Gundred leaned back and gave Alan a hard open-handed slap to the face, pulling clear of his encircling arm and stalking back to the Hall with an arrogant swing of the hips. Just another pretty woman who’d received and rejected an unwanted advance. Alan theatrically put a hand to his cheek and gave a chuckle as Gundred’s shadow followed her back into the Hall.
Alan sauntered nonchalantly back into the Hall, collected Leof and returned to the room he had rented at the inn. Most of the room was taken up with a straw-filled palliasse, which Alan was to share with Leof. After lighting a single tallow-candle Alan pulled off his boots and sat with his back to the wall, deep in thought. Leof, exhausted by the exertions of the day, the late hour and the ale he had consumed, lay down fully-clothed and was asleep in moments. After over an hour of deep thought Alan gave a chuckle filled with satisfaction, snuffed out the candle and settled to sleep.
After breaking their fast on a sop of stale bread dipped in ale, Alan directed Leof to follow him out into the bustling streets. They’d brought two changes of clothes for the boy, both made of wool. One was a rough but serviceable tunic and breeches; the other was the clothing that he’d worn to Earl’s Hall the previous night, of better quality but still in the local Anglo-Danish style. The first stop was at a rag-seller’s stall, where Alan purchased a tattered and patched set of rags suitable to be worn by a street-urchin or beggar, but directed the stall-holder these were to washed, aired and ready for collection in three hours, paying extra for this. While Alan wanted Leof to be able to look like a street-urchin, he didn’t need to smell like one, nor share his clothing with other occupants- both of which were of concern to Alan as he was sharing a bed with the boy.
While Leof’s clothing was being washed and dried, Alan firstly purchased a pair of rough sandals and then entered a barbershop. He’d decided that he was going to masquerade as a priest, but was damned of he was going to wear his hair in a tonsure. As in that guise his flaming red hair and beard were likely to draw attention, he had his pate and chin shaved clean. Next stop, at mid-morning, was the rear of the abbey. As Alan had hoped, the washer-woman had undertaken the laundry and a dozen or so monk’s habits were hanging on the washing-line to dry. After a quick look at sizes and another quick look to make sure nobody was watching, Alan removed two habits; one that appeared as if it would fit his tall frame, and another slightly smaller. Both were somewhat worn and threadbare, but were serviceable and Alan doubted they would even be missed. After then collecting Leof’s clothing from the rag-seller they headed towards St. Lawrence’s church, arriving about an hour before Sext.
The church was an old Saxon-built building of wood, simply but strongly made with thick oak beams supporting a roof of wooden shakes. The light inside was dim, coming through curved windows made not of stained glass but oiled canvas. Despite the lack of finery the church had a comfortable ambiance. A quick inspection proved the building to be unoccupied and Alan changed his clothing into the purloined and still damp garment stolen from the monks and removed his boots, exchanging these for the rough sandals he’d purchased, and made a bundle of his own clothing and footwear. On emerging from the vestry, a borrowed stole and wooden pectoral cross about his neck, he gave Leof firm instructions before spending some time at prayer before the altar. About a quarter of an hour before Gundred was due to arrive he rose and entered one of the pair of wooden confessional boxes, pulling the heavy black curtain closed behind him.
Gundred arrived promptly, entering the church as the echoes of the bell of the nearby White Church were fading, and stood just inside the door looking around. Leof quickly approached her and whispered urgently, “Go to the confessional box with the open curtain, enter and close the curtain, but wait until your follower enters the church before you close the curtain, so he knows where you are. I’ll stand close by to ensure he can’t get close enough to listen.”
Gundred did as she was bid, approaching the confessional box but not entering until she saw a flicker of movement by the church door. After sitting and closing the curtain she heard the small screen between the boxes slide open and a disembodied voice say, “Do you have anything you wish to confess since we lasted attended church, my child?”
She managed to avoid a hysterical laugh and whispered in reply, “A very clever idea. We can meet openly in conditions that are expected to be secret and not overheard. The only problem is that I’m a pagan, not a Christian!”
“You have just had a sudden conversion of faith!” replied Alan. “What’s the problem? Why are you being followed?”
“That idiot Thorkell can’t keep his damn mouth shut! He had to get drunk and boast to one of his cronies that he’s going to be a rich man soon! That was reported back to Osbjorn. We all know a
“Didn’t you pass on my warnings about the risk?”
“Of course I did- most carefully as I knew that he has a big mouth. I certainly have no wish to be put to the knife!”
“To business then. You come here each Thursday at this time. Somebody, maybe me or maybe somebody I trust, will be here. He’ll introduce himself as ‘Brother Benedict’. I suggest that you also start going to church on Sundays, so that your sudden rush of piety isn’t seen as unusual. Now, what are the rebels up to?”
“No a lot. They’re strangely inactive, given that William has other problems that are keeping him busy. As you know, the rebels still hold York. William’s nearest men, except yours, are at Lincoln, and the spies report there are less than a thousand men there. Waltheof wants to march south with every spear the rebels have and take Lincoln and Peterborough. Edgar and Cospatric can’t make their minds up what to do, and so don’t do anything. William’s reputation alone has them so frightened that they’re like mice hiding under a sack in a granary, snatching a few loose grains when the cat’s not looking.
“The Danes are happy enough to move and fight. They’re here for what they can plunder and they received most of the loot from York. But they won’t go far from their ships. There are about 3,000 of them, and another 3,000 Anglo-Danes and Anglo-Saxons. If they raise all the levies in the north, that’d be another 4,000 or so men, but mainly untrained men armed with pitch-forks and hoes. There’s currently about 1,000 Scots from Cumbria, but they’re drifting off back home out of boredom at the lack of action- there were twice that many a couple of weeks ago. There’s a rumour that the Danish king Svend Estridsen may come back again with 100 more ships, which would be another 4,000 men, but I doubt it. He’s old and I’ve been told that he’s been sick recently.”
“What do you mean that William has other problems? I’d been told that he’d intended to retake York by now.”
“You don’t know? Well, I suppose you don’t get much news sitting in a cave. There’s been a series of revolts across the south and he’s having to deal with them one by one. Also in the west the Welsh are across the border in force again, and Eadric
“And would the Danes leave, if William made it worth their while?”
“Do bears shit in the forest? If course they will! It’s traditional for them to accept silver and then go and bother somebody else. Accepting bribes is more of a national occupation than is fighting. Our men enjoy fighting, and they’re good at it, but accepting a hefty bribe to sail away is a more certain source of income. That’s business. Fighting is for pleasure.”
Alan decided that they’d been closeted in the confessional boxes long enough and that any further delay would indicate to the watcher that Gundred must lead a particularly active life of sinning, and so he briefly confirmed the arrangements for the meeting the following week. Gundred slipped out and several minutes later Leof whispered that all was clear, allowing Alan to emerge, shift his clothing and return to the inn.
The following morning Alan had Leof collect the horses from the stable, to avoid Alan’s changed appearance being noted. They rode the eighteen miles to Hartlepool via Cassop and Wingate, arriving back at the encampment on the riverbank a little after midday. There was much ribald comment made by the warriors about Alan’s clean- shaved head, which he accepted with good humour. Alan took delight in telling Oswy, a Saxon warrior with a particularly fine moustache which was the labour of many years and of which he was very proud, but who was also an intelligent young man who could read and write in the vernacular, that it would be his turn to shave clean and act as ‘Brother Benedict’ on their next journey. Oswy’s howls of protest could hardly be heard over the gales of laughter of his companions.
The next day the ship was pushed into the river, the anchor-stone pulled up and the oars began to rise and
