Owain replied, “That’s all too complicated for a simple man like me. A figure of 50 longbowmen I can at least understand. How do you intend to achieve that?”
“Well, I believe that I have a master bowman standing before me. Do you have any other work that is pressing on you at the moment? I can offer you three shillings a week plus your keep.”
Owain’s eyebrows raised. Two shillings was what a knight was paid, and the knight had to provide his own armour, horse, feed and keep. “Tis a generous offer, and one I would find hard to refuse,” he replied. “How do you see this working?”
“I have my Norman bowmen Rogers and Warren, who will need to be retrained. The bow you use is not dissimilar to that used on the continent, but somewhat more powerful. I have twenty archers, based around Thorrington. All are used to the shorter bow and are reasonably competent with it, although I appreciate that is much different to the longbow. I would want squads of ten each at Beaumont, Alresford, Ramsey and Great Oakley. Maybe one later at Dovercourt. And with Lady Anne’s permission, here at Wivenhoe.”
“I’m not a bowyer. How do we get the bows?” asked Owain.
“You know one or two suitable bowyers in Wales?” queried Alan.
“Yes, in the Cardiff area. A good bow costs two or three shillings, and a skilled bower can make two or three a day. The main problem is a lack of suitable dried yew wood. It takes two years or so to dry.”
“Are there any technical problems?”
“Not really,” said Owain. “You’re familiar with the idea of composite bows?”
“Different woods and materials glued together to produce a bow with greater strength and resilience. Yes, they’ve been doing that in Arab lands for hundreds of years,” replied Alan.
“Well, the longbow is a natural composite bow, using the part of the tree where the heartwood and sapwood meet. Different woods with different compression rates, but from the one tree and in one piece of wood,” said Owain. “The traditional construction of a longbow consists of drying the yew wood for one to two years, then slowly working the wood into shape, with the entire process taking up to four years. The actual work to make a bow probably takes half a day for a skilled bowyer. The bow stave is shaped into a D-section. The outer ‘back’ of sapwood, approximately flat, follows the natural growth rings, while the inner side, the ‘belly’, of the bow stave consists of rounded heartwood. The heartwood resists compression and the outer sapwood performs better in tension. Your problem is going to be finding enough properly dried two-year-old yew wood cut to the proper requirements. That’s probably close to as many bows as get made in southern Wales in a year.”
With the favourable wind the ships covered the four miles to Brightlingsea quickly. Alan recommended to his men that they not put their armour on, commenting, “I can swim quite well, but not with forty pounds of harness on my back. Today you’re more likely to fall in the sea and drown than have somebody stick you with a sword.”
It was nearly midnight when they arrived off Brightlingsea. Although the moon had still not risen, the enemy ships could be seen by the lanterns hanging at their sterns. Alan had instructed the English ships to extinguish their lanterns, which caused the seamen some concern at the breach of standard procedures.
The attack went like clockwork. The English boats drew up near the eight Danish ships, which were anchored in a gaggle. The Danes loomed dimly in the dark, their silhouettes barely visible against the sky. The tidal water gurgled as it rushed past the hulls of the Danish and English ships.
Alan ordered four selected men from his ship to climb overboard. They stripped off and carrying a knife between their teeth swam towards the fat trading ship they was their first target. Four other men had as their target a nearby longboat. Moments later they also quietly swam away.
After what seemed an agonisingly long pause but in reality was only minutes, the stern light of the ship was covered once and then twice, the agreed signal. Alan ordered the oars used to bring the ship alongside its target and ten men swarmed aboard. Five minutes later the sergeant was back at the rail, advising that the ship was taken and the guards killed.
They progressed to the next boat, this time a longboat, where the process was repeated. As they had been informed, the ships carried only skeleton crews and few guards. Over the next few minutes the stern lanterns on the other ships flashed their pre-arranged signals of success.
The boats then congregated and Anne had herself rowed in a dinghy to the captured longboats, where the captives were being kept. She called Alan over and he was horrified to see perhaps 100 men, women and children chained together, mainly in a squatting position as there was insufficient room for them to lie down.
For most it had been two days since their capture and while they had been provided some gruel and water they had not been unchained and most were sitting in their own filth. Like the captives previously rescued many were sitting in a torpor, apathetic to their surroundings and what was happening around them. As each had their chains struck off they had to be helped to their feet and physically pushed towards where several water barrels had been set up by the mast for drinking and washing. A few of the women clutched young children either at their hip or by the hand, but most of the captives appeared to be less than twenty and single, or at least unaccompanied.
The few sailors who had been in the Danish crew were helping ready the ship for sailing. A quick look in the cabin showed why the guards had not appeared after the ship had been captured. Apart from the on-duty guard lying dead by the mast, the remaining five had been taken surprise by the raiding party and still lay on their bunks, each with his throat cut from ear to ear. The cabin reeked with the bitter stench of fresh blood and the sweat of the unwashed former crew.
While Alan supervised the disposal of the dead Danes, solved by the simple expedient of throwing them over the side, Anne disappeared to inspect the cargo-ships. She was gone for some time and by the time she returned Alan had moved two of the longboats close to the beach just by the village and sent for Edsel, the King’s Reeve for the village.
It was after four in the morning, the sun was up and the village had been stirring even before Alan’s men had started to knock peremptorily on doors. Alan’s men were carefully and gently assisting the former captives down from the bows of the two longboats beached on the mud-flat. The other ships were slowly sailing north up Barfleet Creek towards Thorrington.
Surprised that Anne had not returned, Alan gave Edsel instructions for the village to care for the released captives. When Edsel tried to demur, complaining about the cost, Alan uncharacteristically lost his temper.
“Listen, you mean weasel!” he roared. “Wivenhoe is also caring for refugees, and I’m taking another 100 to Thorrington. It’s time for you and your village to accept its responsibilities. When Edward came through here warning of the raiding fleet and requesting men to accompany him, you said nay and gave him not one man.
“I tell you this. If Edward and the other thegns had not met and defeated the Danes at Wivenhoe, your pretty village of Brightlingsea would be getting burned to the ground and its people massacred today. And all you can do is whine about ‘who is going to pay the cost of the food and drink?’ You are the King’s Reeve. You are responsible and you can attend to it. I’ll be speaking to King William when he returns and I doubt that you will be retaining your position in six months time.”
Alan stalked back to the longboat and was surprised when some of the refugees requested permission to re-board and accompany him to Thorrington. In particular one young lad of about twelve, thin and poorly dressed and with long dark hair, had been following Alan like a shadow.
Barfleet Creek wound north towards Thorrington, but did not reach it, the village being a mile or so beyond the navigable part of the river. As the incoming tide ceased, Alan’s crew had to get out the oars and start to row. They reached the remainder of the small fleet just as the tide had dropped so low as to prevent further progress even in the sh
allow-drafted longboat. The boat had run aground some distance from the shore and they had to wade through thick mud to reach solid land. An anchor was dropped and two men were left aboard to attend to the ship when the water returned.
Hugh and several others were standing on the shore and managed not to laugh at the sight of Alan, mired to the thigh and having lost one shoe in the mud. With a smile on his face Hugh said, “Sorry I can’t offer you a horse, but as you know we took every animal that could be ridden when we went to Wivenhoe and they aren’t back yet. Lady Anne has taken the refugees up to the village to be tended. Fortunately the hay-making and sheep-shearing can wait a few days.”
With an irritated grunt Alan limped off to the nearly deserted Hall, where he washed off the worst of the mud, put on a fresh tunic, leggings and boots before walking down to the village green.
As at Wivenhoe, Anne had organised the refugees into small parties, each group tended to by two or three villagers. Most distressing was the group of fourteen orphans aged from eight to twelve, being supervised by two matronly women. A small group of local children had started a game of knucklebones and managed to get most of the orphans involved, although several, particularly the older girls, were sitting quietly and with a withdrawn manner.
The stories the refugees told were similar to those heard at Wivenhoe. Small communities attacked without warning, slaughter, torture and murder, rape and looting. From the stories it appeared as if parts of Lexden Hundred and Winstree Hundred had been virtually depopulated. The Danes had swept through like a plague of locusts, destroying everything, burning villages and the isolated individual holdings or places where several houses stood close together. As before, most of the captives were young women who had seen their husbands killed, and all too often also their children. Some were men too young to be married, but strong of back and suitable to work as slaves in the fields of their captors.
In small groups they were taken to the local bathing place, a deepening of the creek that supplied the village with water, located just downstream of the village, to bathe and receive fresh clothing. They were then billeted with the locals, care being taken to keep together those known to each other, particularly the children.
Although Thorrington was reasonably affluent, some of its people were not and in some cases the clothing provided literally came off the back of the provider. Alan opened his store-rooms, but not all that was needed was in store and the local villagers generously made up any shortfall from their own belongings, including clothing, shoes, brushes and combs and many other small items.
The return of the first batch of warriors from the villages further north and east, those who had been loaned the use of the Thorrington horses when the Thorrington men took to the boats, arrived at mid-morning and caused an initial stir of fear amongst the refugees. After a brief rest and quick meal the men, now without the horses, moved on towards their homes at Tendring, Bentley and beyond.
Alan turned to the youth who had been following him as faithfully as a hound. “What is your name, boy, and where do you come from?” he asked gently.
“Leof, master. I’m from a hamlet near Fingringhoe. All burnt and gone now,” he concluded sadly in a rustic accent.
“Well, Leof, let’s get you cleaned up, clothed and fed. Come up to the Hall with me,” replied Alan. The Hall had its usual bustling character and Alan placed Leof in the charge of Otha the cook, sure that the boy would need a decent meal and that Otha could do with some assistance in the kitchen. However, not long afterwards the boy reappeared, now clean and with his long hair brushed, and stood behind Alan’s chair as he sat at the table talking to Osmund, who had been drawing up a list of the refugees, first at Wivenhoe and now at Thorrington. Osmund would go to Brightlingsea to do the same job that afternoon.
Anne came hurrying in and sat at the table. Alan waved for some food and wine for her and Leof disappeared like a shot, returning moments later with a laden wooden platter and brimming cup.
After giving the boy a brief nod of thanks Anne began to talk urgently to Alan in Latin, knowing that only he and his trusted scribe Osmund would be able to understand. “I’ve had a look through the ships, the two longboats and the four trading cogs. I’ve had a few things taken off and either put in your wine store or in a bundle in the room you use as your office. Now there’s no doubt that all those items belong to you by right of salvage. But most of them were seized by the Danes at Colchester, including the cogs. The previous owners are nearby and no doubt anxious to recover their property. To avoid any disputes, and any legal court cases that would drag on for months- and who knows what the outcome would be once the lawyers get involved- I strongly suggest that you get rid of them as soon as possible. I’ve taken a rough inventory and from what I’ve seen you’ve gone from being a man of substance to one of significant wealth in a couple of days. As long as nobody takes it away from you.”
Alan inclined his head. “And you have a suggestion as to how to do this?” he asked.
“Of course,” replied Anne. “As I have told you, my father is a merchant at Ipswich. I’ve taken the liberty of penning him a note instructing him to sell at Ipswich what is in the longboats and to send the cogs to Lubeck, Haarlem, Hamburg and Oslo to sell both the cargo and the ships. You should buy four different ships and then have them return to Ipswich with a return cargo. Father’s factors will know what to buy. I’ve told him that he can only keep ten percent of the gross, which no doubt will really upset him as he usually doesn’t work for less than fifty percent. Now, how many of the longboats do you want to keep? You have fourteen and that seems a bit greedy.”
“I’d like to keep six, maybe eight, and use them to provide some protection for the estuaries of both the Colne and Orwell. I’ll probably put a ballista on the bows of each one, which should make up for any lack of numbers,” said Alan with some confusion. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Fine. Send six up to Ipswich and my father will sell them back to the Danes or the Norwegians. You should get a good price for them.”
Alan shook his head in bemusement. “This really doesn’t make sense. Why would I sell ships to the Danes for them to send back here to raid us again? And why would I want four trading ships? I’m a soldier, not a merchant. Not that I have anything against merchants,” he added quickly.
“The Danes and the Norwegians will build as many ships as they think they need for whatever purpose they want them, including raiding or trading. If you’re worried about trading with the Danes, we can sell them to the Norwegians- who will use them to raid the Scots, the Russians and the Danes. They don’t come down here. Hopefully that’ll satisfy your conscience. I’ll send off the trading cogs with the two longboats that still have plunder in them, with the best crews, with the next high tide. The boats still at Wivenhoe can be brought up here when you have the crews- that’s something else I’ve asked my father to attend to. You need reliable and knowledgeable captains and a few extra seamen. For ten percent of the gross I expect him to do some work.”
Alan shook his head again in confusion. “What is this all about?” he asked plaintively.
Anne reined in her enthusiasm, “I’ll explain in more detail later, but until this week you have been a prosperous and respected landowner in a small and remote corner of England. This Danish raid has delivered to you the means to be very wealthy and you can then do what you want with your wealth. Clearly you have designs to improve the local military. That will cost a lot. If you operate eight longships with their crews, that will also cost a lot- after all you can’t turn pirate and subsidise the cost by taking local shipping, although you could turn the tables on the Danes and go and raid them. Trust me.”
Alan gave in and shrugged. “Whatever you like! Select the six crews for the boats you’re most interested in and I’ll have the other boats at Wivenhoe brought here. After all, in six days we’ll be dividing up the rest of the captured booty with the other thegns who took part.”
“But not
what you took last night. Those were your forces and that booty is yours,” instructed Anne. “Today is Friday the 31st of May, the Feast of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary” she continued. “Sunday is Trinity Sunday. Would you care to come and share it at my Hall?”
“Certainly, with pleasure! We’ll leave in the morning,” replied Alan. “Meanwhile, come and have a look at my new Hall at the fort. It’s basically finished and the workers are just completing putting on the last of the wood shingles on the roof. I still haven’t got the chimney working properly yet, though.”
Anne patiently withstood the detailed tour of the fort, showing genuine interest in the innovations such as the under-floor heating system; water piped in from a nearby spring to the stables and kitchen; the bathing house with a hot tub big enough for four; and, the piece de resistance, flushing latrines. Alan had opted not to use the Roman system of continuous flushing, as it would cause problems with needing too big a cesspit outside the walls in the low-lying land, but would use a flush-on-demand system where periodically a sluice would be opened to allow water stored in a tank to wash away the waste.
The barracks and stables were already occupied, the barns and granary were full and Gimm and his assistant were going through the armour and weapons stored in the armoury to see if any equipment needed repair after the recent battles. Stable-master Teon had boys at work in the tack room checking and oiling all the horse harnesses.
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