying that problem.” He paused and then continued, “Talking about problems, you probably have one that you don’t recognise yourself. When Aelfric took the lands you now hold, did he rent in laen for one lifetime, or three? His, his wife’s and his heirs? I understand that he was single at the time and it is most probable that he paid rent for his own lifetime. If so, you have a problem. I’d strongly urge you to find and read the land charter when you get home.”
“Why would that be a problem? Surely they’d not turn a widow out of her lands when she still pays her taxes each Quarter Day?” asked Anne in perplexity.
Alan laughed. “You don’t know anything about landlords, Norman or English,” he rejoined. “If it was rented for his lifetime, you have nothing and the land will be escheated at any time. Geoffrey de Mandeville was made overlord of most of Essex, including your lands. Even if it was still in the hands of Harold Godwinson you would still be ejected, leaving only with your dower. That’s what the English law says, not the Norman. Geoffrey de Mandeville has many knights and others for whom he must provide lands. He’ll be after every opportunity to seize lands to give to his retainers. Even if it was rented for three lives, as there is no heir, you can expect to be forced to marry a man of Sir Geoffrey’s choice, a man he has some obligation towards, with no say yourself. The same thing happened in Cnut’s day. The widows of those his army slew were forced to marry his retainers. One can look to the past to see the future. I suggest you find yourself a husband as soon as possible, or start sewing a nun’s habit. To make matters worse for you, not only are you a woman, you’re English and your husband died in the fighting last year. All English are required to pay a Heriot to retain their lands. Even the church has to pay to be confirmed in its very substantial holdings. Most importantly, the land of those who died fighting against King William is forfeit. While your husband died fighting at Stamford Bridge, I’d doubt that those who administer the forfeiture will make much distinction about the lands of those who fell at Fulford Gate, Stamford Bridge or at Hastings. William wants land to give to his friends as reward for past services, such as me.”
Anne looked appalled. “That is incredible!” she said. “It must be illegal”.
Alan shook his head with seriousness. “Not illegal. Apart from perhaps the forfeiture, it’s entirely according to the ancient laws of England- and the same would happen in Normandy. As to the forfeiture, William dates his reign from the day King Edward died and sees any who fought against him as being traitors who are liable to forfeiture of their land. Those who lived are being allowed to buy their land back. Few of the widows and heirs of those who died are being given that choice. Illegal, no. Immoral, yes. Men in positions of power are rarely concerned with morality, particularly if they have a financial interest in the result. Ask Osmund for his opinion and have a look at the law books in the Solar.”
“This is impossible! How am I supposed to summon a suitor out of the air?” demanded Anne.
“You are a very eligible widow. Young, beautiful and with wealthy lands. Your only defect, from most men’s point of view, is your high intellect! They want ornaments, not partners. Matilda, William’s wife, is the daughter of the Count of Flanders, brought him a huge dowry and a strong political ally. By all reports she’s a very intelligent woman, but she has played little formal part in Normandy’s affairs until the last few months, when William has been busy in England. As to suitors, I would like to be the first in line for consideration, but you may have many other paramours in the background.”
Anne gave him a close look, part suspicious and part speculative. “I’ll speak to Osmund and look at my land charter. If it was for three lifetimes, nobody can force me marry! And as for you, with the events of the last few months I’m hardly likely to choose to marry a Norman!”
“I admire your spirit, but believe me you can and will be forced to marry whether you wish or not,” said Alan. “Still, if the time comes, please give me some consideration. Now, to change the topic, your crutches should be arriving any time. Would you like to come and see my fort?” he asked with obvious enthusiasm. Anne agreed with a ready smile.
The crutches had arrived an hour later. They were well constructed, the correct height and padded under the arms. After an exploratory trial, Anne pronounced herself ready to leave. As the fort was on a slight rise of ground several hundred yards away Alan still had Anne carried to the site.
“I haven’t bothered with a motte, as it’s simply not worth the trouble,” explained Alan. “Our main problem here is likely to be either Danish raiders, who would want to be in and out quickly and not bother with a prolonged siege, or an armed uprising of local thegns and peasants. Both of which this will cater for perfectly. We’re not on the route between any large towns, so no armies are going to come this way. If I’m stupid enough to have my own thegns and peasants attacking me I deserve to be killed in my bed! You’ll have noticed that I use almost exclusively local Englishmen for my troops. If there is any insurrection they are already in my Hall and ready to cut my throat!”
During the hard freeze of winter the labourers had been set to cutting wooden stakes for the palisade for the bailey. The ditch around the bailey had now been dug, six feet deep and the spoil piled on the defensive side, with the palisade put in place above, giving a barrier eighteen feet high. The barns, armoury, stables and the two-storey barracks had been erected. All were timber or wattle-and-daub buildings with wooden shingles for roofing, rather than thatching.
The gate and towers still required completion. The Hall, kitchen, latrines and bath-house were still in the early stages of construction, with little more done than to dig out the foundations and a connecting series of small narrow trenches. A well had been dug and lined with stone, with some six feet of water at the bottom. “The bailey is about one acre in size,” explained Alan. “There will be eight small towers, about ten feet higher than the palisade. You can see the position of the foundations. Each will provide a position for a dozen archers and each will have a ballista.”
“A what?” interjected Anne.
“A ballista. Sort of like a giant crossbow firing an arrow as large as a spear to a range of 500 paces or so. I’ll also have the two onagers in the bailey, so I can throw rocks at attackers for about the same distance,” replied Alan. Anne blinked in surprise. She’d never even heard of these engines of war. “The barracks has two storeys, with room for fifty- thirty downstairs and twenty upstairs. That’s completed, so let’s go have a look,” continued Alan.
Anne hobbled over and looked inside the ground floor. The barracks was a long thin room, similar in size to a traditional long-house. It was two-thirds occupied by a series of triple bunk beds, thirty beds in all. The remaining third appeared to have been left for eating and general use, although this was currently unfurnished. “The upstairs is similar but, but narrower because of the pitch of the roof,” said Alan.
“It looks like a tight squeeze for the men. Is there any reason you painted the building yellow?”
Alan shrugged. “The men each have their own bed, although the three-high bunks may be less comfortable than could be possible- but that is better than if they were sleeping with the servants on the floor in the Hall. They each have several wall-pegs to hang clothing and a small chest in which to put their personal items-which is more than most men-at-arms or servants could expect. As to the colour, the walls are made of wattle and daub, so it has to be lime-washed to make it weather-proof. I happened to have a sack of yellow ochre available and thought that it would make a change from the usual lime white. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
They went back out into the bailey. “There’s stabling for forty horses. Two barns, a granary and an armoury- all empty at the moment. See that small hill over there? It has a spring, and I’m getting the water piped over here in lead pipes to fill these two water cisterns, and- I really like this- the overflow will go into the latrines and wash them clean. I got the idea on some plans I once saw about a Roman fort. The latrine has two sections, one for men and one for women, each with a four-holed seat. The water washes underneath and takes the waste away and there will be sponges on sticks just like the Romans used to use, that also get washed clean by the running water in that basin. The spring water will also flow into the troughs in the stables- it does that before it goes to the latrines. Over here will be the kitchen. The heat from the fire will go through this trench to warm the water in the bathing room and the laundry next door. Err… I’m having some trouble getting the design right for that, but I’ve nearly got it! Here is my workshop where I spend my spare time making ‘men’s toys’ which will most likely prove useful.
“Now for the Hall! The main Hall will be thirty paces by ten, stone-built on the lower storey and half-timber on the upper storey, paved with slate downstairs. There are three large rooms at the end for a Solar, a private Retiring Room and an office. Upstairs over those rooms will be three bedchambers. There’s another wing built on at the side with ten smaller bedchambers for functionaries, guests and so on.” Alan sighed before continuing, “I’m having trouble with the heating. I want to use a hypocaust.” Anne looked totally blank. He might as well have said that he wanted to use a dragon. “Another Roman invention,” explained Alan. “You have a furnace outside which produces heat. That hot air is drawn underground under the floor of the Hall, heating the paving stones. It then goes to the wall of the private rooms, which have to be double-brick, with a space between, and then goes up the wall, heating the brick wall, before it goes out the vents at the top on the roof. The warm paving stones and brick wall heat the rooms. Getting bricks around here is a problem, which is why I’m mainly using stone. We’re going to have to fire some bricks of our own, which probably means getting somebody up from London who knows how to do it. The Hall will also have a fire hearth as usual, probably more for appearances than anything else since people are used to sitting next to a fire. Rather than a hole in the roof I intend to make a sort of chimney to take the smoke away. I’ll worry about making that by trial and error when we get that far.”
“But you are talking about something more luxurious than the palace at Westminster or probably in Paris!” exclaimed Anne.
“Probably, but only on a small scale. It’s just a series of engineering problems, none of which are insurmountable or even particularly expensive. Most men don’t get the chance to build their Hall from scratch to their own designs. I want to do that, do it right and make it comfortable. Some of the things will be expensive, like glass in the windows, but I can make do with shutters for a year or so until I can afford that. Do it once and do it right is my motto!”
“Big plans, but I’m sure you will make it work,” said Anne as she twisted to look at the site of the Hall and tried to imagine it completed. The movement brought a twinge of pain reflected on her face and Alan soon had her being carried back to the much more mundane Hall he had inherited from Estan.
All in all, Anne had a lot to ponder that night.
It was the third Monday of the month, the 19th of March. Hundred Court Day. Alan had arranged for the tithe barn to be cleared out. Outside a steady rain was soaking the land, to the quiet satisfaction of those present- all of whom relied on the bounty of the land in one way or another. Osmund had prepared the list of cases and explained them to Alan and the other eleven thegns present and presiding. Several other thegns were there to watch proceedings to see how Alan handled them. Court day was always good free entertainment. Given the wet weather, many of the freemen from Thorrington and surrounding villages also were crammed into the barn.
Alan looked at his notes written in Latin. The thegns had their notes written in English. Osmund was nothing if not thorough. There were four cases of theft by freemen, one by a slave. Three of illegal sexual intercourse. One freeman was charged with having adultery with another freeman’s wife. Two cases of unlawful wounding, five of assault causing bodily harm, eight of common assault, one of forceful detention and two brothers charged with fornication with the same woman. Two charges of unlawful possession of cattle, one of a horse. One case of possession of unknown cattle. One of a man who found a cow to be unsound after it was bought. Two of housebreaking. One of bribery, one of slander and two of highway robbery. And one of witchcraft. It was going to be a long day.
Alan had previously arranged for Osmund to carefully explain the frithbogh and frankpledge system to him. This was a custom under which the inhabitants of a district, or a man’s kin, were responsible for a crime committed by any one of its members- responsibility usually rested on kinship. ‘Every man who wishes to be free must be in a pledge and that pledge must hold and bring him to justice if he commits any offence’ Osmund had quoted. Some of the charges brought before the Hundred court were by members of the frithbogh tithing of ten men, seeking to avoid their share of any penalty for wrongdoing by the defendant. Others were brought by the victims.
In each case the claimant was called and gave oath. In many cases the defendant was not present and a warrant was issued for him to attend at the next Hundred court to answer the charge. Some of those on the list were from previous courts and the defendants were still not present and more warrants were issued. Where the defendant was present, after the claimant had given oath of the offence, the defendant gave oath in reply. Some, mainly the simple assault cases, agreed to their guilt and were fined their three to six shillings, depending on the amount of damage done.
Two of the unlawful wounding cases disputed their liability and witnesses were called and gave oath. Both were convicted and fined four shillings- and warned that they were not oath-worthy and would not be able to be buried in hallowed ground unless they made compensation to the Bishop of London. One, though found guilty, still insisted on his innocence and demanded trial by ordeal. The court set the trial of hot iron, which required the person claiming innocence to carry a glowing red metal bar for nine paces, the outcome depending on whether the hands were found unharmed three days later. This was to be carried out in the presence of Brother Godwine after the proper procedures had been followed and in one week’s time. Alan was impressed with the man’s tenacity. Based on the evidence he would have admitted guilt and paid the fine.
The highway robber was without kin to speak on oath for him, his oath was rejected and as he clearly could pay no fine he was sentenced to hang, to be carried out the next day. Again, he would be buried in unhallowed ground.
At the mid-day break, sitting in the local tavern, Alan asked Alric if the case load was normal.
“About usual,” said Alric, as he washed down a meat pie with a pint of ale. “Except for the witch. I’ll be interested to see how you handle that one!”
Back to court to deal with the fornicators. The two brothers admitted to having intimate relations with the same woman, which constituted incest, but each denied on oath that they knew of the other’s involvement. On oath the woman admitted having sex with both, but insisted this was not at the same time and that she had told neither man of her involvement with the other. The oaths from those in the frithbogh for each man showed them to be men of otherwise good standing and reputation. The court unanimously dismissed the case.
Although half the cases still remained to be heard, Alan called on the witch’s case just before dark. One claimant stood and gave evidence that the woman, Rowena, had cursed her animals, causing her cow’s milk to curdle, her chickens to be eaten by foxes and the failure of the crop in her vegetable garden. She claimed to have six other witnesses ready to give oath. By now Alan had had enough. He had a splitting headache after listening to hours of neighbours pouring out grievances against each other.
When Rowena was called, she was very elderly with sparse white hair, no teeth, thin to the point of emaciation and drooling at the mouth. She clearly had no idea where she was or what she was charged with, muttering quietly to herself and staring into the distance. Alan looked at his fellow thegns, who looked back with amused expressions that clearly said ‘this is your problem’. Alan turned to Osmund and clicked his fingers to be shown the relevant part of the law book.
‘And we have ordained respecting witch-crafts, and lybacs, and morthdaeds: if anyone should be thereby killed, and he could not deny it, that he be liable in his life. But if he will deny it, and at threefold ordeal shall be guilty; that he be 120 days in prison: and after that let kindred take him out, and give to the king 120 shillings, and pay the wer to his kindred, and enter into bot for him, that he evermore desist from the like’. The Laws of King Athelstan.’
Alan looked up from the book. “Firstly, there is no allegation of anybody being killed by this woman’s alleged actions. If you are successful in your case, and I would indicate I think that doubtful, the most that will happen is that she will be driven from your village and told to leave the Hundred. Clearly she cannot defend herself and the court will need to appoint a person to act on her behalf.” Here the other thegns nodded agreement. “If you fail in your case, you and your witnesses will each be fined ten shillings for wasting the court’s time. This matter will take a full day.”
“But what of the Bible saying ‘suffer not a witch to live’?” demanded the woman.
“Whatever the Bible may say, in this court we apply the laws set out by the kings of England. Even if proven, she will not be put to ordeal unless she is convicted and then still insists she is innocent and demands to be put to ordeal; and she is incapable of doing so. Do you want to proceed?” demanded Alan.
“Yes, I want justice!” demanded the woman.
‘Justice’ thought Alan. ‘What has that to do with the law?’ He consulted a calendar that Osmund provided. “Very well, the matter will take a full day. It’ll be heard by three thegns on Tuesday the 26th of June. Osmund, can you please make arrangements to ensure that Rowena is here on that day and that she has somebody suitable to represent her, preferably a thegn. I’ll preside over the court that day. Right! The court is adjourned. All remaining cases to be listed on Monday 16th April, three days after St Martin’s Day. before thegn Alric.”
As he sat with the other thegns in the tavern quaffing a quart of ale, Alan felt that he had earned his ‘third penny’, the one third share of fines for the day shared by the judges.
The remaining five days to the Feast of the Annunciation on 25th March passed in a frenzy of activity. The peasants were toiling in the fields behind the ox-drawn ploughs. The soil in the Tendring Hundred was generally fairly light and fertile, so most ploughs had just four or six oxen, in place of the eight that were common in areas where the soils were heavier. The thegns and wealthier cheorls either supervised their workers or were collecting the last of the rents due to them to allow them to pay their own taxes or rents due on the Quarter Day.
Alan, Baldwin and Hugh spent much of each day in armour on horseback, honing their own skills and those of the Anglo-Saxon men-at-arms that they were training to fight on horseback. Alan had accepted Anne’s advice not to take on military service twice the number of men he was obliged to under the terms of his landholding, accepting that this could be seen as vanity and may result in an increase in his military obligation being imposed.
He’d decided to take five English men-at-arms and himself, leaving Hugh, Baldwin, Roger and Warren in charge of the military arrangements for the manor, but with firm instructions to consult with thegn Leofstan if any problems arose. The four ‘Frenchmen’, a term that they all found distasteful as three were Normans and one a Breton and all with a profound contempt for the French, fifteen mounted men-at-arms and twenty peasant archers in the village, together with the fyrd or local militia that they had begun to train one morning a week, should be enough to see off any unexpected incursions.
By co-incidence Annunciation Day that year fell on a Sunday, and the congregation was such that Brother Godwine had to move the church service outside to be held on the village green.
The weather was kind, which was fortunate as Annunciation Day, together with Easter, Midsummer Day and Midwinter Day, were days that the lord was expected to provide what was if not a feast for the villagers, certainly adequate food and drink for their needs on the day.
The long and tedious service that Brother Godwine conducted, with a sermon lasting over half an hour, was enlivened by the local children running about shouting and squealing, the bustle of preparations going on around them and the smoke and smell of animals being cooked on spits- the cattle had started to be cooked the preceding night- and workmen delivering barrels of ale and cider.
Otha and a small battalion of women workers were piling loaves of rye bread and huge yellow rounds of cheese onto trestle tables. The plump middle-aged cook knew from experience what the peasants wanted- simple food and lots of it. For many of the poorer sokeman and cottars, and certainly the slaves, the ample meat supplied at the lord’s feasts was the only meat they had during the year, other than a few scraps added to the vegetable pottage that formed their main diet, or perhaps the occasional rabbit or hare from the woods. They may raise pigs, using scraps, waste and the acorns in the forest to feed them, but they could not afford to eat them themselves as they relied on the five or six pigs they raised a year to pay their rent and tithes.
Alan arranged for the church tithe payable from his demesne, from his own produce and not that from the rental of his tenants who had already paid their tithe, to be transferred to the tithe-barn. This was done with great reluctance on his part, as he felt that Brother Godwine did little to justify even the glebe or the ‘Parson’s Acres’ strips in the fields that were part of his stipend, which were worked by the men of the village for him, let alone one tenth of the produce of the parish. Alan saw him as fat, lazy and stupid and was determined to be rid of him as soon as possible. The parish benefice was within his gift, but he had other things to attend to at the moment