by Griff Hosker
I shook my head and spoke to Brother Paul, “I was too lenient. I should have asked for twice the silver. Sir Duncan, the next time you are within a sword’s length of me you will die. I can speak no plainer than that.” I allowed the words to sink in. “If you wish to make your life a little easier then I suggest you send back the captives and animals you took. It will not save your life but it will be less likely that I will exact full vengeance for the atrocities committed by the barbaric Scots! Now leave.”
The money would allow me to hire more men. The problem was there were none to be had. I wrote a couple of letters. I had promised my mother I would write and I had yet to do so. I penned a letter telling her about my new life. I told her of Anne and Alice. The letter I wrote to my father was longer and had the details of the trials and tribulations we had had to endure. I asked him for more men. I told him that I could pay. The Bishop of Durham had riders who rode north to Norham. They called at the major castles on their way north. I sent Alan of Bellingham with my letters to Morpeth. It might take a month but I would have a reply. He also took two men at arms for he had coin to spend on goods we would need. Winter would be upon us soon and the roads would be impassable. This would be a test for me.
Chapter 8
The snows came two days after Alan of Bellingham returned with the goods he had bought for the winter. We already had grain which meant we had beer and bread but we needed beans and vegetables. He also bought more fowl to keep us in eggs. When time allowed, I would build a dovecot. We knew that all work would have to cease when we saw the depth of snow which soon fell. Each day it took half a morning to clear the fresh fall and make a path through the bailey. I was pleased that we had managed to lay in so much hay and feed for the animals. Rafe had been invaluable. He knew what the winters could be like. The days were increasingly short. My archers fletched arrows and my men at arms practised with John and Matthew. Both had improved. They had an advantage in that they were both big anyway. Their fathers were strong men. They had the strength and it came down to skill.
Tam the Smith was able to work. The weather meant nothing to a man who had a forge which burned red hot. He made arrowheads. He made heads for spears and he made darts. The quality of metal for the darts did not matter. He could produce many of them quickly. He also started work on a helmet for John but mainly he worked on tools for my farmers. David of Amble now had sheep and he needed to be able to shear them. I had brought seed back and we needed a ploughshare. With more animals generally, we needed scythes. He made an adze and a spokeshave. We worked on the furniture we had started to make. With the new tools, we could give them a smooth finish. He was kept busy and he was paid with coins as well as goods. He would not make a fortune but a man likes to be rewarded for his work.
When it was too dark and too cold to be outside, my squires and I retreated into our keep. Sometimes Alan of Bellingham would join us for John and Matthew needed to be taught to read. We carried on making furniture. We had plenty of seasoned timber and now we had the tools. Both John and Matthew were skilled with their hands and they helped to teach me. We celebrated Christmas with the villagers. My outlying farmers, Cedric and Phillip, made their way with their families through the snow to my church. The death of Old Will had brought them closer together. Then, when they had returned home, we waited for the days to lengthen and the snows to disappear. In this way, winter passed
It was February before we had a thaw and the inevitable flood which followed. We worked to clear the debris from beneath the bridge. We laid stones to give us paths and all thought of martial action was driven from us. I had not had a reply to my letter to my father. I knew that he would have sent one. If men could not travel the roads then letters certainly could not. Even though the roads were not the best I went with Matthew to Morpeth. We left well before dawn and travelled on roads which were slick with mud. When spring proper came, we would need to have more surcoats made. We had travelled but two miles and our surcoats were bespattered and besmeared. Being lord of the manor was expensive.
Morpeth had suffered as had the outlying farms. We passed two without smoke. Either the families had taken shelter with others or, more likely, they had died during the harsh winter we had endured. Sir Ranulf was ill as was his wife and it was his priest who spoke with me. “His lord and ladyship were both laid low with winter fever. I pray to God that they will recover. He handed me two letters. “These came at the start of December. I am sorry we could not send them to you but the roads…” he tailed off lamely. I was disappointed. While it was not important to those in Morpeth, it was to me.
I nodded and we left. I had coin and we bought a few items while we were in the town. I would leave the letters until I reached home. I had seen the hand and seal of my father. It was as we headed back, I realised that I needed a seal too. King Henry’s sudden decision to give me the manor had meant that there were many ceremonies and customs which had been overlooked. I would have Tam forge me a ring and I would have a seal made.
It was dark when we reached the haven that was my castle. Anne had food prepared and the cosy keep welcomed Matthew and I. The snows might have gone but the icy blast from the east had chilled us to the bone. Our horse’s hooves had crunched on frozen mud when we had ridden the last few miles. I saved the letters until after I had eaten, I would savour them. I still had some wine left and I poured some to accompany the letters. It was strange reading my mother’s letter for it had been begun in October. I could see the part where she had received my letter. It was full of a mother’s worries that I was managing. It spoke of a Christmas which promised to be joyful with her increasing number of grandchildren. It made me realise what I had missed. At the end, she chided me for my tardy missive. She was right to do so. I should have written more frequently.
My father’s letter was more functional and informative. He spoke of matters beyond Stockton’s walls. He told me of the King in Gascony and the alliances which were emerging. Like my mother’s I saw the change in tone after he had received my letter. He promised to go to York and see the Sherriff there. Sir Ralph had been his squire. That gave me hope. York had many more men seeking a master. There would be men coming north but the question was, when would they arrive? The fact that I had been able to ride to Morpeth told me that bandits and the Scots from across the border would also be able to move. Our foresight meant that we had not lost any of our people. The Scots would have eaten the few animals they had stolen. If they sought more then our lands and those of Sir James were an obvious supply. We would need to ride abroad. We would need to look for signs of enemies.
We woke to a frozen landscape. The snow had melted and the skies were blue but the ground was solid. I summoned my men. “Prepare your horses and your war gear. Tomorrow we ride to Otterburn. If that is safe then the next day we ride to the Roman fort. We will not be caught out again by these bandits who prey upon us.”
“All of us, lord?”
I nodded, “Aye John, you too. I believe you have grown a handspan over the winter. Mistress Anne’s food seems to suit you.” My men all laughed for it was true. He had grown. Soon he would need a full-size horse. As I looked at him, I wondered about my nephew, Henry Samuel. Had he grown too?
That done I left to visit the four farmers of the village. It was as I spoke to Rafe that my spirits were lifted. “It has been a hard winter, lord, but one result has been that my two sons wish to take you up on your offer of farms. All of us living so close brought us perilously close to blows. Young Rafe and Harry are happy to leave my home. They have their own coin and animals.”
“And I am glad that they do so. Your farm produces all that it can. If they take two more farms then we increase the produce of the manor. There is Old Will’s farm and the derelict one south-west of Tom’s Mill.”
“Aye, lord and that would suit. Harry likes animals. I can let him have the start of a flock. Rafe prefers to grow. Being close to the mill will be handy. I will tell them.”
“And I will have Alan of Belling
ham write out the deeds of tenancy.”
I spoke with the other three farmers who lived in the village and they were equally pleased. One reason was that with farms occupied further out then the chances of being surprised by raiders and bandits lessened.
It was the first week of March when I took my patrol out. The harsh winter had also affected Otterburn. There were two more empty farms to be seen as we neared the tower and when we spoke with Sir James, we discovered that four villagers had died in the winter. The old man shook his head, “This is a harsh and unforgiving land. I am glad that my wife is no longer alive to witness this. Between the snow and the Scots more than half of my people have perished in the last three years.” He lowered his voice. “I have a nephew. He serves the Sherriff at the New Castle. He has recently taken a bride. I thought to invite him to take over my manor. It is too much for me. You have shown me that. Your actions last year were the actions I should have taken. Had I done so then how many of my people might still be alive?”
“He may not wish to come, Sir James. I am lucky. I have no wife. Had I a wife then I might think twice about taking on such a challenge as this. He would need men at arms and archers. They are expensive.”
He nodded, “I have money. I know I do not have many men but I am of an age where I like the comfort of familiar faces. There will be enough money to pay for men.”
“And has there been any signs of enemies in the land?”
He shook his head. “Old Peter the hunter walked my woods this winter hunting game for my table. He has good eyes and he saw no sign of men in the woods.”
“Then tomorrow I will take my men beyond your land towards Byrness. We will not be taken by surprise again.”
I spoke with Brother Paul and Alan of Bellingham when I returned to my castle. I spoke of my fears for Sir James and, more importantly, the people of Otterburn. Brother Paul nodded, “It seems to me, lord, that I ought to ride to Durham when the weather is more clement and speak with the Bishop. This is not a matter to be written down. The Bishop is a tactful man. He might choose Sir James’ nephew but, on the other hand, he may not. The King may have suggested another to him. That was how your name came up, was it not, lord?”
“Perhaps, more likely it was that I happened to be in his eye line and he thought to use my family name. We will ride to the border and see what we can see.”
The cold and icy wind continued. My farmers would not be ploughing fields. Our crops would be delayed. We had barley to harvest but the crop would not be as good as might have been expected. The good news would be that we could allow the pigs into the fields to clear the barley stalks once we had harvested the crop.
We wrapped up well, as we rode north and west. I was grateful for my arming cap and I even wore my helmet, albeit with the visor raised. My cloak had fur lining. When I had lived in Stockton, we had trapped some weasels and stoats. Their fur was warm. I did not wear my mail mittens but leather gloves which Matthew had made over winter. He knew how to work leather. The gloves were warm too. We passed Otterburn without stopping. Once we reached the fort, we did stop. This was higher ground and there was still frozen snow. It hid the blackened soil where we had burned the raiders.
Garth Red Arrow said, “There has been no one here, lord, since the battle. They have not ventured down this road yet.”
“We will still head to the border. I want them to see my banner. I need them to know that we are being vigilant and our victory will not make us complacent.”
We ate and watered our horses. Then we rode down the road. John was with us. He still had his small horse and he was lower to the ground. Perhaps that was what helped him to see movement. “Lord,” he said quietly, “I saw a movement in the open door of one of the wrecked houses to the right.”
I trusted John, “Archers spread out to the right. Men at arms, follow me.”
I spurred my horse and rode towards the door. I heard a skittering and then a shout. Idraf of Towyn shouted, “Here lord! I have caught something!”
He rode towards us and dangling from his arm was a small boy of perhaps seven summers. He was thin and almost blue. What had we found?
I realised that the child was barefoot and his teeth were chattering. “Idraf, wrap your cloak around him. The rest of you search the buildings for others. Garth, find his tracks.”
I spurred my horse and reached Idraf. He had wrapped the boy up. Idraf’s cloak was not fur lined. Idraf said, “Sorry, lord, he is just a child. I picked him up by the scruff of the neck. I fear he is dead!”
I took off my own cloak and felt the icy wind. How had this child survived with just a thin piece of tunic about his shoulders? “Give him to me. It is not your fault.” I saw that, although he was still breathing, his eyes were closed. “This child is dying. We must get to Otterburn as soon as we can. Matthew, fetch me the honey.” While my squire searched for the honey we carried for wounds, I wrapped the child so that the fur of my cloak was next to his body. I wrapped the cloak around him a number of times. I held the cloak close to me. Mathew brought the honey over. I put my fingers in the clay pot and took a couple of fingers of the honey and I put it in his mouth. Many believed that honey had properties to heal. It was all that I could think of. “Come, we ride.”
I spurred my horse with the boy cradled against me. He was either asleep or unconscious but his lips moved. Perhaps his body made him lick the honey. I knew not. Garth Red Arrow rode next to me. “He came from the border, lord. There were prints in the snow. They matched his feet. I found the bracken he had tried to eat. How has he survived?”
“God has sent us here. We must save the life of this child. You have a good horse. Ride ahead to Sir James and tell him that we need a healer or a priest.”
“Aye lord.”
We rode hard. I was cold now and I could only imagine what the boy had felt as he had sheltered in the ruined house. I did not know if he was Scot or English. It made no difference. He was a child and we could not abandon him. I also had the answer to my question. The Scots were still on their side of the border. I knew that we could not reach our home before dark. We would have to impose upon Sir James. There would be food wasted at Elsdon. Anne and Alice would have cooked for us. That could not be helped.
When we spied the tower of Otterburn I prayed that we had reached it in time. The boy still breathed but it was shallow breathing. We were spied from afar and the gates of the tower were open. An old monk stood there with Sir James and Garth. I dismounted whilst still holding the boy and I hurried in to the tower. There was no fire burning for this was a guard room but Sir James pointed towards a door. The guard room was still much warmer than the outside. We stepped through the door and entered a room where there was a fire. The monk said, “I am Brother Abelard, I will take the child. Your man described the symptoms. The cure is dramatic.” I saw that there was a bath of steaming water before the fire. The monk took my cloak and handed it to me. He then took the icy rags from the child and laid his blue, naked body in the water. The monk put his finger on the boy’s lips and then licked the ends of his fingers. “You gave him honey?”
“Aye, did I do wrong?”
“No, my lord, you did well, that, the cloak and the warmth of your body may well have saved this bairn’s life. See how the colour returns to him and his breathing is easier.”
One of Sir James’ servants brought me a mug of ale. He put a poker in it. Sir James said, “Your men and animals are being cared for. This is a good deed you have done, Sir William.
“If he lives it is but otherwise…”
The monk kept feeling the temperature of the water. Another servant brought some clothes. They were well-made clothes. Sir James said, “These belonged to my son. He is now dead. The Scots killed him. I could not bear to throw away the clothes he had worn as a child. Now I see that I have kept them for a purpose.”
The monk took some of the warmed ale that the servant had handed to him. He sipped it and then stirred in a spoon of butter. He lifted the chi
ld’s head and poured some into his mouth. I was not sure if he would swallow but he did. It was a conscious act. The boy lived. The monk poured half of the beaker down his throat. He smiled, “This is not small beer. This is a potent brew. He may well sleep.” Putting down the beaker he picked him out of the water and laid him on the drying sheet. When he was dried, he dressed him. I saw a sheepskin lying close by. He wrapped the child in it and after the servants had taken away the water, he laid him close to the fire. “Now we wait. If your lordships would like to eat then I shall pray for the child.”
Servants brought us food. We sat at a table and ate but I kept glancing at the child. Suddenly the monk stopped praying and bent his head. I heard him murmur something then he shouted, “God be praised he lives. Sir James have your servants fetch porridge. He needs food.” The monk raised the boy’s head. His eyes were wide with fear. The monk said, “You are safe, my son. Sir William has saved you.”
He stared around him and looked, for all the world as though he was a wild animal. When he spoke, his words were English. “Which is Sir William? I must find him!”
Both Sir James and the monk looked at me, “What is this, Sir William? You said you had never seen him before.”
“And I have not. Boy, I am Sir William of Elsdon. What is your name and why do you seek me?”
Brother Abelard shook his head. “First, Sir William let him eat. There will be time enough for questions. We thought him dead and he lives. Let us rejoice in that.”
I was impatient but the monk was right. We had time. I could not rest without knowing this story. The boy finished the bowl of porridge laced with honey and his face became filled with a healthier colour. He looked alive! Sir James said, “Now, boy, tell us your story and begin with your name.”
“I am Dick, son of Harry. I lived at Yalesham. We were raided at harvest time. My father and brothers were killed and my mother and I were taken across the border. We were made slaves. When the son of the lord of the manor was captured and then returned, we were all beaten. They said it was to punish Sir William of Elsdon. The women who had been captured are led by my mother and they spoke amongst themselves and devised a plan. I was the oldest boy who still lived. They helped me to escape and asked me to head south and east until I came to Elsdon and there tell Sir William that the women of Yalesham needed to be rescued.”