After making the announcement to his close associates Robert, Osmund and Brand, the news was quickly passed to the rest of the party and Alan found himself having to pay for celebratory mugs of ale and listen to the often ribald words of congratulation from his Anglo-Saxon troopers. Not least amongst the things causing Alan to be in good spirits was the genuine enthusiasm with which his retinue had received the news, showing that the Norman knight and his Anglo-Danish wife had indeed been fully accepted by the parochial men from Essex in the year or so that he had been lord of Thorrington and the somewhat lesser time that Anne had been its lady.
The next morning the weather had improved to a slight drizzle, but still with a bitingly cold wind howling from the north. Accompanied at her insistence by Anne, and with the youth Leof in tow, they went to Cornhill to negotiate for a cartload of flour- wheat and rye. All the lands on the Welsh border had been devastated by invasion barely six months ago and Alan had no doubt that even basic food items such as bread would be at a premium on the border. For that reason he was buying at Gloucester, rather than Hereford, as at this distance from the ravaged area prices should still be reasonable. Anne handled the negotiations, first checking the quality of the goods on offer and then negotiating a good price, with delivery to Staunton-on-Wye and the wagon to leave on the morrow. The muddy dirt tracks that passed for roads would be in such poor condition after the rain that delivery was expected to take at least two to three days after leaving Gloucester.
Next they passed out of North Gate and entered the Monastery of St Oswald, located next to the river just outside the town walls. The monastery was not as large or as prosperous as St Peter’s Abbey and the Sext Mass which they attended at noon was conducted in a small chapel rather than at the main altar. The service was conducted in Latin by a Canon and proceeded expeditiously, the small congregation gathered presumably not being adjudged worth the effort of a sermon or more than basic bible readings. Afterwards Alan approached an acolyte and obtained an invitation to dine in the refectory before seeing Brother Brunwin, the librarian. The fare provided at the table in the refectory was plain, basic and relatively meager.
Alan had a project in conjunction with Brother Leanian, the librarian at St Botolph’s Priory at Colchester, in which as Alan moved around the country he sought out various books on Brother Leanian’s ‘wanted’ list. In return, when the books were copied in exchange for books held at Colchester, Alan also received a copy. He had built up a considerable personal library of over two dozen books, including medical and military texts, poetry and classical works from the Greeks and Romans, as well as a number of books of English poetry.
On being ushered into the small dark room that was the library, Alan cast an eye at the small collection of books that lined one wall and immediately reached the conclusion that it was unlikely there would be anything of interest either to himself or to Brother Leanian. After a brief discussion Brother Brunwin took Alan’s list and then stood to read it in the light cast by the sole window of the room. Nearby were two monks sitting at small tables copying and illuminating basic religious texts. Alan’s expectations were fulfilled, in that Brother Brunwin would have wished to obtain many of the works on Brother Leanian’s ‘available’ list, but had nothing to offer in return.
Leaving St Oswald’s they walked the short distance to St Peter’s where they entered the larger and more brightly lit library overseen by Brother Alwin. This library was of obvious learning and industry. There were over a dozen small oak desks each with a wooden book-holder. Half a dozen monks in black habits were studying and making notes on wax tablets- even scraps of parchment were valuable and any important notes would be copied out later.
“Several of these Brothers are our scholars and teachers,” explained Brother Alwin. “We have something of a reputation as to the abilities of the scholars who live amongst us.” Half the adjoining large workroom was taken up by a dozen wooden desks and work-benches, each with a copy stand; each was occupied by a monk, all with the utmost care copying ancient tomes onto sheets of parchment or vellum. Three were undertaking what appeared to be commercial works, copying Psalters or Books of Hours for sale.
Here Alan was more successful and an agreement was reached to exchange three books between the abbeys. Two were medical works by Hippocrates and Galen, in Greek, and one an early English religious text from the seventh century. The copying would only take two months or so as the books were not large and Brother Leanian had specified he did not want ornate illumination. Alan would then receive his own copies in due course from Colchester Priory.
The following day the rain stopped, although the wind was still bitterly cold. Well protected by warm clothes and cloaks, and with Anne and her maid Synne sitting wrapped in blankets on the light cart, they departed out of West Gate, rode across the wooden bridges over the River Wye after paying the pontage fee and headed north to Hereford.
Before departing from Winchester Alan had sent word to his manor at Thorrington in Essex for more men to meet them at Hereford. He expected the arrival of Normans Baldwin, a trained man-at-arms, and Warren, an archer; also the Anglo-Saxon huscarle officer Leofwin and a force of five huscarles and ten Anglo-Saxon mounted men-at-arms from the company that Alan called his ‘Wolves’. Although they had further to travel, the slow progress of Alan’s party meant that the men from Essex should have covered the greater distance in less time.
Normally Alan would have expected the 37 miles from Gloucester to Hereford to be accomplished in half a day, as even with a horse-drawn light cart he would have expected to achieve seven miles to the hour. Instead it was nearly dark as they rode over the wooden bridge over the River Wye outside the gates of Hereford, again pausing to pay the toll fee, and then passed into the town which lay on the north side of the river. The road from Gloucester had been turned by the rain into a track of thick mud. The horsemen had walked their beasts at the side of the road on more firm ground, but even so each step taken by man or beast had taken effort as the soaked ground sucked at their feet.
The poor horse pulling the light four-wheeled cart had endured the worse of the journey, being forced to remain in the morass that the road had become and to strain to drag the cart, which often had its wheels mired almost to the axle. Several times the cart had become stuck in the mud and the men and horses had to strain to pull it clear. As they rode towards the town gate Alan noted the town walls looked as if they were newly repaired or improved. The town was one of the few in England to have had a castle before the arrival of the Normans and the bulk of that structure dominated the city to the east of the bridge, being located on the north bank of the river.
At the South Gate of the town Alan found that word had been left for him by Baldwin that they had arrived the day before and had taken lodging at the ‘Three Sheaves’ inn. The Captain of the guard suggested that Alan may wish to consider patronising the ‘Lion’, as he felt that the ‘Three Sheaves’ was probably a too rough for ladies of quality. The Lion was on Broad Street and not far from the Three Sheaves which was on Castle Street, the two streets being separated by the cathedral and its square.
Alan took the advice offered and they proceeded along Wyebridge Street, turned right into Middle Row and then left into Broad Street. The Lion was easily identified by its painted hanging sign and was just a little way up Broad Street. The inn was inspected and found satisfactory, catering mainly to well-to-do travelers, and two rooms were taken at a two silver pennies each for the night, with board for the room occupants included. Alan, Brand and Robert walked the short distance to the Three Sheaves. It catered, as the Captain had indicated, to a rougher clientele, mainly soldiers and carters. Baldwin, Warren and Leofwin, together with fifteen men, had taken two large dormitory-style rooms. Alan negotiated for another similar room and board for ten men and stabling for all the horses at a cost at this cheaper establishment of an extra five silver pennies a day for the room and three pennies for the stabling.
They returned to the Lio
n, where Alan instructed his men to take the horses to the Three Sheaves’ stable. He wanted to arrange the transfer of all ten of his huscarle escort, but Robert and Brand demurred- they remembered all too well the attempt on Alan’s life during a hunt just days before at London and the powerful enemies that he’d made by opposing the earl of East Anglia and the bishop of London in their extortion from the people of East Anglia in the absence of King William over the summer. In the end it was agreed that four huscarles, the youth Leof and the maid Synne would remain with Alan and Anne. Synne would sleep on a straw mattress on the floor in the room occupied by Alan and Anne, to protect the maid from any unwanted attentions- Alan and Anne being too tired to require privacy. One huscarle would stand guard outside Alan’s bedroom each night.
Dinner that evening was the inevitable pottage, a thick vegetable soup flavoured with a little meat which for most people in the country was their main meal, a re-heated roast of lamb cooked the day before, beef pie and vegetables braised in stock, accompanied by wine, mead or ale depending on individual preference.
Over the meal Alan and Anne heard what Baldwin, Warren and Leofwin had learned locally. They had not ridden to the manor at Staunton, but on their approach to Hereford from the east had passed through damaged and burnt villages and manors. Little damage had been noticed by Alan and his party on their journey north from Colchester, but it soon became clear that the land north and east of the River Wye had suffered severely- although apparently not as much as that to the west, where Alan’s manors were located. Alan agreed with Anne that next day she could accompany them on the nine mile ride to the west to the manor of Staunton, but specified that she would return that night to Hereford as there was little likelihood that suitable accommodation would have survived in any of his manors. Synne would remain in Hereford.
Next morning they rose early and were finishing a substantial breakfast when they heard the noise of the others of the party arriving outside. Anne was feeling better that day and rode ahorse, although side-saddle rather than astride. They had to wait several minutes by the gate before it was opened at first light and then they rode west on the road that ran on the north side of the River Wye. Swainshill, Bridge Sollers and Byford were, if not devastated, certainly still significantly damaged even six months after the invasion.
After a ride of nine miles they reached Staunton, which was a little over a mile away from the river. The village of Monnington lay on the north bank of the River Wye. Bobury was to the south-west and Norton Canon to the north-east. The former was about two miles away and also on the river, the latter about three miles distant, and the four villages comprised the land which Alan had recently received from the king’s hand.
Alan’s party was nearly thirty strong, the huscarles and Wolves wearing their armour, and engendered considerable concern as they halted in the centre of the village. A number of villagers were looking on and Alan called to a nearby gebur, a freeman of low station, to fetch the village headman and elders. He then he dismounted and assisted Anne from her horse. Baldwin barked several sharp commands in Anglo-Saxon English and four pairs of Wolves, each in their distinctive green-dyed wolf-pelt cloak, moved slightly away into defensive positions, looking about alertly.
Alan and Anne stood next to the rouncey Alan had been riding, a chestnut stallion called Fayne, and Anne’s white palfrey Misty. Both lord and lady had hands on hips and were looking about them. Staunton had, or rather until recently had once had, forty or so cottages around a large village green. Of these some fourteen were burnt-out shells and most of the others showed signs of damage and hasty repair. White-washed wattle-and-daub walls were smoke-blackened; roofs were recently re-thatched; those sheds and outbuildings that remained either bore scorch-marks or were missing walls or roofs. Some buildings, such as the tavern, had been repaired more thoroughly. Only very few, such as the small white-painted wooden church, showed no damage. Most of the cottages had pig-sties or chicken runs, or both, behind them. Barely half had any livestock in them.
The manor Hall, behind a wooden palisade, was a burnt-out ruin. “A good call by you on my sleeping arrangements,” commented Anne quietly.
Alan grunted in reply, “There’s damn-all left here,” he agreed.
Several cheorls, freemen of moderate means, approached, dressed in rough and plain tunics and trews. “God Hael, gum?eod! I am Alan of Thorrington. This manor, and several others nearby, have been given into my hands.”
The village headman introduced himself. He was a dark-haired man called Siric, above middle years but not yet elderly. He was large but not corpulent, perhaps because of lack of food in recent times. He named the other men with him and they then quickly showed Alan and the others around the village and before conducting them to Norton Canon, Monnington and Bobury. The damage to the two latter villages, which were on the river, included the ruination of their watermills, with the water-wheels being smashed and the buildings burnt. ‘At least the water-races and the mill-stones themselves still exist,’ mused Alan. They were back at Staunton by early afternoon, bringing with them the headman and elders of each village. They crowded into the tavern at Staunton as the Moot-Hall was still under repair.
“Hlaford! You clearly have had a difficult time over the last six months or so,” began Alan as he addressed them. “You’ve lost loved ones and valuable members of your communities. The previous lords died fighting to protect what was theirs, and King William has now given these manors into my hand. I hold directly from the king.” That comment caused some raised eyebrows and mutters. “I speak to you in Anglo-Saxon English, a language with which I am familiar. I hold other lands in East Anglia. My wife Anne is Anglo-Saxon, or at least Anglo-Danish,” here Alan gestured in her direction. “So are most of my warriors. Sir Robert de Aumale is my good friend and I have appointed him seneschal of these manors.
“Because of the damage to these lands the king’s taxes have been remitted for three years. Other than obligations to provide customary labour and also food for my men, any obligation owed by the villages to me as lord are waived until Christmastide, and possibly longer. There will be twenty armed men in my employ here at Staunton under Sir Robert to protect you. I expect every fit freeman, irrespective of whether or not they have military obligations, to train and be a worthy member of the fyrd. Every man. You live in the shadow of the Welsh mountains and the men who ride east from them. You know from what happened just a few short months ago the need to protect your own village. I will provide the weapons and my men will provide the training.
“A fort will be built here at Staunton. This will be not to oppress you, but to protect you. All will contribute labour to its building and all will be entitled in time of war to seek its shelter. This labour will be the traditional burgh-bot given to make or maintain fortifications for the village. Workers will be provided food and drink as is usual on each day of labour.
“I acknowledge the difficulty with food. The Welsh carried off all the milled flour and burnt what they could not carry away- even your seed stock for the spring planting. I’ll bring in seed for you to sow and provide it to you at no cost. Some of your oxen were hidden and can still pull a plough. Others were stolen or killed. The ploughs were burnt, but the village smiths can make new ones within a few weeks- the plough-shares themselves remain. Men may need to plough the land by hand come springtime, but I will provide what assistance I can. Your dairy cattle were taken. Probably half of your swine remain, as you were quick enough to drive them into the woodland, where taking them was difficult for the Welsh. Similarly with your cattle.
“I advise regarding the lord’s rights, that for this year only until Christmastide, I waive the traditional lord’s rights regarding taking boar, deer and wild cattle in the woodlands, for the own use of each man and his family. On an on-going basis, I waive the right to take fish by hook and line in the river, hare and fox in the fields, and pigeons. This should put meat in every pot every night.
“One wagon of flour should
arrive tomorrow or the next day. I’ll send several others over the next few months. That will be rationed out and distributed free of charge to those in need.
“I’m not, generally speaking, a generous lord. But I recognise that these are difficult times and that those who have a call on my generosity are in need. You are my people; we have mutual obligations. When your villages are in a better position, should I then be in need, I would expect your support- as I now support you.” Alan nodded and sat down.
After several short speeches of appreciation from the village headmen, Alan, Anne and Robert walked over to the site of the former manor Hall, walking through its blackened walls and collapsed roof.
“It’ll be easier to start again,” commented Robert.
Alan grunted agreement. “Where?” he asked.
Robert pointed. “Probably just over there. This time a ditch and rampart, plus the palisade. Do we need a motte?”
“It’s not really worth the effort involved,” replied Alan. “The Welsh don’t go in for prolonged sieges and you couldn’t get all the people into the small tower for safety anyway. It should be sufficient to have a nine or ten foot deep trench, with spoil on the defensive side, and properly made embankment with a palisade on top; the old timber can be reused. That should be nearly impossible to breach quickly. You won’t be burnt out of house and home again, with the Grace of God, and some basic precautions.”
“So let us go and smite the Philistines on the other side of the border, for the Lord our God is with us!” commented Robert.
Alan clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s just kick arse and let God worry about the rest!” he replied with a laugh.
Appropriately, at that time the parish priest Father Siward walked into the village. The small thin man wore a brown habit and with a straggly moustache, he looked for all the world like an anxious mouse. Siward had been visiting his congregation at Byford and had his rectory nearby at Monnington. He ushered Alan and Anne into a small annex off the church sanctuary, the vestry where he changed his vestments before celebrating Mass. Siward urged them to sit at the stools while he perched himself on a small table after he had offered what hospitality he could, a cup of sour communion wine.
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