fall as they headed down the River Tees, past the gambolling and barking inhabitants of Seal Sands and out to sea on their way to the caves at Flamborough Head.
A week later, after another useless visit to nearby York which was still in rebel hands, Alan lost patience. Clearly events had progressed in such a way that his previous instructions were not applicable. He had information that needed to be passed on and which he should have delivered to York- had it been in loyalist hands. Reaching a decision Alan said to Sven, “You take
The following evening
Turning to the guard commander he instructed in Norman French, “You, set a guard to keep the gawpers away, at least ten men and make sure nobody but my men approaches that ship, then take me up to the castle. Who’s in charge at the moment? Robert of Mortain, you say? Where the hell is the king? No don’t bother, Count Robert will tell me what I need to know. Leof and Brand, you come with me. Lead on, you young fool!”
The nonplussed and confused young commander did as instructed and with a group of ten men escorted Alan up Steep Hill to the castle. The castle was abuzz with the news of a Danish ship in the Pool and they were ushered almost immediately into the Hall where Robert of Mortain, one of the king’s half-brothers and his life-long supporter, was sitting at a table near a roaring fire dictating letters to two clerks.
“Ah! I should have guessed it would be you! Good evening Sir Alan! Take a seat.” The Count snapped his fingers and a flagon of wine, jug of water and two silver goblets appeared on the table. “How fare things to the north? Do you have information?” asked the large and heavily-built man, who was grey-haired and in his late forties. “Any news of Gilbert de Ghent and William Malet since the fall of their castles at York?”
“Information, yes. But little understanding,” commented Alan. “De Ghent and Malet are captives of the Danes and I understand are being reasonably treated, as are Malet’s wife and two children who were captured with him. The rest of the two castle garrisons were slaughtered, almost to a man. May I enquire why York is still in the hands of the Aetheling’s men and there is no royal army here?”
“Because things have turned to shit everywhere,” replied Robert pithily. “Most of my land is in Sussex, Cornwall, Devon and Dorset. I must have done a damn poor job of keeping an eye on things, because the men from Cornwall and Devon have attacked Exeter and my castle at Montacute is under siege from the men of Somerset and Dorset. I understand that Geoffrey de Mowbray, the bishop of Coutances, is leading a relieving force from London, Winchester and Salisbury. The townsfolk of Exeter helped the garrison drive off their attackers and those rebels were then caught by fitzOsbern and Brian of Brittany. That was a couple of weeks ago. Now fitzOsbern and the king have had to march to the Welsh border as Eadric
“The king and his men were here a couple of weeks ago and helped beat back an advance by the Aetheling’s men, although I think that was really just a large foraging party. I’ve got enough men to hold Lincoln and control the surrounding area. By holding Lincoln in some force we prevent the Northumbrians and the Danes from marching down the Roman road into the Midlands, as we threaten their flank. When the fires have been put out behind us and the king and fitzOsbern have pushed the Welsh back over the border and taken the Mercians out of the picture, then we can take care of the north. At the moment York has to wait. I heard it was burnt by the Danes, so there’d be no shelter for an army anyway. We can take it back and get rid of the Danes later. Maybe before Christmas, maybe in the spring,” concluded Robert tiredly.
“I see your point. It’s all a matter of priorities and the first priority would be keeping the bird in the hand before the bush burns down,” replied Alan. Robert gave a brief nod and Alan continued, “How fares your wife Matilda, your children and her family? Are they at Montecute?”
Count Robert looked grim. “Yes, Matilda and my three daughters Agnes, Denise and Emma are at Montecute. This all arose so quickly there was no chance to pack them off to Normandy. My son William is a squire in Normandy, so he’s safe enough- or at least as safe as any youth training for war can be! Matilda’s father Roger de Montgomerie and her mother Mabel were safe in the castle at Shrewsbury along with Roger, Phillip and Arnulf. The two older boys are in France. How are Anne and your daughter?”
“Fine last I saw them, although Anne is due to drop our next child shortly and given the medical problems last time I’d like to be there.” He paused for a sip of wine, which he was drinking unwatered out of respect for its quality. “So are the efforts my men are making worthwhile?”
Robert shrugged and replied, “Information is always of value. What information you have at the moment will be of questionable value in two months time, but we need to keep contact open with the agents. Who knows, they may come up with some information that requires immediate action, such as a sea-borne assault by the Danes on London. That would be the last thing we need when most of the city garrison is marching on Montacute! At the moment we have men running all over the place trying to keep a lid on what’s going on. I’d say at the moment you’d best be served by going home and leaving your men and ships doing what they are doing. We’re unlikely to need to your own services until Christmas, maybe longer depending on how severe the winter is and whether William can campaign in the winter.”
Taking the Count at his word Alan met with Lars and Brand the following morning, provided them with instructions to continue with the contact with the spies and provided Brand with a purse of money obtained from the Count’s Steward to be used to purchase supplies- he’d conveniently overlooked telling Count Robert that his men were being paid wages by the Danes. Following all of this activity he carefully chose two horses to purchase and rode south in the rain with Leof for company.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thorrington October 1069
Late in the evening two days later, on Thursday the 29th October, Alan and Leof rode through the village of Thorrington. The heavy rain and cold wind was keeping most folk indoors, but the few men and women they saw shouted a warm welcome. The blacksmith paused in his labour at the anvil near the open door of the smithy to gave an abrupt wave of welcome and sent one of his young sons, a lad of about seven, scurrying down the muddy track to the New Hall to announce their home-coming. The rounceys walked with a plodding gait, heads down and exhaustedly lifting each foot from the sticky soil. They’d ridden 81 miles from Lincoln to Huntingdon the day before, spending the night in a flea-ridden tavern before riding a similar distance from Huntingdon that day.
The exhausted pace of the horses meant that the lad had plenty of time to reach the New Hall ahead of them. Although absent a motte, the fortified structure of the New Hall dominated the east side of the village, with a ten-foot high curtain-wall embankment topped by a further ten foot high wooden palisade. Six wooden towers rose a further ten feet, each with a large piece of oiled canvas covering the shape of a ballista. There were four men on guard, one in each of the corner towers of the square fortifications. The nearest two each raised a hand in greeting, while the other two ostentatiously kept their backs to Alan, ensuring he could see that they were scanning their area of responsibility. The high-pitched roofs of the three double-storey buildings in the complex, the Hall and two barracks blocks, could just be seen peeping over the curtain-wall. Alan was happy to see wood smoke rising both from the chimney of the Hall and from the location of the not yet visible kitchen building, ensuring a genuinely warm welcome.
They rode across the drawbridge over the ten-foot deep ditch and through the gateway and the rest of the
