Wolves in Armour

this to his family. Cheorls were usually moderately wealthy men with the right to farm a substantial amount of communal land and privately owned land. Owed the lord work-rent or paid cash for the ongoing right to use the privately owned land. Thegn- a man who usually owned his land owed military service for the land he held. Uniquely, a merchant who engaged in foreign trade could be deemed thegn-worthy (ie of equal social status as a thegn). Earl- holder of large parcels of land, usually geographically based, and who administered a geographical area. Equivalent to a French duke.

French Social Classes. The Norman system was based on a hierarchical system with lower members holding (but not owning) land in return for either military or financial obligations to their superiors, as vassals. The lowest level were the villeins, who held no hereditary rights to the land they laboured to farm. A villein was free in that he could abandon his land, but could not sell, gift or will it. Freemen were essentially rent-paying tenant farmer who owed little or no service to the lord, but formed only a small portion of the rural population, usually specialists such as blacksmiths etc. Knight — a man who owed military service for the land he held but usually did not own it. Baron- held land from the king or duke in return for substantial military obligations. Some of his land may be owned by him as a hereditary entitlement, or alod. Townsfolk were generally deemed to be freemen.

CHAPTER ONE

ST. VALERY SUR SOMME SEPTEMBER 1066

Alan de Gauville looked down from the crest of the hill overlooking the township of St Valery-sur-Somme one mile to the northwest. The town had been invaded, but by a friendly army- insofar as any army could be called friendly. The small town was comprised of perhaps eighty houses along three dirt streets, which were crowded with men wearing weapons. The abbey, built of weathered grey stone, stood outside the activity like an island of tranquillity, with scarcely a figure to be seen moving on its grounds.

To the west and south of the town a huge tent city was spread haphazardly across many fields, seething with activity. A thousand tents appeared to be randomly clustered around the colourful banners outside the larger pavilions of the nobles. Archers were practicing at the butts to the west of the camp. The horse-lines to the north of the town contained at least 2,000 horses with hundreds of men moving amongst them. Other men moved like a stream of ants into the woods just to the west of the town, whence the sound of axes could be heard, returning carrying armloads of wood for the hundreds of cooking-fires scattered amongst the tent city.

In one section of the encampment were tents with outdoor forges where smiths were fashioning horse-shoes and nails, and increasing the reserve supplies of arrowheads and crossbow bolts. The smoke from the various fires combined to make a pall like a cloud that drifted to the south on the breeze, making Alan’s eyes sting. Farriers were at work amongst the horse-lines. Fletchers sat in open-sided tents making arrows the length of a man’s forearm from the supply of wooden shafts provided by the duke, carefully checking that each was straight before attaching goose feathers and arrowhead and then placing each head-down in small barrels. The weather was cold and windy, with the wind from the north. Occasional showers of autumn rain swept in.

Out in the river, and in the shelter of the bay beyond, stood so many ships that Alan couldn’t count them. Hundreds were crammed together with scarcely a gap between them.

He straightened his back, shifted his sore buttocks on the saddle and ran a gloved hand through his short- cropped red hair. Alan de Gauville was a tall, thin but physically powerful young man of eighteen years with grey eyes. A smile twitched on his pale freckled face. “Looks like we’re in the right place,” he commented to the shorter and slightly older dark-haired man riding next to him.

Robert de Aumale laughed in response, reached across and struck Alan a friendly blow on the shoulder. “At least they haven't left without us!” he exclaimed. “Now all we need to do is find Hugh de Berniers and give him the letter that my father’s clerk wrote introducing us… well, introducing me.” Robert glanced back at the five men-at- arms trudging along on foot behind them leading three sumpter horses and a mule, and at his servant Gillard.

The men on foot were tired from their journey but at least they were carrying nothing more than a sword and spear. Their mail shirts, steel helmets and equipment were on the pack-horses, along with the equipment of the two knights. Robert’s father, with his large and wealthy manor at Aumale, had outfitted his son handsomely, particularly considering he was the fourth son. Alan was less well equipped, but with a full mail harness in a pannier of the pack-mule that belonged to him. It was an old hauberk, patched and repaired- but the best that his family could afford to provide him.

A groom from Aumale accompanied them to take back the spare pack-horses after they arrived at their destination. Man and beast, they were all sweaty and covered in the dust of two days on the road.

“It’s a pity that Count Hugh isn’t participating in the expedition,” commented Alan.

Robert pulled a wry face. “He’s old, at least fifty, and well past campaigning. Father tells tales of Hugh in his youth when he’d have been at the forefront of the charge. He has one son. I’ve heard that Bertrand wanted to join Duke William, but Hugh wouldn’t allow it; he wants to keep him alive to become Count after him. Invasions have a high mortality rate. Why take the risk when you’re already going to be a Count? What more would he get out of joining the invasion?”

“Still, at least he could have made arrangements for his people to participate, joining all of us together into a respectable force with another Count’s men, so we don’t have to each negotiate our own inclusion,” complained Alan. “Who is this Hugh de Berniers anyway?”

“He’s a vassal of Geoffrey de Mandeville. I assume you have heard of him? He’s pledged eighty ships to the expedition,” replied Robert sarcastically.

“Where the devil did they get all the ships?” asked Alan, pointing at the bay.

“I understand there isn’t a ship between Stockholm and the Iberian border that hasn’t been spoken for,” replied Robert. “Many hundreds of others were built over the last few months, or at least thrown together since we have few shipwrights in Normandy. There are 500 or 600 ships at least. Robert of Mortain pledged 120 ships. Bishop Odo pledged 100,” replied Robert.

They continued with the stream of men, horses and wagons down the dusty winding road towards the town, past fields where the villeins and freemen of the town were at work with sickle, scythe and pitch-fork. With the harvest already gathered they were cutting and stooking the stubble and making haystacks.

It was the 20th September in the Year of Our Lord 1066.

Following the beaten track into the tent city Robert took charge of the group and sought ever more specific directions. Firstly to the Norman camp, set amongst those of Duke William’s Breton and Flemish allies and French mercenaries, then to Geoffrey de Mandeville’s encampment. There Alan and Robert dismounted and Robert gestured to his men-at-arms to unload the pack-horses. Only one pack-horse and Alan’s mule would be retained, to carry the equipment of the knights on campaign under the supervision of Gillard. Being infantry, from now on the men-at-arms would wear or carry their own equipment. Robert disappeared into the throng and returned ten minutes later accompanied by a short stocky man with dark hair cropped short, stubble on his chin and wearing a brown leather jerkin and green hose.

“Hugh de Berniers, I have the honour to introduce Alan de Gauville,” said Robert, making a theatrical gesture with his right hand. As Alan and Hugh grasped forearms in greeting Robert turned to the spare groom and said, “Allerd, I want these pack-horses back in Aumale tomorrow. Here’s a denier for you to buy food for tonight and tomorrow and to bed down in a stable with the horses tonight. Get going!” Turning to Hugh he asked “Where’s de Mandeville?”

With a smile Hugh replied, “You’d better learn proper respect! Count Geoffrey is in Abbeville with Duke William and the other mighty nobles. I’ll take you to his victualler Michel. He’s a Frenchman, but not too bad despite that. He’ll be in Count Geoffrey’s pavilion tent,” he indicated a large white tent with a nod of his head. “Come with me and I’ll introduce you now.” Hugh paused and looked affably up at Alan, taking in his six-foot height, lean frame, red hair and the well-muscled broad shoulders of a trained warrior. “And what do they call you? ‘Fire in the Thatch’, ‘Rufus’ or ‘Longshanks’?” he asked.

Alan laughed and replied, “I haven’t been important enough to acquire a by-name yet.”