Once settled inside, he allowed the men to break open their rations but forbade a fire to be lit. There was no way of knowing how close the enemy was and, besides, the barn was full of straw and grain dust; it would not take much for a spark to set the whole place alight. After some half-hearted grumbling, the others acceded to his demand; the sense of it could not be denied after all. Soon enough, they were settled in amongst the straw which provided both comfort and warmth, despite the increasing chill as the night came on.
Taking the first watch, Thurkill sat by the open door, shielded from the wind but still able to see and hear all that went on outside. He had arranged a few bales of straw so that he could sit propped up in some comfort, while staying alert. Looking up, he could see a multitude of stars beginning to twinkle as the skies freed themselves of cloud and darkness came on. It was going to be a cold night, he thought, pulling his still-damp cloak tighter around his shoulders.
***
Sure enough, he awoke the next morning to find a thick frost covering the ground. Eopric, who had taken the dawn watch, was stamping his feet and flapping his arms about his body to stay warm. Thurkill smiled; he was chilled to the bone himself but at least he had benefitted for the last few hours from the shared heat of the jumble of bodies sprawled together in the straw. He might not have been able to sleep much, what with the continual snoring, arse-scratching and other assorted disturbances but at least he had been quite cosy.
“Any news?”
“Nothing, Lord. Quiet as a mouse. Speaking of which, there seems to be a small army of the little bastards scurrying around in here. How you lot managed to sleep through that, I’ll never know.”
“Can’t have been as bad as Eahlmund’s snoring, though. Who needs a fire to let the Normans know where we are when they could hear that?”
“Hey, I don’t snore and anyone who says otherwise is a filthy liar.”
Loud guffaws broke out on all sides. “Your pardon, Eahlmund, perhaps it was a herd of pigs that joined us during the night, then.”
Before long, they were back on the road, heading west, walking alongside the horses at first to shake the stiffness from of their limbs and generate some much needed warmth. By mid-morning they were back in the saddle, spirits much improved. But despite their stiff pace, and the miles they covered, they saw no sign of the enemy. They passed several villages along the way, none of which had news of the Normans. Everywhere they went, it was the same story.
By mid-afternoon, Thurkill was becoming uneasy. What if he had been wrong after all? What if the Normans had not gone this way? Even now, they could be readying for another attack on Lundenburh and he was not there to protect Hild.
Just as their route meandered, following the twists and turns of the river, so his mind wandered in every direction as he fretted about what might befall her should Duke William unleash his men against the city. They had all heard what had happened to the people of Dover for closing their gates to the invader. Angered by their show of defiance, William had torched the fortress, killing many of its inhabitants in the process. Lundenburh would suffer the same fate were it to block his path for too long.
But all that changed just as dusk began to fall on the second day. They had not long since turned south, following yet another change in the course of the river, when Leofgar – who was riding some distance to their front – came thundering back.
“Lord, fires glow yonder, to the west. A settlement burns.”
Thurkill followed Leofgar’s pointing finger, slightly to the right of their direction of travel, but could see nothing beyond the trees that screened the view. “You sure it is not the setting sun?”
“Yes, Lord. The light dances against the sky. That can only mean flames and lots of them.”
Thurkill nodded. “Right. This may be what we have been sent to find. Let’s ride there so that we might find the cause of it. If it is the Normans, we need to know if it’s their full force or just a raiding party. Stay close to each other and, above all, stay vigilant. At the first sign of danger, we head back whence we came, to the bridge at Suthweca.”
Grim-faced in the growing gloom, each man grunted his understanding, their minds now focussed on what lay ahead.
“Remember, we come to observe, not to engage. We must avoid contact with the enemy at all costs. If we fall, we fail in our duty to report what we have seen to the king.”
They had not gone more than a mile when they encountered a stream of people, making their escape from the burning town. Most had nothing with them but what they stood up in, but here and there one or two of the more enterprising souls dragged carts on which they had loaded as many of their possessions as they could. It made for a sorry sight and reminded Thurkill of the recent scenes back at the bridge. He had a feeling that it was a sight that might become all too common in the coming days and weeks.
Most of the refugees did not spare them a second glance as they trudged – lost in their misery – along the churned-up track, made boggy by the rain of the previous day. Thurkill suspected they had no goal other than to move as far away as possible from the destruction that lay behind them. Bedraggled, most looked broken as they plodded, heads down, staring at the ground in a mixture of shock and despondency.
Thurkill had no wish to add to their woes but he needed information. Standing up in his stirrups, he peered through the growing darkness. Sure enough, about a hundred paces ahead, he what he was looking for. A family group comprising two waggons, piled high with chests, food and other items as well as what appeared to be the female members of the family. Alongside them, walked a guard made up of a dozen or so spearmen, while leading the group were two men on horseback who, from their features and respective ages, looked to be father and son. Kicking his heels into the flanks of his mare, Thurkill trotted forward until he was level with the two men, whereupon he greeted them warmly.
“Hail and well met, fellow travellers. What is the name of the town that burns and what fate has befallen it? Some accident perhaps?”
“It is Redding, good fellow, and have you not heard? An army has come to our town and put it to the torch. For no other reason, it seems, than the desire for wilful destruction.”
“You did not resist? I see a dozen good warriors here.”
The older of the two bristled, as if angry at the insinuation of cowardice. “There was no time. They were upon us before we even knew they were there and in more numbers than we could count. The gates were open and they simply rode in. Some carried firebrands which they tossed through windows and onto thatched rooves, while others lay about them with swords and spears. Scores were killed wantonly and we were lucky to escape with our lives.”
Despite his initial feelings of sympathy, Thurkill could not resist a barbed jibe. “Though you had time to gather a couple of carts and most of your possessions by the looks of it.”
“A few trinkets and some food and a handful of men to see us safe on the road. There was no time for anything more. We would have been killed had we stayed longer.”
“Hmmm. An army you say? What makes you so sure? What were their numbers?” Thurkill knew that, when goaded by panic, men often over-estimated the size of the threat.
“My son, Bassa, here was at Senlac. He knows what he saw and I trust his judgement.”
Thurkill manoeuvred his mount closer to the younger man so that he could reach out to grip his forearm, a newfound respect in his expression. “Greetings from another who stood with Harold on that day. With whom did you stand?”
Bassa lifted his head and straightened his back, pride returning to replace the stooped shoulders of defeat. “Godric of Fyfield, Earldorman of Berkshire was my lord, but he gave his life there and is no more. And you?”
“I stood with my father, Scalpi. King Harold was our lord. I was with him at the end and bear the scars. Thurkill swept his unkempt mane away from the left side of his face to reveal the ugly scar where his ear had been. “Quick, tell me all that you’ve seen here, for we ride
as scouts for the new King Edgar and must report back with news of the Normans.”
“As we were leaving, I could see their whole army, drawn up to the west of the town’s ramparts. Although they only sent a few hundred horsemen against the town, there were many thousand more outside. They never even sent messengers forward to offer surrender. It was as if they were sending a message.” The anger and hurt in the young man’s face were plain to see, even as he cast his gaze down towards his feet.
Thurkill gripped the man’s shoulder, forcing him to look up at his face. “There’s no shame in what happened here, Bassa. There is nothing any of you could have done to stop it, else you would’ve all been killed for no reason. Better that men like you survive to fight on. Do you know where they are heading next?”
“I don’t. But it is not hard to work it out. It is a short march north from here to Warengeforte where a man may wade across the river without fear of his life, though there is a narrow bridge too if I am not mistaken. If the Normans mean to reach Lundenburh, that is where they must head.”
Thurkill smiled. “Well, perhaps we can reach the town before the Normans to warn them. There may be time to prepare the defences. If we can stop them from crossing, for a while at least, we may buy time for Edgar to muster his army.”
Bassa’s father interjected, his tone still pompous and bombastic. “A fine strategy, but one I fear that is doomed to failure.”
“How so? What knowledge of war and strategy do you possess to be so bold in your claim?” Thurkill’s irritation was visible to all.
“Well I know for one that Wigod, Lord of Warengeforte, has friends among the Normans. He is kin to the old King Edward, of blessed memory and he had friends among the Normans from many years spent in exile there. It’s said that Lord Wigod has invited Duke William to make free with his town and to cross the river without impediment.”
Thurkill released Bassa’s shoulder from his grip, and slumped back down in his saddle. “Then I fear we are lost.”
SEVEN
They continued their journey, heading north to Warengeforte, passing the still burning ruins of Redding to their right. There were but five of them now; Eardwulf riding hard in the opposite direction, carrying reports of William’s army and its intentions. News of Wigod’s treachery had to reach the king as quickly as possible. If they did not stop to rest at the river ford, the Normans could be at the western walls of Lundenburh within days.
Rather than turn back, however, Thurkill had decided to press on, to try to learn more of the enemy’s plans. He reasoned that the more information they could send back to Edgar, the better prepared he would be. If Warengeforte would not prevent the Normans from crossing the Thames, their chance of victory had receded, but while there was still hope, Thurkill knew he must do all he could to help.
So they made for Warengeforte. It was risky but there was no other choice. To help them, Bassa had directed them to his cousin’s farm, which lay a short distance from the town’s earthwork defences. They could not very well march into the town as warriors, for that would invite nothing but a quick death. Rather, they intended to assume the appearance of traders so that they might mingle more readily with the other townspeople
By the time they reached the farm, it was pitch dark. A heavy bank of cloud had rolled in during the afternoon blocking any light by which to navigate that the moon might have offered. The farm was deserted; Bassa’s cousin having abandoned it earlier that day in the face of the advancing Normans. Those fears had proved unfounded, however, as the place seemed to be intact; it had not been ransacked or looted in anyway as far as he could tell. The prospect of a good night’s sleep under a solid roof with plentiful food to eat warmed their hearts as much as their bodies. Thurkill even allowed Eahlmund to light a small fire in the hearth in celebration of their good fortune.
They rose at dawn and made ready to enter the town. Keeping only their short handled seaxes, they left their mailshirts, shields and swords hidden at the back of the woodshed. Thurkill felt naked without his weapons and armour, but he knew they must avoid arousing suspicion whilst within the town’s walls. There would be Normans everywhere and they could do nothing that might encourage any of them to give them a second glance.
To add to their disguise, they found a handcart behind the barn which they proceeded to load with piles of cheeses and apples from the farm’s abundant supplies, no doubt stockpiled in readiness for the winter months. Having wares to sell would seal their status as local merchants. Thus equipped, they set off to cover the short distance to the southern gate.
Warengeforte was shaped much like a square. Earthworks from the time of King Alfred protected three sides, whilst the fourth - the eastern side - backed on to the river, which was much narrower here than it was in Lundenburh, several miles to the east. The street pattern mirrored the walls with the main street passing from the southern gate to the north, crossing an east-west road which it met in the middle of the town where the church and market place stood. Taking a right turn at the crossroads would see you arrive at the river where a narrow bridge spanned the fast-flowing waters. In summer it would have been a simple matter to ford the river, whereas now, following the heavy autumnal rains, though the ford was still passable with care, the bridge was by far the safer option.
But Thurkill was not bound for the bridge. In the north-east corner of the town, stood Wigod’s hall, surrounded by a second ring of raised, earthwork defences from where it overlooked both the river and the bridge alike. It was there where William would, doubtless, be found and Thurkill had a hankering to set eyes on the Duke close up. He had caught glimpses of him back at Senlac but they were fleeting and far off. But here, in the confines of Wigod’s hall, he would be able to take the measure of the man. It crossed his mind that he might even try to kill the Duke, should he be able to get within arm’s length, but he quickly dismissed the idea as futile. Surely, he would not be allowed to come that close and certainly not with any kind of weapon. And besides, what would Hild say were he to get himself killed on some foolish quest? Still, he had to admit that the notion was tempting to say the least.
Reaching the hall proved to be anything but simple, though. It seemed the whole Norman army had taken over the town and the place was heaving, accompanied by every sound and stinking smell that went with it.
Once past Warengeforte’s main gate, Thurkill led his little party down the first road on their right to avoid the swirling masses on the main street. They soon found a parallel, albeit narrower, road along which they were able to reach the centre of the town after a walk of no longer than the time it would take to saddle a horse.
But there, they were once again thrust into the bustling maelstrom of an army on the move. Like a river flowing inexorably to the sea, so the Normans - archers, foot-soldiers and mounted horsemen alike - moved ever eastwards towards the river. The stench of unwashed bodies mixed with urine was overpowering as men and beasts relieved themselves where they stood rather than lose their place. It was a slow-moving log jam heading for a single narrow exit.
Looking down towards the river, Thurkill could see a good number of men and horses in the water on either side of the bridge; those too impatient to wait their turn had decided to chance the ford instead. He doubted whether he would have risked it, but then the Norman mounts were bigger and more powerful than those he was used to riding and were, perhaps, better equipped to deal with a river in spate.
While Thurkill watched as the Norman army passed before him, Eahlmund finally lost patience. “This is no bastard good. We’ll be here forever waiting for these whoresons to pass. Leofric, Leofgar, get behind the cart and start pushing.” With that, he stepped forward into the throng, holding his arm out to stop the nearest soldier.
Thurkill’s heart jumped into his mouth. He was about to reach out to drag his friend back, when the incredible happened. Rather than resort to violence, the soldier simply stopped to allow Eahlmund to pass, though not without uttering what sounded to
be a particularly foul-mouthed curse in his direction. Thurkill grinned to himself, it seemed that soldiers were used to following orders whatever their tongue. Shrugging with his best apologetic expression, Thurkill bent his shoulder to the cart’s rear wheel and began to push. Amazingly enough, two or three of the waiting Normans lent a hand as well; whether out of kind-heartedness or anger at being held up made no difference to Thurkill. Nodding his thanks in their direction, he renewed his efforts. In no time at all, they were across and into the wide open space of the market area.
As his heart rate returned to normal, Thurkill took stock of their surroundings. Ahead of them, Wigod’s hall stood on its banked plateau from where it dominated the rest of the town. All around them, stall after stall had been set up selling all manner of wares, taking advantage of the presence of several thousand soldiers.
Spotting a gap between a man selling horse tackle and another with a cart stacked high with earthenware pots, Thurkill directed Eopric and the two brothers to set up shop. “May as well try and make a bit of coin, lads. Especially after the way you lot were spending it back in Lundenburh. Oh, and be sure to charge a good price to any Normans - more than you would if you were selling to good Saxon folk. Eahlmund and I will take a look up at the hall.”
The ground rose steeply on the path up to the plateau, so much so that Thurkill was panting by the time they joined the queue to pass through the gate set into the palisade that surrounded the hall. It was a recent construction, the wood had yet to weather from continued exposure to the elements and, here and there, sticky, sweet-smelling sap still oozed from where side branches had been lopped off.
Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2 Page 30
