Winter of Discontent nc-2 Read online

  “Hardly an army,” replied Alan. “And it’s no longer in Herefordshire. My manor of Norton Canon was raided and burnt a few weeks back and I brought some of my men to deliver… chastisement. I invited the freemen of my Hundred to come along and join in if they had nothing better to do. Most of them will be half way back to Essex by now.”

  FitzOsbern frowned. “So quickly? What changed your mind? Did you decide it was too difficult?”

  Alan laughed. “Not at all,” he replied. “They’d done their job. It’s never a good idea to have armed men sitting idle as they get into trouble, so I sent them home. Staunton now just has its usual garrison of twenty men.”

  Even more confused, fitzOsbern gestured for Alan to continue.

  “We crossed the border and sacked Hay-on-Wye, Builth Wells and Talgarth. You’ll have little trouble from the Welsh in Brecon for the next year or so. We passed on a very strong message to stay at home, killed a lot of warriors, and took every horse and animal we could find. We recovered a total of 37 English captives taken last summer. The lords of Brycheiniog now understand what the outcome will be if they cross the border again. I explained it to Idwallon myself at the same time I advised him we had killed one of his sons,” explained Alan.

  “You had Idwallon in your hands and let him go?” asked fitzOsbern incredulously. “How much ransom did he pay?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t ask for any ransom. Judging by the state of his village he wouldn’t have had two marks to rub together. And we took every animal they had. Every cow, pig and sheep- down to the last chicken. What wealth he and his Cantref had was in those animals.”

  “How many men did you lose?” queried fitzOsbern.

  “We had nine dead and seventeen wounded- eight seriously,” answered Alan.

  FitzOsbern shook his head in wonder. “Every time my men cross the border we achieve nothing, as was the case with the English before us. The Wesh won’t stand and fight, disappear into their hills and kill us from ambush. They have a man with a bow behind every fucking bush. How did you do it?”

  Alan had no intention of telling one of the foremost knights in Christendom, who had commanded the Norman right wing at Hastings, how to fight a battle. “Speed, strength, planning and intelligence,” he commented. “The Good Lord was kind to us in our endeavour.”

  FitzOsbern frowned. Alan realised after a moment that the other had misunderstood what he meant. “By ‘intelligence’ I meant information,” he hurriedly explained. “I knew what Welshmen were where. We struck unexpectedly, with stealth and speed like the Welsh do when they attack us. Now, Lord William, I really must be on my way if I’m to be in Gloucester before they close the gates this evening.”

  FitzOsbern waved a hand in dismissal. “I presume I’ll be seeing you again in about two weeks,” he said. “The king will be sitting at London on Ascension Day on the 1st of May, and Duchess Matilda is to be crowned as queen on 11th May. King William has called a meeting of the Curia for the 5th of May, two days after the Feast of the blessed Apostles St Philip and St James. You’ll probably find your Summons waiting for you at home.”

  “Ah! The king has finally brought Duchess Matilda to England? Excellent! I’ll look forward to seeing you then, Lord William,” said Alan before taking his leave from the second most powerful man in the land.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  London May 1068

  Alan and Anne sat at ease in comfortable chairs in the Solar of their London town-house at Holebourn Bridge, just outside the city walls at Newgate. The house had been substantially renovated and extended since their purchase of a bankrupt Englishman’s property the year before via Malachi the Jew. With them sat Alan’s English scribe Osmund. A slightly ferret-faced tall, thin and balding Englishman named Gareth was being shown into the room by Alan’s young servant Leof, who had been sent to the disreputable tavern in the Shambles called ‘The Dancing Bear’ to fetch the Londoner. Gareth was extremely unprepossessing, dressed in clean but poor clothing, but Anne had explained to Alan the importance of her relationship with the man who she had engaged as her spy after the failed assassination attempt made against Alan in late November.

  It was Thursday the 28th of April 1068, three days before the Feast of the Ascension on 1st of May. King William’s wife Matilda was due to be crowned Queen of England on Pentecost, the 11th May. Alan and Anne had travelled south from Essex and arrived the day before after a leisurely two day journey from Thorrington in Tendring Hundred near Colchester, Anne and two maids travelling on a light cart in the beautiful spring weather.

  “Thank you for agreeing to come to see me, Gareth,” she said, patting the small rotundity of her five-month pregnant belly.

  “Congratulations, m’lady,” said Gareth in a gravelly voice that showed his origins near the wharves of London.

  Anne nodded. “Thank you for a job well done before Christmas,” she said, referring to the fact that Gareth, unable to determine which of three important officials upset by Alan’s complaints on behalf of the English regarding financial abuses had attempted to assassinate him, had provided a warning by stabbing a long dagger into the bed next to the head of each as they slept and placing an arrow beside their pillow.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t find out which I was. I’m reasonably sure it was Ralph the Staller,” he said, referring to the earl of East Anglia. “One of his men left the hunt abruptly at about the point Sir Alan was shot in the back, but I wasn’t able to obtain confirmation.”

  Anne smiled and said, “I heard that Bishop William wet himself when he woke and spent two days by the altar at St Paul’s, and Earl Ralph dismissed the captain of his Guard.” Gareth smiled and nodded in reply. “Anything further?” asked Anne.

  “Not at this time m’lady. You’ve been out and about in the wilds, so I’ll keep my ear to the ground now that you’ve returned back to civilisation. Obviously m’lord will need to take suitable precautions. Wandering back alone from a tavern in the town late at night while the worst for drink would not be a good idea! We may have frightened them off, or we may have just frightened them a little and made ’em more cautious. My henchmen have been out and about since you returned yesterday, but have no results as yet.” He paused while Aidith the serving-wench delivered a pint of ale and waited until she had left and the door closed again. He took a pull of the ale, sighed in pleasure and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Anne then spent some considerable time questioning him on the current state of the convoluted politics of both the Norman royal court and the English nobles to bring herself up to date, before thanking him for his time and dismissing him.

  “He’s worth every penny of?5 a month,” said Anne. Alan winced at the reminder of the cost, similar to that of buying a manor, but had to admit that due to the trading business conducted by Anne they could more than afford the cost. After all, she didn’t quibble about his spending funds to equip and maintain a small army.

  ** * *

  Anne had arranged another poetry recital for Beltane Eve, the night of 30th April, one of the two times of the year when mortal rules were believed to be suspended and supernatural occurrences were most common. She decorated the Hall in an appropriate manner and had advised the guests that the evening would not be late, as that year the Feast of the Ascension fell on the following day. Sunset was due at 7.30 in the evening and she had arranged for the soiree to commence at 3 in the afternoon.

  Once again she had arranged for half a dozen musicians, with flutes, pan-pipes, lutes, a tambour and a harp. Osmund would again perform, together with two other poets hired for the occasion. The program would include French, English, Roman and Greek pieces. Most of these the largely uneducated noble ladies attending would not understand the poems, but Anne’s music parties were quickly becoming ‘must go’ social occasions and invitations were gladly accepted.

  This time Anne had concentrated on a different clique of women to those invited to her previous performances. On this occasion she had invited Hawise Sourdeval, wif
e of Stephen Count of Brittany; Beatrice de Builly, wife of Robert Count of Eu; Adelize de Tosney, wife of William fitzOsbern; Heslia Crispin, wife of William Malet and, the jewel in the crown of the evening, King William’s niece Countess Judith. Alice de Tosney, wife of Roger Bigod and Anne’s close friend was also in attendance, as were several English women of high status, including Erlina the wife of Thorkel of Arden, and Aethelu, the wife of Regenbald the Chancellor. Of particular note amongst the English ladies was Adelina of Lancaster, the newly married bride of William Peverel, who was a Norman and close associate of King William- Peverel being half-English himself with an English mother named Maud who had been the daughter of the noble Ingelric.

  With the exception of Countess Judith most of the ladies of the Norman court were not used to fine dining. Usually the ladies stayed at home while their husbands roamed the countryside either fighting or attending on their duke. The noble husbands were used to campaigning and wouldn’t notice if they were served a boiled boot to eat, as long as it was cut up fine and had a sweet-tasting sauce. The fare that Anne had arranged was entirely of a different dimension. The guests were met by servants with cups of sweet white wine from the Loire. Mead and innocuously-presented fruit punches, heavily laced with white wine, flowed like water. Exotic finger-food was presented- savory pastries, candied ginger and orange, dried fruit and nuts; quiches, mushroom pastries, truffles, pates and individual Lorenz pies.

  The musicians played quietly as the ladies chatted and become quickly more voluble as the alcohol took effect. When the recital began each of the performers presented an item in turn as the ladies sat quietly on the chairs provided.

  After the initial set of performances the main course of the meal was served at a side-table, the ladies helping themselves to servings on small wooden platters. Bourbelier of wild pig; braised stuffed quail in white wine sauce; pork tarts with saffron; Picadinho de Carne de Vaca; Egredouncye; cold sage chicken portions, and other items.

  The main bracket of poetry, lasting well over an hour, was followed by individual singing performances by several of the ladies, accompanied by the musicians, the singers including Anne and Alice de Tosny, who both had excellent voices. Two of the other ladies rose to stand by the musicians and after a brief discussion on music and tempos cast their inhibitions aside and let their voices soar.

  Dessert was presented, made of various sugared pastries, individual fruit pies with cream and fried sweet items such as apple frictella, losenges fryes and cryspes. Then the, in the main slightly tipsy, ladies rose and took their leave to be home before dark — after all it was Beltane Eve and nobody wanted to be out after dark when the spirits were at large. Their escorts were hurriedly summoned from a nearby tavern where they had spent the evening, and the ladies perambulated home.

  Still dressed in her finery Anne walked into the Solar, where Alan had spent the evening at first by the light from the glass-paned window and currently by candle-light. Anne insisted that her functions were female only get-to-know-you sessions where she could meet and build relationships with the important women at court, and the only men present were amongst the servants and performers. The ladies seemed to like the relaxed atmosphere and freedom from the masculine supervision of their husbands.

  “Good party?” asked Alan, looking up from the book he had been studying. An empty platter at his elbow held the remains of some of the same food that the guests had eaten earlier and the wine jug was half-empty.

  “Yes, thank you,” replied Anne. “A nice group of ladies, although in the main somewhat elderly,” said the eighteen year old, referring to ladies in their thirties. “There are some very astute women amongst them. Only a handful can read or write, of course, so the finer nuances of the poetry are beyond many of them, but they enjoyed themselves and at least could pretend to understand what was being said. What are you reading?”

  “A medical book, part of the Hippocratic Corpus. This volume is Of Regimen and of Dreams. Brother Leanian, the librarian at Colchester Priory, sent it to me shortly before we left Thorrington. It’s one of the books I found at Gloucester Abbey.” Alan sighed and closed the slim leather-bound volume. “I really have my doubts that disease is caused by the disruption of the blood causing humors in the body, or at least that the medicines and regimens recommended have any effect. Most of the volumes deal with practical matters such as how to reduce a broken bone, surgery, eye diseases and so on. Those are invaluable. As to the others, I don’t know. Brother Anselm, the infirmarer when I was at Rouen Abbey, had spent time with the Moors whilst a captive. They, or at least some of them, apparently believe that the body is sometimes affected by something from outside.”

  “Like being taken over by an evil spirit?” asked Anne with interest.

  “Not really, but I’ve never studied their books, or even had them explained to me. I can’t read Arabic anyway. It makes some sense, because we do know that a dirty wound will fester and a clean one may not, so outside influences do exist.”

  The next day was Ascension Day and Alan’s whole household walked into the city to attend Mass at St Paul’s Cathedral at Terce rather than attending at the small local church of Church of St Edmund the King and Martyr, the latter of which was located outside the walls of Newgate and very close to the house owned by Alan and Anne. The huge stone-flagged nave was packed with the town’s citizens and Alan presumed that the many other churches in the town would be similarly crowded. The nobles were in the main attending at the service at Westminster Abbey with the king and his wife, who at the moment was still only a duchess. The service at St Paul’s was, other than the homily, conducted in Latin, and so was unintelligible to most of the congregation. Still, they could appreciate the singing, the pageantry and aura of holiness- and what you can’t understand is all the more impressive for many people. Bishop William himself presided over the service with several Canons doing most of the work. He noticed Alan at the altar when he was receiving the Host and gave him a baleful look.

  Alan had come to enjoy his trips to London as they were something of a holiday from the duties that usually beset him, running his manors, training soldiers and dispensing justice in the Hundred- although he disliked the squalor and overcrowding of the city. It was a pity that looking over his shoulder for an assassin took the edge off his enjoyment. Still Alan was content to spend time quietly at home, in the Abbey library or wandering the city and enjoying its bustling nature, the range of arts and crafts represented by the various guilds and the incredible variety of goods available.

  Anne’s advancing pregnancy somewhat restricted the shopping trips that she so loved, but meant that she had ample time to deal with the trading and shipping business she ran. The goods that had been in the warehouse in Fish Street on their last visit were long gone- sold, replaced and sold again. Her small fleet had begun to ply the seas for the season in early April after the spring storms had abated. At the moment the Zeelandt, captained by the Norwegian Bjorn, an elderly red-bearded man of immense experience, courage and good-humor, was sitting at the London docks unloading its cargo of fine Bordeaux wine. On its return trip it would carry ingots of copper and tin from the mine in Devon now partly owned by Anne, barrels of whale oil and salted or dried fish from Norway, barrels of Stockholm tar and bales of English cloth and wool. The goods from Norway and the Baltic had been brought south by another of Anne’s ships, the Birgitta.

  Of the other ships in the small fleet, Birgitta traded with the Baltic and Norway, exchanging cloth and wool for preserved fish, whale oil and tar. Stormsvale plied back and forth between Haarlem, Ipswich and London, trading the other items in the inventory for dyes, fine lace and a variety of other continental goods. Apart from exchanging goods, each voyage also resulted in a profit of close to fifty percent. Anne was enjoying the additional time and the convenience of not running a manor ‘in the middle of nowhere’ and using this to best effect to have her business run like a machine. She’d taken the opportunity to employ as her business manager
Jacob the Jew, formerly employed in Malachi’s business, and spent long hours with him at the office in the Fish Street warehouse attending to the books of account and establishing lines of credit for the transfer of funds. She’d made it clear that she expected to see him each Quarter Day for a full accounting, either at London or at Thorrington.

  Sunday dawned warm and clear and the days were now becoming longer, with sunrise at half past four in the morning and sunset at half-past seven in the evening, giving nearly fourteen hours of sunlight. Alan had hired a punt to take them upriver for a pleasure cruise, just the two of them and the poleman. Being Sunday, they attended at the early morning service at the local Church of St Edmund at Prime and then departed from the stone steps by the river bank at Queenhithe about two hours later. They were leisurely polled upriver past Baynard’s Castle, located in the south-west of the city precinct, then past Westminster and into the relative quiet of the river beyond. Chelsea and Battersea passed slowly by. The river was flowing quite strongly and even close to the bank the boatman had to exert himself.

  Anne was sitting at the rear of the boat facing forwards, wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat that Alan had insisted she don to protect her fair skin from the spring sun, and trailing her hand in the water. For much of the distance the river was lined with willows now in full leaf, and in places the woodland came down to the water’s edge. Anne exclaimed from time to time as she saw deer, and once a fox with a long red tail, coming to the water to drink, causing Alan who was sitting opposite her and facing backwards towards the boatman, to have to turn and look. Swans and ducks swam at the water’s edge or could be seen resting on the riverbank. On the occasional mudflat, or in the several swamps caused by low-lying land, wading birds could be seen.