Winter of Discontent

had been chosen for defensibility, given the history of repeated raids by Vikings and Scots. The town lacked the grandiose buildings that usually adorned cities, but possessed in full measure all the banes of urban life including noise and filth in the crowded streets. Apart from being one of few substantial towns in the north, Durham’s claim to fame were the holy relics housed the ‘The White Church’, the large church built of white stone by the Saxons to house the relics of Saint Cuthbert. There was already talk of replacing the church with a cathedral, to reflect the importance of the diocese being the fourth-most influential in the land.

As they approached the church across the market square Alan indicated to Leof the burnt-out ruins nearby. “Bishop Aethelwine’s house. The bishop is no friend of the Normans, but nor is he popular with Cospatric and the House of Bamburgh. Robert of Commines was staying there when he came to the town after being appointed earl. The bishop warned him of the impending attack, but Commines thought he knew better- he always was an arrogant self-opinionated bastard. A typical Fleming. That was his last mistake. Cospatric couldn’t force his way into the house so he burnt it down and killed Commines and his men as they tried to flee the fire.”

There were a number of people proceeding in and out of the west-facing main door of the church, many in the sack-cloth and broad-brimmed hats of pilgrims visiting this the most important religious site in northern England. Here, in a shrine located in one of the transepts near the altar, were gilded caskets containing the remains of Saint Cuthbert of Lindisfarne, the most popular saint in northern England, together with caskets containing the head of Saint Oswald and the remains of the author Bede, who had praised both of the saints in his written histories.

The inside of the stone church was dark and cold, the air thick with floating clouds of incense. Just inside the church door stood two burly-looking priests in monk’s habits and a large box on a table. Noticing that the pilgrims placed coins in the box, Alan did the same, adding two silver pennies to the money that the diocese garnered from this religious tourism as the faithful came to pray, and in some cases to beseech the miracles for which the shrine was famous. He dipped his fingers in the holy-water of the stoup and anointed his forehead and lips.

Some two dozen pilgrims gathered at the wooden railing which separated the shrine from the remainder of the church, several bearing crutches or other signs of infirmity. Past pilgrims had included many of the powerful in the land, not least King Cnut who had gifted the diocese substantial lands within Northumbria. Alan first approached the main altar to kneel and pray at the altar-rail. The altar itself was covered with a beautifully-embroidered cloth of fine white linen, and on this stood two large golden five-branched candelabra with tall and thick bees-wax candles alight, and a large open vellum-bound book. Above was the magnificent Great Cross, which had been presented to the church a few years before by Tostig when he was earl, and subsequently deliberately damaged by Cospatric. Tostig had not sought to glorify God with gold and jewels, but with fine imported cedar-wood and the excellence of the craftsmanship of the carving. Alan felt that he could almost himself feel the pain clearly shown on the face of Christ crucified. How Cospatric, supposedly a Christian, could deliberately defile such a magnificent piece of work by mutilating the left side of the body, out of petty spite, was something beyond Alan’s comprehension. He drew from his pocket his five-decade of rosary beads and began reciting the Apostle’s Creed while kneeling below the crucifix. He then proceeded to Our Fathers and Hail Marys, allowing his mind to clear as he meditated on the familiar ritual.

After completing his devotions at the altar Alan moved to kneel on the stone floor near the shrine, being able to find room at one end of the line of kneeling pilgrims. Again he allowed his mind to clear and accept the Word and to drink in the holiness of the sacred surroundings.

By the time he had finished his devotions the afternoon was drawing to a close. When they left the White Church he turned his steps towards the fortified burg within the walls at the northern part of the town. While Durham had been fortified for protection against raids by the Vikings and Scots, both of which had occurred for time out of memory, it had no castle as it had never been governed by the Normans- apart from the few weeks of Robert of Commines ill-fated rule. What it did have was the burg. This was a fortification with wooden walls within which in times of trouble the local populace and their animals could take refuge for a short period, with some reserves of food and forage being maintained. A burg had a different function to a castle. The latter was intended to protect its garrison for a substantial period of time. In contrast, a burg was intended to protect all the people for a short time- it was not intended to undergo prolonged sieges as neither the Scots nor the Viking raiders undertook these. Within the burg was Earl’s Hall, and it was here that Alan and Leof went that evening.

Gaining access to Earl’s Hall was not difficult. The streets of the city were thronged with warriors from three armies- the English, the Danes and the Scots. There were so many soldiers in the town that anybody with the bearing of a warrior and carrying a sword was less likely to be questioned by the guards than was a local townsman. Dozens of warriors were entering the burg, timing their arrival for the evening meal. There were so many entering that the few guards were overwhelmed by numbers and, not wanting to cause friction by challenging reluctant allies, the guards concentrated on looking fierce and alert while doing little.

Alan strode in with the confidence of a man who knew where he was and what he was doing and who had nothing to hide- all of which were inapplicable, but he’d learned much from his time at the royal court and knew that an arrogant attitude could take a man almost anywhere. He had little concern about being discovered as an impostor. Whilst he wasn’t dressed in fine clothes, neither was he or Leof poorly dressed. He’d left his distinctive green-dyed wolf-cloak behind at the cave hide-out and was dressed Saxon-style in tunic and breeches made of russet-dyed wool, with cross-bound leggings and leather boots. His hair was long and in disarray, as he’d chosen not to tie it back. During his time in the caves he’d grown his beard longer- both the long hair and the beard being of flaming red. Given the regular Viking raids into Northumbria over the years, and the current Danish contingent, neither his tall and strong physique nor his colouring were in any way unusual in the Hall. He had met earls Edwin and Morcar in polite social gatherings in the south before the rebellion, but he had not met Waltheof, Cospatric or the other rebels, and more particularly had not met the minions that may be in a position to apprehend him. He knew that even those who he had met previously would be hard-pressed to recognise him now.

All he had to do was avoid making any stupid mistakes and he would be safe.

He took a place at one of the lower tables, well below the Salt, and talked to those warrior seated about him. Most warriors when they’ve had a few drinks will open their mouths and boast about themselves without any thought and Alan was able to obtain information simply by asking a few questions- indeed the main problem was trying to maintain the conversation on a basis that interested him, with the warriors wanting to boast about past exploits or complain about current accommodation and supplies.

The general consensus was, with an army of nearly 10,000 men available, they should be marching south to attack Lincoln instead of sitting in Durham. Alan could well understand their comments- if he was ‘sitting on the other side of the table’ he’d also be demanding to march south. Every day’s delay improved the chances of King William winning. The earls had gathered their army. The enemy army was nowhere to be seen. Not to march south now was inviting disaster later.

Half an hour after the hoi polloi started to eat, the members of the high-table walked in from another room. Alan recognised Edgar the Aetheling- and Gundred. He asked the man sitting at his right hand to identify Waltheof, Cospatric, Maerle-Sveinn, Arnkell and the four sons of Kali- Cnut, Sumarlithr, Gamall, and Thorbrand. He deliberately made no reference to skald Thorkell Skalleson, presuming that this was the man whose arm Gundred was holding and to whom she was giving adoring looks.

After a further half hour of swapping lies and boasts with the men sharing his table, Alan rose and caught Gundred’s eye. After a start of recognition she looked at Alan, looked carefully at the nearby door that led outside to the privies and made a small motion with her head, without returning her gaze to Alan. He allowed a pause of several minutes before proceeding through the indicated door into the darkness outside, which was relieved only by a single torch burning on a post outside the wood-built privies. He stood near the edge of the torch-light until Gundred emerged from the Hall and, after he was sure he’d been seen by her, he stepped back into the protection of the darkness.

“Thank Frigg you’ve come!” said Gundred. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send a letter, but I didn’t know who to use to carry it or where to send it. Quickly, I’m being followed!”

“We weren’t sure if you’d changed your mind,” said Alan quietly, noting a roughly-dressed man sidling through the doorway. He put an arm about Gundred’s waist and pulled her close. “Never send a letter- never put anything in writing. I’ll see you tomorrow at St. Lawrence’s Church when the bell of the White Church rings at mid- day for Sext. There’s no service at St. Lawrence’s at that time. Now slap me and walk away.”