by Smith, Skye
Unfortunately, as we have seen many times, the Normans do not care at all about what happens to the folk of the villages. Winter is nearly upon us. The land is flooded. The harvest was weak. The villagers will be on foot or in ox carts so they will leave much behind and will have near nothing by the time they get well away from the clearances."
"Get where?" Raynar asked. "I have seen Yorkshire south of York. It is a wasteland. Too many armies taking all, for too many years. Where are they to go that has roofs and food enough for the winter?"
"William won't care where the folk go so long as he starves the Danish fleet into leaving." Thorold looked stern. "If that is William's plan then he must do the same on both sides of the Humber and on the coast both north and south of the Humber. We are talking about hundreds and hundreds of villages. Perhaps a hundred thousand villagers."
"The ealders I ferried across the river told me that the Normans are pushing the villagers West and South. There were no warrior age men with them. I suppose they either went to help Cospatrick, or they are in hiding to save their own skins."
"The direction is only logical. To the east is the sea, and the north cannot feed so many. No men you say. No strong men? It is a long journey for women and children and ealders. The villagers on the Yorkshire coast will need to walk perhaps fifty miles just to cross at Selby. It will be a slow death for many. The roads are muck, and they cannot carry enough food, and the Normans will not leave the roofs ahead of them that they will need for shelter."
Raynar banged he hand on the table in frustration. "They are going to end up killing all the folk just to pressure the Danish fleet."
"The folk of those villages are of Danish blood and they want Sweyn as their king, not William. Why should William care if they freeze or starve or shit themselves to death?" Thorold was alarmed by the look of rage he was given. "I hate it as much as you do, but it must be said. It is the truth, a fact, the reality. Do not hate me for speaking the truth."
"Then the rest of the Danelaw must help these folk," suggested Raynar.
"And how will that happen. The rest of Yorkshire is facing a hungry winter even if they keep their roofs. Those that are cleared must walk south, deep into Lincolnshire, or into Nottinghamshire, else they will die."
"They would move faster and easier along a Roman street," suggested Raynar.
"The closest is Ermine street. It runs to the Humber near Ferriby. That would help the Lindseys on this side of the Humber, but the Normans seem to have no ships to ferry the Yorkies across the Humber."
"The Danes have ships."
"Raynar, you have such faith in men to do what is right, what is good, what is helpful. The Danes have sworn to William that they will not to ply the Humber and have taken Danegeld as payment for that oath."
Thorold had been the Shirereeve of Lincolnshire for years before the Normans had replaced him. Across fifteen years he had solved the problems of the shire many times, and was owed favours across the shire. The man went very quiet, meaning that he was thinking.
"Some simple organization could save many lives. Ignore the Yorkies for now, we'll come back to them. How do we get the Lindseys to move further south and quickly. If we can route them towards Ermine street, then what? From wherever they start on the Humber or the coast they must walk thirty miles to Lincoln. The folk of Lincoln will not be pleased to see them. They will be dirty, smelly, cold, wet, tired, sick, hungry, and dangerous."
"Take food to them in carts. If they have food enough they will stay healthy. If they are healthy they will get further south than Lincoln," replied Raynar.
"And who will supply all this food?" asked Thorold.
"The abbeys. Is it not the Christian way?"
Thorold started to choke on his bread and Raynar jumped up and thumped his back. Between laughing and coughing the old man had trouble catching his breath. "Were we further south I would agree. Abbot Brand of Peterburgh would help. Perhaps. " He calmed in thought "Well, we must try something, and try it now before things get worse. I will ride to Lincoln and try to get the help of the towns and churches along the way by telling them it is the only way to keep the folk moving, and not stopping near them. No will want such folk stopping near to them."
"Will the Normans give you leave to go to Lincoln to arrange it?"
"I will do it the Norman way and ask forgiveness, not permission. Now what about the Yorkies?" asked Thorold.
Raynar replied "If Lincolnshire is feeding the Lindseys, then the Yorkies must walk even further west. Nottinghamshire for sure, Derbyshire perhaps. That is a very long walk, but in any case they must come at least as far west as Selby to cross the rivers. The faster we get them across the rivers, the more help they will have. Yorkshire cannot even help itself. "
"The lords of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire are all Norman now, as are the churchmen. How do we convince the Normans to help English folk, worse, Daneglish folk?" Thorold was thinking aloud.
"You once told me that William's biggest problem is a shortage of men. There were not many men at that camp upstream, but the women of the Danelaw are strong like men. Their diet is dairy and fish, so they grow tall with strong bones and teeth," said Raynar.
Thorold was silent and thinking. When he spoke it was quietly. "Be careful of what you wish for them, Raynar. When I think like a Norman lord, I do not like the direction this idea takes. These are freeman villagers. If they accept help from the Norman lords it will cost them their freedom. They will be offered a week of bread for a life of serfdom, and if they are starving they will take it. We must think of another way."
He offered the last chunk of cheese to Raynar. "Lincolnshire is in the Bishopric of Dorchester. Don't bother asking me why, since Dorchester is so far away. Last week Bishop Remigius came to Lincoln with Count Robert Mortain, who is now in charge of Lincolnshire. Unfortunately the bishop is a Norman from Fecamp. I will ask him politely for a solution. He may be of help. He is a Benedictine and that order has strong rules of conduct. If he will agree to help, then so will the other abbeys and churches.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Hoodsman - Blackstone Edge by Skye Smith
Chapter 3 - A plea for mercy in Lincoln in November 1069
Young Raynar rode a borrowed horse in a borrowed cloak and a borrowed tunic to escort Thorold to Lincoln. They rode with three other guards because the flooding had caused desperate men to roam the streets. Luckily the storm promised by the looming winter clouds held off until they reached Thorold's town house in Lincoln.
The gate opened and the aroma of spiced beef wafted around them. Anske gave a cry of delight and ran to hug Raynar, but let him go immediately and pushed him away from her, and held her nose.
Beatrice would not even come that close. "Raynar, every time we meet, you smell like a pig sty. We will hold the meal until we bathe you."
"He does it on purpose for that reason," laughed Anske.
Thorold did not laugh. He was dog-tired and besides he was jealous of the women's affection for this handsome youth. He went to his bed early and let Raynar tell the news. The women had no access to news other than the market gossip, which was local news only.
Raynar was in heaven in the company of women after almost a month where the only company was grotty, rotting men and stubborn horses. That night he expected to be sharing the men's room with the other guards, but Anske showed him into a small room at the back of the house that he could have to himself. He lay down and felt the comfort of the bed, an actual bed, and waited. The only explanation for his privacy was a visit by Anske during the night. He was not disappointed, for once the house had quietened, the door opened and her sleek young body slipped under the covers beside him.
"Shhh," she said, "Thorold is with Beatrice in her room, so I have lost my bed." Her attentions were very gentle and he responded gently. It was warmth and closeness that she wanted from him, and Raynar was somehow aware of this, and did not press her for more. Not yet. Not this first night back
together in each other's arms.
The next morning Beatrice rapped lightly, waited, and then walked in. She looked at the two of them in the bed and smiled. "Thorold did not get much sleep last night. He will be late rising. Take your time," she turned and said over her shoulder, "and your pleasure".
Thorold ate a late breakfast by himself and then immediately left for Robert Mortain's headquarters to report. If the Bishop were not there, he would need to search him out at the church offices. When Thorold returned he had the energy of a younger man. The household gossiped about whether it was due to spending the night with Beatrice or because he had good news from the Bishop. It was both.
"The Bishop was at headquarters when I arrived. I reported the news from Selby, including the news of the forced migrations of villagers. I was the first to bring them such news. I explained to them a few of the problems that this mass migration would mean for where ever the folk stopped. Then I explained that they would need to be supplied food and other help if they were to migrate beyond Lincoln.
They were quick to understand my meaning. Neither the Bishop nor the local lords seemed to want desperate Daneglish folk camped on their lands. They have agreed to help them on their way further south."
He reached for Beatrice's hand and pulled her gently towards him. She sat beside him. "They are sending messages to the Lincolnshire coast. The Lindseys are to make for Bardney Abbey where there will be food and shelter provided for them. That will mean that they bypass Lincoln and travel down Ermine street. There will be more food and shelter at Grantham."
He was well pleased with his morning's work and was smiling. "They are also sending messages into Yorkshire. The Yorkies are to make for Selby. There will be food and shelter provided there. The next food will be at Thorne, and then Bawtry. After that they are Nottingham's problem."
Raynar was suspicious. "Why did they agree to this so readily? It worries me that the Normans are being helpful."
"There were many points of view but one agreement. They would rather turn the Yorkies into someone else’s problem, and they would rather the Lindseys stay in Lincolnshire as labour for the rebuilding that will be needed after the Danish fleet withdraws. In either case, they felt that the promise of food ahead of them will keep them moving, and as long as they are moving they will be less of a problem. For this they are willing to supply a few carts of food."
Raynar's eyes widened. "A few carts of food? Did you tell them that there could be tens of thousands of folk?"
"No, I thought they should get that news from their own sources. I achieved what I wanted. They know of the problem and they have agreed to send food." Thorold signaled to Beatrice and she nodded. He left the room, and she rose to follow him. They were both smiling.
When Beatrice had gone, Anske said, "She has gone to keep him young. Come, let's take little Lucy to the market so they can make animal noises without worrying that she may hear them."
"He was lonely in Selby without her, but I think he has a lust for you. You are the only serving girl he doesn't fondle," replied Raynar. "I mean, if that makes sense."
Anske decided that it was time that Raynar knew more about Thorold. "Their story is sad but all too common. Warriors punish their groin through a life in the saddle and of course, injuries in fighting. They are often, ugh, neutered. Beatrice bore him a son that did not survive and then Lucy, but nothing since."
She moved her lips closer to his ear so she could whisper. "Do you swear not to tell, ever, what I say now. You should know this because my own warlord Klaes of Westerbur likes you. Thorold wants a son as heir, but the fault is with him, not Beatrice.
When Thorold was young and wild he had many sons out of wedlock. He would sometimes visit Westerbur and, well, you know the ways of our island women. Klaes is Thorold's son. I believe that Klaes has agreed with he and Beatrice to sire her a son to be claimed by Thorold. By blood the child would either be his son or his grandson, and either would do as an honest heir. Shhh... here comes Lucy."
It was Lucy and Beatrice. "We were just interupted by a message. My husband has been ordered by Count Robert to return to Selby to finish the boom. I want to go with him. How is the house there, Raynar?"
"All of the houses in Selby suffered from the flood. His is no exception. It smells, is damp, is mouldy, the walls are crumbling, the roof is soggy, and there are only two rooms still fit to live in."
"Ah, then as good as a farmer's house," she said.
"Well, it was a merchant's house, and well built, but the rains and the floods have made more than half of the house unusable."
"I don't want to stay in Lincoln. Not without him. I fear being used as a hostage," she said.
"Then that is what you must say to your husband," he replied. "He misses you terribly. He will agree."
* * * * *
For weeks, the flood waters of the Ouse continued to drop, and therefore the soggy fields around it drained. There was a continuous shuttle of displaced Yorkshire villagers across the Ouse at Selby. The ferry barge was large enough to take one cart with team at a time. It ran behind the new boom that stopped ships from moving between York and the Humber. The boom would stay in place until the Danish fleet had fair winds to clear them out of the Humber.
The Yorkie folk tended to group with others from the same village. The first groups were strong and brought animals and food with them, and even carts filled with supplies and tools. They had walked less than twenty miles to reach Selby. Though they were grouped by village, it was very noticable that there was an absence of strong men. The strong men were either in Northumbria with Cospatrick's army, or in hiding from the Normans in the forest, or dead.
With each passing week the migrating folk became more ragged and more hungry. There were fewer animals and fewer old folk. Some of them had walked over forty miles, and that was forty miles across land that had already been emptied by the Norman patrols and by the earlier migrants.
The garrison at Selby provided them with the shelter of a roof over their head for a few days by using two large, barn like warehouses. The folk were given food enough to eat but not enough to carry away. The warehouses were alternated. Each day the folk from one of the warehouses were cleared out and forced to continue their walk towards the south and the next place with food for them. After they were walking, the now empty warehouse was swept out and then filled again with the day's latest migrants from the ferry.
Raynar began to admire Thorold even more than he admired Hereward, but for different reasons. Hereward was the thinking warrior. Thorold was the thinking administrator. It was Thorold who organized the distribution of food and the warehouses and the kitchen and the latrines. It was he who made the ferry crossing free for all, and ordered payment to the ferrymen from the town's coffers.
It was he who embarrassed the new Bishop and the new sheriff of Lincolnshire into touring Selby so they could see with their own eyes the size of the migrant problem. Both of these Norman lords went back to Lincoln and issued orders accordingly. Within days, learned men from each abbey and each town along the route of the dispossessed Yorkies and Lindseys, were arriving in Selby. Some came to help, and some came to be instructed by Thorold in how to set up a similar refuge in their own areas.
Meanwhile Raynar had found a builder and had organized the rebuilding of the damaged rooms of the house. Once the town saw Thorold's house being repaired, other owners hired builders. The flood damaged houses on the streets closest to the river bank became a windfall for the local builders.
The new sheriff in Lincoln had seen for himself the enormous damage the flood had done to Selby, and also the importance of Selby and its boom to the safety of King William in York. The rebuilding of Selby was on his orders, and partially from the shire's purse.
As the flood of water receded, it was replaced by a flood of folk. The movement of Yorkies through Selby was increasing daily so the builders were ordered to rebuild the damaged warehouses next, as the two already in use to shelter the folk w
ere no longer enough.
The bishop disbelieved the ever-increasing demands for food, and sent a clerk to sit all day and watch the ferry and count the passengers. The numbers were staggering. On the busiest day, over one thousand cold and hungry souls made the passage.
This same clerk had told them that over at Bardney Abbey near Lincoln, the numbers of Lindsey migrants was dropping off now, and the Norman patrols were reporting that the south bank of the Humber and the coast south of the Humber were now cleared of all folk, animals, and roofs. The clerk also hinted that the village clearances in Yorkshire must be wider than just the land around the Humber.
When they had first arrived at the damaged house in Selby, Beatrice and Anske had taken one room and the men the other. Thorold was so enjoying the presence of his wife, however, that Anske and Lucy were forced from Beatrice's room almost every night. Though he tried to be blind to it, Thorold finally admitted to himself that it would be easier if he just trusted Anske to sleep in the same room as Raynar.
By the time the house was rebuilt again and back to its original size, Anske and Raynar were very much a couple. It was the comfort of their entwining in bed that kept the two couples sane through a time when they were surrounded by such suffering, such insanity, and such deprivation.
The wretched state of the migrants was alarming. Thorold was now calling them refugees. With the land around the Humber and the coast north of the Humber now cleared, the Norman patrols were working their way even further north along the coast and then inland and then west towards York. They seemed to be clearing Yorkshire of every living thing.
Some of the latest refugees had walked completely across the now empty and barren land of Yorkshire. Weeks of slowly walking, sleeping in the open, with hunger turning into starvation, and weakness allowing disease. The refugees told tales of eating the cats and dogs that had been left behind by others, and of how some had ignored the warnings of the ealders and had died from eating dogs' liver.