Winter of Discontent

It was Wednesday 23rd September, two days after their departure on the Feast of St Matthew the Evangelist, when Sven Knutson carefully guided the snekke Havorn towards the docks of York, with Alekrage with captain Lars Erikson at the helm following close behind. The oarsmen were singing a Danish rowing chant as they hauled at the oars. Speaking in English had been banned on the ships, with the crews being required to converse in Norse. Any breach was met by the penalty of a fine of a week’s pay.

A pall of dirty gray smoke hung over the city. As they got closer they could see that most of the city had been razed to the ground. St Peter’s Minister was a charred ruin, as were both castles. “What in God’s name has happened?” said Alan to Sven in English, earning a sharp look from the helmsman as they rowed past the still smoking remains of the two castles, one on each side of the river. “Surely the Danes didn’t burn the city?”

The taciturn Viking gave a shrug in reply and steered the ship towards the wooden wharf on the north bank of the Ouse River, just south of the still intact Ouse River Bridge. The wharf itself hadn’t burnt, although the warehouses located nearby hadn’t been as fortunate. There were no ships tied up at the wharf, nor sitting at anchor further out in the dock. With no ships or warehouses the usually bustling docklands were virtually deserted. Havorn carefully approached the wharf, the oarsmen backing water to allow a crewman to jump from the bow onto the wharf and then receive and secure the heavy mooring ropes thrown to him. Alekrage dropped anchor further out. With a brief word of instruction in Danish to Alan and the others to stay with the boat and keep their mouths shut, Sven and one other man jumped onto the wharf and disappeared off down Coppergate.

He returned a little over two hours later and hailed Lars to come over from Alekrage so that he wouldn’t need to repeat what he had to say. About half of the crew of Havorn were on the wharf, ostensibly stretching their legs and relaxing but in fact on guard with weapons handy and making sure that nobody approached the ship. Alan noticed a suspiciously strong smell of ale in the air when Sven leaned close.

“Goddam stupid Normans,” he said in English, after a glance about to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. “On the 19th the Normans heard that the Danes were coming, so to prevent them from using the houses close to the two castles for material to fill in the ditches, they set fire to the houses to make a clear space. The fire near the old castle got away and burnt down most of the town on that side of the river.” Alan though it a little strange that the locals referred to the castle built to the north of the river as the ‘old castle’ and that built on the opposite southern bank the ‘new castle’, given they had been raised only a few months apart and even the northern castle was barely a year old. “Even St Peter’s Minister was burnt down. Two days ago the English and Danish armies arrived, stormed the castles and slaughtered nigh on everybody.”

“So much for William Malet’s boast they could hold out for a year,” said Alan in a derisive tone. “I suppose he’s dead?”

“No. He and his family and Gilbert de Ghent were taken captive. Nearly all the rest were killed either in the fighting or afterwards. One of the informants I was pouring beer into kept carrying on about Waltheof and how he slew so many foreigners. It seems the damn man has hired a skald, Thorkell Skallason, to write an epic poem!”

“Did the people of York join in the fight? And if so, on which side?”

“Well, they’d just had their city burnt down by the Normans so I assume they weren’t very friendly to the king. But from what I hear those who hadn’t already left to live with relatives after their houses were burnt down just stood back and watched. When you have 5,000 men pour over the walls and swarm down two castles in a matter of hours, keeping quiet and out of the way is the best thing you can do!”

“I suppose so. What of Ealdred, the Archbishop? How did he feel about the cathedral being burnt down? He’s been a staunch supporter of King William these last few years.”

Sven gave a snort of amusement and replied, “You’d have to ask St Peter himself the answer to that one. Or Lucifer, depending in which direction he went! He died a week before the city was attacked, just a few days after the Danes landed on the coast.”

“What’s the situation in York? Are there many rebels about?”

“No. They took what little booty the fire had left and marched away. After all, who’d want to stay and defend a burnt-out ruin? I’m sure they thought that King William is welcome to what little is left!”

“Were you able to find where they marched?”

“Of course! They went where you’d think. The earls and their men went north-east, probably to Durham again. As to the Danes, well I’ve had conflicting stories about where their ships are, and you never find Danes or any other Norseman far from his ship. I’ve heard they’re south-east at Skegness or north-east at Hartlepool or Scarborough. North-east would make more sense as that keeps them close to the Aetheling’s men and we didn’t see any sign of them as we sailed north past Skegness. We were keeping a low profile and not looking for trouble on the way up here, but I’m sure we’d have seen some sign of the Danish fleet as we passed if they were at Skegness.”

“How many are there?” asked Alan.

“How many fleas are there on a street-dog?” Sven replied with a shrug. “Enough to take York anyway. The word in the city is there were about 3,000 Danes and slightly more Englishmen. A lot of men have come to join the rebels from the Midlands, East Anglia and the south, as well as the Northumbrians. At least that means so as long as we’re away from the ship we won’t need to pretend we’re all Norsemen!”

“There’s a big difference in accent and dialect between Northumbria and Essex,” interjected Brand.

“True,” replied Sven. “But there’re so many Saxons from the south in the rebel army, mixing with Midlanders, Northumbrians, Scots, Danes- even a few Welsh and a few Irish- that you’d really have to draw attention to yourself to be noticed. But we need to remember that not many men from Essex could explain why they’re on a Danish longship, and keep our mouths firmly shut when we’re close to the ships.”

Alan nodded his agreement and said, “So, there appears to be no intention to either hold York against King William or attack him as he moves towards York, and that means we don’t need to try to make a report. So what do we do for the next week?”

Lars scratched at the thick blond beard on his chin and replied with a question, “What are we supposed to be doing up here?”

“A very reasonable question,” replied Alan. “One thing is to keep an eye on the Danes and let the king know whether they are. As Sven said they’re never far from their ships. If we know where the ships are, we know where the Danes are. As they’re half of the Aetheling’s army, the other half will be nearby. The other thing we do is to provide communication with the spies that the king has in the Danish and English camps. We’ll be quaffing ale in Durham, Hartlepool and Scarborough more often than in York, waiting for strange men in dark cloaks to approach us! One thing we need to look at is where do we base ourselves?”

After a long pause Sven replied, “I suggest Flamborough Head, at the far end of Bridlington Bay. It’s half way between the Spurn at the mouth of the Humber River and Hartlepool. It’s a very distinctive formation with chalk cliffs 300 or so feet high. Bridlington is a very small village some distance from the Head itself. I know a cave… several caves… just north of the point of the Head. The whole of Flamborough Head is riddled with caves. Several are at sea level between outcrops of rocks that jut out and provide protection from the weather. The gaps are only 50 or so paces wide but a good captain will have no difficulty,” he said with some smugness. “You can row your ships right into the caves, at least on the top half of the tide.”

“Where do we camp?” asked Brand.

“In the caves,” replied Sven with a shrug. “They’re dry- chalk cliffs. The local pirates have built living quarters, although with our numbers we may need to expand them a little. There’ll be dry wood gathered ready for us, as is the usual practice of ‘the Brethren’, and we’ll leave it as we found it. I doubt very much that with the Danes about that the local pirates will be in occupation. We’ll be neat and snug, and very well hidden.”

Alan was tempted to ask Sven about how he’d gained his detailed knowledge of the hiding places on the east coast. Instead he just asked, “How long to get there?”

Sven looked at the early-afternoon sun. “Down the Ouse to the Humber and out past the Spurn. We’ll have the outgoing tide to help us. Then north to Flamborough Head. I’ll get us there just before dark. At worst we can heave-to off-shore and spend the night at sea, but I’d suggest we get moving now if we want to have a fire and a cooked meal tonight.”