Winter of Discontent

was chilly and overcast with a steady drizzle. Despite the roaring fire in the Hall the men were cold and wore their cloaks wrapped tightly about them. Quart mugs of mulled ale had been handed out as the guests had arrived and two serving-wenches were circulating, holding two mugs in each hand and offering replacements to those whose mugs had been emptied.

“Hlaford!” said Alan in Anglo-Saxon English in a clear and carrying voice, cutting through the low buzz of conversation and calling the meeting to order. “Gentlemen! Welcome and thank you for attending today. Now that the Festive Season is out of the way, hopefully we’ll all have more time for our duties!” Alan was using his ‘public speaking’ voice- well projected, without shouting, slow and clear with brief pauses every dozen words or so to allow the listeners’ ears and brains to catch up with his words. “I’m sure that we all know what happened some two weeks ago at Durham. King William, before he left to Winter in Normandy, appointed Robert de Commines to the earldom of Bamburgh, which was abandoned by Cospatric when he fled after the revolt at Exeter.

“De Commines arrived north of the Tyne last month with a substantial force of men, some 600 strong. Two weeks ago the Northumbrians broke into the city of Durham, killed all the Normans they could find, laid siege to the bishop’s house where de Commines was lodging. Unable to take it by storm they set it on fire. De Commines fled to the church and, like Copsi before him, was killed as he tried to escape the fire when the rebels burnt down the church. The Northumbrians seem to have this penchant for burning down houses and killing earls, but burning churches where men have sought sanctuary is something every Christian would deplore!” Alan paused and took a sip of ale. “While that is politically important enough, of greater importance is that the Northumbrians have not attempted to negotiate their concerns with King William, as others have in the last year or so- without much success I may say. They have elected Edgar the Aetheling as king. I hear that they are marching south to York.”

All present had heard the news, which had arrived and struck like a thunderbolt several days before. Silence continued during a further pause by Alan. “Although I’m a Norman, I’m a man of this Hundred and I believe I understand the wishes of the English geburs, and particularly the thegns and cheorls. The Aetheling is the last of the line of Alfred the Great. The English wish to have an English king. They wish the influence of foreigners to cease and for the foreigners to leave.” Alan paused again and looked closely at the faces before him. “I can understand that, although obviously most would say that I’m biased and have my own interests to protect, being one of those foreigners. I hope that my actions over the two years that I’ve been amongst you show that I have genuine concern for the people in this Hundred, and indeed all the English. I’ve done what I can to assist those affected by the excesses of those recently empowered, and protected the people of this Hundred from invasion.

“Have no doubt that King William will return from Normandy within days, if he has not landed already. He will go north like an Act of God. He is the best general in Christendom. He’s been leading armies, and winning, for twenty years. He defeated the best general England has probably ever had, even when Harold chose the most advantageous battlefield possible. At the moment the revolt is composed of the Northumbrians. Cospatric, Arnkell, the four sons of Karli and Maerle-Sveinn from Somerset, who fled north after Exeter. Even if earls Edwin and Morcar join them, which they have not done so far, the rebels will not have a leader or an army to match that of King William. Edwin and Morcar and the combined armies of the north were unable to even defeat the Norwegians- Harold had to do that.

“I’ve heard of a call to arms for Englishmen to march north to join the revolt. I’d suggest to you that you consider carefully what you have to gain and what you have to lose if you were to do so. You are not my men and I have no claim to give you instructions. My own men will be moving north- in support of the properly anointed king, King William. But I would urge you all to think long and hard before you act. This revolt will not succeed. Those who participate, if they survive, will lose all. King William is a man who rewards loyalty and punishes disloyalty. My recommendation is, if you do not feel able to support King William, that your interests would be best served by ‘sitting on the fence’ and taking no action. That way you lose nothing. Now I will leave you with Algar and Leofstan. A mid-day meal will be provided and I hope that you all make your own decisions that are best for each of you. May God assist you with your deliberations.”

That evening Alan and Anne sat at table with Leofstan. “What was the outcome of the discussions?” asked Alan.

Leofstan shrugged. “As you would expect. A lot of talk and hot air. A lot of patriotic waffle. Your point about the probable outcome of the revolt was well made and has caused many to pause for thought. I expect that in most cases the result of that thought will be to do nothing, as you suggested. Some few will march north and take their chances, but others will look at what they have and seek to retain that. The hand of the Norman invader has not fallen heavily on this Hundred, unlike others- you have seen to that. But men do want an English king and the Northumbrians have now elected Edgar the Aetheling, for good or bad. That will appeal to many whose hearts rule their heads- particularly those who don’t hold land that they may forfeit and so have little to lose but their lives. Englishmen, whether from the north or south, don’t like having a foreign king. They object to the favouritism shown to Normans and French, and to their arrogance. What the final outcome will be, we shall see. I’ll be staying at home and keep my sword in its scabbard.”

Two weeks later, on Thursday 26th February, Alan sat in the second row of chairs in the packed Great Hall at Westminster Palace. Around him sat the great nobles of the land, and standing in the back half of the Hall were the petty lords and their men. Some Englishmen sat amongst the nobles, including Earl Waltheof. Notable by their absence, although apparently invited, were Earl Morcar and Earl Edwin.

As King William rose from his seat, stern-faced and serious, the hubbub in the Hall quickly hushed. “My lords! Mesires!” he began. “Thank you for your attendance at this meeting of the Curia. The meeting is being held open due to the importance of our discussions. You are aware of the events of last month. The murder of the newly-appointed earl of Northumbria beyond the Tyne and the massacre of his men. In two years I’ve lost three earls of those lands! Two by murder by the family of Bamburgh, and Earl Cospatric of that family who fled in craven revolt after being named as earl of Bernicia.

“My patience with the people of Northumbria, and in particular the family of Bamburgh, is at an end. Robert fitzRichard held the castle at York and reported a large force of Northumbrians moving south and disaffection amongst the local Anglo-Danes. Yesterday I received dispatch from William Mallet, the sheriff of Yorkshire, that fitzRichard and most of his men were caught in ambush outside the castle and have been foully slaughtered. Mallet has requested assistance. He is confined in the castle and Edgar the Aetheling and the Northumbrian lords have been welcomed into the city by the people and nobles of York. My patience with the people of Yorkshire is also at an end. In four day’s time my army musters at Peterborough in Cambridgeshire. I expect you to have every man you can raise there ready to march north on that day.”

“What of Morcar and Edwin?” called a voice from the middle of the Hall.

“They are not here and have not answered my summons,” replied the king. “My planning is predicated on the predication that they oppose me. Now, I’m sure you all have much to do to prepare for war. I’ll see you all in four day’s time at Peterborough!”

With that William closed the session and stalked from the room.

Late in the evening three days later, on the first day of spring 1069, just after the monastery bell had rung for the late evening service of Vespers, Alan was sitting near the fire at an inn at Peterborough, tired, hungry, thirsty and with a sore back and legs. Darkness had just fallen outside and despite it being the first day of spring a cold and gusty wind was rattling the shutters on the windows. As he rubbed a hand tiredly over his eyes he reflected that he seemed to have been in perpetual motion for those three days. First a hard ride from London to Thorrington. A day of frantic activity at Thorrington as he finalised the muster of his men, then the marathon journey of 92 miles from Thorrington to Peterborough that day.

Anne had been left safely at the house at London with six guards, Osmund the scribe, her maids Udelle and Esme and of course baby Juliana. Alan was sure that Anne would take the opportunity to ready her trading empire for the resumption of activity with the presumably pending improvement in weather and would be meeting with her business manager Jacob the Jew. Anne loved the bustle, the shopping and social opportunities offered in London and always enjoyed her time in the city.

The day at Thorrington had been frenetic. Alan was glad he had anticipated events and that before he had departed from the manor to attend the meeting in London he had ordered equipment, supplies, horses and men to