Elsewhere, people ran in all directions, screaming or crying. Other folks ran to and from their burning houses carrying what meagre possessions they could rescue. It was brave but foolhardy; several times one or two emerged with their clothes on fire where, if they were fortunate, friends or neighbours covered them in blankets or threw water over them until the flames were put out.
Without ceremony, Thurkill grabbed hold of Eahlmund’s shoulder, spinning him around. “Where are the others? Are they safe?”
Silhouetted against the burning buildings, the whites of Eahlmund’s eyes shone brightly, contrasted against his soot-blackened face, giving him an almost devilish look. “They’re fine, Lord. The brothers are down by the river looking after that end and the others are somewhere back along the line. Grab a bucket and help. We need every hand we can get.”
“What in God’s name happened? Is it Saxon or Norman doing?”
Eahlmund growled. “It was the Norman bastards.”
“What could have provoked such an outrage? Were they attacked?”
“Not in the slightest. It’s confused but, as far as I can tell it all began after that great shout in the church. Maybe they were looking for a fight anyway and that just gave them an excuse; you know what bored soldiers are like and there were enough of them in the square here. But once they heard Saxon voices raised inside the church, they began to push and shove people. A few fists were thrown, in self-defence, I might add,” Eahlmund looked at his shoes, revealing that he had been one of those involved, “and then it all went mad. Before you knew it, the soldiers were grabbing burning logs from the braziers all around and setting fire to the buildings. I don’t know, perhaps they thought that there was some kind of attack happening, what with the shouting and everything.”
Thurkill thought back to the coronation. “The acclamation!”
“The what?”
“The moment when Bishop Ealdred called upon the people to accept William as king. There was such a great shout that the sound of it would have carried far beyond the walls. Perhaps they mistook that for some kind of uprising?”
“Whereas actually everyone was shouting in favour of William?”
“Yes,” the irony was not lost on him. “Let’s just hope not too many are killed in this confusion. Where have all the soldiers gone now?”
“Those that have not disappeared off down side alleys on the lookout for loot or women went into the abbey, presumably to protect their lord.”
“Well, it seems quieter now. Let’s put these fires out. Hild, stay cl…. Goddammit, where’s she gone?” Thurkill looked around frantically, hoping she had not been taken by soldiers, panic rising in his heart with every passing moment.
Eahlmund laughed. “Worry not, Lord. She’s over there, putting you to shame.”
Thurkill followed the direction in which his friend was pointing to see Hild organising the women and children, sending the older children to join the line of bucket carriers and making sure the younger ones found their mothers safely. Thurkill looked on with pride. Far more of a lord’s wife than I am a lord, he thought ruefully. I should have seen to those tasks already.
***
It took most of the rest of the day for the fires to be extinguished. Many buildings had been saved, but many more had been destroyed and would need to be rebuilt in the coming days. Fortunately, not many of the townspeople had been killed, which was a blessing considering the chaos that had reigned. To their credit, the Norman captains had managed to bring their men under control quickly once it became apparent that there was no threat to the new king’s life.
Wearily, Thurkill climbed the stairs to their room behind Hild, too tired even to admire the shape and movement of her hips. Entering the small room, he yawned and stretched, hearing his shoulders crack as he loosened off his aching joints. “I confess I’ll be glad to put this place behind us, Hild. I’ve had enough of cities for the time being.”
Hild reached up behind him, massaging his aching shoulders. “As, indeed, have I. I long for the peace of the countryside. Things may never be like they once were when I was growing up, but they must surely be better than they are now. I hate the stench of the city: so many people living on top of each other; so much noise all day and all night; human waste flowing in the streets. It’s horrid.”
“Well, soon we’ll have our own place, Hild. Something we’ve never had before, a home we can call our own.”
“I cannot wait. What do you think it will be like?”
“I don’t know, but Aelfric says it’s a nice little village, settled in a valley by the side of a stream, so we shan’t want for fresh water. There’s plenty of fields, a large wood and a good number of cows and pigs. We’ll have everything we need.”
“It sounds perfect. And there’ll be room for Eahlmund and the others too?”
“Aye, there will. Aelfric tells me a good number of the menfolk were lost at Senlac. Their lord was one of those that went down the hill after the fleeing Normans, only to be killed when the bastards turned and fought back. So, they have desperate need for men to come to the village before the spring so that they have enough hands to help plant the crops. Without the five of them, the villagers could starve next winter.”
“And who knows,” Hild winked cheekily, “Perhaps they too may find love there.”
Thurkill playfully pushed Hild back on the bed, nibbling her ear as he knew it annoyed her. “Who knows indeed? Though I doubt that anyone would find Eahlmund attractive. Perhaps he would be better suited amongst the pigs?”
Hild laughed. “You’re the pig, Killi. And keep your trotters to yourself. We have to be up at dawn to be ready to leave.”
SEVENTEEN
Thurkill woke coughing, his lungs still affected by the acrid tang of the smoke. The noise roused Hild from her slumber too, though she bounced out of bed, oblivious to the chill within the room. “Come on, lazy bones. Today’s the day we start our new life.”
Still wheezing, Thurkill swung his legs out onto the floor. “You know it’s three to four days’ journey to the north, my love?”
“Yes, but every step is a step toward our new home and happiness. Stop being a misery and help me pack.”
Thurkill smiled, her enthusiasm was infectious. It gladdened his heart to see her so happy; he had worried for her continually since her father had been killed. She never spoke of what she saw that day and he was content not to intrude on her private grief, but he could not help but worry what dark thoughts dwelt within her soul. But for days like today, he could banish such worries to the remotest recesses of his mind and allow himself to be caught up in her joyfulness.
“Come on! They will be leaving without us.”
“Alright, woman, would you rather I walk the streets with no trews?”
“It would not matter if you did my love, it’s so cold that your modesty would be protected.”
Pulling on his boots, Thurkill gave Hild’s arse a slap as she passed in front of him. “Cheeky mare. It’s lucky for you we’re in a hurry or I’d put you over my knee to teach you who’s the lord round here.”
Hild dropped a little curtsy, winking at him at the same time. “Promises, promises, my Lord. Besides, everyone knows who wears the trews in this relationship.”
Before the abbey bells had even sounded for Terce, they were on their way. What with Aelfric and his retinue and Thurkill’s own warband, they made for a sizeable party, numbering almost fifty souls and five carts. The pace was necessarily slow, though, as they did not want to leave the ox-drawn waggons too far behind for fear of bandits on the road.
As they trotted along, Thurkill had plenty of time to survey the damage from the previous day’s conflagration. Several homes had been destroyed completely while many more showed significant signs of fire damage and would probably have to be torn down. Here and there, blanket-covered lumps lay between the houses; the bodies of those who had perished, mostly from the effects of smoke, or killed by Norman soldiers as they ran amok.
Thurkill could feel his ire rising; his face set like thunder. Had not William promised to rule with justice and mercy? Had he not promised to protect his people from wrong-doing? Well the Saxons were his people now, just as much as the Normans and hardly had the words come from his mouth, than his own soldiers were burning houses and killing townspeople without check. Whilst he accepted the fact that they might have believed that the shout from within the church meant there was trouble brewing, a small voice in the back of his mind that could not be silenced told him they were looking for an excuse, any excuse, to cause mischief.
“Best of the morning to you, my lad.” Thurkill looked up as Aelfric reined in his horse to walk alongside his. “A sorry business, eh?”
“Aye, Lord.”
“Not the best start to King William’s reign.” As if reading Thurkill’s mind, Aelfric continued. “I had truly hoped that we could trust this Norman once he became king; trust him to be fair and just to all his subjects. But events like this give me pause.”
“What are you saying, Lord? You may speak plainly with me.” Thurkill was on edge. Was Aelfric talking rebellion so soon after the coronation?
“Just that the king has my loyalty… for now. But he does not yet have my trust. He will have to earn that with more than words. And, in the meantime, I shall be watching.”
Thurkill nodded as he realised Aelfric was right. England might have a new king, but that king would have to prove himself to be worthy of the position. He had no idea what he, Aelfric, or anyone else for that matter, could do if it came to it but knowing that Aelfric thought the same way as him was comforting.
“Anyway, enough of this sour talk; we have better things to look forward to, do we not? Like introducing Gudmundcestre to its new lord, eh?”
“Is that its name? Gudmundcestre? What more can you tell me about it? How many people live there? What crafts are undertaken?”
“Whoa, lad. One question at a time. My old brain cannot keep pace with your young tongue. Yes, the place is called Gudmundcestre. It’s a short distance south - an hour or two’s walk, no more - from my own hall in Huntendune, both of which lie on the banks of the river Ouse. There’s been a settlement there for as long as anyone can remember, right back to the time of the Romans. In fact, it lies where two Roman roads meet, which, what with the river, probably explains why the place exists.
“Used to be a fort there, I’m told, but no longer. Probably had its stone robbed for other buildings, including the church which stands in the middle of the village, I’ve no doubt. There’s a small earthwork of sorts around the village which provides some protection from bandits. You may find that you want to improve those defences. These are uncertain times in which we live after all.”
“But what of its people? How many souls will look to me as their lord?”
“Fewer than there were, Thurkill, fewer than there were. Not one of the ten or so men that joined the fyrd to stand with Harold at Senlac ever came back.” Aelfric’s brow furrowed as he thought back to that day. It was clear that he felt the loss of his people deeply, like a wound to his own flesh.
“But there remain a good number, nonetheless. I’d say a hundred or so in total, though it’s hard to keep track as the women there seem to be very fertile. There always seems to be a new child coming along almost every week. Anyway, must be something in the water in those parts, eh? Perhaps you and Hild will soon be blessed?” He chuckled to see Thurkill’s embarrassment.
“Hey, Alwig, come here a moment.” As he waited for the man in front to turn his horse, Aelfric continued. “Alwig is my Steward. He knows all there is to know about my lands and holdings; far more than I do. In fact, he’s probably forgotten more than I know. Isn’t that right, Alwig?”
Alwig grinned with not a little pride. He was a tall, skinny man with a studious air, almost as if he were a priest or monk by calling. His appearance did nothing to challenge this perception as he was bald save for tufts of black hair that sprouted above his ears and in a ring of sorts which ran round to the back of his head. His voice, when he spoke, was nasal and high-pitched. “It’s kind of you to say so, Lord. What would you have of me?”
“Thurkill here is asking about Gudmundcestre, the little village I have entrusted to him as replacement for old Siward. I said I thought there are about one hundred folk there, is that right? What else can you tell him? Even though it’s close to Huntendune, it’s been a while since I’ve ventured there and, to be honest, one village looks much like another to me.”
Alwig lowered his head in a show of respect. “If I recall correctly, Lord, Gudmundcestre is home to just ninety-five souls last time I checked. It is a thriving little settlement in a fine location on the banks of the river. I would need to check the precise details but, I believe there is land given over to crops, sufficient for around twenty-five ploughs. In addition, there are,” he ticked them off one by one on his fingers. “Over one hundred and fifty acres of meadow on which grazes a well-stocked herd of cattle; fifty or so acres of woodland with more than three dozen pigs; and - I think - three water mills, two of which are used for grinding wheat and the other for fulling cloth. Lastly there is a tavern, a blacksmith and a church whose priest is named Wulfric. He’s quite a character as I recall.”
Aelfric beamed widely. “A little tip for you, Thurkill; a Steward like Alwig is worth his weight in gold. With so much knowledge trapped in one head, there’s little that gets past him. No one can escape paying their dues as he knows what each man owes and what he’s paid down to the last penny. Anyway, how does that sound? That enough for you to call home?”
Thurkill attempted to bow from where he sat in his saddle. To say it was an ungainly gesture for one who was no expert in horse skills would have been putting it mildly, though - to his credit - Aelfric kept a straight face.
“You do me great honour, Lord. It is more than I could ever have dreamed of. You can be assured that Hild and I will serve you with loyalty and distinction.”
“Nonsense, lad. You served your king well and I am proud to be able to stand in place of your father to see you properly rewarded. Besides, I am grateful to you. It does not pay to have profitable holdings like Gudmundcestre unmanaged for too long. The people get out of the habit of good discipline and, before you know it, you have a bugger of a job to collect your taxes.”
“Even so, you will not regret your decision, Lord. My sword is yours for all time.”
“I thank you, Thurkill, though I pray I do not need to call on it for many a year.”
***
The road that led to the village was lined with people. Thurkill imagined the whole population must have turned out to welcome their new lord, perhaps keen to get a first look at what sort of man he was. Self-consciously, he straightened his back and adjusted his cloak so that it was no longer bunched around his middle where it had been keeping him warm against the chill wind. He tried to think back to when he was a boy and how his father would have dealt with such an occasion and found himself, not for the first time, wishing Scalpi were there to guide him. With such thoughts spinning around his mind he did, at least, have the presence of mind to nod, smile and wave at those that hailed him as he passed by.
They came to a halt in the centre of the village where the two roads met just, as Aelfric had said, outside the small stone church. The townsfolk had followed them into the square, forming a loose ring around them. Thurkill could feel the colour rising in his cheeks as he realised that every eye was upon him. Everywhere, he could see folk digging each other in the ribs and having whispered conversations.
Just then, he remembered what his father had told him; first impressions count, so speak with authority and confidence and that will see you more than half the way home. Half smiling to himself, he silently thanked Scalpi for this small piece of wisdom that had come, unbidden, into his mind. If only I knew what sort of man my predecessor was, though, he thought. If he was the most generous, fair and protective lord there has ever been, th
en I am doomed before I begin.
“Well met, friends, well met,” Aelfric held up a hand to greet the crowd. “Allow me to apologise for my long absence from these parts; these are difficult times in which we live. Indeed, I return here today bearing tidings of great import for you all.”
The whispering and nudging had now all but stopped as, every man, woman and child waited to hear what their lord would say. It was not often that they saw someone like Aelfric and so everyone wanted to hear every word spoken.
“We have a new king. Duke William of Normandy, slayer of King Harold and conqueror of England was crowned in King Edward’s new West Minster at the hand of Bishop Ealdred of Eoforwic, just five days ago.”
This news was met with angry rumblings which spread up and down the assembled lines, until Aelfric held up his hands for peace. “However sour we may feel, it was properly done according to the sacred observances and laws of this land. The boy Edgar of Wessex stood aside and swore allegiance to the Duke, so William is now our rightful king. I have also sworn my allegiance to him and I will say no more on the matter.
“In happier news, I am pleased to present to you Thurkill, son of Scalpi,” Aelfric laid his hand upon Thurkill’s shoulder in a clear and unequivocal gesture of support, as if the touch symbolised the transfer of his authority to the younger man. “Thurkill fought bravely at Senlac where he defended King Harold to the last. Had he not been knocked unconscious at the last, he might yet have saved the king’s life. He barely escaping with own his life as it was.
“Thurkill lost his father at Senlac and has no hall to call his home any more. In the same way that you lost your father - the Lord Siward - at that battle so it pleases me that I now commend him to you as your new father. Knowing his character as I do, I have no doubt he will serve you well in all things. All I ask is that you serve him well in return.”
Silence greeted Aelfric’s words. Once again, Thurkill felt his cheeks redden as he realised that everyone was waiting for him to speak. In a sudden flash of inspiration, he remembered the words that William had spoken at his coronation the previous day. If they were good enough for William, they’ll do for me now too, he smiled to himself. Clearing his throat, he stood up in his stirrups so that all might see him clearly.
Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2 Page 37