[Norman Conquest 02] Winter of Discontent (2 page)

Sir Alan of Thorrington rode north from Winchester on Thursday the 27
th
December in the Year of Our Lord 1067,
on the Feast of St John the
Apostle
,
having participated in the Christmas Feast overseen by King William of England. With him was a large party
;
his wife Anne of Wivenhoe and her maid Synne, both riding in a light cart being pulled by a horse
;
his n
ewly-appointed s
eneschal Robert de Aumale
;
Brand
,
the leader of Alan’s huscarles
;
Osmund the scribe
;
Alan’s servant Leof and nine huscarles,
the latter
professional English warriors. The cart also contained several chests of belo
ngings and the rolled up chain-
mail armour of the warriors
,
wrapped in oiled leather bags.

Alan was a tall and
slim
but physically powerful young man of just
twenty years with red hair and brown
eyes
, his hair and a small beard now growing
long
in accordance with the wishes of his wife
. He was originally from Gauville in Normandy, had fought at Hastings with his friend Robert
-
and
he
had saved Duke Wi
lliam’s life during the battle. The
previous
year he’d received
as a reward from William
six manors in
the
Tendring
Hundred in Essex.

Within the last few days he had received a further four manors on the Welsh border as reward for
his
largely unsuccessful attempt to assist the English against abuses being perpetuated by those
royal officers
responsible to administer the Heriot
land-tax
, or Relief tax,
imposed
against the land of all those in England who had not supported William at Hastings
. This
attempt
by Alan
had earned him the enmity of Bishop William of London, Ralph the Staller
,
who was
the e
arl of East Anglia
,
and the influential priest Engelric, together with their minion Robert fitzWymarc
,
the part-Br
eton s
heriff of Essex who had came to England before the Conquest and
had
received advancement from
first
King Edward
and then King W
i
lliam
. Bishop William and Earl Ralph were appointees of Edward the Confessor from before the Norman invasion, the former a Norman and the latter half English.

Alan had married Anne in the summer of that year. Unusually, it was a love match, she being the young and much-abused widow of Aelfric
,
the former thegn of Wivenhoe who had died at the battle
of
Stamford Bridge. The daughter of Orvin, a wealthy merchant from Ipswich, she was now eighteen years of age. Short at just over five feet in height, petite
,
with long auburn hair
and large brown eyes
, Anne was an extremely intelligent and astute woman who had taken the proceeds obtained from Alan’s
victory over
of a large Danish raiding force and in a short time transformed it into a small financial empire. This allowed Alan the finance to do as he wished in the areas that interested
him
.
These were
raising, equipping and training a significant force of men-at-arms, scholasticism and tinkering in his workshop building engines of war. For a knight Alan was most unusual, being well educated
,
erudite and cultured with a fine understanding of the arts. This was all a result of a failed attempt to join a Benedictine monastery in his youth.

Usually Anne rode ahorse and traveled well. It was unusual for her to
decide
to ride in the cart
with her maid
, but she was feeling ill.

It was raining and cold with a vicious north wind. The men rode soaked and chilled, while the women sat partially sheltered by a large oiled cloth over the cart.

From Winchester to Gloucester
is
a journey of
85
miles and they took two days, resting overnight at Chiseldon in Wiltshire. Hereford was a further forty miles beyond Gloucester, with their destination of Staunton a further nine miles again beyond that. As Anne was not feeling well
,
and with no immediate urgency in their
travel
,
Alan had suggested that they break their journey at Gloucester for several days, partly as none of the
party
had
visited
that city before.

They entered through the East Gate, where Alan enquired of the guard captain as to whether he could recommend an inn frequented by wealthy merchants. At his suggestion they proceeded up the aptly named Eastgate Street to the ‘Bear and Bull’ Inn.

With
the city’s
history
back to Roman times, the main thoroughfares were paved with stone, although piles of refuse and excrement littered the roadways. The rain had not been heavy enough to wash the rubbish away and it lay wet and slippery, ready to catch the unwary. It was late afternoon, about
an hour
before Vespers, and the dull sky presaged an even earlier than usual fall of darkness this wintery day.
M
ost of the hawkers and street vendors had departed
to their homes
, t
he shop-keepers were closing their premises, moving display goods inside and closing the wooden shutters of the poky little s
hops.

A
number
of h
ouses in the south-west corner of the town had been demolished and the motte of a new castle was being built, with piles of earth, stone and rubble standing in what would become the bailey. The building site was currently deserted due to the poor weather and late hour. Within the confines of the town walls houses, halls, shops, inns, taverns, churches, workshops and factories were crammed together. The large mass of St Peter’s Abbey dominated the northern part of the town, towering over the one and two storey buildings that made up the majorit
y of the buildings in the town.

The air was foul with the stench of excrement, rotting waste, the contents of
the
vats
which
the tanners and dyers had emptied onto the street at the end of their working day, the smoke of hundreds of chimneys and the fumes from the iron foundries that were the main industry of the town. On the other side of the town, beyond West Gate, lay the docks and the River Severn, with the wooden bridge over the river
barely
visible in the failing light and the light drizzle that was falling.

“What is it about towns that makes everybody use the streets as a midden?” asked Osmund rhetorically.

“It’s because nobody’s in charge,” replied Brand. “In a village if you don’t use the common midden and just dump your rubbish anywhere, your neighbours soon let you know they’re unhappy
- a
nd the muck makes good fertiliser in the fields
!
Here nobody cares. Ah! Judging by that hanging sign it looks as if we’ve found our lodging place.”

Once inside the inn Anne checked the quality of the rooms while Alan enquired
as to
the board of fare that evening. Both were satisfied, and three rooms
were
taken at two pence a person a night
,
including food. The huscarles would sleep in the Commons near the fire
,
at a penny each. As darkness fell the men drank mulled
ale in the c
ommon
r
oom by the light of smoking rush
torches and the blazing fire. Alan, Anne, Robert and Osmund sat at a table near the fire sipping warmed wine. Being Saturday there was no restriction on the provender available and after the usual vegetable pottage they ate rabbit and veal stew, pork pies and spiced roast lamb. Alan, something of an aficionado of fine cheese, declined to partake of the lack-luster cheese-board offered, instructing the taverner that he should obtain a more suitable offering for the following night.

The next day was Sunday. Sunrise wasn’t until shortly before half past eight and the weary travelers slept late before breaking their fast on pottage and day-old bread. Anne missed breakfast, being ill in her room and attended by her maid Synne, the only one of her four maids to accompany her on this journey. Eventually Anne appeared downstairs and spoke for a while to the wife of the taverner. The drizzle had turned to heavy rain, but des
pite this Anne asked for
the services of
one of the huscarles as an escort
when she ventured outside
. She
declined both of Alan’s suggestions that she either stay warm inside or that he walk with her. Well
rugged up against the weather she left together with Synne and the huscarle, returning damp and bedraggled an hour or so later. Alan and Robert were playing a game of ‘Fox and Geese’ with a wooden playing board and pegs. Robert’s Fox had cornered nearly all of Alan’s Geese.
Anne
bullied them, together with Osmund and Leof, into
changing their clothes to attend
the noon
Mass at Sext at the nearby abbey, only a few hundred paces away.

The vast stone nave of the abbey, with its huge columns and high vaulted ceiling, was chillingly cold. The Benedictine monks sitting in the massive wooden Choir had their breath freeze before them as they sang and they hid their hands inside the sleeves of their
black
woolen habits. Despite the weather several hundred of the town’s
2,000
residents were in attendance, including those sufficiently well-dressed as to clearly be the leading burgesses of the town. The singing and chanting of the monks was a thing of beauty
. However
the abbot, who was a tall man of spare build wearing rich vestments,
was
the only person in the church with a
chair
or a cushion on which to kneel
. T
he hour and a half taken to cleanse their souls, alternately standing or kneeling on the cold stone, were a trial to
the congregation
. “By St Peter’s to
enails, it’s as cold as a witch’
s teat in here. What have we done to deserve having to pay such a strong penance for our sins?” Alan whispered to Anne. She replied with an elbow in his ribs.

After the parting benediction they hurried back through the heavy rain to the ‘Bear and Bull’, quickly quaffing a warming drink on their arrival and gathered close to the fire, rubbing their hands
by
the flames while their cloaks were dried in the kitchen. Washed clean of sin, either by attending Mass or by the rain, they felt uplifted and comfortable.

The huscarles passed the time by either sitting near the fire and playing knucklebones for small wagers or outside in the stables tossing horseshoes at a stake driven into the ground. Alan was
about
to resume his interrupted game of ‘Fox and Geese’ with Robert when Anne asked him to come upstairs to their bedroom. The room was not large, little bigger than the bed with its down mattress and quilted counterpane, and had a small brazier in one corner to take the winter chill from the room. Anne sat on the bed and indicated with a pat for Alan to do the same.

“I have good news, my husband,” she said. “You’ve probably guessed by now, but after seeing a midwife of this town this morning I can confirm I’m with child,” she continued quietly but proudly.

“Praise be to God!” replied Alan fervently, his face suffused with emotion as he hugged her to him. “We’ll get this business dealt with in Herefordshire and get off back home to Thorrington. Are you able to travel?”

Anne laughed delightedly and said
,
“I’m pregnant, not sick. Pregnant women travel all the time. I’ll just take it easy and travel in the cart instead of riding. The child isn’t due until early August, so it’ll be May before I’m much restricted.”

After another hug and kiss they went downstairs, Alan keen to share the good news with his friends. It was
nearly
dark outside, the abbey bells having just tolled for the None service at three in the afternoon
. T
he men who had been outside had come into the warmth cast by the roaring fire in the inn’s Commons. The fire, smoking rush torches, the usual smells of stale ale and stale rushes that identified any inn, together with the sour smell of unwashed bodies,
made the air thick and noisome.