despite having their valuables removed the first day we were here. The priest has been equally accommodating. They prepared dinner last night and breakfast today, which it looks like it should be ready soon.”
FitzOsbern gave him a flat look. “I have a reputation to maintain! Burn the mill and the salt-house. Despoil the salt. Slaughter enough animals to feed us for the day. Leave the rest of the grain, flour and animals. Except the horses- bring them with us. Everything else can stay. They’ve earned that much charity. I want my reputation to be hard, but fair! Let’s eat and get under way!”
Prestatyn was not so lucky and three hours later it lay behind the marching army, sacked and burnt and with its animals all slaughtered. Holywell lay next in their path. The army had not moved far, only fifteen miles, but looting two substantial villages takes time to do thoroughly and after sacking Holywell the army camped for the night. As indicated by its name, Holywell was a place of considerable local religious significance. St Winefride’s Well with its adjacent chapel was a place of pilgrimage. The chapel, well and church were left untouched when the army departed the next day, but the rest of the village was burnt.
As the small army moved forwards fitzOsbern kept the men under close control. There was a long history of savagery and atrocity committed on both sides of the border. The discipline rigorously imposed on the Anglo- Normans was not out of any benevolence or compassion, but the need to keep a small force in hostile territory under control and ready to fight at a moment’s notice. FitzOsbern and most of his leaders had no objection as such to a little rape and murder, but such activity was distracting. Looting was taken as normal. Rape, torture of civilians and the abusing of children was frowned upon.
Miscreants who overstepped the line were strung by the neck from convenient trees in summary judgment when caught. Each village was professionally plundered by men who obviously had considerable experience in locating places where valuables may be hidden. Generally, the villagers and the occupants of the scattered hillside cottages had seen the approach of the army and had fled into the hills and forests. However, Alan was suspicious that the armed bands visiting the dwellings which were away from the main route of march were extracting revenge for those killed or enslaved in Welsh raids or ambushes- and were then perpetuating the ongoing circle of violence.
Holywell to Flint was five miles and was reached at about seven in the morning. Because the Welsh living on the northern border itself did not raid frequently and were fairly peaceful, fitzOsbern directed that the village, and the others on the further sixteen miles to Chester, remained unmolested other than having to provide food for 800 hungry men and nearly as many horses. They crossed the River Dee into Chester in the early afternoon. The castle was immediately on their right as the army crossed the bridge and fitzOsbern gave orders that the bridge guard be increased to 100 men, that the downstream Saltney and Higher ferries be guarded and men be sent upstream to Aldford. He didn’t expect Bleddyn to launch a major attack, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
With the castle barracks full and Englishmen not being given priority for available accommodation, Alan and his men set up their tent with many others outside the town walls on the meadow by the river. Their share of what booty was available from the campaign was thirty Welsh ponies. Short, at twelve or thirteen hands, but strong, sturdy and intelligent, they would be of benefit and Alan would pay his men a good price to buy them. He also had twenty or so swords and helmets as part of his share of loot.
Alan went to the abbey to check on the wounded. From his troop, Wulfwick, the man with the spear wound to the stomach had died. Manwin, who had received a bad arm wound, appeared as if he would live but the churgeon had removed his left arm near the shoulder. If he survived, Alan would arrange his transport home and a suitable job and pension.
After a week and a half of abstinence Alan took his men to a local tavern for a good meal and a few pints of ale. Six hours later and blind drunk, the local town guard were more than happy to open the gate to let them out and get rid of them, after one urinated in the guardhouse and another vomited on the Captain of the Guard. The whole town was delighted to hear of the successes against the perfidious Welsh, and so the recently returned troops were given some leeway instead of being beaten or clapped in irons. The guard captain, as he wiped himself off, did make it clear to Alan that the courtesy would not be repeated and that Alan in future was required to keep his stomach’s contents to himself.
The following day Alan was not well. It must have been something he had eaten, he thought as he lay on his straw palliasse in the tent on the Green outside the town walls, wishing that the bells of the many churches in the town would fall silent. Fortunately his troop was not on duty that day.
The next day, while Edric led the troop on a mounted patrol upriver south to Aldford in accordance with the instructions of fitzOsbern’s Constable, Alan himself called to see the earl at mid-morning. This was a time that he had heard the earl was usually busy with the paperwork and minutiae of running the earldom, the martial nature of commanding on the Border Marches requiring constant attention. He wanted the earl busy and distracted when he saw him.
As befitted both his station and standing, Alan was shown immediately into the office where the earl was sitting behind a table piled with pieces of parchment, talking with his Steward and his Victualler, while two scribes sat at each end of the table making notes. “Good morning, Sir Alan. Take a seat and I’ll be with you when I can,” said FitzOsbern waving Alan towards a stool.
“No hurry, Lord William. Whenever you are ready,” replied Alan as he sat. Moments later a servant poured him a cup of wine.
After about five minutes the Steward rose to leave, the Victualler remaining, presumably with other unfinished business. FitzOsbern looked up at Alan and asked, “Yes?”
“Lord William, now we are back at Chester and no further sorties intended, I thought that I would ask your permission to leave my knight’s service here early and travel to my estates near Hereford to ensure their readiness should Bleddyn attack in the south, rather than remain here in the north,” said Alan. “You’ve more than ample men here to cover any response by the Welsh here, but methinks the forces in the south may be stretched a little thin. Bleddyn is just as likely to strike there as here. Indeed, more likely if he has any sense.”
Another flunkey hurried into the room and stood waiting, holding several pieces of parchment. After a moment’s pause fitzOsbern nodded and replied, “Yes, you have my leave. Let me know if you see any shortcomings in my garrison at Hereford.” FitzOsbern paused again and continued, looking Alan in the eye. “You and I need to have a long talk before next summer about strategy on the border. This year the king intends to wear his crown at Gloucester at Christmas. We can talk then. My thanks for your advice over the last two weeks. You have a clear head on your shoulders and a fine appreciation of what can and cannot be done. I look forward to working with you next summer.”
“Can’t I do castle-guard at Ipswich?” asked Alan plaintively. “Duty in your service is onerous!” FitzOsbern gave a bark of laughter at what he was certain was a joke, as every knight wanted to be where the fight was. As he waved Alan away he was still chucking.
Alan and his men rode out of Chester at first light the next morning as the gates were opened, crossed the wooden bridge over the River Dee and headed south. The men were armed but not wearing their armour, as the road didn’t run close the border for most of its distance. Each man led a chain of three or four ponies, each with saddle and tack. They pushed hard. It was 94 miles from Chester to Hereford and Alan intended to cover that distance in one day, with the men swapping between the several horses they led to keep the animals fresh. It was 20 miles to Whitchurch and a further 21 to Shrewsbury, where they stopped for a meal at mid-morning, moving at 10 miles an hour. Then Shrewsbury to Leominster, crossing the River Lugg several times as it also wound its way south. Then the short ride further south to Hereford.
The land, particularly in the river valleys, was rich and closely farmed, with a number of villages at regular intervals- most of which still bore the marks of the Welsh invasion the year before. The road was dry. High cloud kept the summer day from becoming too warm. Making good time, Alan decided that rather than stop at Hereford they would push on the further 9 miles to the west along the River Wye valley to Staunton, where they arrived an hour or so before dark, after 14 hours on the road.
Dirty, sweaty, sore, stiff and tired, the men dismounted and walked about to stretch their legs. In the time since Alan had last been here the villagers had completed building the Hall, barracks and stables. The protective ditch had been dug, the earthen rampart constructed from the spoil of the ditch and revetted with turf to make a nearly vertical earthen wall which was about half completed, as were the eight small wooden towers. The gate and the drawbridge over the ditch were complete and in place.
In the Hall the window shutters were open to let in the breeze and the last of the light- Alan and Anne had
