by H A CULLEY
‘Nerian, uncover the hold and show the viscount what we are carrying,’ he ordered, switching to English.
The ship’s boys lifted the wooden planking in the centre of the ship and brought up two of the bales from the dozens lying there. They undid the oiled leather covers to display a bundle of wool and a crate full of swords, byrnies, helmets and spear heads, all coated in lard to protect the metal from the corrosive sea air.
Bastiaan’s eyes lit up when he saw the weapons.
‘Are they for sale?’ he asked in poor English.
‘For the right price.’
‘Come, follow me into the port. You are my guests tonight and, when your head has cleared sufficiently in the morning, we’ll talk business. We have suffered a lot from Danish and Norse raiders in recent years, so you will forgive our suspicions.’
‘You certainly seem to be prepared for them now.’
‘Yes, but our ships are no match for theirs, and they come in increasing numbers so all we can do is try and convince them that there are easier pickings elsewhere.’
They followed the galleys along the coast and entered a broad estuary heading almost east. They turned into a harbour on the southern bank of the estuary. The port of Caracotinum was scarcely worthy of the name. It had evidently been much more important in Roman times, to judge by the extensive ruins, but the current settlement consisted of a few small warehouses, a hall, a church and a few dozen huts. There was a dock and a stone wall which separated the port from the estuary. The dock had room for all six ships to moor alongside, in addition to the two knarrs which were already there. It had obviously been built in more prosperous days.
The hall belonged to Bastiaan and, despite being small and built of timber, was quite luxurious on the inside. The first half was the communal area with one massive oak table and four chairs at the far end. The wall was lined with trestle tables and benches which would be erected for meals. The rolled up palliasses and chests presumably belonged to Bastiaan’s servants and household warriors.
Through the door in a partition lay the viscount’s own quarters, not that Edmund was invited to enter. His host’s family came out to greet him instead. His wife was buxom and talkative, so it was a little while before he was introduced to the children – two boys of around four and seven and an older girl.
As soon as he saw her Edmund had trouble in tearing his eyes away from her. She looked to be about twelve, her breasts were discernible under her shift and surcoat, but were a long way short of the other woman’s splendid endowment, which looked like two rather plump turnips encased in material that was struggling to contain them. The girl was also extremely pretty.
‘I’m sorry, what were you saying?’ Edmund asked, realising that he hadn’t been listening to him.
Bastiaan gave his wife a meaningful look before he replied.
‘I was saying that this is my sister, Joscelin, who is living with us to help look after the boys.’
Edmund was not yet eighteen and the last thing he was looking for at the moment was a wife. Not even Ilfrid, who was four years older, was thinking of marriage yet. However, as soon as he saw Joscelin he was infatuated with her.
The viscount laid on a feast for his visitors that night and Edmund found himself seated between Bastiaan and his garrulous wife with Joscelin on her brother’s other side and the elder boy, who he learned was called Gervaise, beside his mother. The only one who wasn’t competing for Edmund’s attention, it seemed, was the one person he wanted to talk to. The mother wittered on, her husband tried to compete but soon gave up, whilst Gervaise kept plying him with questions about England.
It was something of a relief when the wife retired to let the men continue drinking. Unfortunately she took Joscelin as well as Gervaise with her. Both seemed reluctant to go, but for very different reasons. Throughout the evening Joscelin had kept glancing his way and then blushing and looking demurely at her half eaten meal as soon as she saw that his eyes were looking into hers. It was an encouraging sign.
He had no idea if she was betrothed or what plans Bastiaan’s father had for his daughter but he had gathered during the evening that the viscount’s elder brother was his father’s favourite and would inherit when the old man died. Bastiaan and his brother didn’t get on and he was obviously worried that he might lose his position when that day came. Neither the post of count or viscount was meant to be hereditary, nor for that matter was the position of ealdorman. All were officially royal appointments, but it was becoming normal for the son to follow the father unless there were good reasons for not doing so.
Once they had withdrawn the serious matter of drinking started. Edmund was used to mead and ale, but not wine and he made the mistake of thinking it was innocuous. He didn’t recall passing out, nor did he remember what he and Bastiaan had discussed when he finally re-joined the land of the living late the next morning. However, he had a nasty feeling that he may have declared his undying love for the man’s twelve year old sister at some stage during the evening.
He had, but he needn’t have worried. Edmund was not a boastful youth but he had said enough about Bebbanburg and Islandshire for Bastiaan to realise that, not only was his brother an important man, but also that he and Ilfrid were close. The fact that Edmund would have his own hall at Alnwic when he decided to marry did much to commend the boy to Bastiaan. More importantly, although Edmund didn’t remember it, was the fact that they had discussed building a warehouse at Caracotinum and moving his family’s business base there. Bastiaan would then hire or buy barges to convey the goods up river to Paris.
This was much more sensible than sending ships designed for crossing the sea up the winding course of the Seine. It typically took five days to traverse the one hundred and forty miles from the sea to Paris; time which could be better spent at sea.
When Bastiaan reminded Edmund of their conversation, once he had sobered up sufficiently, he had a vague recollection of it but he was quick to point out that he would have to discuss the idea with his reeve in Paris and with his brother, who would have the final say.
At first Edmund had a suspicion that he was being taken advantage of, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought the idea a sensible one. His one concern was the Vikings. They had left Caracotinum alone so far but it was wide open to a raid. If the idea was going to work, the place would have to be made defensible. A simple chain boom across the entrance would protect that side but Bastiaan would have to make the settlement defensible from the landward side, and that would cost money; money the viscount clearly didn’t have.
However, Bastiaan was no fool and he dangled the one bait that Edmund couldn’t resist in front of the young man’s eyes – betrothal to Joscelin. Of course, he had no right to do so. She was his sister, not his daughter, and her father, the count, would have the final say.
By the time that Edmund sailed down the River Seine two days later they had an understanding. The hold of the Holy Ghost was lighter by two crates of weapons, but they were replaced by a chest full of hack silver and coins of various denominations. Bastiaan could ill afford the cost, but now at least he could arm his warriors and his freemen properly.
-℣-
Edmund returned to Bebbanburg in late August. He should have been back a month earlier but he had called in again at Caracotinum on the way home see Joscelin again. They managed to get to know each other rather better, despite her sister-in-law’s incessant chattering whilst she was acting as chaperone. She seemed under the mistaken impression that Edmund was more interested in talking to her than Joscelin; something that Edmund quickly found intolerable, as he told Bastiaan.
The next time he was allowed to walk with Joscelin he was accompanied by Gervaise and a servant. The servant remained silent but not so Gervaise, who seem to have inherited his mother’s ability to chatter nonstop. At least his questions were about Northumbria and Edmund was able to tell Joscelin about it at the same time. They were forced to converse in Latin at first but Edmund b
egan to learn a few words in Frankish and he taught his two companions a few words in English during the time they spent together.
He kept sneaking looks at Joscelin and she would catch his eye and then look demurely down at the ground. Of course, that just excited Edmund even more. When she could get a word in on those rare occasions that her brother was quiet, her questions displayed intelligence and a genuine curiosity about a foreign land that Edmund hoped would become her home.
After four days he asked to see Bastiaan and asked for Joscelin’s hand. The viscount beamed with pleasure and told him that he would strongly recommend the match to his father. He assured Edmund that he would agree; a confidence which was to prove somewhat misplaced.
‘I hope that you will establish a warehouse here, as we discussed, and visit it often so that we may see Joscelin from time to time.’
‘I will certainly recommend it to my brother. I will return as soon as I have his answer.’
Joscelin’s feelings for the handsome young Northumbrian were plain for all to see. She wept at his departure and only his promise to return before winter set in enabled her to regain some composure as the Holy Ghost disappeared from view.
‘You really think this idea could work?’ Ilfrid asked him once Edmund had explained his proposal.
‘I do, yes. It would shave nearly two weeks off the time that our knarrs are away and Viscount Bastiaan’s barges are far more suited to navigating the River Seine.’
‘What about these Viking raids. From what I’ve heard they are on the increase.’
‘Yes, I agree that it’s a risk but our goods would only remain at Caracotinum for the time it takes to unload them and load them onto the barges.’
‘Yes, but inevitably they would have to remain in the warehouse at times whilst the barges are away upstream. No, if we are going make the idea work safely we need to improve the defences of the place. How much would it cost to build a palisade around the warehouse? Does the viscount have enough warriors to defend it?’
‘I think it would be a question of enclosing the whole settlement. As to his warriors, he had enough men to man five galleys so I suppose that means a hundred or so.’
Ilfrid was impressed that the viscount could afford to keep so many warriors and said so.
‘Of course, some are fishermen and townspeople who help man the galleys when the alarm bell is rung,’ Edmund admitted reluctantly. ‘I only saw about forty warriors in his hall.’
‘Oh, I see. Just because they can row doesn’t mean that they can fight. I like the sound of this less and less.’
‘The Vikings haven’t attacked Caracotinum so far.’
‘That means nothing. If they are preying on that coastline they will do so sooner or later.’
Edmund knew deep down that his brother was right. His own judgement was clouded by his passion for Joscelin, but he refused to acknowledge this to himself. Before he could say anything more, his brother spoke again.
‘In any case that’s of no importance at the moment. What I haven’t had the chance to tell you is that Eanred had summoned us both to appear before him.’
‘What on earth does the king want with us? He hasn’t shown any interest in this part of the kingdom before.’
‘I’ve no idea, but I don’t suppose it will be good news, whatever it is.’
‘When do we depart for Eoforwīc?’
‘The king’s summons came three weeks ago. I’ve explained that I had to await your return as it’s both of us he wants to see, but I daren’t delay any longer. We leave tomorrow, but not for Eoforwīc. He’s at Whitby at the moment.’
‘Well, at least we can travel down by sea then.’
‘Yes, and it gives us the excuse to take seventy men with us. If we turned up on horseback with that many it would be difficult to explain why.’
‘You think he means us harm?’
‘I don’t know what he intends, but it’s best to be prepared for trouble.’
-℣-
Edmund was tempted to tell Ilfrid about Joscelin on the voyage south but he wisely decided that his brother wouldn’t be in the most receptive frame of mind until this business with the king was sorted out. The weather was kind to them and they rowed into the mouth of the River Esk at dusk on the second day. The monastery on top of the East Cliff loomed above them as they moored alongside the jetty that served the small settlement on the other side of the river.
Leaving a guard on the ship, the crew managed to find accommodation ashore, although some had to sleep in stables. Ilfrid and Edmund shared a room in a tavern with Erik and Laughlin sleeping on the floor. Garr and three more of the warband occupied the room next to theirs.
That evening Ilfrid, Edmund and Garr sat at a table in the main room of the tavern drinking a tankard of ale each whilst they waited for their meal. Several of their warriors sat at other tables similarly occupied when the door banged open and six armed men barged into the room.
‘Which one of you is Ealdorman Ilfrid,’ the leader demanded.
‘I am, why? What’s it to you?’
‘The king wants to see you and your brother now.’
‘Now? Surely it can wait until the morning?’
‘If you don’t come with me willingly, my orders are to take you to the monastery by force.’
At that the fourteen warriors who had been sitting quietly at their tables got to their feet as one and drew their swords.
‘And how exactly are you going to do that?’ Garr asked quietly.
Ilfrid put a restraining hand on his arm.
‘Sit down all of you and put your swords away, at least for now,’ he ordered.
Laughlin slipped out of the door with the other patrons of the tavern, all of whom had suddenly decided to find somewhere else to drink.
‘Now, what is the meaning of your threat to take my brother and me to see the king by force? Are we under arrest, and if so, for what offence?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ the man said impatiently. ‘My orders are to take you into the king’s presence now.’
‘Well, I suggest that you go back to Eanred and tell him that I will come to see him at a reasonable hour tomorrow. I am a noble, not some bondsman to be ordered about, even if he is the king. If he wishes to bring some charge against us, then it must be done before the Witan. Remind him that the last king who tried to arrest ealdormen without proper authority lost his throne. Now get out; you’re disturbing my meal.’
The man looked about him impotently. He was about to argue when the door banged open again and armed warriors flooded into the room, surrounding the members of the king’s gesith.
‘Thank you, Laughlin, but I think these men were about to leave anyway.’
The next morning Ilfrid and Edmund walked up to the monastery. They were unarmed save for a dagger at their waists but they were accompanied by fifty fully armed warriors. Ilfrid didn’t trust Eanred and, if necessary, he would defy the king and return to Bebbanburg until the Witan could be called to hear the charges, whatever they might be.
The more he thought about it, the more puzzled he became. He might not like or have much confidence in Eanred as king, but he hadn’t been disloyal to him, not so far at any rate.
They entered the monastery leaving the majority of their men waiting outside. Only Garr and Laughlin accompanied them. A passing monk said they’d find the king in the church and so they made their way there.
It was an imposing building constructed of stone, unlike the rest of the monastery. Inside they found Eanred seated on a chair with two people on either side of him. One was the abbot and the other the king’s twelve year old son, Æthelred.
‘Why didn’t you come when you were summoned last night? Instead you threatened my men with violence; that’s treason.’
‘Good morning to you too, Cyning,’ Ilfrid replied with a smile. ‘The man was impudent and I couldn’t believe that you would really want to see me in the middle of the night. I was certain that he must have misunderstood your o
rders. Anyway, my brother and I are here now, as you requested. What can I do for you?’
Ilfrid’s urbane manner seemed to infuriate Eanred even further. Hearing Æthelred snigger at Ilfrid’s words didn’t help either. He gave his son an irate look and the boy looked suitably contrite. However, as soon as his father turned his head away, his son smirked. It was evident to both Ilfrid and Edmund that Æthelred didn’t have a great deal of respect for his father.
‘It has been brought to my attention that you have a trading post in Frankia from which you make a great deal of money.’
What the king said was true but Ilfrid still didn’t see where this was leading, so he remained silent.
‘Well, is that true?’
‘We have a warehouse in Paris, yes. But I don’t understand why this should be of interest to you, Cyning. My family has had a base there for a long time.’
‘Ah, I thought so. And in all that time how much profit have you made as a merchant?’
Eanred said the last word as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Evidently he thought that involvement in trade was beneath a noble.
‘I have no idea, Cyning. I would have to ask my reeve in Paris. May I ask why you are interested?’
‘Because you need to pay taxes to me on whatever you and your ancestors have made from your sordid dealings on the Continent.’
‘I’m sorry, but I already pay taxes on my profits in Frankia.’
‘You do? To whom? Not to me.’
‘No, to the emperor.’
‘That’s of no concern of mine. You are a Northumbrian and, as such, you must pay me the tax due on all your income; furthermore you must pay the Church their tithe as well.’
‘I will pay what I owe but not to both you and to Louis the Pious. If you want me to pay them to you in future, then you will need to reach an agreement with Louis. No man can be made to pay the same tax twice.’
‘Don’t you dare tell me what I must do,’ Eanred almost yelped. ‘Your arrangement with the emperor is a matter between you. I will have what is rightfully mine.’
