Winter of Discontent

“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, wife 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