“You seem to think that you have some who are not your friends, to have such protection for your house,” commented Robert.
“We know that we have some who are not our friends,” replied Anne firmly as platters of fresh bread, still hot from the oven, were placed on the table, quickly followed by a thick and delicately-seasoned bacon and vegetable pottage. The noise level in the Hall rose as the huscarles and household members consumed their ale. Many a comment was made in a friendly manner to Aidith, but all in the house knew to keep their hands to themselves and that over-familiarity would be tolerated neither by Aidith nor their masters.
During the meal Robert was quietly sounded out by Anne, Osmund and Brand. Alan asked a few questions also, but was satisfied that he knew his friend sufficiently from past experience. Robert’s comments showed him to be intelligent. Although illiterate like most Norman nobles, he was he had a quite wide knowledge of the world and its principal characters, and even a reasonable knowledge of literature and poetry- although entirely memorized. As was the norm with illiterate people his memory hung onto details that many others would forget. Over the main course of barnacle-goose pie with a rich meat gravy and steamed vegetables Robert commented, “I don’t know. Perhaps I’d have been better staying in Normandy, or maybe going to Sicily or Italy. There are so many ahead on me on de Mandeville’s favouritism list that even with the Redemption defaults I expect to happen in a few weeks, that I can’t see myself getting a manor.”
“You see the Redemption defaults as a good thing?” asked Anne.
“Not as such, but they do provide an opportunity for those, Norman or English, with the cash to acquire an honour or two. That doesn’t include me,” he concluded with an evident tone of regret. As the meal progressed Robert showed himself to be a companionable man. Intelligent, without being learned; respectful without being subservient; a good conversationalist with a wry sense of humour. He showed no sign of an over-inflated sense of self-importance- quite the contrary, being modest and self-effacing and with an understanding of the need of a manor lord to work together with his English equals and subordinates. As the main course was cleared away and those at the table washed their hands in bowls of water, Alan looked enquiringly firstly at Anne, then Osmund and Brand. Each in turn gave a nod.
Toying with a piece of bread Alan looked Robert in the eyes and said, “I don’t think you need to go to Sicily. The king has just given me some manors in Herefordshire, right on the Welsh border. I need somebody who can protect and administer those estates properly, as Seneschal. I’m making no promises of a fief at this stage- that will depend on how you perform your duties over the next year. Are you interested?”
With a stunned expression Robert stammered his thanks, which Alan waved away with a comment about ‘mutual advantage’ and instructed Robert to find several men-at-arms to accompany him to the west after Christmas, promising to travel with Robert and bring a suitable company of his own men.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LONDON LATE NOVEMBER 1067
Alan was amongst a large party of nobles and their entourages who rode out from Newgate and along Watling Street a little before first light. Each noble was expected to have at least two men with him and Alan had chosen Owain and Roger, the former to literally ‘watch his back’. As Owain had said, a hunt was an excellent place for an accident. While Alan felt safe enough, those around him were taking what precautions they could.
The party rode the ten miles west to Hanwell on the River Brent, arriving at the forest in which William had arranged the day’s hunt a little over an hour after departing Newgate. Most of the men were by nature quiet and reserved and there had been little chatter on the way. Alan was wearing a thick jacket over tunic and trews and was well rugged up in his cloak, a scarf and gloves and with a woollen hat on his head.
The day dawned cold and crisp and clear shortly before they reached the village. When they arrived at the village the two taverns were already packed and busy with men who were to attend the hunt. Alan, Owain and Roger sat on a bench outside to partake of the provender that Alan had brought with them. Fresh buttered bread and cheese were washed down with a reasonable French red wine drunk directly from a wineskin they passed between them. Roger Bigod and Aethelnoth of Canterbury sat nearby with their small retinues, and the lords supped in turn from the wineskin with pleasure when offered.
After a wait of a little over an hour the royal party arrived, with King William, fitzOsbern, Odo, de Grandmesnil, de Warenne, Robert of Eu, Robert of Mortain and the other Norman nobles close to the throne. The Englishmen Edgar the Aetheling, Morcar and Edwin, all of whom William appeared to be keeping on a short leash, came trailing behind. Typically, William, still ahorse, demanded to know what they were all doing sitting around drinking and then, guided by a woodsman, led the way into the forest as the others hurriedly mounted and followed.
A mile or so into the forest they came upon the hunting site. Clearly William was not intending to ‘rough it’ and a marquee had been set up for his use and that of his immediate retinue, with food and drink laid out on tables for the chosen few- amongst whom Alan was not included. Beyond were the Hides, five in all. These were chest-high barriers of brushwood aligned east-west, each some fifteen paces long and behind which the hunters could hide as the game was driven towards them by beaters, to then be engaged by the hunters with bow and arrow. Messengers disappeared off into the forest to the north while William and his favourites chatted and ate pies and pastries in the marquee while quaffing cups of wine. Horses were taken well to the rear.
Eventually the party split into five groups, King William at the centre, and each group moved towards one of the Hides. Each Hide was some fifty paces from the next, virtually out of view between the trees and undergrowth. Alan, together with Roger Bigod, Aethelnoth, Aubrey de Vere, Robert Malet, William Peverel and half a dozen others took a Hide on the right, or eastern, side of the line.
Alan picked up a boar-spear, a long and strong spear with a cross-piece, in case something unexpected came out of the forest, but propped it against a tree as he chatted amiably with Roger Bigod, William Peverel and Robert de Aumale, leaning nonchalantly against the tree twenty or so paces behind the Hide. Alan saw the day as a social occasion. With well over 100 men standing behind the Hides, both guests and servants, and with pavilions and fences erected over the past several days, Alan expected few if any animals to make an appearance- those with any sense at all would be miles away.
To Alan’s surprise, a dozen or so deer led by a large hind suddenly burst into view close to the north, emerging from the dim and dark recesses of the forest. Those hunters behind the brushwood shouted a loud ‘Halloo!’ which spooked the animals even further, and the hunters let loose a shower of arrows. The arrows all missed, to the great mirth of those looking on, as the deer turned and fled to safety.
“They couldn’t hit a fucking barn from ten paces!” exclaimed William Peverel, still wheezing from his laughter as he clapped Alan on the shoulder. Clearly this wasn’t a serious hunt for anybody.
Moments later a sow with five piglets appeared, trotting quickly. However, the wind was from the south, and with her snout in the air she led the youngsters off to the east and safety- not that any serious hunter would trouble a female with young.
“Pity about the wind,” said Aethelnoth after putting down his bow and walking back to the others to take a pull at the wineskin.
Just then another small group of deer, this time led by a stag, appeared, distracting everybody and again arrows flew. Alan had moved away from the tree trunk to get a better view when he suddenly felt a blow like a sledge-hammer in his back, driving him to his knees before he pitched forward and struck his head on a rock. Everything went black.
Slowly, things became grey and fuzzy. He became aware of his cheek pressed to the wet earth and pain in both his head and back. Above him men were shouting, calling for a churgeon to remove the arrow protruding from his back. Looking sideway
s he saw Robert’s anxious face close to his. “Anne was right!” he croaked.
“How are you?” demanded Robert.
“I’ve been better! My head hurts and I have a mouthful of dirt,” he replied, trying to spit out the latter. He flexed his shoulders a little. “Arrow in the back?” he asked. Robert nodded. “What the fuck was Owain doing? He was supposed to be looking after that.” Robert looked confused. “Pull the arrow out and help me sit up,” instructed Alan.
“But they’ve called for a churgeon to cut it out,” said Robert anxiously.
“Fuck that!” whispered Alan. “Even if I needed it, it would take hours for him to get here. Put one foot each side and give big strong pull. No need to worry- armoured vest, but don’t let anybody else know. They can think I’m Lazarus. Sweet Jesus, but it hurts where the arrow hit. I’ll have a bruise like a dinner-plate!”
Robert did as instructed, to the howls of protest from the assembled men, who all knew that an arrow had to be pushed through, and he then helped Alan to sit. “Right! Horses and London,” instructed Alan. Minutes later he was ahorse to the amazement of the onlookers, although still reeling mainly as a result of the blow to the head, and rode off with Robert and Owain.
Just around the first bend of the trail he reined in, turned to the side and spent several minutes vomiting before wiping his mouth with a cloth, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of a gloved hand and then riding on.
Two hours later he was lying face-down on the bed at the house at Holebourn Bridge, stripped to the waist. “You were right about the bruise,” commented Robert. “It’ll be a beauty.” They’d snuck in the back door to the house and used the servants’ stairs to reach the bedroom on the first floor, as Anne’s poetry recital was still in progress in the Hall.
Anne was pushing and prodding, much to Alan’s discomfort. He tried to reach back with his left hand, but couldn’t reach high enough. “Just in line to pierce the heart from behind. A good shot,” she commented dispassionately.
“Yes, yes woman! You were right, as always! Thank you for insisting that Owain purchase me a padded jacket with metal plates sewn inside. Now can you please stop jumping up and down on my back? You should know by now by the slight springing movement whether the ribs are broken or not. You don’t have to keep trying it out, as it’s not going to change. Get Leof to make an ointment of goose grease with ground arnica root, ivy and rosemary, and an infusion of yarrow, comfrey, chamomile and bark of white-willow. If he brings the medicine box in here I’ll instruct him on quantities and methods.”
“Spoil-sport,” muttered Anne as she rose. “Yes, two ribs broken. Do I get to torture you like you did to me?”
“Just bind them up. A rib broken at the back can’t move as much as one broken at the front.”
“No poppy juice?” asked Anne.
“Certainly not! It hurts, but I can put up with it,” he replied with bad grace. “Nothing a couple of cups of wine and the herbal infusion won’t cure! Now Owain, what the hell were you doing? This is exactly what you were supposed to prevent. You were looking the other way at the deer emerging from the forest? Right! Use your brain, man! If it happens again you’re on the road back to Wales. Assuming I’m not dead, of course!”
A few minutes later Anne slipped back down to her party downstairs, hoping that she hadn’t been missed. Roger and Owain helped Alan into a woollen tunic, before leaving him so they could partake of the mid-day meal with the servants in the kitchen. Alan remained lying face-down on the bed, deep in thought, until he heard the last of the guests leaving a little before sundown, when the abbey bells could be heard ringing for Nones. He then rose and walked rather stiffly downstairs to sit by the fire in the Hall.
“How did the poetry recital go?” he asked Anne after she returned downstairs following her changing out of the finery she had been wearing. Leftover titbits from the recital were placed on platters near their elbows and Alan was enjoying the fine dining.
“Very well. I invited Adelize de Grandmesnil and a few of her friends. Matilda, wife of Robert Count of Mortain who is also the daughter of Roger de Montgomerie; Alice Bigod; Regenbald’s wife Aethelu and his daughter Swanhild, and two other noble Englishwomen I met at Queen Edith’s soiree, Meghan and Odelyn. Both are in their twenties and both are widows of thegns from Hertfordshire and Middlesex who fell at either Stamford Bridge or Hastings. I expect they’ll shortly need all the help they can get from a woman of Adelize’s or Matilda’s standing! Half a dozen others. They were pleasant company, with nobody with anything to prove. Good food and drink.
“We had a lass playing a harp. Osmund handled the French poems. He actually has an excellent speaking voice and good sense of rhythm. I think that the ladies were delighted for a change not to have to listen to martial poems such as the Chanson de Roland, and Osmund chose an excellent set of sensitive poems that I don’t think any of the Norman ladies had heard before. Osmund arranged an elderly man named Aldin to perform the English poems. Again, well-chosen and sensitive, although as far as most of the Norman ladies were concerned Aldin could’ve been speaking in Moorish. Still, they at least pretended to be interested. All in all a most convivial and enjoyable gathering, and very beneficial,” she concluded.
Alan frowned. “I really don’t see the benefit,” he commented.
Anne chuckled, “Well, unless you’re in open revolt against the king, Hugh de Grandmesnil and Robert of Mortain will support you in the Curia and won’t attack you. Having two of the most important lords in the kingdom favourable to you can only be to your benefit. Their wives will direct a favourable policy towards you. Now I must think about what to do regarding this morning’s attempt to murder you.”
** * *
The King’s Chancellor Regenbald sat relaxed in a chair in the Hall of Alan’s London house at Holebourn Bridge, with his booted feet outstretched towards the fire. A cup of mulled ale was held in both hands. Wisps of steam rose from the wet leather as the boots dried. His wife Aethelu, a small dark-haired woman of forty who was still attractive despite her advancing years, sat on a padded double seat with Anne, who had provided her with a fur-lined cloak to wear while her own cloak was dried in the kitchen. Despite being a senior prelate, the Chancellor was like many English priests married and with children. Alan sat in a chair alongside Regenbald, with Osmund and Robert sitting further away. The aged prelate had accepted an invitation to attend for a private supper and his party had been caught in drenching rain on their way through the streets of London.
“I hope that you don’t expect that the king will be grateful for your interference in the operation of the realm,” said Regenbald, sniffing the mulled ale and taking a welcome sip. He had spoken in French in consideration of the fact that Robert was present.
Alan had been about to take a sip of his own fine Bordeaux red and paused with the goblet just below his lips. “Why not?” he asked. “Surely the king is concerned about the proper administration of his kingdom and the welfare of his subjects?”
Regenbald chuckled with seemingly genuine mirth. “You really don’t understand how kings and earls or barons think, do you? Edward the Confessor probably would have cared, but Godwin was in charge of the kingdom until the last few years and it just so happened that by then almost all the earldoms and land were in the hands of Godwin’s family by the time Edward died.
“Harold? Who knows? He came and went so quickly. As long as the oppression and abuse was within reasonable limits and done by his family he probably would let it go. Anybody below the level of thegn is dependent on the goodwill of their lord. Anybody over that level depends on their earl. William is interested primarily in what happens on the continent with his dukedom. England is a means towards an end, not an end itself. It’ll provide him with the wherewithal, mainly money, to protect and further his position in France.
“When he’d just won a kingdom and it required his full attention to make it function properly, what did he do? He went back to Normandy in th
e spring to prance about all summer. He’s just returned, and only now because of the problem at Exeter. He left the wolves in charge of England in the meantime. He values loyalty above all else. If he believed he could do a deal, he’d sell Northumbria to Lucifer himself in return for a commitment of 1,000 horsemen whenever required. If fact giving Northumbria to Lucifer is probably the best use for it! You can’t trust the Northerners!
“Don’t you think that William knows what is happening in the kingdom? He’s a past master at politics. That requires information. He has spies and informers everywhere. Of course he knew that the English were being robbed blind. Perhaps not the individual cases, but in general terms he knew what was going on. What interests him is money and men-at-arms. With those he can project his power further, particularly given the current Angevin situation on his southern border.
“He values loyalty above all else. Men who have long-term commitments to him and have proved their loyalty are advanced- especially if they’re also relatives, because they can be trusted more. The men left in charge of England were Odo of Bayeux and William fitzOsbern- both are close relatives of the king. FitzOsbern has been more circumspect than Odo in his conduct, and both have not shown the same rapacity as Hugh fitzGrip. Even the English earls and lords such Morcar, Edwin and Thorkel profit themselves as much as possible. William knows what’s going on and chooses to overlook it. Then a minor lord brings multiple complaints about the Bishop of London and the Earl of East Anglia!”
Regenbald reached over to put his now nearly empty mug of ale on a table near his elbow before continuing, “How concerned are you when each spring your sheep are sheared? The wool provides income. That’s what they’re there for. That is what the people of this land are here for. They’ll be sheared close for every penny that can be extracted. What rights do sheep have? None. What rights do the lower levels of society have, in England or Normandy or France? Perhaps more than the sheep, but not so much more as makes any great difference.” After a pause and with a smile he added, “But at least we don’t eat the geburs.”
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