Winter of Discontent nc-2

by Iain Campbell

  The church was an old Saxon-built building of wood, simply but strongly made with thick oak beams supporting a roof of wooden shakes. The light inside was dim, coming through curved windows made not of stained glass but oiled canvas. Despite the lack of finery the church had a comfortable ambiance. A quick inspection proved the building to be unoccupied and Alan changed his clothing into the purloined and still damp garment stolen from the monks and removed his boots, exchanging these for the rough sandals he’d purchased, and made a bundle of his own clothing and footwear. On emerging from the vestry, a borrowed stole and wooden pectoral cross about his neck, he gave Leof firm instructions before spending some time at prayer before the altar. About a quarter of an hour before Gundred was due to arrive he rose and entered one of the pair of wooden confessional boxes, pulling the heavy black curtain closed behind him.

  Gundred arrived promptly, entering the church as the echoes of the bell of the nearby White Church were fading, and stood just inside the door looking around. Leof quickly approached her and whispered urgently, “Go to the confessional box with the open curtain, enter and close the curtain, but wait until your follower enters the church before you close the curtain, so he knows where you are. I’ll stand close by to ensure he can’t get close enough to listen.”

  Gundred did as she was bid, approaching the confessional box but not entering until she saw a flicker of movement by the church door. After sitting and closing the curtain she heard the small screen between the boxes slide open and a disembodied voice say, “Do you have anything you wish to confess since we lasted attended church, my child?”

  She managed to avoid a hysterical laugh and whispered in reply, “A very clever idea. We can meet openly in conditions that are expected to be secret and not overheard. The only problem is that I’m a pagan, not a Christian!”

  “You have just had a sudden conversion of faith!” replied Alan. “What’s the problem? Why are you being followed?”

  “That idiot Thorkell can’t keep his damn mouth shut! He had to get drunk and boast to one of his cronies that he’s going to be a rich man soon! That was reported back to Osbjorn. We all know a skald can’t earn any real money honestly, so Osbjorn thinks he may do something dishonest. It wasn’t enough to put us to questioning, but is enough for us both to be watched carefully.”

  “Didn’t you pass on my warnings about the risk?”

  “Of course I did- most carefully as I knew that he has a big mouth. I certainly have no wish to be put to the knife!”

  “To business then. You come here each Thursday at this time. Somebody, maybe me or maybe somebody I trust, will be here. He’ll introduce himself as ‘Brother Benedict’. I suggest that you also start going to church on Sundays, so that your sudden rush of piety isn’t seen as unusual. Now, what are the rebels up to?”

  “No a lot. They’re strangely inactive, given that William has other problems that are keeping him busy. As you know, the rebels still hold York. William’s nearest men, except yours, are at Lincoln, and the spies report there are less than a thousand men there. Waltheof wants to march south with every spear the rebels have and take Lincoln and Peterborough. Edgar and Cospatric can’t make their minds up what to do, and so don’t do anything. William’s reputation alone has them so frightened that they’re like mice hiding under a sack in a granary, snatching a few loose grains when the cat’s not looking.

  “The Danes are happy enough to move and fight. They’re here for what they can plunder and they received most of the loot from York. But they won’t go far from their ships. There are about 3,000 of them, and another 3,000 Anglo-Danes and Anglo-Saxons. If they raise all the levies in the north, that’d be another 4,000 or so men, but mainly untrained men armed with pitch-forks and hoes. There’s currently about 1,000 Scots from Cumbria, but they’re drifting off back home out of boredom at the lack of action- there were twice that many a couple of weeks ago. There’s a rumour that the Danish king Svend Estridsen may come back again with 100 more ships, which would be another 4,000 men, but I doubt it. He’s old and I’ve been told that he’s been sick recently.”

  “What do you mean that William has other problems? I’d been told that he’d intended to retake York by now.”

  “You don’t know? Well, I suppose you don’t get much news sitting in a cave. There’s been a series of revolts across the south and he’s having to deal with them one by one. Also in the west the Welsh are across the border in force again, and Eadric The Wild has been raising hell in Shropshire again. We’ve been told that Shrewsbury was been sacked- again. I expect that William will want things quiet at his back when he marches north. Not that he’s likely to need to march north if the Danes leave. Without them this rag-tag army will fall apart.”

  “And would the Danes leave, if William made it worth their while?”

  “Do bears shit in the forest? If course they will! It’s traditional for them to accept silver and then go and bother somebody else. Accepting bribes is more of a national occupation than is fighting. Our men enjoy fighting, and they’re good at it, but accepting a hefty bribe to sail away is a more certain source of income. That’s business. Fighting is for pleasure.”

  Alan decided that they’d been closeted in the confessional boxes long enough and that any further delay would indicate to the watcher that Gundred must lead a particularly active life of sinning, and so he briefly confirmed the arrangements for the meeting the following week. Gundred slipped out and several minutes later Leof whispered that all was clear, allowing Alan to emerge, shift his clothing and return to the inn.

  The following morning Alan had Leof collect the horses from the stable, to avoid Alan’s changed appearance being noted. They rode the eighteen miles to Hartlepool via Cassop and Wingate, arriving back at the encampment on the riverbank a little after midday. There was much ribald comment made by the warriors about Alan’s clean-shaved head, which he accepted with good humour. Alan took delight in telling Oswy, a Saxon warrior with a particularly fine moustache which was the labour of many years and of which he was very proud, but who was also an intelligent young man who could read and write in the vernacular, that it would be his turn to shave clean and act as ‘Brother Benedict’ on their next journey. Oswy’s howls of protest could hardly be heard over the gales of laughter of his companions.

  The next day the ship was pushed into the river, the anchor-stone pulled up and the oars began to rise and fall as they headed down the River Tees, past the gambolling and barking inhabitants of Seal Sands and out to sea on their way to the caves at Flamborough Head.

  A week later, after another useless visit to nearby York which was still in rebel hands, Alan lost patience. Clearly events had progressed in such a way that his previous instructions were not applicable. He had information that needed to be passed on and which he should have delivered to York- had it been in loyalist hands. Reaching a decision Alan said to Sven, “You take Havorn to Hartlepool tomorrow and have Oswy ride to Durham with another trusted man. You know the contact procedures. I’ll get Lars to take me south in Alekrage.

  The following evening Alekrage rowed up the River Witham and into Lincoln, to the considerable dismay of local shipping which scattered and fled at her approach. It was cold and windy, with a misty rain falling. A force of about fifty men-at-arms was present on the dock at The Pool, commanded by a pimply-faced youth. Clambering up over the low saxboard and onto the dock Alan called down to Lars in Anglo-Saxon English, “Keep your men on the ship for the time being, until I send word. Then you can dismiss them for a night on the town. Make sure they understand that they say nothing about who we are or where we’re from, if they value their lives. Even here loose lips can see us dead. I’ll arrange accommodation for us all at the castle. The men can have tomorrow off, that’s Sunday, and then we’ll head north early the next day.”

  Turning to the guard commander he instructed in Norman French, “You, set a guard to keep the gawpers away, at least ten men and make sure nobody but my men appr
oaches that ship, then take me up to the castle. Who’s in charge at the moment? Robert of Mortain, you say? Where the hell is the king? No don’t bother, Count Robert will tell me what I need to know. Leof and Brand, you come with me. Lead on, you young fool!”

  The nonplussed and confused young commander did as instructed and with a group of ten men escorted Alan up Steep Hill to the castle. The castle was abuzz with the news of a Danish ship in the Pool and they were ushered almost immediately into the Hall where Robert of Mortain, one of the king’s half-brothers and his life-long supporter, was sitting at a table near a roaring fire dictating letters to two clerks.

  “Ah! I should have guessed it would be you! Good evening Sir Alan! Take a seat.” The Count snapped his fingers and a flagon of wine, jug of water and two silver goblets appeared on the table. “How fare things to the north? Do you have information?” asked the large and heavily-built man, who was grey-haired and in his late forties. “Any news of Gilbert de Ghent and William Malet since the fall of their castles at York?”

  “Information, yes. But little understanding,” commented Alan. “De Ghent and Malet are captives of the Danes and I understand are being reasonably treated, as are Malet’s wife and two children who were captured with him. The rest of the two castle garrisons were slaughtered, almost to a man. May I enquire why York is still in the hands of the Aetheling’s men and there is no royal army here?”

  “Because things have turned to shit everywhere,” replied Robert pithily. “Most of my land is in Sussex, Cornwall, Devon and Dorset. I must have done a damn poor job of keeping an eye on things, because the men from Cornwall and Devon have attacked Exeter and my castle at Montacute is under siege from the men of Somerset and Dorset. I understand that Geoffrey de Mowbray, the bishop of Coutances, is leading a relieving force from London, Winchester and Salisbury. The townsfolk of Exeter helped the garrison drive off their attackers and those rebels were then caught by fitzOsbern and Brian of Brittany. That was a couple of weeks ago. Now fitzOsbern and the king have had to march to the Welsh border as Eadric The Wild and the Welsh, led by Bleddyn of Gwynedd, burnt Shrewsbury to the ground. They couldn’t take the castle and have moved on towards Stafford.

  “The king and his men were here a couple of weeks ago and helped beat back an advance by the Aetheling’s men, although I think that was really just a large foraging party. I’ve got enough men to hold Lincoln and control the surrounding area. By holding Lincoln in some force we prevent the Northumbrians and the Danes from marching down the Roman road into the Midlands, as we threaten their flank. When the fires have been put out behind us and the king and fitzOsbern have pushed the Welsh back over the border and taken the Mercians out of the picture, then we can take care of the north. At the moment York has to wait. I heard it was burnt by the Danes, so there’d be no shelter for an army anyway. We can take it back and get rid of the Danes later. Maybe before Christmas, maybe in the spring,” concluded Robert tiredly.

  “I see your point. It’s all a matter of priorities and the first priority would be keeping the bird in the hand before the bush burns down,” replied Alan. Robert gave a brief nod and Alan continued, “How fares your wife Matilda, your children and her family? Are they at Montecute?”

  Count Robert looked grim. “Yes, Matilda and my three daughters Agnes, Denise and Emma are at Montecute. This all arose so quickly there was no chance to pack them off to Normandy. My son William is a squire in Normandy, so he’s safe enough- or at least as safe as any youth training for war can be! Matilda’s father Roger de Montgomerie and her mother Mabel were safe in the castle at Shrewsbury along with Roger, Phillip and Arnulf. The two older boys are in France. How are Anne and your daughter?”

  “Fine last I saw them, although Anne is due to drop our next child shortly and given the medical problems last time I’d like to be there.” He paused for a sip of wine, which he was drinking unwatered out of respect for its quality. “So are the efforts my men are making worthwhile?”

  Robert shrugged and replied, “Information is always of value. What information you have at the moment will be of questionable value in two months time, but we need to keep contact open with the agents. Who knows, they may come up with some information that requires immediate action, such as a sea-borne assault by the Danes on London. That would be the last thing we need when most of the city garrison is marching on Montacute! At the moment we have men running all over the place trying to keep a lid on what’s going on. I’d say at the moment you’d best be served by going home and leaving your men and ships doing what they are doing. We’re unlikely to need to your own services until Christmas, maybe longer depending on how severe the winter is and whether William can campaign in the winter.”

  Taking the Count at his word Alan met with Lars and Brand the following morning, provided them with instructions to continue with the contact with the spies and provided Brand with a purse of money obtained from the Count’s Steward to be used to purchase supplies- he’d conveniently overlooked telling Count Robert that his men were being paid wages by the Danes. Following all of this activity he carefully chose two horses to purchase and rode south in the rain with Leof for company.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Thorrington October 1069

  Late in the evening two days later, on Thursday the 29th October, Alan and Leof rode through the village of Thorrington. The heavy rain and cold wind was keeping most folk indoors, but the few men and women they saw shouted a warm welcome. The blacksmith paused in his labour at the anvil near the open door of the smithy to gave an abrupt wave of welcome and sent one of his young sons, a lad of about seven, scurrying down the muddy track to the New Hall to announce their home-coming. The rounceys walked with a plodding gait, heads down and exhaustedly lifting each foot from the sticky soil. They’d ridden 81 miles from Lincoln to Huntingdon the day before, spending the night in a flea-ridden tavern before riding a similar distance from Huntingdon that day.

  The exhausted pace of the horses meant that the lad had plenty of time to reach the New Hall ahead of them. Although absent a motte, the fortified structure of the New Hall dominated the east side of the village, with a ten-foot high curtain-wall embankment topped by a further ten foot high wooden palisade. Six wooden towers rose a further ten feet, each with a large piece of oiled canvas covering the shape of a ballista. There were four men on guard, one in each of the corner towers of the square fortifications. The nearest two each raised a hand in greeting, while the other two ostentatiously kept their backs to Alan, ensuring he could see that they were scanning their area of responsibility. The high-pitched roofs of the three double-storey buildings in the complex, the Hall and two barracks blocks, could just be seen peeping over the curtain-wall. Alan was happy to see wood smoke rising both from the chimney of the Hall and from the location of the not yet visible kitchen building, ensuring a genuinely warm welcome.

  They rode across the drawbridge over the ten-foot deep ditch and through the gateway and the rest of the complex came into view; large stables, the armoury building with its attached covered weapons-practice area, the granary, the barn where the hay was stored and the storehouses and workshops, including the shed where Alan whiled away hours in constructing ever more efficient siege weapons.

  The servants hurried out of the Hall to welcome their lord home, although Alan was glad to see that Anne had not come outside. Alan waved a hand gloved in soggy leather and shouted, “Thank you all! Please get inside out of the rain, except for a couple of grooms to take the horses. The poor bastards are just about all in.” After stiffly dismounting and handing the reins to a stable boy, Alan turned in time to catch Leof as he collapsed with leg-cramps. “You’ve got to get used to riding a horse, boy! It’s a damn sight better than walking. Go and sit by the fire and I’ll get Otha to get you some dry clothes. When I’ve finished with the hot-tub, have a long soak and get one of the younger girls to massage your legs. I’ve noticed Inga has been making eyes at you, so I’m sure she’ll help out if you
offer to share the tub. Which reminds me, we need to get you a room of your own in the barracks. You’re old enough that you can’t keep on sleeping in the Hall, with no damned privacy. I’ll mention it to Steward Faran.”

  After giving Leof a hand to the door and then letting somebody else take him over- Alan gave a chuckle when he saw it was Inga- he shed his water-logged cloak and gloves and approached the fire gratefully. “Some mulled wine, for the love of God!” shouted Alan to Otha. “And dry clothes for Leof. And get the hot-tub ready. And I want some damned food!” Just then he saw the diminutive shape of his wife sitting in a high-backed armchair near the fire and could see why she hadn’t hurried outside. As she struggled to her feet, using the arms on the chair for leverage, Alan notice that not only had she a grossly swollen belly, but that the baby had dropped. “Sweet Jesu! It’s good to see you again!” he said after he helped her to rise and caught her in a hug, her head barely coming up to his chest. “It appears you’re carrying a giant and that he’s due any moment! How do you get up the stairs to the bedchamber?”

  “With difficulty, my lord- slowly and with assistance. Using a chamber pot is an inconvenience, but better than a journey downstairs to the privy when I’m being kicked in the bladder! And I pray to God that it is a boy. Dear God, Alan! It’s good to see you again! Have you finished your work up north? Why ride in and not bring the ships home?”

  Alan put a finger on her lips. “We’ll talk about that later,” he said. “For now, let me get warm, some dry clothes, have some hot food and drink and we can take a soak in the hot-tub. Me for my sore legs and you no doubt for a sore back.”