[Norman Conquest 02] Winter of Discontent (4 page)

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
; r
oofs were recently re-thatched
; t
hose 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 g
ood 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
H
ael
,
gumþéod
!
I am Alan of Thorrington
. T
his 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
!
Y
ou 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 s
eneschal 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 no
t 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 pigeon
s
. 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
; w
e 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 e
asier 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 n
ot 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.
I
t
should be sufficient to have a
nine or ten foot deep trench
, with s
poil on the defensive side
,
and
properly made embankment with a palisade on top
; t
he 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.

“What of your parishioners’ spiritual needs?” asked Anne.

Siward showed himself to be both quick-witted and compassionate with his reply. “The last six months have been a difficult time for the parish, and indeed the shire. The Welsh swept in like… not a plague of locusts as they were much more violent and dangerous than that, but you know what I mean. They stole everything they could and what they couldn’t steal they deliberately spoiled. The standing crops were burnt and the spare seedstock ruined. There are many still without the shelter of their own homes. Food is scarce and bellies empty. Fortunately
,
the river provides us with fish for meat and we were able to harvest some vegetables. There’s no grain for bread, or even to ferment to make ale! The dairy cattle and milking-goats were stolen, so there’s no milk and no cheese.
The w
orst is the loss of the oxen. Without them we’ll be unable to plant more than a small amount of crops, even if we are able to procure any seed to sow.
Most of t
he other cattle, sheep and swine were driven off into the forest and many were saved, but it’s been a struggle to keep them alive in the winter with most of the fodder gone. However, we’ve enough livestock to breed back to former levels
,
given time.
Let us pray to God that the remainder of the winter is not harsh and that God gives a bountiful harvest in the autumn.

“Th
e
hardship of the body has affected the spirit of the people. Perhaps worst of all is the loss of loved ones. My parish lost
57
men killed and
16
women, together with some lytlings. Another
11
men and
21
women taken captive, for whom their families also grieve but without the knowledge of their fate. Lytlings are left orphaned
,
or with but one parent who struggles to provide for them.
May Mary, mother of God, give them comfort
.
”

“
I share your wishes for God’s future bounty and will include these lands in my prayers each day,” said Alan piously. “
Bleddyn has followed one of the principals of Vegetius. ‘T
he main and principal point in war is to secure plenty of provisions for oneself and to destroy the enemy by famine. Famine is more terrible than the sword’
,
”
he
quoted. “I understand that the English, under Harold and before, have treated the Welshmen roughly. I’m sure that
in the time
since fitzOsbern has been on the border that he’s done nothing to endear himself to the Welsh. They raid us, we use heavy-handed punitive measures against them.”

“Christian kindness has been lacking on both sides of the border,” confirmed Siward.

“I’ll have twenty men-at-arms stationed here at Staunton under Sir Robert
de Aumale
, mainly Englishmen but led by Normans
We will
build a… not
‘
castle
’
as such, but a strong defensive position where all the people can take refuge. Generally the people don’t take this well. How do you think the people of these manors will react?”

“After last year,
they will react
very favorably. You could fill the castle with Moors
,
and as long as they were here to defend them the people of your villages wouldn’t care
!
Safety is the most important thing to them now,” replied Siward. “If you can protect them they wouldn’t care if you were Lucifer himself.”

“And would they train and fight?” enquired Alan.

“They fought last summer. Many died
wielding
pitchfork and spade supporting the local lords of Staunton and Monnington and their few retainers. If you equip them, train them and lead, yes they’ll fight,” replied Siward.

Alan cast an eye on the gathering darkness outside the small window in the vestry. “Father, I thank you for our discussion. I must away
to Hereford
with Lady Anne, but we’ll return on the morrow and talk further. Hopefully tomorrow a wagon should arrive from Colchester with flour and we’ll arrange for some sacks of barley to be brought to make ale- such a lack will not be acceptable to my men!”